Britannia’s Son (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 4)

by Andrew Wareham

  A visit to the gunner might well be a good idea, Backham thought – he also was new to Sir Frederick’s ways, might need a quiet word in his ear.

  “We can expect close action in the near future, Mr Plumb, possibly against heavy frigates, but perhaps to deal with convoys of small ships and their escorts. Plenty of serge sewn up for cartridges, I trust?”

  “Forty to each of the twenty-fours, sir. Twice as many to the carronades, being as ‘ow they fire the quicker; all sewn up and weighed out, sir. For the chasers, twenty rounds apiece and my two mates do be workin’ on they this very minute, sir, as you may see.”

  The fixed brass scales were in use, powder being weighed to the quarter of an ounce, ten pound charges for the long, nine foot barrel, thirty-two chasers.

  “Good! What of shot, Mr Plumb?”

  “Ball to the ready-use racks by the cannon, sir. Grape in nets to be run up as soon as ‘All Hands’ is called. Bar-shot, I got just four rounds a gun of they, but they ain't often called for. Chain, well, I do reckon that to be a trifle old-fashioned for us, sir; langrage the same. Grape cuts up rigging just as ‘andy-like, to my mind.”

  “You may well be right, Mr Plumb. The gunner before you when this ship was still a two-decker said the very same. What of small arms?”

  “Cartridge paper cut up and filled for sixty rounds apiece, sir. Standard issue, both for pistols and muskets. Cutlasses all got a sharp on; boarding axes the same and fixed firm to they hafts. Belts all made up, or soon will be, sir, being as ‘ow we organised a party to cut and sew ‘em.”

  “Good. What of the boat guns and swivels?”

  “All to ‘and, sir.”

  Backham consulted his notebook. What next?

  Purser and cook would make sense. Rations of biscuit and cheese to be made up and wrapped dry, cook’s mate under orders to put them in the boats as they were called away. As well, the men might be under arms for hours at a time with no opportunity to sit to their dinners at their mess tables.

  “I would be obliged to you, Mr Jenkinson, was you to arrange for pease pudding to be boiled up, and plum duff as well, can it done. A slab of each cold in the men’s hands will cheer them up in the middle of a long night waiting for action.”

  It could be done, Jenkinson thought, mostly because he had taken the opportunity to loot the stores of the privateer they had brought into Malta. He had been able to sell off rice and olive oil and some sort of foreign beans in exchange for flour and plums and dried peas, the purser of the flagship being an amenable sort of fellow and no doubt knowing the right people ashore to profit on the deal.

  Jenkinson had laid his hands on four barrels of a rather nasty red wine as well. He intimated that there could be an issue into each man’s leather jack if they should wish to hold a minor celebration at any time.

  A successful but not very important action could be the excuse for a little of jollifications, Backham thought. The captain was very keen to indulge the men when they did well, and he kept a firm discipline nonetheless, so it seemed wise to humour him.

  Backham relaxed, his extra tasks completed – he was pleased that there had been no problems, the junior officers all cooperative and going out of their way to help. Not like service on blockade where month after month of dull, futile routine dulled every man’s edge.

  Look-outs! He had not remembered them – it would make sense to have an additional man in the mainmast, as high as he could get and under orders to watch the coast only. He would do that immediately.

  Frederick was called on deck soon after dawn.

  “Fishing boats, sir. Would we wish to purchase from them? Perhaps to seek information?”

  “Do they speak English, Mr Backham?”

  Backham expected everybody to speak English, it had not occurred to him that they might be so primitive in these parts as not to.

  “Call Lieutenant Murray, Mr Backham. I am given to believe that he has every language of the Mediterranean at his command.”

  Very strange, Backham thought, sending a runner to bring Murray on deck.

  There was a delay of nearly five minutes before Murray appeared, a helping hand pushing from behind as he fumbled with belt, buckles and shirt buttons. He had not quite mastered the sea-going habit of waking with the dawn, was able to sleep through the noise of clearing for the change from night to daytime routine, his own cabin next to the boatswain’s stores being unaffected.

  “Fishing boats, sir. Yes, sardines, primarily, sir. Greeks, one can tell from the eye painted in the bows of the caiques. Not that these are actual caiques, as such, more of a local variant, I believe…”

  Murray became aware that his ramblings, though no doubt very interesting, were not what he had been brought on deck for.

  “Ah, yes, sir… Speak to them, yes of course, sir, a local dialect with certain variations from the mainland speech, but there should be no difficulty in understanding.”

  They had closed the boats while waiting for Murray, were within hail, the fishermen quite confident, displaying no fear of the foreign warship - Barbary pirates attacked fishermen but the civilised nations did not.

  Murray shouted across, dropped into the lingo to the admiration of the bulk of the crew, only a few inclined to regard with suspicion any man who could speak an unchristian tongue. It was explained by the knowledgeable that the Greeks were Orthodox, which if anything added to their qualms of the minority, being as they must therefore be Russians - them being notorious for their Orthodoxy - which had no business fishing in these waters.

  “Do we wish to purchase, sir? It would be a popular move, especially if we could offer Maria Theresas or gold. A guinea would buy the whole of any boat’s catch, the ship’s boy as well in all probabilities.”

  “We will take the fish, thank’ee, Mr Murray.”

  Bucket after bucket of sardines came aboard, sufficient for a breakfast for the whole crew, and then dinner as well, Murray talking to the crews all the while.

  “Mr Backham, tell the cook to get busy, if you please. A man from each mess to gut and scale and whatever else is necessary. Tell the cook to set the fish to fry using the skillets that he does not possess – the men put lines out whenever they can and eat fried fish at least once a week!”

  The purser appeared at Backham’s side and told him he would take care of the matter, much to his relief.

  Frederick did not notice Jenkinson’s presence, as he had expected. A little of flour and of illicit butter from his extra-legal pantry and the men would be very pleased to assist him with unofficial work parties if it became possible to access the stores of a warehouse or taken merchantman during the busy confusion that followed an action.

  “I scratch their backs and they scratch mine, Mr Backham!”

  The First Lieutenant was left even more puzzled, he having only one understanding of the term ‘backscratching’.

  The fishing boats sheered off and Murray took out pencil and paper, made a few quick notes while all was still clear in his mind.

  “Have we discovered anything of interest, Mr Murray?”

  “Sorry, sir! Yes, sir.” Murray glanced about him, the crowded deck seeming a less than ideal place to discuss intelligence. Perhaps it was different at sea. “The Greeks tell me that there is a garrison of Turks and a flotilla of the Russian navy based on Corfu. There were some ships, including a pair of two-deckers, belonging to the Turkish navy, but they sailed last week having heard rumours of a French invasion force at Venice. They were to destroy the French armada, such as it might be, but would seem to have sailed south, despite Venice being to the north. Perhaps they have gone to seek reinforcements, sir.”

  Frederick was unconvinced, but little concerned – it left more for them to share.

  “How many Russians?”

  “Three brigs, sir, thought to be out patrolling. There were more but they sailed some time ago on a cruise of the Islands, though which archipelago is uncertain. As well, sir, they left behind some troops, probably some two hun
dred, but they are known to have killed their officers and taken ship for the mainland, presumably with the intention of deserting, possibly into Austrian territories.”

  The Russians were a potential nuisance, Frederick thought, being very uncertain allies of Britain and probably about to change sides. If they had chosen to take themselves off, so much the better.

  “What of the Turkish garrison?”

  “They are sat in the two big forts, sir, with the Greeks seeking to cut their throats whenever they venture out and them reciprocating at any opportunity. Best to leave them to it, sir, as we might be forced to take sides otherwise.”

  “And the French invasion force?”

  “That, sir, they had no certain knowledge of, but thought it might be at sea, there having been no merchant vessels sailing from the north in the last little while.”

  “We should do all we can to discover the reality, I think, Mr Murray. Thank you, sir! Mr Nias, change course to follow the coast north, I believe. Bearing in mind the prevailing winds, Mr Nias, what would be the most likely track for the French to follow, assuming they are using small local merchantmen for troop carriers?”

  Nias had not the least idea, but knew better than to say so. He was able to turn to his charts and pencil in the route he would have taken and then set a course for a sensible, dawn interception, assuming their speeds and starting date to be the most likely.

  “They will have sailed with a full moon, sir, easier by far to keep their convoy together during the nights. Full daylight for a landing if they are to take boats into the beaches, though they would wish to enter any harbour at first light. If they miss their time then they may be expected to anchor in the shelter of a convenient island for half a day or so.”

  That assumed that they would not simply work their way down the Italian coast until they could make the short passage directly east to Corfu. The French did not command the whole of the coastline, would probably not take the risk of being spotted and a fast boat running ahead of them to arrange a reception.

  “North then, as far from the Seven Islands as possible so that if the convoy is split up we will have the opportunity to run them down piecemeal. What are the typical merchantmen of these coasts, Mr Nias?”

  “Venetian traders, sir? Typical? Brigs and commonly ships, much like any others to be found in the largest ports – for they were often used to trade into Atlantic waters. Adriatic coastal vessels are more varied, commonly polaccas and feluccas of anything from twenty tons to two hundred and with a mix of lateens and square sails. The smaller feluccas and tartanes would be hard pressed to carry two platoons of infantry, the largest polaccas might take half of a battalion or perhaps a battery of twelve pound field guns, though not their horses as well.”

  A convoy carrying a single brigade of infantry together with field guns and commissariat would need five or six Atlantic traders, or thirty or forty of coastal sail. It would be escorted, but by what?

  “The Turks have sailed south, we are told, Mr Murray. Does that smack of duplicitous arrangement?”

  “Of course, sir, what else could there be in this part of the world? A bribe to an admiral, a promise to pasha and bey… All of the most usual, sir.”

  The ‘promise’ it transpired would normally be of independence, of the creation of small principalities free of the Ottoman Empire and with guarantees of protection against Austrian incursion. If the Balkans became a mass of tiny statelets, all in conspiracy against each other and the Ottomans and the Austrians, and all hostile to the existence of an autonomous Greece, then French - or British perhaps - ambitions would be more easily attained.

  “You seem to imply, Lieutenant Murray, that we might be well-advised to allow the French to first subvert the bases of Ottoman and Austrian power, and then to destroy the Frogs without permitting the return of the original authorities.”

  “Downing Street might be pleased if you did, sir, but you must be certain that you can extirpate the French influence – no half measures.”

  One frigate, no soldiers, and the potential might of the French Empire to be countered.

  “No, Mr Murray, as the men would say, ‘sod that for a game of skittles!’ That is not a set of risks that I fancy.”

  “I tend to applaud your wisdom, sir. Given a fleet and an expeditionary force, then perhaps it would work as a policy, but even then I would advise caution. Indeed, sir, can you safely make an attack upon the invasion convoy, if such exists?”

  “Safely? If I wished to be safe then I would stay at home, Mr Murray! But it is not impossible that we might make the Frogs wish they had stayed at home instead. We may assume that they know the Turks will not intercept them, and they will be aware that the bulk of the Russian squadron is otherwise engaged. Is it possible that they may have arranged that as well, Mr Murray?”

  “A lesser degree of certainty, sir, but all things are feasible. I am no expert on Russian politics, and I am told that only a Russian can be, for having the feeling for the national character – which is unique, as well as being pickled in their vodka. Where was I? Ah, yes – the question of whether a Russian admiral might be subverted by French gold. If he is of a family that might be at risk if the present tsar was to be assassinated – and any tsar may always be struck down for any number of reasons – then he might seek financial reassurance, but it would be in no small sum. So my answer tends to be the question of how much the French can pay in gold coin, cash in hand. They may have been able to steal from Venice – they certainly will have done so, but most of the loot will have gone to Paris – and retain sufficient for their local needs, but I doubt it. It is possible that an arrangement has been made between Paris and St Petersburg for a local accommodation, and that I suggest is in fact far more likely. Russia is on bad terms with England at the moment and could well be considering changing sides. The Tsar might show his potential good will to France, and this new First Consul of theirs, by an order to the admiral to lose himself in the Mediterranean for a few weeks. It is, now I think on it, quite likely.”

  Frederick would have preferred a simple yes or no, but he thought it probable that Murray was saying that the French would expect no trouble from the Russian navy. If such was the case then the French would have escort sufficient to deal with any fortuitous encounter with Barbary pirates or such, but would not be expecting any significant naval battle. The presence of Trident in these waters should still be wholly unknown to them; even if there were spies in Malta - and it would be surprising if there were not, they must be present in every naval base – they would not have had time to get any message to Venice.

  “Let us see if we may disappoint the Frogs, gentlemen. Master and officers and senior warrants to my cabin, Mr Backham.”

  “It is my intention to utterly destroy this invasion; we should send a message throughout the whole of these waters. Trident is to seek out and take or destroy ships of war; launch and longboat with carronades and boarding parties to take the surrender of the transports, gentlemen. It will be of the greatest importance to ensure that the soldiery offer their formal acceptance of terms – do not assume that the ship’s master is empowered to speak for the military passengers. Point out, gentlemen, that you will have no qualms in taking off the crew and then firing the ship if the army will not surrender.”

  “Can we do that, sir?”

  “Easily, Mr Backham. The gunner will make up combustibles to go aboard each boat – a bag of gunpowder wrapped in tar-soaked rags with a length of slow match is said to be very effective.”

  Backham was often naïve, but he realised that Frederick had deliberately chosen to misunderstand him and said no more; perhaps his conscience was too tender for the demands of modern war.

  End of Excerpt

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