“A sad state of affairs. If there is to be a junta locally, then I shall be part of it. Such being the case, I shall recruit a local militia and will be pleased to take control of the battery, sir.”
Sir Iain bowed, said that he would be delighted to hand the guns over and offered as well all French muskets and powder that could be retrieved.
Major Wakely marched into the village with the bulk of his Marines, shepherding their few prisoners.
“I am sorry to report, sir, that your Lieutenant Fox is in very bad case with a ball to the gut, sir. He is dying, sir, has probably gone by now, the bleeding very profuse.”
“That at least is fortunate, Major. If they do not bleed to death quickly then it is a very painful and protracted way to go – and not a hope of recovery.”
The Major agreed.
“No other serious wounds, sir. A few scratches is all. The battery put up almost nothing of a fight, no officers present, sir.”
“The officers were about to eat their dinner, Major Wakely. All of them, here. The Spanish dealt with them. They will form a militia overnight and will take over from us in the morning.”
“Very good, sir. What next, sir?”
“A guard to the warehouse tonight. We shall load the polaccas in the morning and then, depending on their value, will arrange their escort to the Prize Court at Gibraltar.”
Major Wakely gave immediate orders for a heavy guard to the valuables; he liked prize money, too.
Mr Baker, purser of Waldeman, was uncertain how to allow for the sending ashore of quantities of rations for the benefit of mere Spaniards. He could not see how his books could balance in such a circumstance.
Sir Iain was dismissive, said that it must be done.
“What did we do for the worm-infested pork off the Rio de la Plata, Mr Baker?”
“Why, sir, we wrote it off against certificates from the Doctor and the Master and yourself, sir.”
“Precisely! A tier of beef to be found to have the dates reworked on the casks – we have all seen that before – and rotten. For bread – a consignment from Baltimore of American baked biscuit to have been salt-water contaminated and blue with mould. Flour, used up to compensate for the lost bread. All verified by the proper documents which Sir Frederick will countersign against my name.”
“So be it, sir, but the Admiralty will wish to enquire how it all came about, sir.”
“I am sure that they will, Mr Baker – so you will make utterly certain that every last ounce is accounted for by its proper certificate. I will not see people starve when I can do a little to help.”
Mr Baker muttered that they were only bloody Spaniards, not real people, but not until Sir Iain was safely out of his office.
Frederick saw the boats shift their loads to the quay and wondered what was happening, had the purser or boatswain chosen to sell off the squadron’s stores? He was perfectly satisfied when Sir Iain informed him that it was a reward to the Spanish for their assistance in the night.
“The polaccas, sir, are loaded between them with almost one hundred tons of ingot metal and with nearly a ton of quicksilver in bags, sir. They should perhaps be escorted to Gibraltar.”
“So they should, Sir Iain. We must recover our prize crews, of course.”
“So we must, sir. Mr Vereker, I think?”
“Just so, Sir Iain. Write your report to me and I shall include it in the despatches. Mr Fox is dead now, you say?”
“Quicker than it might have been, considering it was a gut shot, sir. Poor lad – he had the makings of a very sound captain, one day.”
“He had indeed. I shall write my letter to his uncle at Bursledon, expressing my regrets. Is he to be buried on land?”
“Better at sea, sir. He was not a Catholic and the priests will not want him put down in the cemetery next to their faithful.”
“Let it be so, Sir Iain. One might have thought that being willing to die for them was a sufficient qualification, but there is no gain to argument. Who is to step up in his place?”
“Sykes is not ready yet, sir. He needs six more months at least. Has Mr Warren another boy on Norge who can take a commission?”
“I shall enquire. If not, then perhaps Mr Vereker has.”
The lieutenant was dead – they would grieve him for two minutes, replace him and carry on. It was part of the game they played – success brought high rewards, greater perhaps than could be obtained in any other occupation, other than being a minister in the government; failure brought a bare living; bad luck brought amputation or death.
“Can we risk giving the battery back to the Spaniards, Sir Iain?”
“Probably not, sir. I think, though, that we have very little choice, for we must show good faith. The guns are huge, by the way, sir. Old and firing a stone ball that cannot be less than one hundred pounds weight – possibly dating back to the days when the Barbary pirates roamed this coast. They are brass, of course, and to my mind in poor condition. I would not wish to be the man who fired any one of them. The trunnions of each are corroded and I am sure there is a pattern of cracking around the touch holes of two, not unlike the outward signs of honeycombing in an iron gun. I do not really think that we are offering any overwhelmingly generous gift, sir; they were lucky that the rounds they fired at Perlen did not split their barrels.”
“Perhaps so – if the war with Spain does not come to a formal end, we may find ourselves answering any number of questions from our masters in the Admiralty and in Whitehall. That, when one considers, is simply another aspect of the game, Sir Iain. You were right to make the promise. Have they a sufficiency of powder, do you know? We could gift them some of the stock we acquired from the Frogs – it would be amusing, in its way, to do so, to give French powder to the Dons to fire at the Frogs.”
Sir Iain promised to enquire of the alcalde, whatever that was – something like a mayor, he suspected.
The squadron remained off the little harbour for another full day. In part, it was to make it easier for Vereker to rejoin them from Gibraltar, but mostly the reason was to assist the village in making all tidy. There were many corpses to be disposed of, which would not have been a small task for the local people, and it was no more than a courtesy to aid them in turning two of the big guns to cover the tracks inland. Both Frederick and Sir Iain were convinced that the French would very soon become aware that the village was no longer theirs and would send a battalion or two to restore their control. If the whole province was up against them, then the French might be half-hearted in their attempts, but quite possibly they would come with the specific intent of putting the entire village to the sword in revenge for their losses. The big guns, together with nearly a hundred of French muskets, might enable a defence to be successful, although they feared it would not. At the least it might give time for many of the people to flee in their boats.
Norge and Iris sailed in towards the end of the day, with no prizes in company, to the initial disappointment of the squadron.
Captains Warren and Dench were rowed across to make their report in person, and join Frederick and Sir Iain at table.
“The villagers have given us lobsters, Captain Warren, and fresh fish besides. Let us eat and be merry, sir!”
Captain Warren continued to deserve his nickname in the service – Fatty Warren still made his chair groan when he cautiously sat down. He smacked his lips at the prospect of lobsters, though he was less impressed by the local white wine – a harsh and thin bottle.
“Now, sir, to mix business with pleasure – I shall make my report briefly. The sails we chased were merchantmen of some three hundred tons and carrying mixed cargoes, including an amount of powder and ball for the Frogs. Both had French papers. Captain Dench had brought them to before Norge appeared on the scene and my contribution was no more than to assist with a master’s mate and a dozen hands for the prize crews. We sent them in direct, sir, at dusk, last night, and then made a very cautious progress inshore for some hours in company; the cha
rt gives a number of small islands and shallows offshore here. Soon after moonset this morning, sir, we spotted a light to the southeast, very faint indeed. We suspected that it might have been the binnacle of a ship of war or large merchantman, rolling a little and showing itself at intervals. The wind was dead foul, sir, so I called to Captain Dench to point up as close as he could to the north of the light, while I took Norge to its south, sir, and we diverged with all the speed we could muster – which was not a lot more than three knots for Norge.”
“Iris is a very handy ship, sir,” Dench said. “We made five.”
“We were in a position to tack usefully at dawn, sir, and made a leg towards the source of the light, which transpired to be a corsair, sir, some sort of lateen-rigged, three masted xebec, though not exactly as you might think of when saying that, for the bow was not as far overhanging as one might expect.”
“Badly rebuilt, sir, after being damaged when taken, so my master said, sir.” Dench seemed to believe that he had the right to comment when a captain far his senior was making his report; with the influence his family had, he might have been right.
“Norge closed the pirate, sir, firing the chasers, with good accuracy – at least one ball struck home from the very first discharge. Iris came out of the north, under a positive cloud of sail, and fired a broadside at a mile, for the xebec was also making all that she could and was showing a very fine turn of speed. It was take the chance at a distance, or have no chance at all, I believe, sir. I would swear that ten of her roundshot struck home – remarkable, sir!”
“We have used the practice powder, sir – an hour morning and evening at the guns. I am lucky in my gunner as well, sir – a most able man and trains his gun captains and quarter gunners well.”
Warren resumed his story, taking a refill of plate and glass both.
“The xebec was hit hard, sir. The hull was lightly built, like all such, and she took water instantly. I brought Norge within a cable and gave her a full broadside, very carefully, and ripped her guts out – she could not stand up to the lower-deck thirty-two pounders, sir. She foundered within a very few minutes, and we came away, thoroughly content in a job well done.”
“No survivors?”
Warren seemed to regard that as a foolish question – they were Barbary pirates.
“A very satisfactory outcome, gentlemen. I believe that you have discovered exactly the right thing to do with the pirates.”
Sir Iain was interested by the proximity of the corsair to the French – both in waters somewhat removed from trade routes.
“Was there any connection between the corsair and the storeships, do you think, Captain Warren? Was it merest coincidence that brought them close together?”
“I did not ask, sir. Indeed, there was no survivor to question.”
Frederick took up the question.
“It might not be unheard of – we know that the villain Bonaparte claimed to have converted to Mohammedanism when invading Egypt, and he has been in frequent converse with the Sublime Porte, has made no secret of his desire to bring the Ottoman Empire into the war. It would be a rational move on his part to make common cause with the Barbary pirates.”
They stared in amaze at Frederick, unused to hearing consideration of high strategy from him.
“Captain Murray – or Lord Turner, as I should now say – discussed the very issue with me at some length, was most persuasive in his arguments.”
They relaxed, the world no longer turned upside down.
“If Lord Turner thought it to be so, sir, then one must accept the probability to be high indeed. An able and learned man, sir. He should never have been at sea!”
They agreed with Captain Warren’s summation – such a man had no business in the cabin of a ship of war, there were so many better things for such a one to do.
“If, sir, the Frogs were to rendezvous with the idolatrous fiends of the Barbary Coast, then one must ask with what intent.”
“One must indeed, Captain Dench. Elegantly expressed, by the way, sir!”
Captain Dench smiled in self-satisfied fashion, said he had always had a way with words.
Captain Warren took up the possibility.
“The thought occurs to me, sir, that was Bonaparte to promise the return to the Moors of some part of Spain - Granada, perhaps – then it might be possible to persuade them to land an army of some thousands to fight at his side. That might not be desirable, sir.”
“By God, it would not be, Captain Warren! An appalling prospect. Can we be certain that it is so?”
They could not – the Moors who could have given confirmation were all drowned.
“What must we do, now? Sir Iain, your opinion?”
“Send word to Gibraltar of the possibility, sir. In person might be better than in a despatch. More persuasive, perhaps.”
Captains Warren and Dench both agreed, saying as well that it would be possible to question the masters of the prized merchantmen.
“Then we sail for the Rock in the morning, gentlemen. The possibility of a Moorish invasion must be brought to the attention of the admiral there, and we have no timetable for our venture along the coast.”
Admiral Ball was amazed to see the squadron so soon, bade them anchor offshore in case they had come back for medical reasons. If they had the plague, they could keep it to themselves.
Frederick set his mind at rest.
“An alliance between the Barbary corsairs and the Frogs, you say, Sir Frederick? You have reason to suspect it?”
The coincidence of a corsair and two French stores being in the same part of the Mediterranean was rather thin evidence, and Frederick was forced to suggest that Lord Turner had thought it probable.
“Captain Murray as was, sir.”
“Ah, yes! A most remarkable gentleman! Now a baron, you say? Well-deserved, I doubt not.”
“A most able man, sir.”
“The prisoners were brought ashore from the storeships just this morning, Sir Frederick. I shall give orders for the masters to be interrogated. Captain Murray’s successor here is a man skilled in asking questions. Too skilled – enthusiastic, that is – for my taste, on occasion… This is important, however, and there are times when the desired end is too important to permit ordinary qualms to come into play, or so one is told. I shall beg the gentleman to attend upon us, Sir Frederick.”
The Marine messenger was given a note and trotted off into the recesses and passages and tunnels of the Rock. A civilian appeared at the door after a few minutes, a lean and lined but jolly seeming fellow.
“Mr Adamson, please to come in, sir. Are you acquainted with Sir Frederick Harris?”
“By name only, sir. Lord Turner several times mentioned him to me.”
Adamson made a spare bow and smiled, very evidently assessing Frederick, looking him up and down.
Admiral Ball explained Frederick’s suspicions.
“Lord Turner sailed with you prior to his shift into other forms of government service, I believe, Sir Frederick?”
“He did, sir, and discussed this possibility in some depth.”
“Then it would be a foolish man indeed who did not take the matter seriously,” Adamson opined. “Where Lord Turner has a suspicion, then it does not become a lesser man such as I to dismiss his qualms out of hand. I shall, with your permission, Admiral Ball, speak at some length to the prisoners.”
Admiral Ball gave grudging assent to Adamson.
“We need the knowledge of their orders, Mr Adamson. It is vital that they should disclose all they know, sir. I wish it were not!”
“I shall persuade them to tell all they know, sir. They shall indeed sing like little nightingales.”
Adamson smiled again, washing his hands like a junior shop assistant. His expression suggested that he was looking forward to his work. He left.
“Bloody men! I wish I did not have to deal with his sort, Sir Frederick. A mere butcher! But we need the information.”
Frederic
k finally realised that Adamson was off to practise torture on the captives; he thought to protest, then realised that they must have an answer to their questions. He became aware that his own hands were just as bloody as Adamson’s no doubt soon would be.
“Fortunately, Sir Frederick, there are two ship’s masters. That makes it possible to compare their answers, which gives a greater prospect of obtaining honesty. I would expect an answer before the evening gun, sir – Mr Adamson tends not to be dilatory.”
Frederick was called back to the office some three hours later, Mr Adamson present with Admiral Ball.
“There was to be a meeting between the stores and the corsair, Sir Frederick. The pirate was Algerine and the arrangement was made with the Dey of Algiers. The powder and ball supposedly for the French Army was to be gifted to him, as was a quantity of uniform cloth and of European-style boots, it being argued that a campaign in Europe required appropriate uniforms. Some ten thousands of men were to be outfitted. Not for Spain, however - they were to swoop on the shores of Ireland, sir! Bonaparte has a fascination with Ireland, has launched plots and expeditions almost every year of this decade.”
Admiral Ball thought that the expedition had been thoroughly scotched, but he was to send warning to the Admiralty.
“The source of the information will be identified, of course, Sir Frederick. Your stock, and that of Captains Warren and Dench, who made the original capture, must rise even higher, sir!”
Frederick made modest disclaimer – the credit lay with others, he said.
“What next, Sir Frederick? Are you bound for Barcelona?”
“That had been my intention, sir. Have you other advice to offer?”
“No. Quite the opposite, in fact. Mr Adamson tells me that he has reason to suppose that the Catalans will be very willing to attack the French, given visible support.”
“Will the Catalans wish to obtain independence from Spain, sir? Are we to support them in that aim?”
Mr Adamson replied to the effect that they must be cautious indeed in making their promises, and under no circumstances were they to put their name to any piece of paper of any sort.
Deadly Shores (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 11) Page 6
