“Thank you.”
“And Ablett and me, we bought him two old pistols what he can look at and play with, sir, like a warrior.”
“I’m sorry – you are not allowed to kick your captain, are you.”
“Better to wait, we say, when we talk it over. In time you come to it, when you ready inside you head. And Mr Warren, and Mr Jackman and young Davy, they say the same, too.”
“Let’s go ashore while we can – I should buy something from me myself.”
A pair of troopers, superannuated thirteen hundred tonners, loaded the 24th Foot, its baggage train and eighty official wives, all the establishment permitted. Several hundreds of the unofficial remained onshore, most with children of mixed race and uncertain future, few with money or home; panders waited on the fringes with offers for the better-looking women and children.
One East Indiaman sailed out of season with them, fully laden with saltpetre for the gunpowder mills at Faversham, a continuous flow demanded. Four country ships, bound for Cape Town, had signalled their intention to join and a pair of Americans had requested kind permission to tag along, there seeming to be a possibility that the States was at war with France, or was about to be, or maybe had been – at this distance nobody knew, but mistakes could be made, especially when the cargo was valuable.
The two American masters, in courtesy, came aboard Charybdis, were made aware of standard British convoy procedure and signals, were begged most earnestly to conform.
“Nine vessels in two columns, sirs, at two cables distant astern and abeam, Nantes frigate leading the larboard column, Cobra the starboard, Charybdis upwind in easy visibility. Never scatter, gentlemen! Say, at worst, a dozen of pirate dhows appear – cluster together at half a cable or less. The troopers will fire three hundred muskets apiece in their company volleys and the Indiaman has two dozens of various great guns and crews more or less trained to them. Between them they can hold for twenty minutes, and we will not need that, I believe, sirs!”
“I have a nine-pounder stern chase gun, sir.”
“And I a six, captain.”
“Then man them as the occasion arises – but, I beg of you gentlemen, do avoid your consorts!”
They agreed not to get excited and enthusiastic but seemed quite confident that the need would never exist, for only a national ship would set about such a heavily defended convoy, particularly once Charybdis was recognised.
“Well known, sir, the Charybdis, Captain Harris! Sent out to teach the Frogs a lesson to keep their noses out of the Indies – took two frigates and sank the rest of the raiders, and where are the survivors? None that have been seen in Bombay, sir! Given as presents to a cannibal chief, some say!”
“There are a hundred and a couple of officers at Colombo.”
“Not many from the crews of five vessels, captain.”
Frederick shrugged – the sea was hard, if the water was not so cold as to freeze you to death then it was warm enough for sharks to eat you – it was wiser to surrender than be sunk.
Like ninety nine out of every hundred, the convoy passed in utter tedium, untouched by enemy action and little inconvenienced by weather – it was possible, better, to alter away from a brewing storm than to risk passengers’ safety in a gale – an extra day or two mattered not at all compared to a safe passage.
Half a dozen traders picked up at Cape Town replaced the country ships, the Americans remaining in company until Madeira. Then a swift passage to Portsmouth, the winds favourable and the seas calm.
They came to anchor with a flourish, all together, stripping sail as one, as befitted a crack squadron, marginally more than two years away from home, in the October of the year ’98.
Book Three: The Duty and Destiny Series
Chapter Four
Home to Long Common, unforewarned, the rooms under dust covers – polished, neat, tidy and dead.
“We didn’t expect to see thee this year, Captain, sir. Most of the folks we let go, sir, as not needed while the old place were empty, like, and ‘twill be a few days before us can get all they back again and everything right, sir.”
“You can feed me and I can sleep here, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir, of course, sir. And the four men, sir? Mr Ablett and Mr Bosomtwi and Mr Marc and Mr Jean?”
Frederick noted the honorifics, two with surnames, two lesser with Christian names, signifying gradations of status. Only the most senior staff were worthy of a Mr or Mrs – Ablett and Bosomtwi stood equal to butler, housekeeper and chef, senior to cook, gardener and head groom, immeasurably above footmen and maidservants, who had their own ranks. Marc and Jean were outside of the direct hierarchy but adjudged worthy of respect and equivalent to the second rank of staff, much more than mere servants. The social structure of Servants’ Hall was rigid, unbending and utterly unforgiving of transgression – place was all and courtesies due to rank could never be relaxed even on the highest of holidays.
“They should be here by now, Mr Chef Sid with them.”
“Good, they ‘ave been missed, sir.”
“We are here only for a short time, I expect, Mrs Burnett, a month or so, I would imagine.”
“But, you have been two years away, sir!”
“Wartime in the Navy, Mrs Burnett. I shall visit my parents immediately, expect to dine with them tonight.”
His parents were almost unchanged, fractionally greyer, a pound or two stouter, the house a degree more prosperous – a piece of Chinese-seeming porcelain in a new display cabinet, a silver epergne on the dining table. The price of corn was rising to wartime highs, and rents were following, climbing almost in proportion, and dead Brother George could no longer embarrass and encumber them with his debts.
The normal greetings, always with the slight edge of relief to them – there was no certainty ever of meeting again when Frederick went overseas. The Navy experienced high casualties and at least one half of men and women died naturally before they were sixty.
“Have you been to Old Hall yet, Frederick?”
“No, father, tomorrow, I thought, when all was unpacked.”
“And every day thereafter, I trust. Iain is old enough to know of his father, away at sea – he cannot understand but will expect to see you when you are here. He’s a bright lad, talks well. A true Harris as well, he will be of no height – they say a man grows to be twice as tall as he is on his second birthday, and Iain is just two feet and seven inches.”
“Five foot two or so, then – my height, Father. It will notice less on horseback, and he will not go to sea, after all.”
“Heir to two estates, one of them big in land – too much to do at home, he will be able to take no other profession.”
“Just so, sir – much to do and I will be hard pressed to make a flying visit to Abbey. I am bidden to the Admiralty next week, orders, I suspect, and full uniform as well.”
“Why will you need dress uniform, Frederick?”
“Levee, I should imagine, Mother. It is usual for captains who have had a mark of success and favour – Colonel of Marines, in my case – to make their bow at court. To the Prince, I presume – the King is not making public appearances, I believe?”
His father replied, distastefully. “There is, in effect, a Regency, but the Prince’s marital and financial problems mean that he is politically unpopular, has not the power or title of a true Regent. There seems to be little doubt that he has gone through a ceremony of marriage with this Mrs FitzHerbert, and she a Catholic! The ‘marriage’ cannot be lawful, and it cannot be ‘morganatic’ because such does not exist under English law – yet in the eyes of many churchmen he is no longer single!”
“Untidy!”
“Very, my son, but in many ways useful. The King interfered much in the American War, prevented an early peace on advantageous terms because he would not grant independence. His son will do less harm for having less power.”
“So the politicians have more power, sir, and are they any better, any more intelligent
or honest, sir?”
“They are politicians – and that means they are devious, corrupt, untrustworthy, self-interested, pious, sophisticated, vain, arrogant and short-sighted – just like kings – but they can be replaced without a revolution, disgraced without civil war – which is a slight advantage. There is also a prospect of progress, of improvement over the years.”
Frederick had not realised his father to be naively optimistic, did not himself believe there was the least prospect of politicians ever qualifying for ordinary membership of the human race, but he could still accept they were likely to be better than kings.
“Enough of public affairs, they can wait,” his mother interrupted, “tell us of your two years away, Frederick. We received two letters only, besides the little we have recently read in the Gazette.”
“I sent letters from Cape Town, Colombo and Batavia, Mother. West bound I sent none, knowing that I must outpace them. But ships sink, merchantmen are taken – two from three is as good as one can hope for. In brief, then…”
His was a foreign world in every sense to a country squire and his lady. No matter how well-read and informed he was, Frederick’s father lived in a few square miles, visiting a small market town weekly, Winchester at most once a month, London twice in his lifetime, and he could not comprehend the simple size of the Earth, much less the strangeness of its peoples.
“Ate them! A hundred or more! And then you traded with them, gave them presents?”
“I could not sail until I had made the most pressing repairs, had to protect my own people. In the service I can choose neither my friends nor my enemies, must take what comes. There are worse in London, I doubt not!”
Next morning he drove to Old Hall, made sad greetings to his good-parents.
“You are home – onshore, you call it – for long, Frederick? Will you be opening Long Common?”
“No, sir. I shall live at my house but I expect to be at sea again within weeks, so it is not sensible to take on a full staff yet. I must beg your indulgence still further, sir, in housing Iain. Speaking of which, sir, there are the expenses of his establishment which are mine to bear.”
“Nonsense! The nursery here still had young Richard – he does not go away to school till next year – our afterthought, you might say.” Paget reddened, grinned with a degree of pride, life in the old dog yet – he was nearly fifty, his wife little younger, a long gap between Richard and his next sister. “My grandson is no burden to me, Frederick, and I beg to hear no more of this.”
The offer had had to be made but Frederick would have been surprised had it been accepted. Clearly Paget had not wanted Iain to go to his father’s house, and that might be a future problem because the boy had to grow up knowing Abbey, a familiar figure on the four square miles he would one day own. The problem was not immediate, the boy was still young.
Paget agreed, the issue must be faced, but not yet. “When you marry, Frederick, and you have a duty to take another wife, Abbey must not be left without a Harris resident, then Iain will live with you and the problem solves itself.”
“In part, sir, but I do not think he can be simply uprooted – he must spend some of his year with you at Old Hall, for this is the place he knows as home and he must come to his second home over several years, not all at once.”
Iain was brought down and the discussion ended as he was presented to his father. In this most formal of ages he made his bow and shook his father’s hand and stood straight before him.
Short, the Harris nose, his mother’s high cheekbones and broad mouth, rounded in babyhood yet, but his was going to be a strong, characterful face. Not, perhaps, handsome, but he would be rich enough to be good-looking. He was dressed in breeches, baby-frocks behind him.
“Well, Iain, I have been away at sea, in my ship these two years, fighting the French.”
Magic words to a small boy – he was instantly going to be a sailor to fight the Frogs.
“Some of my sailors made a little model of my ship, Charybdis, for you, Iain.”
Twenty inches long on a carved stand, ‘HBMS CHARYBDIS, 36’ lettered in brass inlay, the model had consumed hundreds of forecastle hours – the hull accurate in scale and precise to line; each mast made in four parts, royals stepped; the rigging exact in cotton thread; each gun filed from a nail shank; the boats copies of the originals; the anchors cut from a flat iron sheet. Where the materials had come from, or the tools to work them, it were better not to enquire. In typical naval fashion the project had escalated from its origin as a gift from the Cape Town soldiers, had been taken over, adopted, by the whole lower deck, those not skilled enough to actually work on it contributing more-or-less informed criticism and time – dogwatches worked in place of a hand who needed extra sunlit hours to finish a particularly tricky piece of detail a commonplace.
The model had become almost the sole topic of conversation before it was presented to Frederick, for his son, at their last Sunday Divisions. He, of course, knew nothing of the affair, was taken by surprise, amazed and touched to the heart, wringing Goldfarb’s hand in deepest appreciation, to the great satisfaction of all. He had discussed the possible effects on discipline with Jackman earlier in the week and both had been sure that there would be no lasting problem.
They sat round a table in the dining room, all three together while Frederick gave them a tour of the ship, naming its parts and explaining them.
“You must come to Pompey with me one day, before we sail again. Not this week or next because I must go to London, am ordered to the Admiralty, but, if the weather is good then in three weeks time, Iain.”
He would like that, thank you.
“We shall keep the model in the library, Iain, so it will be safe,” Grandpapa Paget declared, having a knowledge of small boys.
“I bought some other things, Iain, because I was not at home for your birthdays. And Bosomtwi and Ablett have bought a present. Shall we go and fetch them?”
Frederick held out a hand, felt it tentatively clasped.
“Where are the stables, Iain? Will you lead me there?”
An hour and Iain was borne away for lunch and afternoon nap, nothing permitted to interfere with routine, so vital for the young gentleman.
“That went very well, Frederick,” Paget observed, passing over a full glass. “Madeira welcome at this time of day?”
“Not only welcome but necessary, sir! I was so very nervous!”
“You got onto terms of friendship immediately, Frederick.”
More than friendship would have to grow over time, Paget suspected; hoping that it might; daily visits would help.
Through the archway, advancing on the Admiralty porter with the assurance of a serving officer with an appointment, not crawling in servility as a poor, jobless supplicant.
“Captain Harris, to see his Lordship in the forenoon at eleven o’clock.”
He was ushered into the waiting room, not merely pointed to a chair, to the envy of the others present.
There were two post captains, older and far senior to Frederick, who barely noticed him, gave him the stiffest of nods, made no attempt to ascertain his name, irritated that one so junior should have a command whilst they had not. They were high on the List, soon to reach the eminence of Rear Admiral, and almost certain to be yellowed, left unemployed, forcibly retired in effect, if they could not get to sea first. They took barely five minutes of the First Lord’s time, either assured of favourable consideration or turned down out of hand, neither adjudged worthy of any great courtesy. The porter gravely informed the four penniless lieutenants waiting hopefully that they could not be seen that day, they should return early next day, would certainly be seen that week, and Frederick was led in.
“Captain Harris, I am glad to see you here again, and I am to convey Their Lordships’ approbation, sir. Your orders were carried out in the best traditions of the service, a model all young officers should study. Captains Warren and Forshaw will remain in their present employment – th
e Nantes to the Brest blockade, Cobra to return on convoy escort and then to Batavia and the suppression of piracy.”
It was a compliment to him that his young men should be favoured, that officers seen as his protégés should have their careers so advanced. He made his thanks.
“You are to take Charybdis to the Mediterranean, Captain Harris, there to join the fleet. Your premier is young, is he not? Has he the experience to perform his role in so large a frigate? Would he be better suited to a smaller vessel?”
“He is a very good officer, my lord, already fit for command. He made the best possible use of the convoy home from Bombay, forever closeted with Master or Purser, learning and practising his skills and training the very young lieutenants we had had to make, to their very great benefit also, my lord. I will be very sorry when the time comes that I must lose him, my lord.”
“Good – the Fleet continues to grow and there will always be a need for young, flexible men – such as yourself. Tomorrow, Captain Harris, present yourself here at nine o’clock of the morning – full dress, Sword of Honour – and we shall attend the Levee and bathe in the smiles of Royalty. Walk forward at my side, bow when I do, he will not shake hands. I will answer any question he puts about your service. When we leave, three paces backward to the left, turn sideways when I do. Half an hour, thereabouts, to fraternise with the parasites and placemen – you will know one or two already – then bugger off and do something useful!”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Good! Oh, while it comes to my mind, the Danish Ambassador, acting as plenipotentiary to the French – he’s neutral on their side, serves as a channel for the governments to talk to each other, which we need do on occasion – was concerned to be informed that you had given French prisoners to a Fuzzy Wuzzy for his dinner.”
“The Danish ambassador, my lord?”
“Aye, they are neutral, so they say, even if they do break the blockade on every conceivable occasion, and in despite of the fact that they are forever conniving to form a Baltic League against us. They are as neutral as the Americans, for example!”
The Fuzzy-Wuzzy Man (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 3) Page 11
