The Scent of Corruption (The Fighting Sail Series Book 7)

by Alaric Bond

  “Indeed I was,” Molony agreed, cheerfully enough. “Though no one seems to have smoked the fact. Born in Clonakilty, but I've been serving with the French since 'ninety-nine. And if you did but know it, you're all drinking with the enemy.”

  * * *

  “So you are a French corsair?” Banks asked, after nothing had been said for several seconds.

  “I serve as prize master in a French privateer, sir.” Carroll's tone was even and quite respectful. “Though am Irish myself, as are all of my people. Our ship, Belle Île took the Duke of Cambridge a little to the north. The Indiaman had become separated from her convoy in a Biscay storm.”

  “And the senior officers?” Caulfield asked, with the air of one who already knew.

  “Regrettably the captain, and two of his mates were amongst those killed during the capture, I believe the rest still to be aboard Belle Île,” Carroll confirmed. “As well as a few of the more notable passengers that Captain Agard, my commander, felt better accommodated there. We were making a run for Cádiz, when we struck those rocks.”

  With Spain still a nominal neutral there would be no official blockading force on the port. And even were it not the base for the privateer herself, Cádiz would prove convenient for anyone wishing to quickly and quietly dispose of a large merchant vessel and her cargo.

  “Our prize crew was not sufficient for the size of vessel,” Carroll went on. “And it appeared the India Company quartermaster decided he would rather take the ship onto rocks, than remain my prisoner. Sure, I cannot blame the man; more attention should have been paid to him; we were remiss.”

  Mention of Carroll's associates appeared to prompt Banks, and he dropped the pen he had been toying with.

  “Your men are still mixed with the East India seamen?” he announced, momentarily horrified.

  “So they will be,” the Irishman responded without emotion. “All are Irish so may not have been noticed, though they will do you no harm, and are doubtless grateful for the rescue.”

  “You will point them out to me without delay,” Banks informed him.

  “I shall be happy to, or can provide a listing of their names if you so wish,” Carroll agreed. “But you have nothing to fear from them, Captain. Without your help we would have been dashed to pieces on those rocks, there is little doubt of that.”

  Banks seemed little assured, although he did allow Caulfield to take up the questioning.

  “Your ship, would she still be in these waters?” he asked, with elaborate casualness.

  “Now that I would not know,” Carroll replied, more guardedly. “And frankly, neither would I tell you if I did. She is the Belle Île as I have said, and hails from Lorient. More than that you must discover for yourselves.”

  There was silence as all considered what had been said, and King suspected his thoughts were running on a similar course to those of the other officers. Lorient was all of six hundred miles to the north-east. Other, more local, ports must be used to supply and maintain the privateer during her cruise. Therefore it seemed likely she was treating Cádiz as a victualling point, although Carroll would have been a fool to have admitted as much.

  “Can you tell us her strength?” Caulfield asked, with little hope.

  “I may say she is of no danger to this fine ship,” Carroll replied, his eyes twinkling slightly.

  “Well, we shall be keeping a sharp look out, nevertheless,” Banks continued, collecting the pen once more, and starting to fiddle with it in his fingers. “And if we are lucky enough to sight her, shall do all we can to bring her to battle.”

  “Captain, I would expect nothing less,” the Irishman confirmed.

  * * *

  Of the seventy-seven seasoned hands rescued from the wreck, only fifteen turned out to be Carroll's men. The rest were pressed aboard Prometheus and, even though they exhibited differing levels of enthusiasm, ranging from resigned acceptance to outright hostility, there could be no doubting the following day's sail drill was more efficient. Further practice with the great guns then resumed and, with at least one battery being exercised at most hours of the day, the rumble of carriages was once more constant throughout the ship. The additional men also filled every available space in the messes and, when combined with the passengers accommodated in the great cabin, as well as a screened off portion of the upper deck, Prometheus soon became a crowded and noisy place. But at least her officers now had the material to create a proper workable watch list and, as Caulfield, King and Davison left the cramped confines of the chart room where the third version had just been drawn up, it seemed they had the basis of a fine crew.

  King's mind was on this, and little else as he followed Davison across the quarterdeck. So much had happened in the last few hours that a good deal had been forgotten and, when the second lieutenant turned and stopped him with the back of an elegantly placed hand, he was more than a little taken aback.

  “There was something I had been meaning to bring up,” the young man said. King glanced down at his chest, then up and into Davison's eyes. There was the slightest flicker, and the hand was withdrawn.

  “You wished to speak to me?” King asked coldly. The fact that the second lieutenant was both younger and apparently less experienced than he was had been enough to make him cautious from the start. But, and ironically for the same reasons, he had gone out of his way to be polite, even though Davison's arrogant manner annoyed him greatly. However, the more he grew to know the officer, the more King became convinced that, not only did he have genuine cause for dislike, but there was also something inherently unpleasant about the lieutenant.

  “I wished to mention yesterday's rescue,” Davidson said, as if it were the most obvious talking point there could have been.

  “Indeed?” King questioned, while his mind instinctively ran back through the previous day's proceedings. “And which particular aspect?”

  “I think you behaved most disgracefully,” came the icy and unexpected reply.

  Now King was both confused and angry. Those hours spent dodging breakers in uncertain shallows while trying to convey boatloads of seamen and frightened civilians to safety had not been enjoyable. That they were over, and he had carried out his duties to the notable approval of the captain, was gratifying. And, if Banks were happy, King could see no reason for censure: certainly not from the jumped up little marionette that now faced him.

  “You are well practised in small boat work, I fancy?” Davison continued. Caulfield had moved on, leaving the two of them standing in the middle of the crowded quarterdeck. Brehaut was holding a class in navigation nearby, the ship's wheel was being managed by a quartermaster's mate and two timoneers, and Benson, who had the watch, stood close at hand, but still King felt strangely isolated and more than a little wary.

  “Not especially,” he replied. “Certainly no more than most officers of my age.”

  “I heard different,” the tone was accusatory although, for the life of him, King could not think what sin had been committed. “I heard that your speciality was such, and many exercises and even actions have been carried out in cutters and launches under your direction.”

  “In my last few commissions I served in frigates,” King retorted. “And sure, when the choice was betwixt me and Mr Caulfield, it were usually myself chosen. But I fail to see...”

  “Then my original assertion stands,” Davison interrupted. “You are a seasoned small boat man, yet were content to see me given the launch, when I have little experience of such vessels.”

  “Now look here,” King began, but younger man would not be silenced.

  “You failed to warn me it were blatantly unsuitable for the work in question. Neither did you offer to go in my stead, or relinquish your cutter as a more suitable craft for directing the operation. In short, you did not support me in the way a superior officer might expect. I was made to look foolish; the more so when that newbie Lewis was so publicly acclaimed.”

  “Lewis has not been a lieutenant for more than
a couple of months,” King was now genuinely angry although his voice actually lowered in both pitch and volume as he spoke. “It was his first such action, and yes, he did well, and should be praised for it.”

  The two men's faces had become dangerously close. “Lewis still has the stink of the lower deck about him,” Davison hissed in reply. “And might find himself back there soon enough, if he is not so very careful.”

  “It was the captain who appointed you to the launch,” King responded. “If you have a concern, belike it should be taken up with him. As for Lewis, he has the makings of a fine officer, and one I am proud to serve alongside.”

  “Well, I do not wish to associate with either of you,” Davison replied in a far clearer tone. “Any further attempts to discredit me will not be ignored: I shall be left with no other option than to call upon my family connections.”

  * * *

  The following morning saw them once more heading south, but with the Portuguese coast sensibly out of sight, and under a racing sun that was fast clearing every trace of bad weather. Prometheus sailed easily with a steady north-westerly on her quarter; the watch on deck, their duties temporarily accomplished, were stood down and Banks, who had been present since dawn, was unaccountably happy.

  As a general rule, seventy-four gun line-of-battleships were herd animals that rarely travelled alone. So, on accepting command of Prometheus, he had naturally resigned himself to few independent missions until he attained flag rank. But here he was, sailing a wide blue ocean with the only other vessels in sight being a cluster of fishing boats several miles to larboard. And not only that, he had a well found ship, provisioned for three months and with much of her rushed or inadequate refitting work now rectified. They had also managed to make up their deficit in numbers in a most unexpected way; more to the point, the fresh intake included a rare proportion of fully trained seamen, while most of the landsmen already taken on board were learning fast and would soon be making a worthwhile contribution. There were still a number of prisoners on the orlop that needed careful watching, and that fellow Carroll remained very much in evidence, although neither presented a true problem. Sadly the same could not be said for several former passengers from the Duke of Cambridge.

  Almost as soon as they were dry the captain had started to receive complaints about their lack of personal effects or, to be more accurate, the reluctance on King and Lewis' part to recover vast bundles of luggage. Banks had remonstrated, pointing out that no lives had been lost in the rescue, but he was not experienced in dealing with Company factors or lower grade civil servants and there was no doubting that some had been offended. The fact that he had given up part of his own precious space was apparently ignored; the great cabin and coach having been wordlessly accepted as communal accommodation, while he moved into his sleeping quarters, yet still they were not happy.

  The ship's officers were also enduring a measure of discomfort; wardroom, gun room and cockpit had been filled to overflowing, while several complete families were berthing in screened off accommodation on the upper deck. All parts of the ship seemed to be plagued by especially noisy children, and that damned dog had turned out to be a pathological yapper.

  He didn't wish for a quiet command; King was currently exercising the larboard upper batteries, and there were shouts and whistles from the boatswain’s party working aloft, but these were natural shipboard sounds. Babies crying, children screaming, and the noise of domestic pets fell into a very different category, and had no place aboard a man-o'-war.

  But a few day's fine sailing would solve all such annoyances and Banks was determined not allow negative thoughts to destroy his good temper on such a lovely day. Those not required on board would be simply landed in Gibraltar, leaving Prometheus in a fine state to sally forth in search of Nelson and adventure.

  Some of the children were causing a nuisance even as he spoke. Three boys, one temptingly close to service age, had ventured onto the hands' sacred forecastle. They were soon chased off by an indignant boatswain's mate who roared and swung his starter with equal impotence. Banks stopped in his pacing to watch, and told himself that John, and possibly even the sibling Sarah was predicting when he left England, would be up to similar tricks in no time.

  The bell rang, bringing forth the usual reports from each station, and the captain flexed his shoulders. Aft, his servant David should have his breakfast waiting. It would be laid out in his sleeping quarters with due formality, and was probably growing cold even as he thought of it. But the morning sun was unusually pleasant on his uncovered head and that, or possibly some more subtle force, was enough to keep him standing on the quarterdeck.

  A flock of large birds many miles from land flew low over the ship. He watched them as they passed, each taking turns for position at the head, before changing course as if by private signal, and finally disappearing into one of the few clouds that daubed the crystal sky. Then there was no further excuse, and he was in the act of turning back for his quarters when a cry came from the main masthead.

  He paused instinctively; the lookout might only be reporting the hourly change, but any intelligence from that sensitive station was enough to interrupt most actions, and this time it did turn out to be information worth hearing.

  “Sighting on the starboard bow!”

  Lewis had the watch, and Banks said nothing when Adams, the duty midshipman, was sent aloft with a glass strapped about his young shoulders.

  “I have her more firmly now,” the lookout reported, as the lad arrived. “She's three masted and steering to cross our prow.”

  Few ships carried masts higher than those on Prometheus, while even some that did had smaller hulls and far less fire-power, so the heading was hardly significant. It would also have been the logical course were a vessel set deeper in the Atlantic be making for the nearby port at Lisbon. Still Banks was hoping for more and felt himself rooted to the spot, despite the scent of what he guessed must be his very own bacon wafting forward from the pantry.

  But when it came, the news was inconclusive; even with the aid of a glass, Adams had little to add. The ship, as ship she undoubtedly was, would remain hull down for some considerable time and, while running before the wind, her topsails were almost side on and gave little clue as to nationality, purpose or intention. Prometheus, sailing several miles behind, was by no means setting records; the sighting would cross her bows some considerable distance ahead, and might even be preparing to enter the Tagus by the time she reached that spot.

  A muffled scream came from aft, followed by the same inane laughter that had already been heard several times that day and could surely only originate from an imbecile. Banks guessed the passengers in his dining cabin were at breakfast, and some of the younger ones were making their presence known. The thought of eating his own meal in a stuffy room, separated from such a din by the thinnest of bulkheads, was not appealing and, despite the relative disappointment of the sighting, remaining on deck seemed much the better option.

  “Ask my steward to prepare breakfast here, will you?” he murmured to a youngster nearby. But, before the message could be delivered, David had already appeared along with two wardroom stewards who carried metal trays that smelt delightfully of coffee and fried bacon.

  “Mr Lewis, would you care to join me?” he asked, as the food was presented tantalisingly close to the men at the wheel, and the young officer quickly assumed a look of genial expectation. The table that Banks generally used for cards then appeared, along with several of his dining chairs and soon he, Lewis, Benson, who had just happened on deck at the appropriate time, together with Franklin, the oldster midshipman who could have given all save Banks several years, were sitting comfortably in the warm sun and enjoying a splendid meal.

  The bread was only just soft enough to be edible but, soaked in fat in the cockpit manner, still made a fine dish. Banks noted that the meat was heavily smoked and just to his taste. Presumably Sarah had chosen it, and he wondered that she should have noticed h
is liking. David poured coffee; he collected his and examined the cup with interest. It was another reminder of home; part of a delicate service that also showed Sarah's concern for him. The china was exceptionally thin, and had been privately condemned as too light for shipboard use. But the memory reinforced feelings that were really best forgotten and, even though his drink was still scalding hot, Banks found himself gulping deeply.

  “Deck there, sighting is changing course.” The information came as a welcome interruption and the captain's thoughts were brought back to the present as he took another mouthful of breakfast. “She's coming to larboard and adding t'gallants,” the midshipman added.

  Both the extra sail and change of course must have been caused by sighting Prometheus. Banks dropped the rest of his roll back onto the plate and absent mindedly licked at his fingers before standing and collecting the hat his servant proffered.

  “Mr Lewis, you will oblige me by summoning the watch below,” he said, clearing his throat, and wiping his mouth with his handkerchief.

  The lieutenant, with whom he had so very recently been enjoying breakfast, was now also standing and bellowed an order that in turn prompted a series of shrill pipes to disrupt the entire ship. Banks placed his hat firmly upon his head, signifying that he was now on duty, as a rush of feet came up the main companionway. Equally summoned by the call, more officers began to assemble on the quarterdeck with Caulfield, who appeared with the rosy red flush of sleep still apparent on his face.

  “We have company to the south-west,” Banks told him flatly. “Three masted, and clearly interested in us.”

  “Any colours?” Caulfield asked. The captain shook his head.

  “No, but you will oblige me by hauling down our pennant directly.”

  The first lieutenant flashed a look to Franklin, then collected a glass, even though the sighting was still well beyond their horizon.

  “It is probably nothing more than one of our frigates,” Banks continued as the long, flowing bunting that was a permanent fixture at their masthead was taken in. “But the last thing they will expect to see is a third rate sailing independently and, if this be the privateer, I would prefer they thought otherwise.”