Shores of Barbary (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 12)

by Andrew Wareham

  The simple accounting silenced them for a few seconds. The bulk of those who ran must have been women and children.

  “Was this as it might have been in London in King Charles’ day, sir?”

  “Good question, sir! I much suspect it might have been just the same – and that was only one hundred and forty-five years ago, was it not. I am glad that it will never happen again in England.”

  Mr Woodhouse explained that the plague flea inhabited the black rat but not the larger and stronger brown.

  “Which, sir, leads to the matter of why the brown rat suddenly appeared and drove out the black.”

  Captain Arbuthnot was fascinated by the series of events that had fortuitously saved his country from further onsets of the worst epidemic disease known to him.

  “Aha! That, sir, may be explained too. Perhaps not here, where there is other business to deal with, but in brief, sir, I believe the brown, or Norwegian, rat, spread from the Viking colonies of Vinland – in America, sir – to Scandinavia, and then attained a foothold in mainland Europe, eventually crossing the Channel to the English south coast. A long, slow process, sir, but I have documents I should be happy to display on another occasion. For now, we must deal with Misrata, sir.”

  Mr Woodhouse was an enthusiast, it seemed, though whether of the Plague or of Vinland was unclear.

  Frederick took the floor, briefly explained his intention for the squadron.

  “When the town is taken, then it must be held for some few months. The squadron must be available to meet the French when they arrive, and to pursue them wherever they flee, which may well be some distance, of course. The town must therefore be held by shore-based forces. In the nature of things, that means our fierce Sea Soldiers must take that task. It is my intention, therefore, Major Prentice, to nominate you as Governor of Misrata when once it is taken. You are to hold the forts, sir, and to discover and release all slaves. It is my opinion that you would be well-advised to recruit those slaves, for the short term at least, as soldiers. I believe they will be happy to fight their one-time masters if need arises. We will, as goes without saying, guarantee to take them away with us when we finally withdraw.”

  Major Prentice made his bow, expressed his sense of honour at being granted such a position.

  “You may trust my people, sir. We shall hold the town and keep the peace inside its walls.”

  “Outside them as well if possible, Major. There is a rarely rich agriculture around the town. The land is well-watered, it seems.”

  The wind was kind, as they had expected; it tended to blow onshore at that season, but very gently and without gusts or squalls which they would not have enjoyed on a lee shore.

  Mr Relph was inclined to comment on the unusual nature of the winds at this end of the Gulf, but both Frederick and his captain were a little too busy to pay him heed.

  “Do place your observations on paper, Mr Relph. I do not believe that I have seen them in the Notes to Mariners; they probably should be published, sir. Be sure to send them to Droggy.”

  Mr Relph was not at all certain that they should use, on the quarterdeck especially, the slightly derogatory nickname for the Admiralty Hydrographer, so learned a gentleman. He chose not to rebuke the Admiral, however.

  Captain Arbuthnot sent his lookouts to the masts early, so that they should be in place to use the very first gleams of light. The harbour seemed busy at first glance, several quite large coasters tied up at the wharves and a number of ships, larger still, out in the harbour itself.

  “On deck! Two-decker; small frigate; four stores. At anchor. Stores lowering boats. Troops on deck.”

  “Blood for breakfast, Captain Arbuthnot!”

  Book Twelve: The Duty

  and Destiny Series

  Chapter Six

  “Harfleur to the frigate and then to mop up as necessary. Conquest to close the two-decker. Sandwich and sloops to take or destroy the transports, permitting none of the troops to land. Brigs and cutters to capture or sink all small boats transporting soldiers. Mary Jane and Smith’s Nelly to land Sea Soldiers and Preston to support them as in original orders.”

  The signal flags crawled up the masts, were hauled down almost immediately in the ‘execute’.

  “Open fire at your convenience, Captain Arbuthnot.”

  Frederick was not to tell his flag-captain how to fight his ship, but he could give a hint that he should shoot immediately rather than wait for the range to close.

  They were nearly a mile offshore; Captain Arbuthnot ordered his lower battery of long thirty-two pounders to shoot, delaying the eighteens which would be far less accurate at that range.

  “Can we see if any soldiers have landed overnight, Captain Arbuthnot?”

  A lieutenant was sent to the mainmast with a telescope.

  “No troops at wharfside, sir. The transports are well offshore and their decks are crowded, sir. I would conjecture that they arrived with the last light and were unwilling to come to dock in darkness, though there must be lights along the wharf. The boats are not landing troops, sir; they are taking tows, as if they intend to warp the stores into the quays, sir.”

  “Poor seamanship, Captain Arbuthnot. Very strange!”

  “Not impossible that the original masters and crews refused to serve, sir. A midshipman acting in command, perhaps, for lack of available seamen?”

  Frederick realised this was highly probable, bearing in mind what was known of the French.

  “Not at all unlikely, Captain; a good thought! If the French were up to their old tricks, commandeering the ships rather than paying for their charter, then they might find themselves with the crews deserted overnight in their home ports. They would have the bottoms then, but would be forced to sail them all anyhow.”

  Sandwich and the sloops were faster than the ship of the line and had packed on all sail and were already in the harbour mouth, and in Conquest’s line of fire.

  “Are the shore batteries ready to shoot, Captain?”

  Frederick was irritated that he had to ask – it was such an obvious question, should have been answered immediately. Captain Arbuthnot hailed his lieutenant, waited half a minute while he turned the telescope on each in turn.

  “Unmanned, sir!”

  “What say you, Mr Woodhouse?”

  The intelligencer was waiting at Frederick’s shoulder, politely silent.

  “We had a whisper, sir, that the Dey would not fight the French, for lack of the means to do so, but would not aid them either. He will not have ordered his guns spiked, assuming he is in a position to give any orders. That would be an overtly unfriendly act which he cannot risk, but I would lay long odds that he will have had the ball removed, taken away and hidden. They are probably old Ottoman guns, throwing massive stone shot which has been worked by local masons to the size of the bore.”

  “And the French will not be carrying those rounds in their ammunition lockers, Mr Woodhouse. Is that to imply that the Dey must be seen by us as an ally?”

  “No, Sir Frederick. A neutral, at most.”

  “Good. That is well done by Sandwich, do you see?”

  The post-ship’s captain, Mayhew, had ordered the sloops to take a transport each rather than follow him in line. They were using their chasers; Frederick heard high-pitched explosions from the small guns and saw the first puffs of powder smoke.

  “Again, well done, Captain Arbuthnot – they have targeted the towing boats…” Frederick was interrupted by another broadside from the thirty-two pounders as Conquest tacked to enter the harbour and opened her beam to the French two-decker. Preston eased into line astern of Conquest, running out a threatening broadside, Captain Baker praying that he would not need to fire it.

  “Harfleur is in, sir, closing, bows on to the frigate. No more than a twelve-pounder, that frigate, sir. I wonder what she is? The Venetians build heavier than that… She is rigged French style, but they have launched no twelve-pound frigates in the last ten years and she looks newish… A ta
ken Russian, perhaps, sir? She is very heavy on the bows, as if to face ice on occasion. Our two-decker is winning her anchor, sir; swinging her to bring the broadside to bear, perhaps, sir?”

  “We shall discover soon, Captain Arbuthnot. The frigate’s captain will be a fool if he does not haul down his colours before Harfleur can fire a full broadside. A dead fool, one might add.”

  “Sandwich is broadside onto the first store, sir, at pistol shot, calling for surrender, one trusts.”

  A full broadside, twelve guns and a pair of carronades, sounded from Sandwich.

  “Grape, sir. Into the soldiers, sir. Mr Mayhew has a name for being bloody-handed, sir. It’s running down the side of the ship, sir!”

  There were tendrils of scarlet showing from the scuppers, little rivers of blood flowing into the waters of the harbour.

  “Colours down, sir.”

  “Order Sandwich to cease fire, Captain. She is running out again.”

  “The other transports have surrendered, sir.”

  The ship of the line, having showed ready to fight, fired a single gun, well clear of Conquest, and lowered her colours; moored as she was, with a pair of two-deckers coming at her and a third available, a fight would have been simple foolishness, Frederick thought, approving of the French captain’s wisdom. The frigate instantly followed suit.

  “Sandwich and sloops to secure the storeships, Captain Arbuthnot. Harfleur to take the frigate. Send a boat to the 74, if you would be so good. Brigs and cutters to carry out original orders. Preston to supply all prize crews. Mr Woodhouse, would you wish to board the ships? I saw no splashes – they might not have destroyed their Confidential Books and orders.”

  Woodhouse delayed a second at Frederick’s side.

  “I have heard of that, sir, Frogs delaying and then firing a single gun and surrendering at the last moment. I cannot quite understand why they do it.”

  “From all I have been told, Mr Woodhouse, it is in the hope of keeping their heads on their shoulders. The captain who surrenders, or whose ship is sunk or taken, will be court-martialled – the French service is identical to ours for that, we always put a captain up for trial if he loses his ship. Where the Frogs differ is that evidence of surrender without a fight is sufficient to convict – no other reason to be discovered – and the offence is capital, mandatorily so, without possibility of mercy. Thus a French ship must fire a gun, to show defiance. A little sloop faced with a whole fleet must fire one of her four-pounders, or her captain will die, and possibly the whole of her wardroom with him.”

  “That, sir, is nothing short of insanity!”

  “That is the order of their man Bonaparte. I suspect that his assumption of royal state as emperor has had an unfortunate effect upon him – there is not a king in the whole of Europe who might be described as entirely rational, when all is said and done!”

  Frederick’s last encounter with King George was still alive in his mind.

  Captain Arbuthnot, on Frederick’s other shoulder, had never come close to royalty, consequently retained a great respect for King and Prince; he was shocked, but he had an even greater recognition of the authority of an admiral on his own quarterdeck and chose to say nothing.

  “Sea Soldiers are all ashore, sir, formed up and marching, sir.”

  “Very good, Captain Arbuthnot.”

  “Preston has set a prize-crew aboard our two-decker, sir. And to the frigate.”

  Frederick surveyed the scene and quickly reconsidered his orders.

  “Very good. Preston to tie up to the wharf. Harfleur to remain at single anchor, commanding the harbour. Sloops anchor, broadsides run out, loaded grape, to threaten the troop ships. Captain, Sandwich, to report aboard Flag. Brigs and cutters to conform to original orders, to patrol the coast east and west of Misrata. Marines from Preston and Conquest to take the batteries and destroy old Ottoman guns, as ordered. Marines from Harfleur to establish order on the seafront.”

  The original plan seemed still to be workable. The Sea Soldiers were to take the Dey’s palace and place a company on the land gate, Mr Woodhouse having assured them there was only the one entrance and exit through the town’s walls. The Marines would have control of the other barracks, which were attached to the old batteries. Provided there was no caravan from inland inside the walls, all should be simple; a hundred or two of armed nomads, determined to fight any and all infidels, would complicate the issue.

  Frederick heard the pipes as Captain Mayhew was welcomed aboard Conquest, made a last-second decision on what to do with him. The man was a post-captain and a fine, aggressive seaman; he was also a bloody-handed butcher with a most unpleasant predilection for massacre.

  “Captain Mayhew, I have business for you, sir! The prizes must go to Malta, with their prisoners. You will escort the six vessels to Malta, sir, as soon as you are certain all are seaworthy. The two-decker took some damage from Conquest – discover how much and make your opinion of her. The transport you took will require some work to her rigging; her decks will need cleaning as well. Ensure that the mercenary soldiers are all disarmed, as goes without saying. Return with the prize crews at earliest. The Admiral in Malta may have a battalion or so of infantry to hand for us. If so, escort them to Misrata. Use your discretion, sir. Despatches will be ready within a few hours – depending on just how long it takes to write the damned things, sir. If practical, aim to clear the harbour before nightfall.”

  Frederick was aware that he was asking the impossible when he set that time, but he had no compunction in keeping Mayhew on the run – the man deserved more than that minor harassment.

  A runner came from the Sea Soldiers to confirm that they had taken the palace and had a company at the gate, which was firmly closed. Major Prentice reported very few guards at the gates or in the palace itself; he was surprised at how few, in fact, the more because he could confirm that his men had taken custody of the juvenile Dey.

  The Marines sent back the message that the batteries were unmanned, their barracks empty.

  Parties of seamen from Preston made their way through the town, seeking resistance, and finding none, and remarkably few people. A master’s mate came at the run to inform Frederick that they had examined several warehouses and found them to contain large amounts of valuable stock, leathers especially, and no guards, labourers or, commonly, masters. The houses were, more often than not, uninhabited.

  Mr Woodhouse returned carrying documents from the line of battle ship and from the frigate; he confirmed that the frigate had been a prize, Moscowa, her current name. The two-decker was originally Spanish, he thought, recently renamed as Fontainebleu.

  “I have not obtained the Books themselves, sir, but there are documents that should not have been available to me, or any other English eye. Very slack, sir. I am inclined to wonder if all was as the French expected, if perhaps they had arrived expecting a welcome that did not eventuate. An entry that I read in the Master’s Log states them to have anchored in the harbour last evening, sir, and to have waited for the Harbourmaster to assign them berths, presuming that he preferred full daylight for the task.”

  Frederick’s suspicions were growing; he had a feeling that he had been used by the intelligencers, his squadron placed in jeopardy in pursuit of some vicious scheme of their own.

  “It would seem that the dead garrison, and the fled population, have yet to be replaced. When exactly, Mr Woodhouse, did the outbreak of Plague come to its end?”

  “Ah… I do not have a date, as such, sir.”

  “A less exact indication will suffice, sir.”

  “Well, sir… it is difficult to place a precise timing, as such, to an epidemic disease, but it is fair to say that it was clearly at an end some few weeks ago.”

  “Weeks? Not months?”

  “Well, Sir Frederick, weeks turn quite quickly into months, you know, and, if a disease has run its course, well, sir – ended is ended, after all.”

  “I would appreciate an answer, Mr Woodhouse. Your
evasions suggest a certain lack of candour, sir.”

  It occurred to Mr Woodhouse that the Admiral was unhappy, and that he possessed the power to show his displeasure very vigorously.

  “I received a message five days ago that there had been no new cases reported for a week, sir.”

  “Twelve days.”

  “About two weeks, yes, sir.”

  Frederick would not willingly have entered a plague port without waiting for at least thirty days of quarantine.

  “Mr Woodhouse, if just one of my sailors should go down with bubonic plague in this port, then I shall hang you from the mizzen yardarm. That, sir, may not be entirely lawful, but it is an absolute promise!”

  Mr Woodhouse swallowed and nodded nervously; he had acted for the good of the country, he was quite sure of that, he ventured to say, but he did accept that he might have been just a little precipitate.

  “Captain Arbuthnot. Inform the squadron that the port is guaranteed healthy. That is a certainty, sir. Prize all merchantmen in harbour.”

  “Done, sir. The boats are busy now.”

  “A manifest of cargoes, if you please. I expect most will be empty for lack of stevedores to load them. Fill the holds as you may. There are several warehouses along the wharfs. Select the best for first voyages to Malta. We do not know how long we will be able to remain here. A runner to Major Prentice, begging his company on Conquest as soon as he may safely leave the Dey’s palace.”

  Frederick had not expected to capture the Dey. It had seemed obvious to him that his guards would have hustled the young fellow to safety in one of the several villages surrounding the town. It was possible that all of his senior officers might have perished in the preceding weeks and there had simply been none left to give the proper orders. Whatever the case, there was now the problem of what to do with him.