The Odd-Job Man (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 7)

by Andrew Wareham

“Yes, sir, it being suggested that the officers, or some of them, were of the same habits as the captain might have been.”

  A lot of fuss over a minor matter, Frederick thought, and as a result Martindale had been able to exercise power and institute a thoroughly nasty regime aboard the ship. Samways, however, seemed to approve of the Admiral’s actions. He asked him.

  “Why, yes, sir – it was my complaint to the Admiral that brought all into the open, sir.”

  “You may have been right, sir. The Articles of War certainly have a down on buggery, and it has never been my cup of tea. However, a number of outstanding fighting men seem to find it amusing and I cannot find it in me to condemn them.”

  The chaplain shook his head portentously.

  “The Church is most definitely opposed to such behaviour, Sir Frederick and I believe there is a determination to root it out of our public life, sir.”

  There was no gain to argument.

  “So be it. What is your normal station in times of battle, sir?”

  “I have not been aboard ship in such circumstance, Sir Frederick, and I am certainly no man of blood. With your permission, I shall place myself in the cockpit with Doctor Carlisle, sir. I may be practically useful there; at minimum I can offer comfort to the mortally afflicted.”

  “So you may, sir.”

  Frederick was almost pleased with the man – he must be aware that the doctor’s operating place would be harrowing in the extreme, but his concept of duty took him there. Perhaps a chaplain had some use, occasionally.

  An hour after nightfall Frederick was called on deck.

  “Harriet, sir, be shifting off station. You can see, ‘er, sir, just tacking, look.”

  The lookout pointed across the mile of sea, showed a moving patch of near-blackness that was changing shape just a little.

  “Well spotted, man. You have good sight to pick that up in the dark.”

  “Thank ‘ee, sir.”

  They watched as the little brig crawled away from the convoy, then tacked again to make a reach towards the last position of the felucca.

  “She’m up moon from that old Barbary pirate, sir. See ‘er for sure, sir.”

  “While the Moors are watching Harriet they are not looking elsewhere – with luck.”

  “Ah! You suspicion there’s boats on the dark side, sir! Can’t see none of they.”

  Four distinct flashes of light close under the felucca’s stern, the detonations reaching them a fraction later.

  “Two of twelve pound carronades, I reckon, sir, and a pair of two-pound swivels. Boat guns. Straight down the length of ‘er deck, sir. Just about due again, sir…”

  Four more plumes from the guns.

  “I reckon they’ll ‘ave fired roundshot first from they carronades, to bash her open a bit. Grape second time. The swivels will ‘ave been loaded wi’ pistol balls, both times, sir. Harriet’s closing, sir, comin’ down on ‘er quarter. She’s woken up, sir, that’s a musket flash aboard ‘er, but there ain’t no crew to any great guns she’s got.”

  The boats fired again.

  “They ain’t closing ‘er, sir.”

  “No.”

  Harriet fired her mixed broadside, roundshot crashing home.

  “She’m catched fire, sir, at the stern, look.”

  Charcoal from a cooking brazier perhaps, flame sufficient to show a few men moving on her deck.

  More grape from the boats and then again from Harriet. The flames spread and reached the rigging, sprang up into the furled canvas.

  “She’m a dead ‘un, sir. They ain’t going to put that out.”

  The boats could be seen now in the flickering light, stepping their masts and turning away, back to Hawk. Harriet hove-to and evidently took careful aim, roundshot this time, ripping into the bows, opening them; then she tacked and made her way back to the convoy, taking her place in the laid-down formation.

  “They ain’t picking nobody up, sir.”

  “No mercy for Moors, man. They have none for us.”

  The lanterns ran up to Hawk’s mainmast and the convoy, warned to expect the event, successfully tacked, managing the evolution in darkness, a remarkable achievement for merchantmen, or so the navy thought. Persuading them to make more sail was not so easy; with their small crews it was wiser to make or strip sail in good daylight only.

  “Five hours, sir, a prospect of twenty or more miles away from the original course, but we must eventually return to it.”

  “Northabout Sicily, Mr Gentry and thus to Naples, unless we meet a frigate who may tell us to make Messina. There is a chance we may not be caught.”

  It was not a good enough chance, however; a fast xebec overhauled them from the east a little before noon, sent an accompanying smaller craft in search of her fellows. There were a dozen masts visible at sunset.

  “Close the convoy overnight, Mr Gentry; we must not lose contact with them.”

  Dawn saw the ship fully cleared and the boats towing astern, guns run out and midshipmen pacing slowly behind their sections. Frederick had decided that the lower deck of guns would fire as a single broadside, to compensate for their inaccuracy, while the eighteen-pounders would be split into three sections, five, five and four, each to aim carefully.

  “Accuracy more than speed, men. You must hit with every ball – not for us, they will not attempt us, but to protect the men in the merchant ships. You know what the Moors are like – they will cut their balls off and put them as slaves on the rowing decks!”

  There was a growl of outrage – they had all heard of British seamen who had been taken by the Barbary pirates – some of them had lost friends to the Arabs.

  Marc and Jean climbed up to the fighting top of the mainmast, rifles slung, settled themselves comfortably next to the pair of seaman with a swivel gun.

  Frederick looked around, saw Bosomtwi in his normal position, Kavanagh where Ablett had stood for years. He glanced a second time at the arsenal Kavanagh had slung around his waist and chest; cutlass, six at least of knives and as many of pistols, long-barrelled and of a narrow, half-inch bore rather than the three-quarters that was more normal. Presumably he was a marksman.

  Gentry had the eighteen pounders; Doolan was below with the main battery of twenty-fours; Weare had the chasers and the big carronades. Properly used the carronades would win a single-ship fight on their own, big enough to knock down every man on a gundeck with their charge of grape. It was to be hoped that the youngster deserved his new cocked hat, would not waste his shots.

  “Mr Airey, run to Mr Weare and instruct him to open fire with the chasers as soon as he has a target.”

  Gentry and Doolan knew that they had liberty to shoot at their own discretion.

  Frederick stood, resplendent in his best coat and shiniest buttons – and with nothing to do. Until the enemy displayed their intentions he could give no orders, make no contribution to the morning.

  To the east he could see six xebecs, more or less in a line, upwind of him. They had the wind-gage, but the convoy prevented him from taking a different station. There were galleys appearing behind them, rowing into position, some of them quite large, forty or fifty oars on a side.

  “Lookouts! Scan the whole horizon!”

  The Moors were a mile distant, out of effective range while they surveyed the unexpected addition to the convoy’s defence. Their informants would have inspected the convoy and its escort while they were moored in Tetuan; they would have expected no more than a pair of nine-pounders. Now they could see a sixty-four with at least twenty-four pound long guns that could sink any of them with a single broadside. They knew the convoy carried rations only – an unattractive cargo in terms of loot.

  If they were in the service of the Dey of Algiers, who was reputed to be in Bonaparte’s pocket, then they would certainly press ahead with their attack; if they were in private hands then they might decide to hunt for easier targets.

  The rowing galleys began to circle round towards the rear of the convoy;
independent of the wind they could choose their own vantage. The six xebecs tacked fairly much in unison and slanted down, crossing Euripides’ starboard quarter, either to pass her by at speed or, just possibly to attempt to cross her stern and put some shots into her rudder. The important fact was that they were not running away – they had been ordered to battle.

  Gentry was running between his midshipmen, assigning targets.

  Weare was stood watching, nothing in sight of the chase guns, his carronades hopelessly outranged.

  Six cables became five and Gentry shouted; the eighteen pounders fired. The nearest xebec swung off course and began to roll, rudder smashed; fortuitous, because the guns had been instructed to aim at the mainmast and had been well off-line. The remainder of the line continued, the second and third hit hard but not disabled.

  The main battery fired as one, and the second xebec was hit by eighteen roundshot, most low in the hull. She rolled over with the impact, came back and dipped the shot holes under water and never recovered, capsizing and disappearing in seconds.

  The third in line hardened her sails, gained a little more speed and made to escape while the great guns reloaded. The rifles began their rattle as Marc and Jean decided the steersman and officers were in accurate range. One minute, twelve rounds and she was rolling in the trough, her crew dived for cover, and taking water through the shot holes.

  “Bring her onto the fourth, Mr Oates.”

  Oates gave the order to the steersmen, called for a reef in the main course to slow her and ease her off the wind.

  The eighteen pounders fired and the xebec’s mainmast fell.

  The last two in line hauled their wind and then tacked, possibly making for the head of the convoy; they were out of the fight for a few minutes at least.

  “Heave-to, Mr Oates. Let the three drift down on us. Mr Airey, instruct Mr Doolan to hold fire until the eighteen-pounders shoot.”

  The twelve-pounders fired as the escaping xebecs crossed their bows at three parts of a mile; Oates put his telescope to his eye, swore that there had been a hit.

  The first xebec came into view of the guns again, a bare cable distant.

  “Mr Weare! Carronades.”

  Weare waited until the roll exposed the xebec’s deck, fired both, smashed a hole through deck and side and watched impassively as she rolled under. He turned to the reload, slow simply because of the weight of shot to be handled and rammed.

  The next came into range of the broadside.

  “Sir, she is showing a white flag, surrendering.”

  “No mercy for pirates, Mr Oates. Hostis humani generis, ‘enemies of the human race’; there is only death for the devils of Barbary.”

  Frederick turned to Gentry, who had presumably also spotted the flag.

  “In your own time, Mr Gentry!”

  “Shoot!”

  The two decks thundered and the pirate disintegrated.

  “Sir, they are launching a small boat from the last one, sir!”

  “Mr Weare, can you put a chaser on that boat?”

  The starboard twelve-pounder was handspiked to the very edge of its traverse, Weare peering down the barrel. He stood to one side and tugged on the lanyard to the flintlock, watching anxiously; the boat smashed, the people in it thrown into the water.

  The derelict xebec came into the range of the forward broadside pieces and was battered, rapidly opened up, far too small to withstand such shot.

  “Wear ship, Mr Oates, all sail she will take. Course to the rear of the convoy.”

  The galleys were closing on Hawk, evidently wanting to take a naval vessel, presumably to be displayed in Algiers harbour as a humiliating trophy.

  “Mr Weare, chasers as soon as they bear.”

  “What of the other xebecs, sir?”

  “Harriet can handle just two, Mr Oates. She will be able to avoid a boarding and will nibble at them with her nine-pounders.”

  “Galleys are turning away, sir, into the wind.”

  They watched as the galleys spun in their own length, oars raised on one side, digging deep on the other. They picked up the stroke and fled.

  “’White wings’, sir. Just like it says in Homer, sir. They are a beautiful sight, hiding such an ugly reality, sir. I am glad we did not have to sink them, sir.”

  “So am I, Mr Oates. On this occasion we have killed none of our own. Shorten sail. What are the xebecs doing?”

  “Making course to join the galleys, sir.”

  It was a one-sided victory; they had taken no losses at all, had destroyed four of the enemy with all hands. The word would spread along the North African shore and, judging by past experience, the corsairs would avoid the Western Mediterranean for a few months, knowing that the warships would sooner or later go and leave them to regain possession.

  They escorted the convoy and made their farewells off Naples, having no desire to enter the harbour and salute the fleet assembled there and spend two or three days doing the civil before they could make their way back to Gibraltar.

  “Mr Horner, signal to Hawk. ‘Under orders to return Gibraltar earliest. Goodbye.”

  The Admiral expressed his pleasure – he had received information and acted upon it in such a way as to rescue the fleet’s supplies. All off his own initiative and showing his worthiness to be given a fleet of his own, and at an early date.

  “A commission for your master’s mate? By all means, Sir Frederick! A lieutenant, sir, brought in because you have no second candidate? Give me just one day, sir! Rations, water, powder? My flag-captain has all in hand, I have no doubt.”

  “With respect, sir, might I beg that the new lieutenant should not be new-made? I have two very young men treading my quarterdeck and would welcome a more experienced gentleman.”

  Not so easy a task, but not wholly impossible.

  “There is a Mr Blenkinsop – old family but mostly army, I believe, in the past. He was Second on Euripides but was removed from the ship in the general clear-out that occurred. His activities on shore have made it clear beyond peradventure that he does not share the proclivities imputed to the captain; indeed, he has been a very busy young man! So much so that it will probably be better for him to return to sea and regain his breath! I know that it is a nonsense to suggest that such activities may send the young man blind – but I suspect he may soon be measured for eye-glasses!”

  When the laughter subsided Frederick agreed that he would be pleased to offer a place to such an enterprising and energetic young gentleman.

  “On a more sober note, Sir Frederick, word has already reached us that the Dey of Algiers is most displeased with his sea-captains and has utterly disavowed their actions in attacking an English convoy. We are to believe that they did so in absolute contravention of his orders and he has crucified the two surviving captains of the xebecs and has flogged to death the masters of three of the larger galleys. Captain Murray assures me that the five unfortunate gentlemen were members of powerful families who had shown an inclination in the past to oppose the Dey and who placed themselves in his hands by their failure. It is all a great lie, of course, and we may not trust the Dey’s protestations of friendship an inch – but it will keep them quiet for a month or two.”

  “And what of Tripoli, for example, sir?”

  “Oh, it will have no affect at all upon them, Sir Frederick! However, that it not to concern you for a few weeks, sir. The Spanish are to declare war on the fifteenth of the month – three days hence. Their inland letter post hardly exists, of course, and they have had to send couriers to all of their garrisons to give them the information – which has reached us first in this instance. One understands that one at least of their couriers was embarrassed for cash, and sold the contents of his bag to our friends. It has been decided to send you north along the coast to make contact with a number of past allies, and very likely to give the news of war to a number of passing merchant vessels, no doubt! Captain Murray will give you details and will, I understand, wish to accompany
you.”

  “It is always a pleasure to sail in the gentleman’s company, sir – he is a mine of information, often wholly irrelevant to our purpose but invariably interesting! He is also, of course, a surprisingly handy gentleman at close quarters despite the invariable mildness of his appearance.”

  Captain Murray had his own office, tucked away at the rear of the Governor’s Residence and hence inside the domain of the Governor’s Guard.

  “I will not say that it is proof against the determined burglar, Sir Frederick, but it will not be penetrated casually or adventitiously. Additionally, one would mention, the papers are all kept locked away in a safe that will require gunpowder for its opening. I am in many ways better protected here than in London – not least because I have only three immediate colleagues and none of them, to my best knowledge, traitors.”

  “A pleasant change, Captain Murray, to be surrounded by the honest and loyal!”

  “It is a trade that attracts the ambiguous, Sir Frederick. To a great extent it is the home of those who wish to attract public attention to the fact that they have secret knowledge. Sad cases, so many of them. The horrible d’Antraigues is a prime example of such. You have heard of him?”

  Frederick had not.

  “An émigré count – with a legitimate title, unlike so many such – who has been involved in many a plot, and counter-plot, since fleeing France, and repeatedly returning. He has contacts in France – many of them and at a high level – and he comes across useful information with a surprising frequency. He also fabricates more reports, and often includes deliberate lies at the order of the French. He is permanently insolvent, so he says, and begs money of all who will listen to him – I believe him to be in receipt of pensions from Russian, France and Whitehall at the moment. I am sure he has several thousands tucked away in different banks. He is shameless in seeking the company of the great.”

  “A very dangerous man, Captain Murray, because one cannot simply discard all that he provides.”

  “Exactly so, Sir Frederick! He has provided the Governor with the names of contacts in and about Barcelona who want nothing more than independence from Spain. He can, he says, obtain the same for revolutionaries in the Basque country. He has informed them, he says, that His Britannic Majesty’s government wishes nothing better than to give them money and arms!”