Deadly Shores (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 11)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Iris?”

  “Astern by four miles, sir, apparently busy with the small boats, sir.”

  The Count of Banyuls’ letter had been sent across to Mr Perlman, together with the instruction to place it in the hands of a sympathetic fisherman and get it to his senior officer ashore, a brigadier who was, the Count averred, of intelligence and discretion. Iris’ interpreter had survived and would perform the actual task of identifying the right man to send it with, or so Sir Iain hoped.

  Bosomtwi came on deck, begged Sir Iain’s pardon.

  “Is he awake, Bosomtwi?”

  “Yes, sir. Would like speech with you, sir, if convenient.”

  “I’ll come now.”

  Frederick was simultaneously pale and flushed with the onset of wound-fever, had very little energy.

  “Lie down, sir. We took all five and the bulk of the convoy this morning. The soldiers were aboard two merchantmen which were sunk by Sykes and his gunboats. They gave Iris a thorough drubbing and Dench is gone. The sloops are to escort all the prizes south, together with Stour, and will be gone very soon. The French have just come in sight, details unknown, but it is thought there are small ships in company. We have a course of action in mind, sir.”

  “Then you must go, Sir Iain. Good luck!”

  Midshipman Quarles had the signal from Nellie written out for him.

  “Two of two-deckers, sir. One heavy frigate and four of corvettes and a pair of brigs and a cutter.”

  “Not as bad as I had feared, Mr Quarles. Nellie to take station on Iris.”

  Sir Iain watched silently as Norge veered away from the direct course towards the two-deckers.

  “Mr Patey, lay us between the Frog liners. Double shot both broadsides. Chasers open fire as they come in range, target the nearest French ships.”

  “The nearest two-decker, sir?”

  “No, the nearest vessel of any size. We do not want that squadron nesting in Barcelona, Mr Patey.”

  It was convention that ships of the line fought each other and that any frigates in company might amuse themselves with others of their own rate. It was not normal for two-deckers to expend broadsides on passing lesser vessels. As a result, the French frigate had no hesitation in passing within three cables of Norge on her way to chance her arm with Perlen; Norge was already run out on both sides and consequently gave no warning of her broadside. At six hundred yards on a fairly calm sea, almost every ball hit home, smashing into the hull and lower masts and converting a very trim fighting ship into little more than a wreck. Perlen reached her ten minutes later and finished the process, not even bothering to take her surrender but passing on towards the corvettes, which had remained in company with the two liners.

  In theory, four corvettes could split into two pairs and work the frigate’s bows and stern before boarding. In practice, it was not so easy, for a well-handled frigate could be expected to land a broadside on one of a pair as it closed, and might even be able to spin around sufficiently rapidly to ram one of the smaller ships and very quickly reduce the odds. The admiral ordered his corvettes to fight and they left his shelter, all four together, presumably intending to rush down upon Perlen, bow to bow, and board. Captain Vereker was in no mood to cooperate and brought Perlen’s broadside to bear.

  Norge passed the scene, having turned her bows towards the two-deckers to assist Waldeman. Captain Warren fired a very precise broadside from abeam just as Captain Vereker fired his twenty-four pounders. Two of the corvettes were turned into mastless hulks, dead in the water and with small chance of remaining afloat. Of the other two, one fled for the eastern horizon, concerned only to disappear from the scene of the battle, while the second lowered her flag, being closer to the two-decker and certain to receive a broadside all to herself.

  According to Nellie’s signal, there were two brigs and a cutter unaccounted for – but all that could be seen of them was a triangle of sail well to the north. They had not stayed to argue their case.

  Waldeman descended upon the two seventy-fours, her chase guns firing left and right alternately and making early hits upon the stern of the Admiral. Norge followed her, veering from the direct line and chancing a first broadside at one thousand yards, scoring a number of hits. The Admiral called the tack, endeavouring to present his broadside to Waldeman, to cross the ‘T’, the correct and wholly predictable move in the circumstance. Waldeman followed him round at two cables, fired her first, double-shotted broadside and then settled to the hammering match.

  Waldeman was the heavier ship with the greater weight of broadside, and a crew that knew how to fight the guns. The Admiral had spent the greater part of the previous two years at anchor in a small port on the Mediterranean coast, with a crew growing steadily staler. Norge was closing the range on the second ship and Perlen was making more sail, with the evident intention of bringing a broadside of twenty or more heavy guns to bear, probably on the Admiral’s stern.

  The French flag came down and both ships offered their surrender. The Admiral was rowed across in his own barge and presented his sword to Sir Iain, making a polite but incomprehensible speech the while. A lieutenant stepped forward and gave a free translation.

  “The Admiral says, sir, that he surrenders the whole of his squadron to you. He begs that he may be taken prisoner and sent to England. He has no desire to be exchanged, he says, as the Emperor has a very poor attitude to those of his sailors who prefer not to go down fighting.”

  “The Admiral has all my sympathy, sir. I shall be very pleased to send him to an honourable captivity in England. If he will give his parole, then he may be given an almost complete degree of liberty. His officers will, naturally, receive the same consideration.”

  It was all very civilised, Sir Iain thought, the Admiral offering the services of his personal physician on hearing that Sir Frederick, whose name was known to him, lay wounded in his cabin. The ship’s doctor was very happy to share the responsibility with a true physician, a man who deserved the title of ‘doctor’ far more than he.

  “I am the merest of surgeons, sir. A true doctor must be a blessing.”

  They burned the frigate, considering her beyond any practical repair, and took the one corvette with them, the other two having already foundered. The two ships of the line, added to those already captured, would be quite sufficient to make a stir in the newspapers.

  “Course for Gibraltar, Mr Patey!”

  Book Eleven: The Duty

  and Destiny Series

  Chapter Six

  “And so, Admiral, we came away from Barcelona, with a substantial number of prizes, and with the convoy as well.”

  Admiral Ball listened uncomfortably to Sir Iain’s report, trying to find a tactful, sympathetic way to phrase his response.

  “Yes, indeed, Sir Iain, a remarkable achievement. You may, however, have noticed a certain, how shall we say… absence of shipping in Gibraltar’s harbour. The convoy is here, flying the Union Flag, as is only right, but the three of the line, and two frigates, are not.”

  “I had seen that, sir. I wondered if perhaps they had been sent away to a dockyard in England.”

  Sir Iain was cautious, aware that the atmosphere was a little less triumphant than he might have hoped for.

  “They have been sent away, certainly, Sir Iain, but no further than Algeciras, where they lie under repair. The Spanish authorities are grateful indeed that you recovered their ships from the French who had stolen them, and they have taken them back into their own care. It was thought better to give them the two French frigates as well, by way of a sweetener.”

  Sir Iain was thankful that Frederick was unable still to leave his cabin, was confined to a chair when he could leave his cot. Sir Frederick, he thought, would not have been a happy man and might have betrayed himself in his anger.

  “I see. That was very generous of you, sir. We have, in fact, taken only two ships of the line and corvette.”

  “Exactly so, Sir Iain. That is no small achievement, as
goes without saying, and, of course, you have a very rich set of prized merchantmen, all of which have been sent to the Prize Court, at the Governor’s order, that to include today’s captures. Having been condemned as fair prize, it is also the Governor’s command that they be convoyed to London, where they may be sold at far greater advantage to the prize fund.”

  Sir Iain was, to an extent, mollified. The prizes would probably bring in twice as much in London as they would in the very limited market in Gibraltar – and the cash would come more quickly to hand. But, in terms of glory – for the squadron to take just two ships of the line and a single corvette seemed not insignificant but no more than was to be expected, bearing in mind their own strength. Had they moored in Chatham with five ships of the line under their wing, and a pair of heavy frigates, then they would have made the Navy – and London - sit up and take notice.

  “The Admiralty is fully aware of all that the squadron has achieved, Sir Iain, and will ensure that government as well knows the extent of your achievements. But we must placate the Spanish Navy – they are touchy allies, at best.”

  “I have to break the news to Sir Frederick, sir. Another touchy ally, particularly when so sadly wounded.”

  “He will be better at home, Sir Iain. Admiral Collingwood believes the same, has been quite urgent, in fact, in his desire to see the squadron removed from his waters, though he would much like the ships themselves to be transferred to his command. The Governor - acting, that is - believes, however, that the squadron must remain in being, but elsewhere. As a result, Sir Iain, you are to sail for home as a matter of some immediacy, the whole squadron.”

  “We would wish to wood and water, sir, as goes without saying…”

  “That is already in hand, Sir Iain. Your report tells me that you suffered some quite severe losses. It does not seem logical to me to appoint new officers – and I have very few to hand in Gibraltar – but I do have the power, and the order of the Governor, to make such promotions as may seem necessary to you. Lieutenants’ commissions may be made immediately, and perhaps a master and commander to post and a lieutenant vice. You have named several of your people – and I see that one boy, Mr Sykes, performed remarkably and should be presented to the Governor to receive his commission directly from his hand. It is the Governor’s wish that he might inspect your squadron and make his pleasure obvious to your people; he will also be able to speak to Sir Frederick and assure him of the nation’s admiration and of his personal regard for him.”

  Sir Iain smiled his very best, said how delighted they must all be, his brain racing the while. Why should the governor, or the very senior functionary acting for the Duke of Kent, wish to express ‘personal’ regard? That smacked, stank in fact, of politics, and possibly of a Royal cover-up; he had no way of finding out what, who or how while in Gibraltar.

  “We might wish to consider, sir, the matter of the Spanish soldiers taken and released on shore at Barcelona. We could not see it as right to hold prisoner men who had been coerced to fight for France.”

  Admiral Ball beamed his agreement – how right Sir Frederick had been. Questions of exchange could not be raised, for the men in question were victims of misfortune rather than enemies. Equally, as went without saying, there could be no payment of head money, if the men had never been prisoners.

  Sir Iain matched the dishonest smile.

  “We happen to have a Spanish General and his staff aboard, sir. The Count of Banyuls – who had hoped to be made King of Catalonia at Bonaparte’s hands. He has sent an order to his army to turn their coats yet again and desert the French – but whether they will be able to do so is unknown to me. Might it be simplest to pass him across to Algeciras, sir? We would then be seen to be giving him passage, rather than holding him prisoner.”

  “The people in Algeciras are loyal to the original monarchy, Sir Iain. I do not know how they might deal with a Count who had wished to become a king.”

  “Surely, sir, that is an internal matter for the Spanish to deal with at their own discretion.”

  “It is indeed! How wise you are, Sir Iain! Send him ashore and I shall put him into a boat immediately – with all honours, of course!”

  “And a gold-plated garrotte to await him, no doubt, sir – as befits a would-be king!”

  “Tut! Not our concern at all, Sir Iain. Will you take a glass, sir?”

  They drank to the Count of Banyuls, though not to his health.

  “What of our French Admiral, sir? He does not wish ever to be exchanged, telling me that Bonaparte believes that admirals must go down with their ships, and that the act of survival in itself convicts one as a traitor."

  “Take him to London, if you would be so good, Sir Iain. Perhaps he would most conveniently be sent as a passenger on one of the prizes, a merchantman, of course.”

  The Governor was not present on the Rock, as was normal, but the acting-governor exercised all of his powers, including that of smiling kindly to his inferiors. He came down to the ships and dispensed second-hand Royal patronage with an even hand and with every appearance of willingness.

  He took Frederick’s hand, wished him a speedy and full recovery and congratulated him particularly on preventing Barcelona from becoming a thorn in the Navy’s side, a nest of rapacious small ships that might have seriously interfered with the ration convoys to the Mediterranean Fleet. He smiled at Captain Warren and admired the gunnery that had achieved so much, played so major a role in the squadron’s victories. He spoke to Captain Vereker, and asked after his father, who owned two seats in the House of Commons, and the family as a whole. He shook Mr Perlman by the hand, in public, an act of notable condescension to a Jew, and personally gave him his commission as Master and Commander and appointment to Nid Elven, vice Captain Freeman who he announced to be made post into Iris. He spoke to Mr Sykes, congratulated him on his most remarkable achievements so young, and foresaw a sparkling career for him, commencing as lieutenant in Iris. He then suggested that the mainbrace be spliced – he thought that was the correct term, he merrily laughed – and that the whole squadron should celebrate its remarkable achievements, officers and men alike, and then returned to Waldeman to speak a last time to Sir Iain.

  “The matter of a slaving ship has come to our attention, Sir Iain. You may be sure that the ship itself has been bought into the navy and is now in commission as a sloop, after some substantial rebuilding has been completed. Her captain has been discovered to be a notable villain who had escaped the gallows for far too long, an omission that has been rectified. I am sure that Sir Frederick will not find the need to make public reference to the matter.”

  Sir Iain bowed his understanding. All was now clear. A certain Royal Personage had been dipping his fingers in the slavery trade, and was now clearing himself of all contamination with a brother’s enthusiastic connivance.

  “I am sure, Your Excellency, that no person of taste or simple courtesy would wish to make any comment on so disgusting a business.”

  “Well said, sir!”

  The gentleman returned to the deck, where he noticed Mr Cheek waiting to perform the series of salutes and formalities that would accompany him ashore.

  “Sir Iain, is that gentleman the renowned follower of Sir Frederick who achieved fame by cutting off his own wounded hand?”

  “Mr Cheek, the boatswain. That is him, Your Excellency – a man for whom I have respect and no little awe. He is as well one of the finest seamen I have ever met – a most remarkable man!”

  His Excellency was pleased to greet Mr Cheek and to tell him that his exploit was known to Royalty.

  “They say ‘ships of oak and men of iron’, Mr Cheek. Meeting you, sir, I am reminded of the truth of that adage.”

  The men, listening, murmured their approval and were instantly convinced that the King and his sons were fine gentlemen, much maligned by the ill-conditioned. Sir Iain was more than half-persuaded of the case as well.

  They sailed on the following tide, escorting their own
prizes, as was convenient and would look most impressive when they took them as far as the Pool of London before docking at Chatham.

  Frederick left Waldeman at the Pool, conveyed by his barge as close as was possible to Mount Street and then taken by carriage the remaining few furlongs. Sir Iain accompanied Frederick to Mount Street and then reported to the Admiralty, carrying his own despatches. He spoke to Kavanagh and Bosomtwi before he left.

  “You must take word to Lord Alton first and then to Lord Turner; follow that by visiting Mr Critchel and Mr Russell. I shall write an Express to my own home and I suspect Sir Frederick will make the arrangements to notify Abbey. I cannot think of others who must be informed immediately, can you?”

  “A doctor, sir?”

  “Lord Turner will supply such a one, Kavanagh – he will know the best, which I do not.”

  Kavanagh agreed, and set out to see Lord Turner first, and Lord Alton after.

  Frederick was weak still, naturally so, but wholly in possession of his mental faculties, and irritated to be an invalid. He much wanted to travel into Dorset, but had the sense to realise that he must not spend two, possibly three, days being bumped about in a post-chaise, the last part of the journey on very poor roads.

  “Mr Aggers?”

  He was present, waiting to be called, to be told what his fate must be.

  “You will continue in my service, I trust, Mr Aggers?”

  “With pleasure, sir.”

  “Excellent! You will remain on half-pay, naturally, and will also be salaried as my personal assistant. What an entourage I have now! Captain’s Clerk, coxswain, servant, second servant and now my man of affairs! I suspect Bosomtwi will demand a valet as well, and no doubt a groom. I do hope that the prize money will be substantial!”

  Aggers laughed dutifully, waiting for his orders.

  “You must journey to Abbey, Mr Aggers, to beg my lady to attend me in London. Was I to send a letter describing my wound, then she might be convinced that I was at death’s door. Your presence must reassure her, or so I hope. Take the Mail to Poole and a post-chaise thence to Abbey and act as major-domo for the return journey, if you would be so good, Mr Aggers. Sir Iain’s lady is with child, I know, and will probably not wish to undertake the journey. I would expect him to be free to travel in a few days. You will require money for the journey. Bosomtwi!”