Far Foreign (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 9)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Then Bishop to be animal keeper with Jemmy Ducks; explain his duty to him and then send him along to his new place.”

  The boatswain knuckled his forehead and took the two away, expounding quite loudly to the two men just how fortunate they were. He had expected them to be given five dozen then and there to learn them their manners and he thought they were lucky indeed, so he said. Frederick turned back to his malefactors.

  “Larkin and Lee, you are remanded to court-martial on charge of desertion. I am told that the cells ashore are all full at the moment and so you will be held in irons aboard ship the while.”

  Endymion had sailed with the squadron and the convoy two days later, the pair still in irons belowdecks, apparently forgotten about.

  Wickham discovered their presence when the ship was cleared for dawn after the first night at sea. He had the pair brought before Frederick, apologising for his oversight in forgetting them, as he had been ordered to do.

  “Well now! Here’s a to-do! How are these to be dealt with?" Frederick made a great show of dumbfoundedness, over-acting terribly. "I cannot turn the ship round and take them back to Pompey!”

  The hands standing to the guns all cocked an ear and the men on the mizzenmast listened openly. The old sailors among them had their suspicions, they could not imagine how the pair had been overlooked and they did not believe the captain's display; they were always willing to be entertained though.

  “I should give them five hundred apiece, Mr Wickham! I am appalled, horrified that they have escaped their due fate! No captain has the legal power to give such a punishment, however, or be sure that I would. We shall call at the Rock, but will not remain long enough for a court-martial. I much fear that these gentlemen are to avoid the noose they so much deserved!”

  Frederick took an angry turn around the quarterdeck, making a great play of deep thought.

  “It is of no use to repine, Mr Wickham. They cannot go to trial and that is that! Put them to cleaning the heads for the next two weeks, sir, and let that be an end to the matter. Spotless, they are to be, and inspected to be very sure of the fact.”

  Mr Wickham stated that he would personally ensure the job was properly done and ordered the men away. Frederick gave instructions for the day’s routine to commence and retired to his cabin and the breakfast Bosomtwi had prepared for him.

  “Will they think that the two have got away with their crime, Bosomtwi?”

  “Mostly they goin’ to think they bloody lucky, sir. One or two of the old hands knows of you, sir, and they goin’ to tell the others how it is you don’ like hanging men. They goin’ to say that it won’ happen twice, isn’t it, sir, because you will if you got to.”

  There had not been any signs that discipline had suffered. Most of the men preferred the situation as it was, as they generally did not like hangings either.

  They reached Cape Town and said their goodbyes to the East Indiamen. There were pirates in the Indian Ocean but none to be found who would chance their arms with a dozen of wide-awake Indiamen, all of which possessed at least a score of guns and knew how to handle them.

  Frederick reported to the Admiral and found him to be quite unaware of his orders and believing at first sight that he had an unexpected reinforcement to his own flotilla. He was not best pleased to discover that he was incorrect in his supposition.

  “Pirates? Madagascar? The Red Sea? Protection of the pilgrim trade? The bloody East India Company again, forcing themselves on the attention of their betters, as so often! No more than a Goddamned nuisance! I have sent word to London and Bombay both, telling them so!”

  Frederick raised an eyebrow and said nothing. He might not choose to abuse John Company, but what the Admiral did was his own affair.

  “You are to be given troops from the establishment here! What next?”

  Frederick did not know – he had taken orders from the current First Lord, Viscount Howick.

  “Howick? Who’s he? Never heard of him! What’s happened to Barham?”

  Frederick suggested that the Prime Minister of the day had noticed him to be very nearly dead. Howick, he said, had been previously known as Grey, had come into the courtesy title on his father attaining the earldom.

  “Grey? The fellow who was chasing after the Duchess?”

  “Catching her as well, it would seem, sir.”

  “Was he now! Of course, you would know for being one of these persons who is well-in with the politicians in Town, is that not so, Sir Frederick?”

  “I am related to Lord Alton and have some knowledge of his circle as a result, sir.”

  The Admiral made his opinion of politicians, and of naval officers who were their clients, abundantly clear.

  "What the Hell is this?"

  Frederick did not know. He had handed the Admiral his own orders, clear and straightforward, he thought, and a sealed enclosure for the Admiral's eyes only. It was normal to carry despatches from the Admiralty to the commanders on foreign stations and he had given the packet no thought - in any case, he could not have opened it.

  He raised an eyebrow, shook his head silently.

  "Unbeknownst to you, you say, sir?"

  "The orders were given into my hand by Admiral Fenton in Portsmouth, sir. He made no reference to them, sir. I had assumed them to be ordinary communications from the Admiralty."

  "They instruct me to release one of my frigates to your squadron, sir. A permanent addition to your strength, I would add."

  There were too few frigates; every commodore and admiral wanted more; none would wish to lose one.

  "I see, sir. I cannot dissemble, sir, must obviously be pleased to gain another ship. My orders are to return to the Cape to await further instructions from the Admiralty on completion of this first sweep against the pirates. I do not know what that will result in, of course, sir."

  It was possible, likely almost, that the next set of orders would attach his squadron to the forces at the Cape, especially if there was to be an expedition which the Admiralty must be at least unofficially aware of.

  "No more do I know, Sir Frederick. I must give you one of my three frigates, and I have no choice in the matter, two of them being at sea at the moment. You may have Mercure. She is old and will fit in with your squadron most admirably. A 28, captured at the beginning of the wars in the year Ninety-two. Nine-pounders, of course, all that these little old jackass frigates can carry. I understand that the captain has managed to lay his hand on carronades, and find ports to place them, though quite how I have never enquired. I had been intending to make my inspection of her these last six months, but you know how it is, sir..."

  Frederick knew exactly how it was - the Admiral was idle.

  "What of her captain, sir?"

  "A Mr Windsor, Sir Frederick. Young and promoted rather quickly, in my opinion. The name explains why."

  Windsor suggested a Royal bastard, probably a son of Prince William Henry, he being a naval man and the most likely candidate. The Duke of York had produced at least one recognised bastard, and might have more, and Kent and Cambridge had both kept mistresses in sufficiency, though neither had seemed inclined to acknowledge their offspring. There were possibilities in profusion, and all of them a nuisance to working sailors. It was a hopeful sign that the gentleman, even if promoted young, had only a minor ship in Mercure; he could not have a vast degree of influence. It gave another reason why the Admiral had made no inspection of her; he would not wish to find fault there.

  “Well, no choice in the matter, is there? For either of us, Sir Frederick. I must take you along to the governor, and that is a long haul from the harbour here to his offices in Cape Town. Damned nuisance, sir; nearly three hours in the carriage!”

  Frederick took in the Admiral’s high colour and the number of bottles on the sideboard and privately thought that the problem was more of three hours without a drink. He said nothing.

  “The water here is good, at least, Sir Frederick. You will require stores, obviously. Yo
ur pursers and Master must talk to my people. You won’t find much in the markets, but your men can try. The Governor is part of some scheme that I know little enough of, by the way – something to do with South America. I have no orders and will not myself be indulging in unlicensed excursions, sir. I may well be forced to allow some or all of my people to take part in his nonsense, for lack of power to stop him. The subordination is very clear – the Governor has the authority to issue commands to me; I can protest, and he will listen, and then give his orders to my rear-admiral and captains!”

  Not a very satisfactory state of affairs; it smacked of the politicians, and of a ruthless example of the nastier members of the breed. Frederick had his orders directly from the hands of the First Lord; he could not be touched by any Governor.

  The road to the Governor’s office was dusty and dry, as was Frederick’s reception. The Governor was a Whig, dedicated and in expectation of reward from his masters in the Party; he had no wish to discover a Tory in his ships. He had even less wish to assist in a set of orders that sent those ships a thousand miles further away from South America. He had no choice, he discovered; the instructions from London were explicit.

  “You may have your battalion of infantry, Sir Frederick, the best I can afford to lose from this station. You will be aware that the Dutch are still inclined to be resentful and the various tribes of natives are restive. There are a dozen different sorts, it seems, and most of them at each other’s throats as much as at ours. The damned Dutch just call them Kaffirs, and treat them all the same, enslaving them wherever possible. There is the chance of a war any day; every day, one might say. But you shall have your battalion, you must! I shall as well send one of my staff with you, to give advice on the soldiers’ deployment and general use. I cannot give him plenipotentiary powers, as such, but he will know my mind, sir!”

  “There can be but one commander at sea, sir. That, on my ships and in my squadron, is me, sir!”

  “Of course! Of course! The decision in any circumstance must be yours, Sir Frederick. I do but say that I would wish you to hear him. What is your intent, Sir Frederick?”

  “Initially, sir, to run a sweep along the eastern coast of Madagascar, and then to look in on the Mauritius before making to the Red Sea at the time of the pilgrim trade. When the great hurricane season is upon us then I shall seek shelter, either in one of the Company’s ports in the Red Sea or off Bombay. My seventy-fours are old and the others are small – I wish them to experience no great tropical storm, sir.”

  “I would most earnestly advise you not to land on the Mauritius, Sir Frederick. There is a garrison of ten thousand, at the least computation, and an unknown number of ships. There are shore batteries as well.”

  “You make a convincing argument, sir. I shall not attempt invasion with a single battalion, I assure you, sir, and I shall be very careful before considering any cutting-out or other raid there. The Red Sea must be entered, however – I am absolutely instructed to protect the pilgrim ships, though why there is such urgency this year, I know not.”

  The Governor nodded wisely – he knew the answer.

  “Word has come to me of a great resurgence in the slave trade out of Africa and into the Arabian Peninsula, Sir Frederick, and slavers turn pirate at the drop of a hat! Never mind that they are themselves Muslim, they will prey upon the pilgrim ships without the least compunction.”

  The reasons for his orders were now clear.

  “Then they must be destroyed, sir. I have no love for slavers; indeed, I believe the Trade will be banned within a year or two. There are bills presented in the House of Commons every session and the word is that the numbers in support are growing fast. Certainly before the Year Ten, sir, possibly well before, the Trade will be forbidden to all British ports, and ships of any nation entering or voyaging towards them with slaves will be taken. The Portuguese may be excepted if travelling to Brazil, but none other is the word I was given in London.”

  “But, Sir Frederick, one can hardly ban the Americans, for example, from carrying slaves if they so wish.”

  “The Americans have chosen not to build a great navy, sir. Such being the case, they will do as they are told at sea!”

  The Governor made his sympathies clear by his dismay at the prospect of the Trade ending; many Whig businessmen had shares in slavers and presumably he was one.

  The battalion appeared at the naval harbour three days later, marching in smartly enough, and very quickly.

  “Ten companies, sir. That is a whole battalion, for what it is worth!”

  “Three hundred men, Mr Wickham?”

  “Barely, sir. The fevers, I should imagine.”

  “We cannot complain. It would do no good. Beg their commanding officer to come aboard and I shall discuss the arrangements with him.”

  Two companies of the Second Battalion of the 48th Northamptonshires went to Fair Isle frigate and four apiece to the liners, their officers with them. The most senior was a captain; the colonel and both majors had taken the yellow fever when it came. The member of the Governor’s staff was a major of the 16th Buckinghamshires, on detachment as he had been for many years. The lower the number, the more prestigious the unit, and his seniority of rank and regiment could well become a nuisance.

  There was nothing to be done about the situation. They sailed.

  "Captain on deck!"

  Broadsides, distant in the night, still an hour before first light.

  "Steer towards, Mr Mason! Make more sail! All hands! Clear!"

  The master called for the tack, pointed Endymion's head towards the ten miles distant coast of Madagascar.

  There was a set of flashes and the rumble of the guns nearly half a minute later.

  "Better part of six miles off, sir. Nine-pounders, perhaps?"

  That made it the sloop, Mr Dench's Asp, under attack while on her inshore patrol line.

  "Send the look-outs up."

  There was little chance of a useful sighting, but it must be tried.

  The men ran, disappearing upwards into the night.

  Another broadside and the foremast shouted.

  "On deck! Ship, sir, and lateens down low. Dhows, sir, a dozen or more, closing on her."

  A minute or so and the cannon fire became ragged, individual guns rather than broadsides. The dhows were so close that the crews were picking their own targets.

  Asp carried six of twenty-four pound carronades - Mr Dench had money of his own and had sweetened the yard, no doubt. Carefully aimed, and he had trained his gunners, Frederick knew, a single round could finish a dhow, nearly two hundreds of grape shot destroying her boarders. Each dhow would be crewed by a hundred or more men, mostly carrying spears and swords and desperately poor, uncaring if they died, willing to take every risk to enrich themselves with as much as ten guineas.

  "Mast-head! What course is Asp holding?"

  There was a delay while the look-out waited on sufficient light from the cannon-flashes.

  "Opposite tack, sir. Closing."

  "Cast the log, Mr Mason."

  "Eight knots, sir, and a bit."

  Forty-five minutes, more or less, for Endymion to make the distance, less whatever speed Asp was able to make.

  "On deck! Rockets, sir, two red, from Asp."

  The call for aid, but they were doing all they could - there was nothing else to offer.

  "Roundshot to the thirty-two pounders. Grape to the carronades!"

  Asp continued to fire her cannon; both sides now, she was surrounded.

  "On deck! Firing swivels from the tops, sir!"

  One at least of the dhows had closed within pistol-shot, was about to board.

  "Thirty minutes to close Asp, sir!"

  The master put down his night-glass; it gave very little aid except under the brightest of moons.

  "I suspect they will be dead by then, Mr Mason. They do not give quarter, except to the unfortunate who they will kill slowly for their entertainment. Night signal to the squadron
to form up on the flag."

  The lanterns were raised to the mastheads, two red and one white to each. The others would all be watching, alert for action, would respond immediately. The pair of frigates would be especially anxious, knowing they were faster than the two-deckers, but they were also furthest distant from the shore, would neither be able to make the distance inside an hour.

  "Kavanagh! In the longboat and all speed to Winchester, 74. Sir Iain is to close the harbour, Sambava. He is to cut off the dhows if possible. If not then he is to bombard, targeting forts, palaces, warehouses, shipping - anything and everything of value. If a white flag is shown he will demand immediate release of all captives on pain of burning the whole town within one hour."

  Kavanagh ran, shouting to his barge crew and sliding down the rope into the towing boat.

  "Beg pardon, sir!"

  "Yes, Major?"

  Frederick spun round on the unwelcome soldier, wished on him by the people in Cape Town.

  "The Governor's orders specifically forbid a landing or military action against the Madagascans themselves, sir. Only pirates may be attacked, sir."

  "Quite right, Major Ponsonby-Willett, and you are perfectly correct to remind me of those orders. That said, you may shove them up your arse, sir! None of my people will, if they happen to be alive, remain in the hands of barbarian savages. The probability is that they will be killed out of hand as an act of defiance - and that will be far better for them than to remain in the captivity they would otherwise suffer!"

  "I must make a written note of your words, sir, and I will quote them at court-martial."

  "I am sure you will perform your duty, Major. Now get off my quarterdeck and out of my sight!"

  "On deck! Fire, sir!"

  The action was in sight though far out of range. Frederick could see flames rising and spreading.

  "Not again! Not another ship lost that way!"

  The action continued and it became probable that the fire, close to sea level, was on one of the dhows - perhaps it had come so close that the plume of a firing cannon had set her sails alight.