A Despite of Hornets

by Geoffrey Watson

  There were ships aplenty, but none that could pick up and transport an army away from Napoleon’s wrath. These ships were cargo-carrying merchantmen, transporters of supplies, maybe a couple of hospital ships, but no transports armed ‘en flute’. No warships with all guns removed to provide extra space for carrying men, so that the empty ports looked like the stops on a flute.

  To be sure, there were warships, but not the third rates, the seventy-four gun battleships that would be needed to escort a fleet carrying an army. He could see a frigate anchored in the distance and beyond her a brig-of-war that looked familiar. Abruptly, he turned to the Spanish captain. “Steer towards that brig, if you please, Señor.”

  Favourable winds had brought them quickly along the coast and around by El Ferrol. They had sailed with the morning tide yesterday, after the Condesa had enjoyed her banquet and been treated with as much deference as if she had been the queen herself. Possibly more so. Her gown had arrived in time and there had been much fuss and fluttering, as the Modista and her assistants had helped her to dress.

  The result had been spectacular. Perhaps it was not the latest style from Paris, which still dominated the world of high fashion. Perhaps Gijon was only a small provincial town compared with Madrid, but the Condesa was tall and slim and almost beautiful; certainly regal. She wore it with a style of her own, and the ladies of Gijon who had scrambled for an invitation, paled into insignificance beside her. The owner of the dress shop had made his patriotic gesture by refusing to accept payment. He would recoup any loss many times over in the next weeks.

  At dawn the next day, Anstruthers and his Wolves had clattered into town, to receive almost as ecstatic a welcome as the Hornets. He was elated at the news of the capture of the Frenchmen and reported that there had been no movement from the army for the whole of that day, but that there were signs that they were preparing to continue their advance in the morning.

  Captain Montosa and Major Herrero arrived as they were discussing this, and agreed unreservedly to act under Anstruthers’s direction. Vere and his men reclaimed their own mounts and rode off with them, followed shortly afterwards by Anstruthers and his force. Welbeloved was torn between his need to get to La Coruña with the Condesa and Don Pedro, and a wish to direct this new force in operations against the French. What finally decided him was the need to bring as much authority to bear on the commanders in La Coruña as was possible; although his plans to carry Don Pedro to safety came to naught.

  The Marqués flatly refused to leave the Wolves. He was adamant that he was going to continue the fight against the French and nothing would move him. The fact that the Spanish cavalrymen accepted him with something approaching hero worship; because of his connections with the Hornets, the injuries he had received at the hands of Roussillon, and that he was a nobleman sharing their hardships and dangers; may have had something to do with it. Whatever it was, he had made his decision. He formally handed over all the Royal Regalia to Welbeloved for safe keeping in England and galloped off with the rest.

  The only riflemen that Welbeloved had retained on board were his servant Bennett, and Hickson to help with any language difficulties. Isabella continued her attendance on the Condesa, and it quickly became obvious that the relationship between the maid and Hickson had developed into something more than mere comradeship. As long as it didn’t interfere with the performance of his duties, Welbeloved was disposed to leave well alone. Presumably, the Condesa felt the same about her maid, as they had slipped back into the almost maternal relationship of mistress and maid with no fuss whatsoever. No doubt the Condesa would take the girl with her when she sailed to England and that would be the end of the matter.

  In the meantime, the fishing boat was threading its way through the multitude of craft in the harbour, approaching the brig. Welbeloved was now certain that he had last seen her following Poppy out of Santander, with British colours over French. He hoped he knew what had happened, but would know for sure in the next few minutes.

  Their approach had been observed by the watch on the brig. As the sail came down and the boat drifted alongside, there was an irate yell from the stern. “Sheer off there, you scruffy bugger! D’you hear me! Stand clear, I say!” A red-faced lieutenant peered over the rail at them, shaking his fist. “Scrape my bloody paint an’ I’ll sink you, so help me!”

  Welbeloved cupped his hands and bellowed. “What brig is that sir? Who is in command?”

  There was a pause. A voice of authority from a disreputable Spanish fishing boat was not something the officer was expecting. His tones were more moderate as he replied. “His Majesty’s Brig-of-War, Daphne, Captain Parsons. Who the devil are you sir?”

  Welbeloved grinned in delight. “My compliments to Captain Edward Parsons, and Captain Welbeloved requests permission to come aboard.”

  His voice must have carried. There was a bellow from below. “Permission granted with pleasure sir. Call the hands to man the side, Mr. Haythorn.” His gangling figure burst into view. “Look alive, Mr. Haythorn! Never let it be said that we didn’t receive Captain Welbeloved in a manner befitting his rank.”

  Lieutenant Haythorn reacted as if stung. Orders were yelled; pipes squealed; and men appeared from everywhere. A small file of marines doubled towards the entry port, some still fumbling with buttons, and formed up in two lines. The Condesa giggled. “I had no idea how enormously important you are sir. I do declare, the King himself would be gratified to receive such attention.”

  He drew himself up and struggled to appear stern. “The only difference, Ma’am, is that they would fire off a few guns if it was the King. You should know that on board his own ship, a captain in the Royal Navy is second only to God. In my experience, many of them feel that even that precedence should be reversed.” He led her to the side. “Yew must forgive me Mercedes, on these occasions I must precede yew on board. Do yew please follow me up the side. Bennett! Hickson! Be prepared to assist the Condesa.”

  He turned and clambered through the entry port, removing his bonnet instead of saluting, in acknowledgement of the shrill of the pipes and the cloud of pipeclay, as the marines presented arms. Parsons stepped forward and clasped his hand and they grinned at each other like a couple of schoolboys. “Welcome aboard sir. You have no idea how relieved I am that you are safe and well. We waited for weeks off Santander hoping that you would find some way of reaching us.”

  “Aye Edward. I thank yew for that, but we have been more than somewhat delayed. But for yorself? What’s this bright new swab you’ve shipped on yor shoulder? My dear fellow, I wish yew joy of it. I know of no-one more deserving.”

  “All because of you sir. Bonaventure was condemned by the prize court and snapped up by the Admiralty, almost before we had anchored. I think Admiral Harrison had a lot to do with it sir. Next thing I knew, they’d given me my step and we were under orders to pick you up from Santander, or wherever we could find you.”

  He broke off in confusion as the Condesa climbed agilely onto the deck and the narrative was interrupted while Welbeloved made the introductions and Parsons led the way to his cabin.

  The Great Cabin ran the full width of the stern and still seemed enormously spacious to Parsons. The fact that a third of the available space was taken up by two six-pounder cannon, was something he never considered. They were tastefully concealed by chintz screens and the small sleeping cabin had also been screened off, leaving enough room to squeeze a dozen guests round his table once his desk had been removed.

  He seated them on the padded bench running around below the stern lights. The Spring sunshine was lighting up the painted black and white checkers on the canvas stretched across the deck, and heating the cabin to a pleasant, relaxing warmth. Parsons called for his servant.

  “I hope I may offer you refreshment My Lady, and you sir? I have some bottles of a pleasant local wine; brandy of course, or you may care to try some cider, which I’m told is a speciality in Asturias and Galicia.”

  “Certainly we mu
st join yew in a glass of something.” He turned to the Condesa. “We have many traditions in the Royal Navy, Mercedes, but one of the more pleasant is that of wetting the swab, when an officer first ships it.”

  She looked completely bewildered. Forgive me, Joshua. I thought I spoke English as well as anyone, but this talk of swabs, which have to be shipped and wet, is quite beyond my understanding.”

  He apologised hastily. “I had no intention of confusing yew. I suppose we have ways of saying things, which may not be understood by anyone who is not a sailor. Let me try and explain. When a lieutenant is promoted to the command of a sixth rate, he is made Master and Commander, and courtesy demands that he be addressed as Captain. As a symbol of this new lofty state, he is permitted to wear this magnificent gold epaulette on his left shoulder. I’m sure yew have already remarked on it?”

  She regarded it bemusedly. “To be sure, Captain Parsons, I could not fail to note it, but I failed to realise the significance. I confess that it seemed to me that perhaps you had mislaid the other one. Just the one does appear maybe a little unbalanced.”

  Welbeloved laughed. “Exactly what I have always felt, but to continue my explanation, we in the Navy refer to it as a swab, because it looks like one of the mops that we swab the deck with. When it is attached to the shoulder, it is said to have been shipped, and when it is first shipped, then we wet it or Christen it. We drink a toast to it and its new owner. I hope that has simplified the matter.”

  The Condesa smiled indulgently. “Oh yes, Joshua. I think I have the right of it. Captain Parsons has been promoted, and you wish to congratulate him by drinking a toast to baptise his epaulette.” Her wide eyes looked innocently at them both. She picked up her glass. “I heard Captain Welbeloved say that you deserved your promotion. Knowing him, that is probably an understatement. May I therefore be permitted to propose two toasts? Firstly to your health and continued advancement in your profession.” Welbeloved raised his glass and drank with her. “And secondly, one which your traditions, I am sure, allow you to join in yourself – to your, er – swab.”

  Parsons was scarlet, but joined in the toast and the Condesa finally dipped a finger in her glass and gently flicked a single drop of wine onto the epaulette. “Now your swab has been truly wet, Captain.”

  Welbeloved leaned back against the cushions and marvelled. Mercedes had worked her magic again. Looking at the expression on Parsons’s face, she had acquired another devoted follower. He cleared his throat loudly to break the spell. “I see their Lordships decided to change the name of your ship when they commissioned her, Edward.”

  Parsons nodded, and this time his grin was pure delight. “Yes sir. There is already a Bonaventure on the list, so we couldn’t keep that name. However, Admiral Harrison accepted my suggestion and pushed it through as Daphne. He thought it most appropriate, although I suspect he didn’t let on to the Admiralty.”

  Both Welbeloved and the Condesa looked puzzled. “I’ve no doubt it is appropriate Edward, but the why escapes me. Do yew think that the Condesa and I can be told what has been kept from the Admiralty?”

  “Of course sir. I do apologise. You see, I wanted to mark the fact that it was you and your men that captured her, and no-one would have accepted Welbeloved as the name of a ship, so I was rather devious. You remember that Daphne was the nymph who was loved by Apollo, the sun god, and was changed into a laurel tree by her mother?” he looked at them hopefully and the Condesa began to chuckle. “You mean, Captain, that she was the well beloved of Apollo. I think that is delightful. Joshua, you have your very own ship named for you.”

  Welbeloved was touched, but Parsons hadn’t finished. “She was turned into a laurel so that she could escape his attentions, because she was frightened of the god, but he afterwards adopted the laurel as his favourite tree, and a wreath of laurel was always awarded to the victor in the games at Olympus. So you see, it is the well beloved of Apollo, but also the victor with the laurels. I’ve had the carpenter carve us a figurehead of a nymph with a laurel wreath. It’s highly irregular, but the people are delighted.”

  Welbeloved looked at him with great fondness. He felt faintly uncomfortable at this evidence of his esteem. The Condesa quietly observed the hero worship that this gangling, awkward young man was showing so openly, and made a resolution of her own, which she would keep to herself for the present, but was determined she would accomplish in due course.

  Time was passing and Welbeloved became businesslike. “What is the news, Edward? What has happened to Sir John and the army?”

  Parsons shook his head sorrowfully. “God willing, he’ll be here soon, but reports have come back saying that the army is in a bad way. Soult and his men are harrying them all the way and the conditions up there in the mountains are said to be atrocious. Men are freezing to death if they rest for a while, and the women and children that have been following the army have been dying in droves.

  They have almost reached Lugo, which is about fifty miles away, but the transports that are supposed to be here to take them off, haven’t arrived, and no-one knows where they are. At the moment, if he manages to bring the army to La Coruña, his only options are to surrender, or to fight an army said to be two or three times as big as his own.”

  That’ll be only part of his worries, if I can’t stir someone into life,” Welbeloved said grimly. Have yew still got my chest on board, Edward?” Parsons nodded. “Aye sir, of course.” Welbeloved grimaced. “I’ll go and change then. I’ve got to convince whoever’s in command here, to find some troops to meet a threat from the north. Maybe my other uniform will carry more authority.”

  CHAPTER 27

  His full dress uniform was creased, but Bennett fussed around and brushed and sponged until it was acceptable. The gold braid, heavily encrusted around lapels and cuffs would draw the eyes away from any imperfections in the cloth. Thoughtfully he opened a small case and picked out a large enamel and gold star; an award bestowed some years before, by the Pasha of Acre; which created him a Bey of the Ottoman Empire. He had hardly ever worn it since it was first presented, but Parsons had said that Brigadier Cooke had a vastly inflated opinion of himself, and was likely to be impressed with such trivia.

  Bennett fixed it in place and he went on deck again. The prisoners had been transferred from the fishing boat, together with all the baggage, and were waiting for him, under guard by Daphne’s full complement of marines. They were all rowed across to the jetty. The marines formed up with the prisoners in the middle and the procession marched off to find Brigadier General Cooke.

  The Brigadier, it was established, had set up his headquarters in a large house in the centre of the town and the marines marched up to the door and halted with loud commands and stamping of feet. The sentry at the door yelled for his sergeant, who showed Welbeloved into a waiting room, after quick appraisal of his gold braid and star. He went running off to find an officer.

  He came hurrying back, relieved to be able to pass on this glittering visitor to a young lieutenant, who also evaluated the amount of gold braid and dashed off to inform the Brigadier’s aide that there was an important visitor waiting impatiently for attention. The aide was less impressed. He was a young man in a beautifully tailored uniform; obviously wealthy and of a family influential enough to have purchased his majority at the earliest age permissible.

  He eyed Welbeloved’s uniform languidly and with faint disdain. “I regret, er, Captain, that Brigadier Cooke is extremely busy and likely to remain so for some considerable time. Perhaps if you were to confide in me, I would be able to suggest someone else who could resolve your problems for you.”

  Welbeloved stared at him coldly. “What exactly is your position, Major?”

  The man drew himself up. “I am Aide-de-camp to Brigadier General Cooke, Captain.”

  “I see. Does that mean that yew organise his duties and make his decisions for him?”

  “Of course not, Captain. I pass on his orders and make sure that they are ca
rried out; exactly as all other aides do.”

  “In that case, Major, please do not anticipate his decision in this case. Kindly inform him that I am waiting to see him on a vitally important matter. No doubt he will make up his own mind without yor valuable guidance.”

  The Major’s face became stony. “I hardly think you –”

  “Do as I say sir!” Welbeloved raised his powerful voice. “At once sir!” The man looked at his face and gave in. he stalked stiffly from the room. It was a bad start. In Welbeloved’s experience, most field officers picked their aides more as a result of family interests or to do a colleague a favour, than because of merit. Nevertheless, they tended to choose men who were compatible with their own way of thinking. The aides naturally modelled their behaviour to please their patron. It showed all the signs of being a difficult interview.

  The Brigadier kept him waiting another fifteen minutes. A petty triumph for the Major, or an assertion of the Brigadier’s importance? Welbeloved neither knew nor cared, but as he was eventually shown into his presence, he prepared himself for a confrontation.

  They had sent a sergeant to fetch him and the Brigadier and his aide were standing together as he was ushered in. He saw a tall, well-fed, balding man, with a face going purple from too much brandy and clashing badly with the scarlet of his tunic. He was obviously a bully. He glared at Welbeloved.

  “Whatever you want to say, Captain, it had better be important. I am trying to rescue a desperate situation, caused largely by incompetence. Incompetence I say sir, and I do not have the time to see every Tom, Dick and Harry that comes cap in hand. If you are representing the Navy sir, the only news I want to hear is that your damned transports are about to enter harbour. It’s absolutely disgraceful that they are not here already.”