Fortune And Glory (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 5)

by Andrew Wareham

  Frederick remained on deck, painstakingly assembling sets of orders for the most likely events of the night.

  It seemed a good chance that the Frog, if he was enterprising, would seek to cross Trident's bows at half a cable or less, a rolling broadside and foremast gone, at a minimum, and then, probably, board in the confusion.

  What to do?

  If they saw her at two cables, which was a reasonable expectation, then it would be too late to tack or wear, they could never complete the evolution in time. Shaking out the reefs would be possible, but would achieve very little, but the exact opposite might serve.

  "Mr Nias, was we to back the courses and throw the helm hard over, then we would be cast in irons, would we not?"

  "We would indeed, sir, falling instantly into the trough."

  "And we know from recent experience that Trident would roll like a pig, and then recover rapidly."

  "And would be broadside on to any Frog attempting to cross the 'T', sir."

  They discussed the possibility and then sent the midshipmen to warn the doctor and gunner of the violence possibly to be inflicted on their domains.

  "Mr Cheek! Parties to the fore and main courses, if you please. I have it in mind that we may wish to be a little out of the ordinary in our actions, in the event that we are to be assailed from the darkness by an evil-minded Frenchman."

  They explained and then informed every gun-captain by runner.

  A ship's boy came pelting from the foremast, running blind over the familiar deck.

  "Sir! Foremast, sir. Nobby says he can see summat at afar, sir, a sort of glim, sir, like as if they ain't covered the binnacle quite right, sir. Can't put a distance to 'er, sir, but she'm sou' sou' east where that Frog used to was."

  "Well done, boy. Go back to the masthead and tell Nobby to keep watching her, report if she closes."

  "Aye aye, sir!"

  "Bright boy, Mr Nias?"

  "Neddy, sir. Pompey street rat, came aboard for having stolen food from his master - he was under punishment for not stealing enough during the day, twenty-four hours of starvation. He grabbed a loaf and legged it, just before we sailed. Very alert, sir. As soon as he is strong enough I shall make a topman of him."

  "Is more possible?"

  "Only if he has his letters, sir - and that is not impossible, but not highly probable. I shall ask him."

  "Closing, sir, but slowish and Nobby says he don't reckon the Frog's caught sight of us yet, acos of 'e's not changing course like what 'e would be."

  "Heave-to, Mr Nias?"

  "Thus to gain the gage, sir? Risky, but we can always fall back on your original plan, sir, if we are detected too soon."

  The orders were whispered and the sails were brought into balance to hold Trident almost stationary whilst still under command, difficult in the dark of night.

  "Sir, sir!" Neddy running and shouting, contrary to orders. "She ain't no more than a ship's boat, sir, wi' a lantern showin'!"

  "All sail, Mr Nias! Mr Merritt, run out to port! Chasers, run out, port bow!"

  Men ran, the silence was broken by bellowed orders. Nothing could be seen. The carronades at the stern fired without warning, without permission, just in advance of the first French shots as the frigate came out of the darkness and crossed their stern quarter.

  "High! The bloody fool's aiming into the rigging, sir."

  Trident eased to port, brought half of her broadside to bear.

  "Shoot! Reload grape!"

  Frederick assumed she would have a boarding party ready. It would be the logical tactic.

  The sails began to bite and Trident gained a little way and closed the French bows, the forward guns bearing and firing before the stern battery had reloaded. The carronades shot again and were rewarded by a chorus of screams The marines set to their musketry and swivels detonated at the mastheads. A lantern spilled over near the Frenchman's wheel, the actual binnacle lamp, a few flames spread light and the big rifles began their aimed practice, killing the helmsmen before the fire was doused.

  The nine twenty-four pounders of the stern battery shot together, more than two thousand rounds of grape clustered towards the rear of the gun deck. The French fire slackened.

  "Close and board, sir?"

  "No! Hold off and batter - those were blue coats I saw, she has a detachment of soldiers aboard."

  The cry went out to load ball and Trident sidled slowly away, Nias pointing her high into the wind and opening a gap of eighty or ninety yards between the two hulls.

  "Broadsides, Mr Merritt, hold them together."

  The rate of fire would be marginally slower, but the guns would be pointed accurately, the crews under control; fewer rounds would be fired but more would hit home.

  "Carronades at will."

  The carronades were less accurate, but their crews were aware of the fact and would take far greater care in their aim, could be trusted to point their guns where they would do most good.

  "Mizzen topmast has been wounded, sir. Mr Cheek is stripping her."

  Twenty hard minutes, broadside for broadside, the French now hulling Trident time and again, wounded going below in a steady trickle, a few dead over the side.

  "Mr Merritt's gone, sir."

  "Pass the word."

  The other lieutenants, if they still survived, would know what they must do.

  "Frenchie's firing fewer guns, sir, and them slower."

  Frederick would generally have taken this as the signal to close and board the weakened opponent. At night, and knowing there were soldiers aboard - perhaps only a platoon, maybe half a battalion on passage - the risk was too high.

  "Continue the action."

  Four more broadsides, well held together, each battering the hull and spreading yet more splinters and no more than half a dozen French balls taken.

  "She's on fire, sir!"

  Spilt powder, possibly a patch of oil from the lantern that had tipped over earlier - the risk was always present.

  A sudden great flare as a cartridge took a spark, eight pounds of powder scattering across the deck, then a second blowing still in its box, catching a powder-monkey as he ran up on deck with another pair of charges. Tarred ropes caught alight and tendrils of flame snaked upwards into the sails.

  "Cease fire!"

  "Boats, Mr Nias."

  Crews ran down into the three boats still towing astern, rowed very nervously across to the suddenly flaming ship. None wanted to be alongside when the magazine blew.

  Men began to jump, the crew abandoning without orders.

  "Ease her away, Mr Nias. It will be slower for the boats, but I am not sitting half a cable from a burning powder magazine, sir."

  Nias offered no argument.

  They pulled a hundred or so men off the burning hull, scooped another score or so out of the water before they could see no more and called the boats back.

  The frigate burned almost to the waterline at the bows, the fire working its way sternwards belowdecks and finally reaching the powder room, ripping the hull apart in a slow series of explosions.

  "No prize money there, sir!"

  "Night actions, Mr Nias - no occupation for sensible men!"

  The casualty list was long.

  "Mr Archbold, you must act as premier for the return to Malta."

  Good experience for the young man, but he could not keep the rating, he was too new in his rank, lacked the knowledge he would need.

  "Mr Murray - in the normal way of things I would make you a watch-keeper as of now, but I believe the men know enough of you to realise why I will not do so. They will not think less of you, sir."

  "I had not realised just how close a ship's company was, sir. They know exactly what I am, and many suspect what I am not. I shall remain supernumary, if it pleases you, sir."

  "Mr Greener must take acting rank."

  "In the doctor's hands, sir," Nias interposed. "Unlikely to survive, I believe, splinters in the abdomen and legs."

  "Then you m
ust take a watch, Mr Nias. Spread the mids about as makes sense to you, sir. What of the petty officers? Have we lost any, can we replace them?"

  "Mr Cheek has that in hand, sir. We are short of senior men and I believe he may beg the services of Ablett to act in the role of Captain of the Maintop, sir."

  "Granted, of course. Ablett was a gunner's mate, I believe, not a topman ever."

  "No matter, sir - he can be senior of the petty officers, give them the good word when it's needed, sir, 'tis that Mr Cheek has in mind."

  The boatswain could not be available for every hour of the day, must have a reliable and well-respected man to act as his second in matters of discipline. His mates could deal with questions of seamanship but there had to be a strong leader to hand when he slept.

  "How many of the hands, Mr Nias?"

  "Thirty, sir, dead, and another eight or ten to follow. And, sir, Hairy Jack and Fearless Fred were hit by grape, both together, sir. Killed clean, which is a good thing, they could not have understood why they had been hurt, after all."

  "Don't let the men take it out on the prisoners, Mr Nias. They will be very angry."

  The death of the monkeys would be felt much more than the loss of their human mates - the animals were not involved, the French had no business killing them.

  "Sir, the senior Frog would wish to talk with you, if he may."

  Dawn had broken on a calm sea, just a breath of wind, Trident limping northwards, her thin crew busy. The carpenter with an augmented party was plugging holes in the hull, several only barely above the waterline.

  "Was she rolling, sir, then she'd be close to foundering. They bloody Frogs done us no good turns with they last couple of broadsides, sir."

  Carpenters always foresaw the ship sinking - it was a tradition of the trade.

  "Can we make more sail, Mr Nias?"

  "Driver to the mizzen, sir. No topsail. Fore is wholly unwounded, sir; main is untouched in the timbers but the rigging is cut up something shocking, sir. Splicing and new blocks, sir - never seen the like in all my natural, sir. Two days, sir, before she will carry a full suit, sir, if she will at all."

  "So be it. Mr Archbold, when do you propose that we should hold our burial service?"

  "One hour, sir. The sailmaker has almost finished his task. I believe that is the concern of the French gentleman, sir."

  Frederick had forgotten him, turned and apologised.

  "Mr Fox!"

  The midshipman was already present, foreseeing the need for an interpreter.

  "The gentleman was second lieutenant on the Aigle frigate, sir. First was killed by the Russians three days ago, sir. He says that no other commissioned officers survived, sir. More than twenty of his men have died during the night, sir. He wishes to know how you plan to dispose of the bodies, sir."

  "They can go over the side immediately after ours, Mr Fox. We will not be able to provide shrouds in the time, I am afraid."

  The French lieutenant asked a question.

  "French practice, sir, is to bury the bodies in the ballast so that they may be returned to France and interred in a graveyard there. Is that possible, sir?"

  "No. Totally against custom, Mr Fox. Impossible!"

  "He thought that might be so, sir. He asks about parole, sir, and is concerned about the eventual destination of the prisoners."

  If, as was not impossible, the action had taken place in waters claimed by the Turks - they believed that the whole of the Aegean was theirs while Western countries allowed them only three miles around each of their islands - then it might be argued that the French survivors must be taken to the nearest port and 'released' there. France was not at war with the Ottomans and could claim the benefits of neutrality; the English would argue that they had not transgressed against the rules as they had merely defended themselves against an onslaught illegally made whilst they were peacefully traversing neutral seas. The Turks would fume, knowing that neither party actually cared whether they believed them or not, and would almost certainly kill the kafir interlopers dumped upon them.

  Frederick was short-handed and Trident was low on water. He could not afford to place a substantial detachment of his men to act as guards, he needed them to repair and sail the ship quickly back to Malta. Equally, with his reputation, he must be tender of his prisoners.

  "I would wish to transport the French seamen to Malta. It may then be possible to negotiate their exchange. If the lieutenant wishes, I can place his men and himself ashore on Rhodes. If they are to remain aboard I would prefer not to lock them in the hold, hot and black and dirty; men would die there."

  The lieutenant had no desire to spend two, perhaps three, weeks locked in the depths next to the bilges.

  "He will give full parole for himself and all of his men, sir."

  "Thank you, Mr Fox. Ask him to make the declaration in writing, if you please - so that I can stuff it under the nose of any Turk who may come aboard."

  It would also satisfy the admiral at Malta if he had paperwork to cover himself.

  "Please inform the lieutenant that his men will be rationed as normal for prisoners at three for two. Any who wish - purely as volunteers - to assist in working the ship or making repairs will be put on full and be given a rum allowance."

  Prisoners could expect short commons - that was entirely usual and lawful - no ship would be expected to have the extra food stocks to hand to feed so many mouths. It was also acceptable to ask prisoners to volunteer to join work parties, and be compensated for their efforts.

  "The men will not be ordered to fight the ship, sir?"

  "No. Any man who so wishes may volunteer to sign on the muster, as always, but none would be coerced to fight. That would be wholly unlawful, Mr Fox, and I would not countenance it."

  There would be conscripts from other countries amongst the French crew, as there were on Trident - the press gang rarely enquired of a taken man's nationality. Dutch, various sorts of Germans, Spaniards and Italians would have been swept up by the invading forces and many would have found themselves at sea - and some might wish to exchange masters.

  "Sir, the lieutenant will tell the men of the offer, and will not give them orders not to take it. He asks, sir, whether you are the gentleman who was in the South Seas a few years since."

  "I am, of course, Mr Fox."

  There was a long conversation, Fox asking several questions to clarify all he was told.

  "His captain, sir, had a brother on that expedition, sir. He was lost, had been transferred to ship the French had taken and which was cast ashore in the final battle. He feared the young man - a midshipman - might have met a terrible fate."

  "He did, I am afraid, Mr Fox. The tribesmen ate every one they laid their hands on, and we were too few and tired by battle - we could not effect any rescue before it was far too late."

  Further conversation ensued.

  "He says, sir, that his captain had believed you to be the man in question, which was why he took the risk of his attack, although weakened after his battle with the Russians."

  "It was very nearly successful, Mr Fox. Had he directed his first broadside at the hull rather than the top hamper then he might have overwhelmed us."

  "The rules are that the enemy must always be disabled first, and ship's captains have no discretion, sir, not where there is an admiral to watch what they are doing. So he says, sir."

  That was careless of the lieutenant - he had told them that there was a French flagship within reason close. It also told him that the French knew of the presence of Trident and might well come hunting him. The rest of the French squadron could well be inside a day or two's sail.

  "Mr Archbold, the French prisoners have given their parole and must be accommodated other than in the hold."

  "Best they should be together, sir, where we can keep an eye on them. Towards the sick berth would be best, sir - the waisters must make space for them. It will not be liked but they must lump it!"

  "Mr Fox will address them and infor
m them that if they work they will get extra food and a rum ration. He will also invite any who do not fancy life in a prison hulk in Malta or Gib to volunteer to serve His Majesty. Get one of the German speakers to repeat the message, Goldfarb will do it well."

  "Aye aye, sir."

  The funeral service was, as always, bitterly moving, the line of canvas shrouded corpses evidence that he as captain had failed them - his duty was to keep his men alive. He uttered the words woodenly; he could never speak them well, he was too concerned to fight back the tears that were not, he believed appropriate to his position. The boards tilted one after another, the canvas-wrapped bundles sliding into the sea and sinking immediately, well weighted down; the last plank carried two tiny bodies together. It might, he feared, have been blasphemous to bless these as they disappeared, but he did so - they had been good servants of the ship.

  "Mr Nias, best course to rejoin Mr Backham, if you would be so good. Ship to remain cleared, I think. There is reason to expect company, sir."

  "Let us trust Mr Backham has not had guests already, sir."

  Backham had spent the most enjoyable few days of his life, his duty keeping him in the company of his interpreter for almost every daylight hour. He had been a sailor since he was nine, lucky to have been at sea for most of the twenty years since. His parents had died in an outbreak of fever when he was twelve and he had known of no relatives. His few leaves had been spent in boarding houses and he had never come into contact with respectable women; he was as vulnerable as a schoolboy, fell hopelessly in love.

  As far as he could tell his affection was returned - Maria welcoming his presence with a smile whenever she saw him. He dared not speak to her, knowing how the men of the island would treat her if he did; he must soon go, immediately after the inevitable return of the Turks.

  A sail was called from the watch party at the harbour mouth, a signaller using flags so as to waste no time. Kent came at the run into his office.

  "Lookout on the mole, sir, reporting a Turkish two-decker in sight, on course for the harbour."