Sugar and Spice (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 6)

by Andrew Wareham

  “That I shall do, sir. We always need more good men. A topman in the making, I suspect, sir.”

  Klement raised a polite hand, trained by the whips of slavery.

  “Please, sir. I like big guns, please. Kill more Dutch bastards slavers with them.”

  They laughed, agreed they could not refuse so heartfelt a request.

  “Gun crew it is, Klement. Let us hope you get your wish, young man!”

  First light showed smoke over the harbour and small boats clustered about the wreckage sunk at anchor.

  “Well done, Mr Murray. No prize money for that one, and we shall never get an agreement on numbers for head money, but a very tidy job, sir. My report will name you, Mr Murray, and an expedition such as that will always draw attention. Might that be a problem to you in your line of business?”

  Murray laughed and said he was now retired from the Trade – he was far too much blown upon ever to venture into foreign parts again. He must find himself another occupation when he returned to England. He thought that he might perhaps find a place as secretary to a gentleman in the political line, or possibly seek a post in one of the great banks where there was a need for men with a knowledge of the world about them.

  Frederick really did not understand his meaning, but volunteered to name him to Lord Alton if that would be of advantage to him.

  “I might be better suited to the service of a more Whiggish sort of gentleman, sir, but a recommendation would always be welcome.”

  Frederick turned to business, to decide exactly what he must do next.

  “What of the fishermen, sir?”

  “We have a problem there, Mr Murray. The men were taken down to the galley and given a meal and a tot apiece, and then the owner started to weep for his lost boat – he would never be able to build another, had been twenty years putting his coins together, scrimping and saving and not even taking a wife, all to make his money. So they gave him another tot to make him feel better, and one more to his men. They talked more, and all three said they were single and had nothing left to them now and they dared not go back to New Amsterdam for fear of being called traitors who had taken English gold. So they had another tot…”

  “We can hardly wait offshore here for them to wake up, sir.”

  “I think it best to take them to Georgetown, Mr Murray. There, they may go ashore with gold in their pockets to buy another boat, if they wish. If they prefer, they may sign on and still have their gold. They could be useful hands, two certainly are able-bodied and the owner could easily become a boatswain’s mate, even a master’s mate if he has his navigation.”

  “Does it not matter that they are more-or-less Dutch, sir?”

  “Not really, Mr Murray. They are civilised Christian men, after all, not even Romanists, and will fit into any European or American port. I would not take them if they were Frogs – for they are not our sort of people at all – but there are thousands of Dutchmen in Essex and Suffolk and Norfolk, so I am told, and many of them very good folk indeed!”

  “Then why are we fighting them, sir?”

  “I do not know, Mr Murray. Perhaps you should send a polite letter to the Prime Minister asking that question; or perhaps you should address it to the Archbishop of Canterbury. Either man might know the answer – they are obviously far more clever than me!”

  “What do we do next, sir?”

  “We should water; the barrels can sour quickly in the tropics. We may as well perhaps discover what is known in Antigua. If the Spanish have ventured against Jamaica then we will be required there. There may be orders. I would value guidance from the Admiralty.”

  They ushered their little flotilla of prizes into English Harbour, noting the presence of Durdle Dor and her own cluster of island traders.

  Frederick reported to Admiral Makin, recovered from his touch of the typhoid but looking mighty unhappy as he resumed his desk.

  “More prizes, I see, Sir Frederick.”

  “Why, yes, sir. All Dutch, as my report says.”

  Frederick had tendered Makin duplicates of all of his reports to the Admiralty, as a courtesy to the local commander.

  “That is a relief, Sir Frederick! We have a difficulty, you see… in fact, ‘difficulty’ may be an inadequate term for the situation facing us. Well, actually, you much more than me, faced by it, that is…”

  Frederick looked blank.

  “The thing is, Sir Frederick, this war with Spain…”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “It has not actually eventuated, yet, Sir Frederick. Spain and Britain are at peace still! The last runner from the Admiralty gave explicit information in response to the Santiago reaching Portsmouth.”

  “Jesus Christ!”

  The admiral expressed his sympathy with that reaction. He offered a brandy, accepted and tossed off in one.

  “The action with the Santiago, sir?”

  “Will not be published in the Gazette, Sir Frederick. The ship herself has been bought in by the Admiralty, on the grounds that she made a piratical attack upon you. The five military gentlemen have all stated that they believed a state of war to exist when the onslaught was made; indeed the Duke of Segovia and whatever and which – the bloody man’s name is a yard long – asserted that he had ordered the captain to make the attack. You are therefore held to have defended yourself, and the First Lord has declared that you and Captain Jackman are cleared of any malfeasance in the action without a court. Santiago has been renamed and is now Cloudesly Shovell, a renowned admiral of England, and has no Spanish connections at all, as far as government is concerned. She will be sent as flagship to a far distant posting, I have no doubt – out of sight and out of mind.”

  Frederick noted that the First Lord had made a declaration – more political fiddling! He might have preferred a court to a lifetime of obligation. He could not say so.

  “That is a relief, sir. What of the action against the battery on Tobago?”

  “Complaint has been made to the Spanish Ambassador in London that there should have been such an incursion onto an island granted to Britain in the terms of the Peace of Amiens. He denied that the battery existed and insisted that no Spanish forces had landed on Tobago. The government apologised for the misunderstanding and agreed that no Spaniard had ever been present there.”

  “But…”

  “There was no battery, Sir Frederick; therefore you did not destroy it, sir!”

  “And the prizes, sir?”

  “Were not there and were not taken. They have not been condemned by Prize Court, as they could not be, but have been sold by Admiralty order and the proceeds have been distributed as if they were prizes. I have seen to that myself, and, of course, there have been no costs to deduct!”

  Frederick was in a state of near shock – he had seen the pirate’s gibbet at Execution Dock looming, was still not wholly sure he was safe. He was entirely certain that he was now a political hostage; he wondered what would be demanded of him, was certain that it would eventually be very dirty indeed.

  “I have a specific missive from the First Lord stating that you will face no court, Sir Frederick, and I am to hand it you, for possible future reference. He begs though that you will not take, destroy or burn any more Spaniards in the near future!”

  “So, all is well, and nothing is to be said in public… But what of the privateer, Durdle Dor? She is commanded by a young man known to be a follower of mine.”

  “She took a number of Spanish traders, as well as several Dutch. The Dutchmen have all been condemned as prizes, in normal process, but the Spanish have been taken in acts of piracy by any reasonable definition. The privateer and her captain and crew have been placed under arrest, confined to the vessel rather than placed in my prison, but I do not know how I can avoid setting the master before a court. I am delaying pending advice from my people, but I may well receive explicit orders from London before another two months have passed.”

  That should be avoided if at all possible. Frederick would t
ake advice on that matter.

  The runner had brought full mail sacks with her and the squadron had received three months’ worth of letters with the normal effect of almost total silence falling as the lucky few read their mail, and then discovered just how fortunate they were.

  Frederick sat at his desk with a pile of private letters and official correspondence to hand. By rights he must have opened the communications from the Admiralty first, but on this occasion he had no desire at all to discover what they wished to say to him.

  There were three consecutive and thick diaries from the Abbey; he disciplined himself to read them in order.

  All was well on the estate; his loving wife had received his second letter, was glad that all was well. She was not an inspired correspondent, her pen stilted in a way that her voice was not.

  The harvest was coming well in her second and she was in fine health and good spirits. The Valley was at peace and their neighbours were flourishing. Kent had received more news of his midshipman son and was relieved to hear that he had been healed of a wound taken in a minor action and delighted that he was mentioned again by his captain.

  Frederick tried to imagine the dour Kent in a state of delight, had some difficulties.

  The third letter announced his proud wife’s own delight in presenting him with a daughter, a healthy seven pound child, baptised as he had suggested, Jane Elizabeth. All was as it should be and there had been a number of most handsome gifts made by their acquaintance; Mr Russell had been able to come by a christening shawl of true Mechlin lace, one of the finest she had ever seen. Mr Critchel had also sent a most handsome and truly tasteful silver mug. His devoted Elizabeth had been disturbed to hear a rumour that there had been an action with a great Spanish ship despite the nations being at peace; word from their naval acquaintance was that there had been a battle that brought credit to the victorious captains, despite the circumstances. Her sister joined her in trusting that all was well with both of their captains.

  Lord Alton wrote that the Spanish were firmly in the French camp and were waiting only on the transport of bullion from the American colonies before making their declaration. Mr Addington assured him that the government would turn a deaf ear to protests from Madrid but Sir Frederick should refrain from further involvement with Spanish forces, was it at all possible. The matter of the slaver, Sally, was threatened to come to court, but Mr Critchel was involved and all might yet be swept under the carpet, as they said.

  Mr Critchel had sent a long missive, detailing his delight in his own cleverness. All was well, he said – it had merely required the discovery of a number of interesting facts. The ship Sally had been built on the Severn and registered in Chepstow in the Year One, all sixty-four shares in her owned by one Richard Watkins, described as ‘a merchant of Chepstow’. She had been leased, apparently, to a London syndicate to run to the Sugar Islands, but investigation had been unable to discover any names for these gentlemen – they were mythical. Mr Richard Watkins was very real, a pillar of the Methodist Chapel and publicly an abolitionist, as was only to be expected of such. The inferences were obvious, and Mr Critchel had commissioned a lawyer friend to travel to the Welsh borders to have a discussion of the whole matter with Mr Watkins.

  Frederick turned the page to discover the results of that ‘discussion’.

  Mr Watkins had been horrified to discover that his ship, largest of the several he owned, had been used as a blackbirder; he had not dreamed that such wickedness could truly be possible. He had instantly offered to make a cash payment to each of the poor African souls who had been saved from degradation and now were free in England; they had been taken in ward by the Chapel and were either to be found honourable toil in England or, somehow, to be returned to African shores. There was to be no action against Sir Frederick, quite the contrary, and a payment of salvage had been offered and accepted.

  ‘Mr Watkins is cousin to the Welsh Baronet of that name, I believe, and wishes there to be no risk of publication in the newssheets. I have assured him that all will be kept quiet. I fear that he harbours no feelings of love for you, Sir Frederick, but his malice will remain dormant.’

  That was a relief; Frederick had calculated the value of the slaves he had released and of damages for detention of the ship and had seen every possibility of a judgement against him in excess of twenty thousands sterling – and that would have hurt.

  What else had Mr Critchel to say?

  ‘For the Spanish business, the word in Whitehall is of contempt for the Dons. They act hostilely to British interests in the Mediterranean but have not the honesty to declare war. Mr Addington dithers – unsurprisingly – and is on the verge of going to war one day, pulling back the next. It is possible that Austria, an ally, would be offended by a British declaration against Spain and he hopes that a greater European conflict may be averted somehow. It matters not; war will come whatever Whitehall does, or does not, do. A modicum of discretion would be desirable on your part, however, Sir Frederick; please do not kill any more Spaniards in the short run.’

  The more official letters were wholly predictable.

  The Admiralty was in receipt Sir Frederick’s reports of the dates noted in the margin of their letter. It was observed that he had been attacked in time of peace by a Spanish ship of the Second-Rate and that he had proceeded with the assistance of HBMS Arnheim, Captain Jackman, to force the surrender of the aforementioned vessel. The outstanding behaviour of Captain Jackman was acknowledged. The Santiago de Compostella could not be regarded as a prize as such but was nonetheless to be bought into naval service; a declaration had been made by the Lords of the Admiralty that her nominal value was to be distributed in the same manner as prize-money. Sir Frederick was reminded that their Lordships demanded of all captains that they should strictly regard the laws of neutrality, except that they were not to hazard their ships in so doing.

  “Same old Admiralty – damned if I do, damned if I don’t! Still, my neck is safe this time, it seems.”

  Then followed sheet after sheet of demands from the various departments and Boards; he must justify his expenditure of stores on this occasion and that; he must certify that powder had been expended in battle and that the Gunner had not been wasteful; he must explain how it came about that six ankers of rum had been destroyed in combat; an immediate certification was required of twelve musketoons to be found in the armoury when there was no record of their issue to HBMS Trident.

  The musketoons were simply dealt with – they had, he wrote, been presented to HBMS Trident in gratitude by slaves saved from death in their sinking ship. Grateful presentations were not uncommon and they could be written in as extras with no objection from the Admiralty. For the rest, he called for the First Lieutenant and bade him deal with them.

  “As well Mr McPherson, please to inform the ships’ companies of the squadron of the birth of my daughter, Miss Jane Elizabeth Harris, and of the splicing of the mainbrace in her honour.”

  Congratulations flooded in, as was only proper.

  Captain Jackman appeared, begging audience and waving a letter of his own.

  “I am now owner of my own estate, Sir Frederick, the house and land near Weymouth. Mostly sheepwalk but with two hundred acres of wheat fields and all rented out properly, thanks to your agent, sir! I have ventured to write a letter to Lord Partington to inform him of the purchase.”

  “An excellent piece of news, Mr Jackman. I am delighted for you. I am sure Lord Partington will be equally so.” Privately, Frederick did not think that my lord would at all welcome the prospect of another bloody-handed sailor in his family; but he was too kind-hearted a man to thwart his youngest’s wishes when it came to an obviously eligible suitor. “You will wish to see what the Admiralty has written of you. We have no orders from the Admiralty, which is a surprise. I suspect that the next runner will bring them.”

  “What of Mr LeGrys, sir?”

  “I am waiting the decision of Admiral Makin. I think he may be forced to
consider a Court of Inquiry and then, if the decision goes against Mr LeGrys, to remit the case to the High Court here, a charge of Piracy on the High Seas.”

  “They will hang him and every member of his crew, sir!”

  “I believe that the Court of Inquiry will find for Mr LeGrys, Captain Jackman. Captain Murray will give evidence which, we much hope, will exonerate Mr LeGrys of all possible wrong-doing.”

  Jackman could not see how that could possibly be so. LeGrys was under arrest in the harbour in the company of a great swarm of taken Spanish merchantmen; in time of peace that smacked of piracy.

  “Admiral Makin has expressed his satisfaction with Captain Murray’s conduct at New Amsterdam, which will help his cause before a Court made up of naval captains.”

  Admiral Makin was easily persuaded to forestall the Admiralty and the Court of Inquiry was announced and was to sit almost immediately. Frederick paid David LeGrys a visit in his confinement aboard his own ship.

  “I could not come to you sooner, David, for fear that it might seem I was attempting to influence the admiral. Have you made any written deposition to the admiral or any of his people? Particularly, have you given any position for the capture of the convoy you brought in?”

  “No, sir. I was told only yesterday that there is to be a Court which is to determine the facts of the whole business. They have all been very apologetic, sir – I have a strong suspicion that they may chorus ‘Sorry’ as they hang me.”

  “Probably not, we think. Did you record the position in the log?”

  “No, sir. Bearing in mind Mr Fraser’s experience, I neglected to write it up at all.”

  “Very good. Mr Murray will pay you a visit later and he will quite possibly provide you with the personal log that you did keep. I would advise you to memorise it!”

  David had a great respect for Murray’s intellect; he began to smile.

  “Have you been paid for the Dutch prizes yet, David?”

  There was a substantial sum with his agent, he had been told.

  “Good. Might I advise you to pay out your shares and then to sell Durdle Dor and return to England? I think the Spanish will have you marked for destruction, David.”