Quarterdeck

by David O'Neil

  ***

  Rear-Admiral Porter was a small sandy-haired man who seemed to be always busy, but he was pleased to see Martin when he reported his arrival in Lisbon. Seated at his desk, he still exuded the energy and bustle that was his trademark.

  “So, Captain. I have heard good things about you. What brings you to this backwater of the world?” The voice had the distinct flavour of the Northumbrian area, the smile friendly.

  “I am on passage from Brazil with part of the Portuguese gold shipment. I am under orders from the Portuguese Ambassador in London to deliver the shipment there in the current situation.”

  Porter stroked his chin, thinking. Then, making up his mind. he grinned and said, “Just between us, say nothing about your cargo. I will give you my latest dispatches for London and they will include my instruction to continue your voyage. There are still several French sympathisers here and the gold would be a prize worth having.”

  He signalled Martin to sit and called, “Stewart, here man. Bring th…..” He stopped when Stewart, his servant, appeared with a tray of drinks and an included plate of substantial bread and meats.

  He placed the tray and food on the desk and said, “Will there be anything else, sir?” The polite words had a hint of a smile about them which caused Martin to conceal his own amusement at the mixed feelings on the face of the Admiral.

  “That will do nicely, Stewart I am not to be disturbed until I ring!”

  “Very good, sir.” He inclined his head and silently departed.

  “One day I’ll catch him out.” The Admiral muttered quietly.

  Martin said nothing and helped himself to the bread and meat, while the Admiral wrote a personal note to accompany the satchel of dispatches lying beside his desk.

  When he completed the letter he sanded it and, satisfied that the ink was dry, he folded it and sealed it with his personal seal. He placed it in the dispatch satchel and closed and sealed it. “Always have a dispatch bag ready in case of a homeward ship calling,” he explained. “It pays and saves lengthy delays, missed tides and weather on occasion.” He poured himself and his guest a second glass of the local wine. “This is a compensation for the turgid social life of this place at present. Families sent all their good-looking daughters away so that the French could not defile them. We are left with the starchy older generation, and Fado recitals, for entertainment. The wine and this brandy,” he lifted his glass and took an appreciative sip. “Was a gift from friends with an estate, north of here. The brandy is exclusively retained for the people of the estate; made, I am told, from the dregs of the pressing. However produced, it rewards the drinking.” He tossed the remainder in his glass back and returned to business.

  Tossing the satchel of documents onto the desk he said, “If you are in London when I eventually return, I’ll buy you a proper dinner, but time is important now. Stewart has placed some of the brandy in your carriage by now, I wager.” Holding out his hand, he shook Martin’s and sent him on his way.

  As he had mentioned there was a case of the brandy in the carriage to accompany his journey home.

  ***

  HMS Vixen rejoined Sao Paulo off Portugal. Antonio and Maria joined Martin while the two ships ran together northward for the Channel and their destination.

  Martin explained to Antonio about the situation in Lisbon, and the recommendation of the Admiral. “I believe that with the Royal family in Brazil, he did not trust the authorities to deal with the gold as it should be. So I was sent onward with dispatch,” he said with a grin, lifting the bag of documents he had been entrusted with.”

  Maria elected to remain with Martin until they entered the channel, a decision thoroughly approved by the officers and men of the Vixen, where she was now regarded as a favoured member of the crew.

  The progress of the two ships was interrupted once more when they encountered the blockade fleet off Brest, where they collected more dispatches.

  Vixen lost her young passenger for the final dash to England. They sailed into the port of London to report their successful retrieval of the gold.

  The Ambassador was delighted to see them with the gold shipment. His instruction to Antonio was to continue his co-operation with the Royal Navy, certainly whilst Portugal was under threat from the French.

  Martin’s appointment at the Admiralty was almost an anti-climax after the journey back with a huge value of gold.

  His adoptive father was pleased to see him. Admiral Bowers was showing his age, Martin thought, but Charles sounded his usual robust self.

  As he stood to greet Martin, he was not as erect as before. His shoulders were not as square. His back not quite so straight. But his eyes were alive and as bright as ever.

  “Sit down, my boy. We have matters to discuss.” He called out.“Cameron, bring coffee for three.” He turned to Martin, “We are being joined by your friend Sir Anthony Watts.”

  He sat down and said “You will be crossing the Atlantic on your next assignment. If it is acceptable, you will be in company with Commodore Ramos and his ship, though you will be in command of the expedition. Sir Anthony will explain the background to the task. Because of the distances and the presence of known elements of the French fleet you will have extra crew and officers, and there will be five ships in the flotilla, two sloops and a schooner, in addition to the two frigates.”

  “Who commands?” Martin asked.

  “You will. You will raise your flag as Commodore for the cruise. Commodore Ramos has indicated that his place in co-operation with the Royal Navy is as Captain of his ship. There is no place for him as Commodore as there are no other Portuguese ships for him to control. He has no objection to sailing under your command. By the way I am commanded to inform you that both of you are to attend a reception hosted by Jane and the Comtesse de Chartres, They are introducing Maria Diaz to society. Jennifer is involved and I believe, has already informed you of a social event arranged for tonight.”

  “Well, I was not told of the reason, merely of the occasion. I will make a point of finding something suitable as a gift. After all, I am her adoptive uncle.”

  ***

  When the party assembled, the centre of attention was produced, arrayed in an ice-blue gown setting off her dark-haired beauty, her bare shoulders pale against the glow of her cheek and the colour of her eyes.

  Her neck was bare of ornament, until Antonio stepped forward, and with a smile said, “May I?” He produced from his pocket a necklace that glittered and flashed in the lights of the room. “The occasion deserves a fitting gift. He stepped behind Maria and clipped the necklace in place, a row of diamonds and sapphires around her neck with the pendant star of a diamond surrounded by small sapphires.

  Then, in his turn, Martin produced a bracelet of filigree silver, set with diamonds and sapphires. “For our adopted niece, Maria! Welcome to the family.”

  Jennifer cried, “Perfect!” She swung round to Martin. “You dear, thoughtful man.” And hugged him.

  Martin reddened uncomfortable in the glow of approval his gesture had produced.

  Maria having surveyed herself in the large mirror on the wall rushed over and hugged the two men. The little girl suddenly became the adult once more. In a serious warm voice she said quietly, “My parents would be happy to know how my adopted father and uncle have cared for their daughter.”

  The party attended the ball, greeting the guests as they arrived. The great and the famous of society were entertained at one of the events of the season.

  As Martin remarked to Antonio during the evening, observing the antics of some of the guests, “Despite the apparent wealth of these people, they arrive at these events prepared to eat and drink in a manner that suggests starvation for a week at least.”

  “My bo’sun would take delight in knocking some of the young men into shape,” Antonio said drily.

  Martin grinned, “And some of the women too, I suggest!” He indicated a lady whose bosom was overflowing her bodice, and in danger at each step
of the dance she was engaged in.

  Antonio took one look and had to turn away to cover the irrepressible laugh it produced with a coughing fit.

  Jennifer noted the presence of Acting Lieutenant Neil Harmon in the presence of Maria who was surrounded by a group of young people, including two ensigns in scarlet uniform.

  Alouette commented, “I notice that Maria has her protector close.”

  Jane and Jennifer both looked over at the group of young people. Jennifer smiled, “Why, so she has.” Jane said, “He appears to be sidelined by the others.” She frowned.

  Alouette said, “Oh, no. See how Maria looks at him every now and then. Making sure he is still with her. He also is aware. Aha!” As she spoke Neil lifted his arm, and suddenly Maria was at his side and they were strolling quietly through the open doors to the garden.

  Jane looked at the other two ladies. “How did you know?”

  “There is no real mystery. Maria has been anxious about the guests for the ball ever since arrangements were begun. Mr. Harmon’s name was mentioned on several occasions. When he appeared at the reception Maria became suddenly quiet.” Jennifer shrugged. “That confirmed what we had surmised. Mr. Harmon’s demeanour was the final factor. It indicated that if no formal arrangement had been made, there soon will be.”

  Jane said, “But surely she is only fifteen.......” She stopped.

  Jennifer giggled, and Jane smiled, remembering.

  Chapter eleven

  Atlantic Squadron

  The SPRAY BLEW back across the deck as the wind lifted from just abaft the port beam, Martin tasted the salt on his lips as he paced the quarter-deck of the frigate. Placed, as tradition dictated, astern of the mainmast, the mizzen or after-mast rose from the centre of deck. The raised poop deck at the after-end extended to the aft rail. The steering was on the quarter-deck and the view forward, allowing the officer on watch to see the length of the main deck.

  The sun appeared and disappeared as the clouds scudded across the sky. There were large areas of blue to be seen and the sailing master, Jared Watson, observed to the doctor who had joined him on deck, “The weather is set fair. This south-westerly wind is mild as you can see. These conditions normally mean dry rather than wet weather.”

  “Now tell me, Mr. Watson. Why are you so sure?” Doctor Mills was no fool!

  “The birds, Doctor, and the smell of the wind, plus instinct. It’s a great thing, instinct.”

  He strolled forward to call out to the bo’sun.

  The doctor scratched his head still not really convinced.

  Martin glanced at him. “Not everything can be reduced to scientific formula, Doctor. It is quite well established that, when the weather changes, the feel of the breeze can signal the change. My own instinct is that the master is correct. For the next few days we should have little in the way of bad weather.” He smiled. “How are you settling in at sea?”

  Roger Mills, the doctor, looked surprised at this question, having been with the ship for several months now he was thinking himself part of the crew. “I am well suited sir, and happily pleased to be away from Haslar hospital, and the dubious attractions of Portsmouth.”

  His departure from Portsmouth, and his position as surgeon at Haslar Hospital, had been precipitous. As a result of over-indulgence, he had gambling debts exceeding his income to a degree that meant penury and disgrace. His arrival on board had been in the nature of a pier-head jump, one step ahead of the men sent to enforce payment, one way or another. The first voyage had produced enough in prize money to clear his debts. He had remained with the ship because he found that here he was among friends, and he was accepted without question for what he was, as a doctor. He was called upon to treat everything from boils to pox, though most of all, battle wounds. Oddly, working flat-out to a chorus of gunfire was not as frightening as he at first feared. He had found that whilst thus involved he could ignore the sounds about him and concentrate on the task before him.

  Martin looked keenly at the man beside him. “I’m well pleased with your appointment to this ship. You have done well since you joined us.”

  He nodded and strolled off along the deck.

  As Doctor Mills went below to finish sorting the stores they had brought, he thought that the opinion held by the crew about their young captain was quite understandable. His concern for the people in his ship was genuine, a rare quality in the Navy of the day. Word of early trials endured by Martin Forest as a boy had come to him from various sources. On reflection, it was not so surprising that, as he had made his way in the world, he had not forgotten how hard life could be.

  On deck Martin viewed the other ships of his command. To port, the schooner HMS Hera commanded by Lieutenant John Harris, was leading the way two miles off, followed by HMS Spartan, one of the Sloops-of-war. Her commander was Colin Marlow, the most experienced of the Lieutenants in command.

  Away almost on the horizon was the Sao Paulo, accompanied by HMS Lively, the sloop commanded by Lieutenant Keats promoted out of the cutter used in the cutting out operation at Rochefort.

  The rank of Commodore sat lightly on Martin’s shoulders. He was well aware of the temporary nature of the title, and thus hardly thought of himself as other than the senior Captain in command of the small squadron.

  The task before them was not likely to be an easy one. Sir Anthony, the enigmatic Mr. Smith, had explained that there was real concern over the growing strength of the American Navy. The emergence of increasing numbers of armed, so-called trading ships under the American flag had coincided with the disappearance of several merchantmen on passage to and from the West Indies. The launch of the first of the new frigates, according to Sir Anthony’s spies, was accomplished with little publicity, and apparently the matter could be of concern to British warships. The design of the new frigates included hull structure akin to a seventy four, with increased length permitting a broadside of 22 heavy guns, eighteen or twenty-four pounders, at a guess. The lofty attitude of the politicians of the day by creating the arbitrary trading embargo on goods consigned to France had caused increased friction with American ships. In addition there was conflict over the stop and search operations conducted by British ships. More and more cases of seizure of so-called deserters found in crews of American ships had raised the level of tension in diplomatic relations between the two nations.

  To Martin’s amusement, Sir Anthony, having carefully explained the situation, then proceeded to instruct Martin to ignore these matters and avoid contact if possible with the Americans. “Your task is to seek, and intercept—if possible—a group of ships currently in the north-Caribbean area inciting revolt among the slaves, and pirating ships wherever they are found. The Jamaica squadron is reduced by losses of men to fever, and day to day operations. With the demands of the blockades in European waters there are few reinforcements available, so their resources are stretched to the limit.

  “Following the Louisiana Purchase by America from France in 1803, the ships are believed to be part of the renegade forces of mixed French and Americans who are seeking to acquire the Bahamas as a base for control of the northern Caribbean. As far as we know this is not sanctioned by the Washington Government. However we cannot really be sure.”

  Martin listened to the explanation with interest and when Sir Anthony stopped he commented, “So, what you are sending me to do, is to stop the raiding, protect the Bahamas, and avoid conflict with the American government. Have I got it right?”

  Sir Anthony looked at Martin sharply, seeking the slightest hint of sarcasm. Noting none, he nodded. “That would be about right.” His dry humourless voice invited no further comment.

  Now, here on deck, Martin saw the humour of the occasion. His burst of laughter surprised the crew men nearby. Without comment, Martin resumed his interrupted walk with measured strides.

  ***

  The cross-ocean voyage continued without sighting anything more threatening than the seabirds trailing the ships.

  On the
eighth day HMS Hera signalled ‘Enemy in sight’ followed by a number 3. Martin interpreted it as three ships, and signalled the rest of his ships to close up.

  Hera reported she had sighted three ships, one square-rigged, the other two, schooners. The description given by Sir Anthony was not specific enough to specify the type of ships used by the renegades, but, since there were no friendly ships reported to be in the area, it was reasonable to suspect any ship that came into view.

  Martin was waiting for his captains to join him, when a hail from the schooner Hera’s masthead lookout drew the attention of all the people within hearing distance.

  “Man in the water!”

  The Hera spun round with a display of agility that no square-rigged ship could match. She flew away downwind in the direction indicated by her lookout.

  The three strange ships were now over the horizon beyond sight of the British ships. Martin was concerned for the Hera, though her course took her to the south of the direction the strangers were taking.

  The sight of the man in the water was a tribute to the sharp eye of the lookout and the bright red shirt worn by the man in the water.

  He had been clinging to a spar which still had canvas wrapped partially around it. When the Hera returned with the man, it was evident he had been in the water for some time. His wrinkled skin testified to that, but the fire in his eyes told Martin why he had survived since the attack on his ship nearly 24 hours earlier.

  Unusually for a sailor, he could swim. He had come across the piece of wreckage when he was ready to give up.

  He was relieved when he saw the schooner drop a boat, realising that it was not one of the pirates who had sunk his ship. They had been taking shots at the other survivors in the water, laughing at each hit they made.

  Jacob Carling had swum under water as far as he could before coming up for air. Though the odd shot came his way, the marksmen concentrated on the easier targets near the ship.