Badge of Glory (1982)

by Reeman, Douglas

  He had already written several times to the address she had given him but this was the first real news he had received in reply. It appeared that all his letters had arrived at once, and he was touched that she had taken the trouble to read them all in order and with great care. He was also surprised that it had been so easy to converse by letter. Perhaps he had half expected her to break with him as soon as she had left Malta.

  She wrote with warmth and affection, as if they had been lovers instead of brief companions. Blackwood had read her letter so many times it was crumpled from constant handling. Harry, always so confident and assured about his lady friends, would have laughed at him if only he knew.

  A midshipman saluted and said, ‘Captain’s compliments, sir, and would you muster a guard. The admiral is returning aboard directly.’

  ‘Very well. Pipe for Sergeant Quintin, if you please.’

  So the admiral was coming back. He had been across in the senior flagship for most of the day, probably giving vent to his own hatred for inaction with his immediate superior.

  Harry tightened his sword-belt and stamped his feet on the deck. It had been a close thing that time. He had almost burst out to Philip about the letter he had received from Fynmore’s wife in Malta. It had been devoid of love and mystery and had been filled with remorse and fear.

  She had apparently met another officer after the squadron had sailed from Grand Harbour, and from the tone of her letter Harry guessed she had not been so successful in gaining the upper hand. She was with child and quite obviously terrified at the possible consequences when Fynmore found out about it.

  Harry swallowed hard and stared at the anchored frigates and steam gunboats nearby browsing beneath their usual haze of dusty smoke. She may have had the child already. She had also hinted that she would plead her husband’s forgiveness if only for the good of their reputations. If that failed she would do something terrible.

  Harry looked forward as the first squad of marines tramped up a companion ladder and moved to the entry port in readiness for the admiral.

  Suppose it all came out about his own attentions to her? Fynmore was already jealous of the Blackwood family, no matter what he pretended. Something like this would ruin everything.

  A barge moved from the other flagship’s shadow, and with the oars rising and falling like wings turned towards the Tenacious.

  Sergeant Quintin reported, ‘Guard ready for inspection, sir.’

  Blackwood watched his half-brother as he carried out a cursory inspection. No shared jokes with his men now. The marines resented his unexplained change. It showed on their stiff faces.

  Captain Montagu Jervis strode heavily across the quarterdeck and looked grimly at the barge. He nodded to Blackwood and murmured, ‘I hope that Sir James is in good humour. The frigates have reported a coal shortage in the port. It will be a week at least before fresh supplies arrive.’ He glared up at the impeccably furled sails of his ship. ‘How can you run a modern fleet with stone-age brains in control?’

  But when Ashley-Chute’s head and shoulders rose over the ship’s side he appeared to be in an extremely affable mood.

  He touched his hat casually to the guard and waited for the chorus of trilling calls to fall silent. Then to the quarterdeck at large he said cheerfully, ‘Prepare for sea, gentlemen. It’s action this time, so stir yourselves.’

  Even Captain Jervis’s gruff explanation about the coal supplies did not appear to dampen his humour.

  ‘Well, what did you expect from a bunch of godless heathen, eh, Captain?’ He rubbed his hands together and added, ‘Just so long as the flagship is ready, hmm?’

  With his flag-lieutenant trotting behind him he hurried below the poop towards his quarters.

  Later at a hastily called conference Captain Jervis explained the cause of his admiral’s excitement.

  Just before the outbreak of war with Russia the battery at Odessa had fired on Her Majesty’s Ship Furious, despite her flag of truce, as she was about to parley over bringing any British subjects away from the port. One of the first operations after the declaration of war had been for the fleet to bombard that same battery and to leave it and many of the harbour installations wrecked and burning.

  Now it seemed there was a second large battery which had been sited just to the east of Odessa, which was being used to protect an assortment of Russian men-of-war lying at anchor there.

  If a full scale invasion was eventually to be mounted against the Russians, the British and their allies had to hold command of all the sea routes which carried their troops and supplies.

  Captain Jervis said in his usual severe manner, ‘We will bring those ships to action and destroy them, the battery too if need be.’

  It sounded simple enough, and the effect on the ship’s company was immediate as the news spread from mess to mess.

  As dusk closed over the anchorage Tenacious, accompanied by the steam-frigate Sarpedon, and the little paddle-gunboat Rupert, headed away from the land.

  The other vessels watched in frustrated silence as the flagship’s company manned the yards and cheered as if they had already won a resounding victory.

  Aft in the great cabin Ashley-Chute cocked his head to listen and to share the moment.

  During his long career he had been criticized and berated many times, and more than once had been replaced by another officer because of his ideas and tactics. But in each case he had known himself to be right, and when others had doubted he had stood firm. A hard challenge demanded a harder solution. He knew he would never end his days in the peace and security of Admiralty, but he no longer cared. Here was where he belonged. Unfettered by higher authority and with the power of right and justice on his side.

  The deck tilted slightly to the thrust of a south-westerly wind and he smiled wryly as he thought of his flag-captain’s eagerness to use his mechanical power. That could wait. In his mind’s eye he could picture Tenacious with all her canvas spread and filling to the wind. There was no finer sight. No wonder the sailors cheered. Ignorant and insubordinate they might be, but they shared his pride in the ship and what she stood for.

  They all feared him, and the idea amused him. He recalled Blackwood when they had first met all those years ago in New Zealand. Pale and angry after the savage fight, and determined to defend his dead major’s name.

  Maybe that was why he had retained Captain Blackwood in Audacious. He was the only one he could remember who had ever stood up to him.

  His servant tiptoed into the cabin and waited anxiously.

  Ashley-Chute waved his hand. ‘Some port, I think, Fisher. One of the special ones, hmm?’

  The servant hurried away, grateful that the sun was still shining over his master’s head.

  Two days after weighing anchor at Varna the Tenacious’s masthead lookout reported land fine on the larboard bow.

  They had made very good time, with a strengthening south-westerly under their coat-tails to give them an extra thrust through the water. The frigate and the little gunboat had mercifully avoided any sort of mechanical breakdown, and had even used their sails to maintain station on the flagship.

  Admiral Sir James Ashley-Chute appeared on deck within minutes of the cry from the masthead. Blackwood, who had been taking his customary exercise up and down the quarterdeck, moved to the opposite side as the small, monkey-like figure strode to the nettings. Ashley-Chute might pretend that he was calm and unruffled, but Blackwood knew him well enough to see through his pretence.

  Captain Jervis said, ‘Wind’s still rising, sir. I’d like the hands to shorten sail presently. We’re in for a full gale, according to the Master, and I must say I agree.’

  Ashley-Chute’s hands found each other across his buttocks and clasped firmly together as if for support.

  ‘You are the captain. Act as you think fit.’ He glanced at the sea and then up at the low, fast-moving clouds. All day the sea had been lively and broken into cruising ranks of jagged whitecaps. Now it looked darker, li
ke the sky. Summer was short in the Black Sea apparently.

  Blackwood noticed that the admiral’s narrow shoulders were already soaked in spray, and he could almost feel the little man’s agitation as he watched the worsening weather.

  The admiral remarked curtly, ‘Nothing much we can do now anyway. It will be dark in two hours.’ Nevertheless, he took a telescope from his flag-lieutenant and steadied it against the ship’s slow plunging motion.

  Jervis offered helpfully, ‘The bay and the Russian battery lie nor’-nor’-west, sir.’

  The telescope snapped shut. ‘Signal the frigate Sarpedon to investigate.’

  Blackwood could imagine the relief aboard the black-hulled frigate which had been their constant companion since leaving Malta all that time ago. Free of the admiral’s watchful eye, if only for the moment. He saw the signal dash up the Sarpedon’s yards and break out to the wind in acknowledgement. Against the threatening clouds the flags looked unusually bright, like painted metal.

  Ashley-Chute paced a few steps this way and that.

  ‘Put a reliable officer at the masthead, Captain Jervis.’ His deepset eyes settled suddenly on Blackwood. ‘Or would you do me the honour, sir?’

  Blackwood handed his hat to a seaman and unclipped his belt. He had guessed what Ashley-Chute wanted to know. It was not mere curiosity.

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  Ashley-Chute beckoned him over, his manner impatient again.

  ‘The Russians will know what we are about, Blackwood. I need a good eye at the masthead and not merely a sailor’s judgement, you catch my meaning?’

  Blackwood hurried to the main shrouds and swung himself out on to the weather ratlines. He could feel the wind pushing him playfully against the tarred ropes, the soaking slap of spray against his tunic as he began to climb. It was exhilarating and something he had never really got used to. Up and up, past the fighting top and on to the topmast shrouds, the masts and spars shaking and creaking to the wind’s power.

  How they had managed in the old days he could never understand. Ordinary men dragged to sea by the hungry press gangs, boys even who were expected to climb aloft in all weathers to fight the hardened canvas, to reef or splice repairs in the drumming rigging, or face the consequences of the lash if they hesitated.

  He found a burly seaman squatting on the cross-trees, seemingly oblivious to the pale deck so far below his dangling feet.

  If he thought it strange to find a marine coming to join him, and an officer at that, he did not show it.

  Blackwood asked, ‘Where away?’

  The seaman pointed towards the unbroken line of coast, slate-coloured in the failing light.

  Blackwood waited for the mast to dip over again and then levelled his telescope on the bearing.

  Angry wave crests leapt into focus while an offshore current writhed among them like a giant serpent. He saw the frigate end on, a thick trail of smoke gushing downwind as she forged into the bay, spindrift and spray flying from her bows and paddle-boxes in a wild dance.

  He moved the glass very carefully and felt the tarred cordage biting at his skin as the ship plunged into a deep trough. Jervis would have to take in much more sail unless he wanted to lose some of it completely, he thought.

  He tensed. There were ships at anchor, their overlapping shadows making them hard to recognize and distinguish.

  The lookout called, ‘Two, mebbe three men-o’-war, sir, an’ a few merchantmen besides!’

  He sounded cheerful at the prospect. He had probably already worked out his share of the prize-money if they were lucky.

  Part of the coastline flickered briefly, like lightning on a hillside. Blackwood held his breath and counted the seconds. Then he heard the echoing boom of heavy gunfire and watched as several tall waterspouts shot from the water on either side of the frigate. The battery had not been taken by surprise. He saw the spray from the falling columns of water being ripped aside by the wind and pictured the Russian guns already being reloaded and run up for another salvo.

  Boom . . . boom . . .

  The fall of shot was even closer this time, and Blackwood was almost certain that at least one hit had been made on Sarpedon’s hull.

  A metallic voice echoed from the deck. It was Jervis recalling him with the aid of a speaking-trumpet.

  It would soon be dark. Blackwood climbed down the vibrating ratlines and wondered what Ashley-Chute would do. The Russians were in a very strong position. The wind too was in their favour and would soon deny Tenacious the sea-room she needed to close the range to any effect.

  Ashley-Chute snapped, ‘Did you see the battery?’

  Blackwood regained his breath. ‘I can mark it on the Master’s chart, sir. They are heavy weapons.’

  They both turned as the booming crash of gunfire sighed over the deck like a storm.

  Someone called, ‘Sarpedon’s bin ’it, sir.’

  Jervis exclaimed harshly, ‘Damn their bloody eyes!’

  Then the captain made up his mind. ‘Pipe both watches, Mr Norman. Hands aloft and reef tops’ls. Then take in the main-course, lively now!’

  Calls shrilled and bare feet pounded across the decks as the flagship’s seamen ran to their stations before swarming up the ratlines in a human tide.

  Blackwood watched the tiny, foreshortened figures scrambling out on the yards, some above the sea itself, as they began to fist the bulging canvas into submission. If a man fell now he was finished. To hit the sea and drown, or to drop on to the deck, it was all the same to the professional seaman.

  Blackwood turned as he heard Fynmore’s voice. Immaculate as ever, he was standing with Major Brabazon, the second-in-command, while they watched the bustle aloft.

  He guessed that Fynmore hated sharing a cabin with the major, but with so many extra marines aboard, everyone had been made to double up. Blackwood had gone to see Brabazon about gunnery practice but had stumbled on Fynmore instead. It had been embarrassing to see the way he had torn some gold-rimmed glasses from his nose and had rammed them inside his tunic while he had pretended to read his papers unaided.

  Ashley-Chute rasped, ‘Make to Sarpedon. Discontinue the action and close on the Flag.’

  The signals midshipman called, ‘Sarpedon’s acknowledged, sir.’

  Ashley-Chute joined Jervis by the quarterdeck rail. ‘Blackwood saw the fall of shot. A stronger battery than I expected. Must be a reason, hmm?’

  Jervis watched his seamen sliding down the stays to the deck, their work done for the present. The ship felt sluggish but easier under her reduced sails, and he was relieved.

  He answered, ‘We shall be in trouble if we tack any closer, sir. We are on a lee shore as it is, and if the wind rises still further . . .’ He left the rest unsaid.

  The admiral stuck out his jaw. ‘I do not intend that –’ He broke off angrily as the signals midshipman called from the shrouds.

  ‘From Sarpedon, sir. Have received two direct hits and am making water. Enemy shipping at anchor –’ he blinked the spray from his eyes while his assistant, another midshipman, thumbed through his book to ensure that the signal was correct, ‘– includes three men-of-war.’

  Jervis snapped, ‘Acknowledge.’ He bit his lip. ‘Sarpedon will be awash if the sea gets up.’

  But Ashley-Chute ignored him. ‘Signal her to confirm the size of warships.’ He strode impatiently to the opposite side, his body leaning over to the sloping deck.

  The soaked and dripping midshipman, who was very aware of the presence of so many superior officers, tried again, ‘From Sarpedon, sir. Enemy shipping at anchor. Two frigates and one ship of the line.’

  He gaped down from his perch with astonishment as the admiral shouted, ‘Well done, boy!’

  Blackwood felt Harry slide across the spray covered deck to join him. ‘I’ve never heard him praise anyone so junior before!’

  Ashley-Chute banged a fist into his palm. ‘Don’t you see, Captain Jervis? The Russians are reported as having no more than fourteen sail o
f the line in the Black Sea. And one of them is right here! Dammit, Jervis, I’ll ensure she never gets away. Never!’

  The flag-lieutenant gave a nervous cough. ‘I fear the light is going fast, sir. We shall lose visual contact with Sarpedon in minutes.’

  Ashley-Chute regarded him coolly. ‘I am aware of that.’

  Jervis said, ‘It is too lively to lower a boat, sir. But I could drift your despatches across to Sarpedon and then signal her to return to Varna.’

  The admiral looked from one to the other. ‘If Sarpedon sinks on passage we shall not know if my despatches have reached the admiral commanding at Varna or not. Tell her to lie to and execute repairs to the best of her ability.’ He clasped his hands behind him again.

  ‘I have no intention of waiting for support from anybody. There is a ship of the line over yonder, gentlemen, and at first light tomorrow I intend to engage her.’ He nodded approvingly as the signals party bent on more hoists of flags and sent them soaring up the yards. ‘And you may tell your, er, chief engineer, Captain Jervis, that he had best be ready to put his three hundred and fifty horsepower into motion at the first crowing of the cock, right?’ He strode aft without waiting to watch the effect of his orders.

  Jervis stared worriedly at the listing frigate and the clouds of smoke which appeared to be seeping through her starboard side.

  ‘I never thought I’d live to hear him say that.’

  Harry said quietly, ‘Let’s hope he knows what he’s doing.’

  Fynmore walked over and grasped the nettings to stop himself from falling.

  He looked searchingly at the marine lieutenant and said, ‘That could be said of many, Mr Blackwood.’ He walked away without another glance.

  Harry turned his face to the wind and gasped in the cold spray. Fynmore knew something. God Almighty, he knew.

  Blackwood did not see his anxiety but remained by the nettings and listened to the faint clatter of the frigate’s pumps as she fought her lonely battle with her constant enemy.

  And tomorrow it will be our turn.

  Blackwood had never been in a ship of the line when she had cleared for action in deadly earnest. Before it had been a necessary part of training and routine drill, and it was difficult to believe there could be such a difference.