They could not afford to lose time, must take advantage of the wind.
“Make a signal to all of the squadron, Mr Rogers. ‘All captains to exercise great guns while maintaining position and speed. Sail drill to take place only in calms’.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Five minutes passed before all had acknowledged, Speedy last by three minutes.
Vereker was displeased.
“Wallsend repeated the signal, sir, to Speedy. I think her lookouts were not watching the flag, sir. Eyes on the horizon, it would seem.”
“Then Captain Byng would be well advised to ensure that his yeoman of signals is alert to my orders. I cannot object to his lookouts watching for the French – but he must arrange to watch me as well!”
Better to make his wishes known early.
“Mr Rogers! To Speedy, ‘advise soonest reason for delay’.”
“Note the time of that signal, Mr Nias. I shall have his guts for garters if I do not get a reply inside four minutes.”
Three minutes produced an apology and the excuse that the captain was using the heads at the time.
“Which might be true, and with only a single master’s mate to enable them to three watch, is an acceptable answer. He has no second on deck with him and must keep a watch on his own.”
The wind was kind and they made Cork in the week; it was not uncommon to have to reach almost to the Azores to be able to make the passage to the south of Ireland, so they were not unhappy. There were two Revenue cutters in the harbour and one naval sloop and very little of merchant traffic. A signal from the naval dockyard allotted them berths.
“Is there a Port-Admiral in Cork, Mr Nias?”
“Not always, sir. I believe there has been none during the Peace. Probably one will be appointed when the War officially begins. There will be a Captain of the Dockyard, sir, but I do not know his name.”
“It would be a courtesy to pay a visit rather than expect him to wait on me. I do not know his position on the list, so cannot establish seniority.”
The three largest vessels tied up at wharfside, the brig and cutter given buoys. It made life easier not to have to use a boat, but desertion was simpler as well.
“Mr Cheek! I am informed there is famine in the area. There are rumours that starving peasants have resorted to cannibalism – tending to eat strangers rather than their own folk.”
The message was called loudly and would be in the ears of every crew member within minutes. It would be interesting to see how many ran after that.
There was a heavy and alert Marine detachment at the dockyard gate; sentries were sent to the gangplanks within a very few minutes. A Marine lieutenant came immediately after them to organise reliefs from the ships’ own detachments. He pointed out the yard offices at Frederick’s request and warned him that the town was unsafe, full of rogues and vagabonds who would rob any man who might have two pennies to rub together; they would all be hanged, if he had his way.
“Marines do not change, it would seem, Mr Vereker. Water, I think, but there is little point asking for fresh vegetables.”
The Captain of the Dockyard came out of his office at a near run, stumbled to rigid attention. “Sir Frederick! An honour, sir!”
He knew the face, could not put a name to it, at first, cast back in his memory… Magpie, that was it!
“Mr Fraser! The years have been kind to you, sir, your face is unchanged! Have you been here in Cork for what, seven or eight years now?”
“Yes, sir, I was given the Dockyard here seven years ago now, was made post-captain as well. Thanks to you, sir! I have my own house in the town, sir, and my wife and son and daughter established in it!”
Frederick shared a glass with Fraser and explained his need for men – seamen ideally, but landsmen at a pinch.
“Almost none of seamen, sir – I doubt there would be a dozen in port at the moment. Every man who could has taken a berth out. I could find you a thousand of landsmen, willing and begging to come aboard. How many, sir?”
“I require ninety-five for Trident and eighty for Arnheim – the youngest, strongest and most agile you can discover, Mr Fraser. Take their names, sir, for there will be a bounty payable as soon as war is declared; it was as much as forty guineas in the last war, and it may be given to their families here, with a little arrangement of dates.”
“I will make sure they get their money, sir – it might keep a family for as much as a year, sir, and the famine can only last for so long, surely, sir.”
There was a clamouring mob outside the wall of the yard as soon as the squadron’s purpose was declared. A company of Marines stood with fixed bayonets as the gate was opened wide enough for one man at a time to slip through and be passed to the tables where the ships’ surgeons sat. Two out of every three were rejected as too emaciated, broken in their wind, consumptive, aged; the triumphant few were led aboard and put under the pumps, washed, dried, issued with slops from the purser’s chest and given a snap of biscuit and cheese to tide them over till an evening meal could be cobbled together.
“Skilly and cocoa, gentlemen. Not too rich and no red meats today. They have almost empty bellies and must not gorge themselves.” The doctors agreed on that prescription – they had seen the starving before.
“We have the whole of the Atlantic in which to train them, Mr Vereker. I will wish to see every man useful in some skill by the time we reach Antigua, sir. The nimblest to the tops, as always; the strong and alert to the guns; all to be efficient in a landing party by that time. The Cape Town soldiers will be of great use to us in training up the gun crews, of course.”
“The big gunner’s mate especially, sir, the German who is so very loyal to you.”
Frederick answered the unspoken question.
“Goldfarb – Hanoverian originally, fought a year or two in the American War and then joined the colours, came to sea in anomalous circumstances and has been almost my follower since. A most reliable man, and I shall see him with a Gunner’s warrant if it becomes possible. Mr Cheek or Mr Nias will tell you the tale of the Cape Town soldiers.”
Book Six: The Duty and Destiny Series
Chapter Two
The Atlantic was a wide ocean and a squadron could reasonably spend six weeks crossing it – the winds being uncertain and occasionally actually foul. The squadron made haste very slowly and the two frigates used every daylight hour – and some of the nights – in training. They exercised the sails and the great guns, though rarely simultaneously, and switched men from waist to tops, from forecastle to gunner’s party, from gun crew to loblolly in one case; after a month they had set the great bulk of the men to the jobs they were best suited for and were attaining a basic proficiency.
All of the men were tired, which was a desirable state of affairs because few were happy either and an exhausted crew lacked the energy to mutiny.
The one-time prisoners-of-war, now informed that they were English seamen and free, in a relative sort of way, to make a life in England, had discovered that they would be overseas for several years and that they would almost certainly never see their home countries again. The realisation was slowly striking home that they were now traitors in the eyes of the French authorities who ruled their original lands. Talking the matter over between themselves they decided that if ever the French captured and identified them then they would be executed, as might their families in faraway Europe. They were mostly displeased by the discovery.
They enquired whether they were now Englishmen, and discovered that they were, more or less; at least, they were not as foreign as they used to be.
The Irish volunteers now had full bellies, in many cases for the first time in their lives, and this to an extent predisposed them in favour of their naval masters. All of them, however, had been farm boys, used to heavy work but pottering along in their own time, at their own pace; they did not like to be chivvied and chased and threatened with the lash if they did not get a move on. None had yet been flogged, but t
hey could all see the possibility.
Tempers improved towards the end of the fifth week when they finished the last cask of beer and were officially declared to be in ‘rum waters’. The bulk of the crew discovered grog for the first time and decided that it had much in its favour, the pains of the nautical life becoming far less severe. When it was further explained that the Sugar Islands were the home of rum and that three year old black navy could be bought for less than the price of dockside gin in Portsmouth they were amazed, and most became quite reconciled to the prospects of a long commission.
They were to make their first landfall at Antigua, having been ordered to treat English Harbour as their base, returning for stores and refit as necessary, and all prizes to be sent to the Admiralty Court there. Less than a week before they could look for land Nimble signalled a sail, a ship that had been much damaged by weather.
The whole squadron closed the unknown, as much for exercise as need.
Nias levelled his telescope, spat in disgust.
“Slaver, sir, you can see the ventilation ports along the hull. Wallowing at five knots – a slow passage with half of the blacks dead and God knows what the state of the rest will be. She is signalling for assistance. Short of water, by God! Storm damage letting salt water contaminate the casks, no doubt. The doctor will be needed, sir.”
Frederick grimaced. He had never seen a slave ship at first hand but he had heard the stories from the many who had.
“Mr McPherson, you will take a party aboard her, if you please. Examine the water and inform me at soonest what must be done. Marines, I think, Mr McPherson. Mr Murray, you would oblige me by accompanying the party and examining the master’s papers most thoroughly.”
Murray achieved a salute – he had been practicing.
Murray returned two hours later, sombre of face.
“English, sir; Welsh more strictly, registered out of Chepstow, but not voyaging out of England. Her papers show her to be running between Port Royal, Jamaica and the Slave Coast, so not directly governed by any English law. Two hundred and forty blacks loaded, of whom ninety-one still live. The doctor is convinced that all will succumb if they are not removed from the confines of the slave deck; they must have fresh air, he says. The master himself does not seem to be English and several of the crew speak other tongues more fluently. It is my opinion that she may be French or Spanish or a Dutchman masquerading as British. She must be investigated, the legitimacy of her papers and people established, which may best be done in an English harbour.”
“How many in the crew?”
“No more than fifteen, sir – the fevers having hit them harder than normal. They are, Mr McPherson says, too few to take them into port and probably the reason for their inability to weather quite mild storms.”
Frederick decided that he must inspect the slaver himself – he must not rely on the reports of his juniors who might be blamed if a court found against him. The responsibility had to be his alone.
Slavers always stank, and this one was worse than most for a dozen decomposing bodies that had not been cleared from the slave deck.
“Mr McPherson, those bodies to go over the side. The slaver’s crew to perform the office, led by her master.”
There was a delay, an amount of shouting.
“Sir,” McPherson reported, “they refuse, demanding that the slaves do it.”
“Who is in charge of the Marines here?”
“Sergeant Benson came with them, sir.”
Benson was their senior, an able man.
“Benson to me, please.”
The Marine boots slammed to attention within seconds.
“Sergeant Benson, I have ordered the crew of the slaver, led by her captain, to remove the bodies, and they may then scrub out the slave deck. Oversee the process, if you would be so good. Should any refuse your legitimate orders then they may be treated as violent mutineers. You may wish your men to fix bayonets.”
Benson saluted; two minutes later there was a splash as a body was thrown over the side followed by the scramble of the crew running below deck.
“Beg to report, sir, that the slaver’s captain drew a pistol on me when I gave him his orders. Private Whitby saved my life by his quick action with his musket butt and I must commend him to you, sir.”
The first bodies from below were already being taken to the stern.
“Show them respect, you horrible bastards,” Benson roared and watched as they were lowered over the side rather than tossed away like rubbish.
“Private Whitby, I shall name you to your lieutenant and recommend that you become corporal at the first opportunity.”
Whitby stiffened to attention – it would have been a breach of Marine discipline to have spoken.
Frederick returned to Trident, called for the boatswain.
“Mr Cheek, you would oblige me by taking a party across to the slaver and setting her to rights for a passage to Bristol. The master and the purser will see to the matter of any rations and water. The detachment of Marines will remain aboard to keep order, except that Sergeant Benson will return to Trident, and I wish to know how many seamen should be put aboard her.”
Cheek called a dozen names and led them into the longboat, making no comment.
“Mr Nias, which of your mates could be given this command?”
“Twite, sir – he can do the job but is a pain-in-the-backside Methody, forever prating about his religion. Better he should have the opportunity to find a blue-light ship when he reaches England.”
“If he is of that sort he will have no love for slavers and may be trusted not to manacle the slaves below again.”
“Yes, sir.”
Frederick retired to his cabin, calling for his new clerk and briefly dictating the outlines of the report that must go with the slaver.
“Ship out of Chepstow, Sally, of 263 tons and armed with eighteen of twelve pound carronades and a pair of long four pounders. In distress; papers apparently satisfactory; master seemed foreign and drew a pistol on the Sergeant of Marines; some of the crew certainly not English, speaking an unknown tongue; sent to England for proper examination.”
Dunnett, the clerk, made a brief set of pencilled notes before picking up a pen. “I will put that into formal legal language, sir. Could she not be examined in Antigua, sir?”
“No. Whatever the result, the slaves become free on their landing on English soil. The owners may eventually attempt to sue me for their value and for damages, but I suspect that my people will be able to muddy the waters sufficiently that a court will find for me. If not, then I shall be a few thousands out of pocket, which will annoy me more than a little – but I do not hold with slavery, Mr Dunnett.”
McPherson was inclined to resent that he was not given command of the slaver – he thought it might have benefitted his career. Vereker, who had understood all that Frederick was doing, explained.
“The lord and master has chosen to offend the owners of that horrible ship, McPherson. They may well be no more than minor West Country, or even Welsh, merchants who may be kicked with impunity; but they could be personages of the City of London with a great deal of power in our country. The lieutenant in command might be placed before a court in first retaliation, but a master’s mate is too insignificant a personage for that course to be taken.”
McPherson, who had no grievance against slavery, was thankful to have been protected.
“Just why should he care, Mr Vereker?”
“You have seen the three black men who follow him? The man Bosomtwi was named for the taking of Hercules, the beginning, really, of the owner’s career – I looked out the reports and letters on receiving this commission. The two big fellows are renowned for their rifles – as all in the service must know, their deeds have been discussed in every wardroom. Yet they were slaves originally, all three – are they no more than dogs to be kicked?”
McPherson agreed – as he must when his superior laid down the law - but was still less than wholly co
nvinced. His Nanny had often told him that Judas Iscariot was a black man, and that was a very strong argument in his mind.
The Admiral at English Harbour was not particularly concerned one way or the other about slavery, and said so at some length, but he did wonder about the emoluments that might have accrued to his Prize Court.
“Lawyers’ fees, and all that, Sir Frederick. The horsehair wigs will nag me forever if they feel deprived of their due.”
“She could never have been found a prize, sir, a British registered ship that had not so much as seen a Frenchman, but there is certainly the question of salvage and insurance payments. She had her crew aboard and was in command, but she was in need of assistance, would have been lost otherwise. The Admiralty Court in London would almost certainly have been appealed to, sir, so perhaps better that the inevitable cases should originate there.”
The admiral could accept that – appeals from Antigua must be heard in London and the delays could be literally decades long.
“It seems strange that so many of the crew and officers should speak a foreign tongue in an English ship, Sir Frederick.”
Frederick showed signs of discomfort before admitting that he suspected – but, of course, did not know for certain – that the language might have been Welsh. The admiral was not amused, but was increasingly thankful that the case had not been remitted to his jurisdiction.
“There will be an amount of interest in the affair, I would imagine, Sir Frederick.”
“Too much, sir. I have addressed letters to my uncle, Lord Alton, and to Mr Critchel, the well-known political figure, to alert them to the possibilities inherent in this matter.”
The Admiral rapidly assimilated that message and displayed no further interest in the Sally – he had few political acquaintances of his own.
“The fast runner from England will have been a few days quicker than you, Sir Frederick – I see that you had to break your passage in Cork. The word is that war is certain now, will surely be a fact by this date. You should therefore assume that we are in a state of hostilities with France and Spain, sir, and you must pray that neither Mr Addington nor this Emperor fellow, Bonaparte or Napoleon or whatever he has taken to calling himself now, is beset by a stroke of diplomatic genius that leads to a lasting peace.”
Sugar and Spice (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 6) Page 4
