Frederick decided that he was too naïve for matters of statecraft; he must be content to be a simple sailor who obeyed his orders.
“What of Mars-Al-Brega, sir?”
It would have been easier if he had known the intelligencer’s name, as well, but he was one who was determined to maintain his mystery.
“A small-scale chart of the coast for some forty miles, Sir Frederick, and a larger chart, plan rather, of the harbour and town. I must imagine that the Spanish have had some intention of landing there and have put together their information on the bay.”
There was an old harbour, small but deep-water with the remains of a mole curving out on the east. Beyond it, on the western shore, was a long wharf, apparently stone-built – there was so little timber on the African coast that it logically must be so.
Behind the wharf there were buildings, some of them large warehouses, others seemingly barracks.
“Galley slaves, Sir Frederick, as well as the military. Logic keeps the two in close proximity.”
It made sense.
“A full battalion, I would say, sir.”
“Space for them, but not necessarily all used, Sir Frederick. We do not know. We can see smaller barracks at the fortalices on the headlands, again, possibly full. The local ruler will hardly have disciplined soldiers, as such, but the crews of his corsairs might be mercenaries, to some extent, needing barracks when not at sea.”
There were roads drawn in from the headlands down to the town, a mile or so, and to the shore, possibly for the convenience of fishermen selling their catch to the garrisons.
“The chart marks guns in the batteries, I see. What date would this have been true for?”
“It is Spain, Sir Frederick – yesterday or last century, either is equally likely. In any case, there is no guarantee that the informant could count. We must not rely on the charts to be accurate in detail, sir.”
“I stand rebuked, sir! I shall have the master make copies of these, with your permission, and distribute them to the squadron. It becomes simple to write orders based upon them. I must offer my thanks, sir, and assure you that my report to the Admiralty will make my gratitude to you very clear.”
“I would prefer that you did not, Sir Frederick. There is rarely a need to mention our existence. ‘The assistance offered by Admiral Cotton’s office’ will be amply sufficient, sir.”
“As you wish, sir. I am to mention that Lord Turner, who you may have met, recommended the office to me, having worked here himself in the past.”
“Our model and mentor, sir, though he tended to be a little unwilling to take all necessary measures to obtain information.”
“Yes, sir. I know that he was no torturer.”
It could be assumed, or so Frederick believed, that the French would still have people in Algeciras, and access to informants in Gibraltar. His squadron was visible and large and would attract attention. He sent decoy warning orders to his captains, instructing them to familiarise themselves with the waters of the Seven Islands and the coast of Dalmatia generally. It was very likely that with fifteen captains and as many masters or masters’ mates who must read his orders, some would talk in their favourite bars ashore; there would be lieutenants and midshipmen to show knowledgeable as well. The false orders would serve to maintain secrecy, and would happily confuse the French. He ordered them to wood and water and be ready to sail in three days. On the morning of sailing day he had the signal ‘All captains’ made.
It was just possible to cram all fifteen into his dining cabin, some sat at the table, lesser mortals perched on stools behind and the two hired merchant shipmasters stood at the very rear.
“Good morning, gentlemen! We sail in two hours, along the North African coast to the port of Mars-Al-Brega, tucked away in the Gulf of Sidrah. We are to enter the harbour and to destroy it utterly. There are batteries on the headlands east and west of the bay, and they must also be taken.”
Lieutenant Aggers unrolled a large drawing of the harbour and pinned it to the bulkhead and silently pointed to the headlands.
“The Sea-soldiers will land in the dark hours and take the batteries; Smith’s Nelly to the east, Mary Jane the west. Details are in the written orders. They will be escorted, of course, a sloop with each. The two-deckers will enter harbour at first light and will bombard as necessary, targeting the barracks, and will land the Marines of the whole squadron and as many seamen as can be released. Lachesis and the sloop Curlew will patrol offshore towards Tripoli to intercept and destroy any vessels making into the Gulf. The cutters and brigs will work inshore, east and west of the harbour as per orders, and will prevent any and every boat from fleeing the harbour, down to the smallest rowing skiff. The whole population is to be held in the harbour, with the exception of any who choose to flee into the desert. Sandwich with sloop Lapwing will patrol the coast as far northeast as Benghazi, which is the nearest great port, and will prevent any vessels from leaving that harbour to interfere with our activities. When ashore, gentleman, we are to destroy all public buildings and to empty and burn all warehouses, stores, yards or other merchant premises. The town is then to be left uninhabitable, probably by setting fires as we leave, and not before. All slaves to be sent to freedom aboard our vessels. Livestock – donkeys and goats mostly - to be prized where possible or killed or released to run free and wild.”
Frederick knew that he should order the slaughter of all of the town’s animals; he knew as well that the sailors would simply not do it if they could possibly avoid the order. Better to give them a free hand than to encourage them to disobey him.
Captain Arbuthnot listened with an air of surprise – not well done, but he had never aspired to be an actor. He asked the question Frederick had given him.
“I beg your pardon, Sir Frederick, but are we to set the lives of the civilian population at some hazard?”
“I fear that we must, Captain Arbuthnot. We are to send the message that dens of pirates who raid the shores of the Mediterranean will be extirpated, destroyed without mercy. If the civilians who grow fat off piracy suffer in process, well, that is not especially desirable, but may be impossible to avoid. It is necessary that every last corsair shall die or be taken to trial, sir. Without exception. It is my intention to take the harbour and the town, to identify the Dey or Bey or whatever the bloody man may call himself, and hang him from the highest tower of the hell-hole he calls his little kingdom!”
They admired Frederick’s ferocity; the Barbary pirates had been a source of terror for half a millennium, raiding and taking slaves as far north as Ireland and Devon and Cornwall in England. There was no feeling of pity in the cabin.
“That said, gentlemen,” Frederick continued, “we shall maintain discipline among the hands. There will be little of alcohol ashore, because of their religion, which will make our task easier, but there will be no sack, no rape and random butchery and particularly, no arsons. The wealth of the town, public and private alike, will go to the Prize Fund, to be shared equally among the whole squadron, as shore prizes must be. We shall leave desert behind us, but the women and children, who may be left to starve, will not have been abused first.”
Hypocrisy, perhaps, but necessary, Frederick thought – and his beliefs were the squadron’s law.
“There are charts prepared in fifteen copies, taken from the Spanish and more detailed than the Admiralty sheets. I believe I need instruct no captain here in seamanship, but you will wish to keep a man in the chains, the lead in use, while inshore, and will note all points of interest for the benefit of the Admiralty Hydrographer. The cutters and brigs especially will be close inshore and will discover any deep-water inlets that might be of interest to other expeditions in later years. It is not impossible that Britain might seek to take a harbour along this coast one day – Malta to one hand, Benghazi, say, on the other, would between them close the Eastern Mediterranean if needed.”
“Scylla and Charybdis, sir!”
“Yes indeed, Captain
Baker! A most apt comparison!”
Frederick hoped that might have been a sensible response; he must discover what the two were, and where, one day.
There were a few questions, mostly relating to the Marines and how they were to be put ashore.
“What of fishermen, sir?”
A lieutenant from a cutter, Brown, if he remembered correctly, asking a good question. Fishermen were traditionally to be left untouched to carry on their profession, except that Barbary pirates often took and slaved them – which was the answer.
“The corsairs are to receive the treatment they habitually offer others. Their boats will be taken and they will be cast ashore. No mercy for pirates.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
It was an order, more rigorous than they might like, but to be obeyed.
“Landing parties, gentlemen. There will be no opportunity for desertion on so barren a shore, but it is better that the gaol-deliveries you have aboard shall not be permitted within reach of the civilian population. Retain aboard hands sufficient to man a broadside, just in case of need.”
There were sober nods from the assembled captains; they would not wish to be caught out by a Frenchman appearing around the headland.
“It is possible that there may be a French frigate, even a two-decker at anchor when we arrive. Conquest and Harfleur will engage if that be the case. Preston will confine herself to shore bombardment, unless there are three or more in a flotilla – which is not impossible, but unlikely in the extreme. The existence of shore batteries in the harbour is possible, but unknown. So – initiative, gentlemen. Remember the watchword of the service, ‘no man can go far wrong who lays himself alongside the nearest Frenchman’ – if it was good enough for Nelson, then it will do for us, I believe.”
There was a mutter of agreement; the little admiral had become the Navy’s great authority in the five years since his death – if Nelson had said, or implied an action, then it was right.
The wind was kind, even Preston comfortable at eight knots, running off two hundred miles a day, a week of some ease, each vessel able to plan exactly what was to be done and by whom, uninterrupted by hard sailing.
Twenty miles off the harbour, three hours after dawn, and Frederick sent Hamble cutter, the fastest of the three, ahead to sail past the port distant from the shore, to make a single pass observing all possible and then to rendezvous out to sea, out of sight from the headlands.
Frederick hoped that a single fore-and-aft sail would raise no fears in Mars-Al-Brega, would be ignored as perhaps an Egyptian headed east – certainly not an enemy, as no one small ship would ever dare come so close inshore.
Hamble made her rendezvous, putting her captain aboard Conquest as eight bells sounded and the nautical day ended at noon. Frederick, naturally, took no part in the ceremonies attendant on the event, his function being simply to listen to the report of the position and the day’s run.
“Mr Phillips, what did you see?”
“Very little, sir. There are corsairs laid up in the harbour and some ashore in the yards. I counted five xebecs of some size and at least six of half-galleys. There are other, smaller sailing craft and two, perhaps three of merchant polaccas of a hundred tons or more. No sign of any French ship, sir. The two headlands certainly have guns mounted in stone fortifications, at least six in the nearer, but only four to the east. Not the greatest of guns – certainly not the old Turkish stone-throwing guns of one hundred pounds and more. I suspect them to be French twelves, sir. There is a wharf or jetty to each, sir, where a small ship could dock.”
“That is convenient, and much as we hoped. What of the harbour, the main wharfs?”
“There is a large stone construction, sir, almost towards the centre. I suspect it is a fortalice, probably carrying guns, sir. There are stone buildings with orange tile roofs to either side, and I think that on the eastern side is a slave barracks, from seeing the galleys tied up to its front. That on the west is more like to be a military barracks, sir, or so I think.”
“Good. Well seen. We shall direct our bombardment according to your observation.”
Lieutenant Phillips was gratified, and hoped like hell that he was right.
“For the rest, sir – there are just the ordinary buildings of a Mediterranean port, in no way out of the ordinary. There is a small palace or chateau sort of place perhaps a cable back from the waterfront, and several hundreds of mud brick houses and three or four of those minaret things belonging to their mosques. Nothing else of interest, sir, except that the coast road passes under the headlands, east and west, and could be blocked there.”
“Very good, Mr Phillips. You will now take your station along the coast with the two brigs, sir. Your name will be mentioned in my report.”
To be mentioned in a report that would eventually cross the First Lord’s desk must be advantageous to any young man’s career. As well, if the report reached the Gazette, his own family would see it, and be proud. Lieutenant Phillips took his leave, happy in his work.
The moon set around two o’clock and the squadron was to lay inshore in its last gleams and to make its landing at the headlands in darkness. The two-deckers would bombard with first light, by which time the main batteries should be taken. Preston was to concentrate her fire on the stone fortalice identified by Hamble while the others attacked the military barracks. The Marines would land by boat if there was little return fire, delaying until the great guns at least were silenced.
All went well, Mary Jane and Smith’s Nelly parting company exactly to time and sailing under a fresh wind into their places.
Frederick, and probably every man in the two-deckers, watched anxiously, dreading an outbreak of cannon-fire and suppressing a cheer as a few musket shots from east and west sounded from on top of the headlands as the Sea Soldiers stormed into the batteries.
Ten minutes and a pair of blue lights, one then the other, climbed into the night sky and signified success. It was about an hour before dawn.
“Lead us in, Captain Arbuthnot.”
They felt their way slowly under three-reefed topsails, the leadsman calling, the topmen aloft and waiting command, taking station as the first light shone behind the eastern headland, the three ships in their line.
The master announced it was dawn; the lieutenant of the watch responded.
“Lookouts aloft.”
Mizzen shouted minutes later.
“Gunfire, northwest, sir. Broadsides. Three ships.”
Simultaneously Frederick ordered Captain Arbuthnot to commence the action.
“Open fire! Lachesis and Curlew, sir?”
“Probably. Let us hope they are not engaging a seventy-four. Puffin and Gannet sloops to investigate and assist Lachesis as possible. Don’t like the order, Captain Arbuthnot, too vague and ambiguous, but we don’t know what is happening and it will take them hours to reach the position against this wind.”
The sloops which had been escorting the Sea Soldiers made sail and began the series of tacks that would eventually bring them to the scene of the action, almost within sight but directly upwind.
“At least they will be able to tell us what is happening, Captain Arbuthnot.”
His flag-captain was more interested in what was going on in the harbour.
“Preston entering carronade range, it seems, sir.”
“Captain Baker is awake to the value of his ship at very close range, Captain Arbuthnot. He is also aware, I suspect, of the limitations of his timbers! The carronades, with their lesser detonation, may fire at their very fastest, while he must restrict himself to rolling, slow broadsides with his thirty-two pounders, the last gun discharged before the first may fire again. At a cable, which is his choice, it seems – he is anchoring, by God! There must be an inshore current which is taking his head offline. Where was I? Yes, he has forty-two pound carronades, powerful when at short range, capable of demolishing stonework with their massive impact – see what he is doing to that battery.”
Th
e central fortification, set between the two barracks, was visibly crumbling, was already silenced.
“Change targets, sir? The military barracks is almost demolished.”
Four accurate broadsides from Conquest and Harfleur had reduced the mud-brick building to rubble. A few figures could be seen fleeing; none seemed to be wearing uniform.
“Harfleur to the wharf to make her landing. Land the Marines, Captain Arbuthnot. Conquest then to take all in the harbour by boat, prizing anything worthwhile, burning all galleys.”
Frederick was repeating his orders, already given. Any merchant hulls were to be preserved, hopefully to be loaded with the spoils of the town. All slave galleys were to be utterly destroyed, not merely sunk; it might be possible to raise a galley that had settled in shallow water.
The harbour was probably deep enough to allow Conquest to go alongside the wharf; it was safer to send the smaller Harfleur in and accept a slower landing of Conquest’s Marines. It would not be wise to permit Conquest to go aground, especially in the Mediterranean with its tiny tides. They could be a week emptying Conquest of her guns before they could refloat her, and that could be disaster, time to permit a fleet of corsairs to be alerted. Frederick found that he preferred to be over-cautious in this instance – he lacked the wild daring of a Cochrane, he believed.
Musketry rattled from the eastern headland.
The lookouts were concentrating on the sea, quite properly. Captain Arbuthnot called to his mainmast for information.
“Sea Soldiers, sir. Across the road east, sir. Just chased horsemen back to town, sir. Horses and men down, sir, better part of two score galloping back. Going west, sir.”
Major Prentice had joined the attackers to the east, expecting a response from the direction of Benghazi before anything came from the west.
“Signal the Sea Soldiers to the west, Captain Arbuthnot.”
Major Prentice had assured him that he had trained men to read naval flag signals and military semaphore. It was worth trying.
Shores of Barbary (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 12) Page 11
