Worth Their Colours (105th Foot. The Prince of Wales Own Wessex Regiment.)

by Martin McDowell

  “Get yourself to the Colonel’s cabin and inform him, that what looks like an important Naval Officer, is about to visit the ship.”

  Lacey and O’Hare arrived quickly, both buckling on their swords, and all watched the progress of the barge. In no time the barge was alongside and the Admiral was climbing the ladder to board the ship through the entry port that had been removed from her side. First into view was his bi-corne hat, worn Admiral style “athwartships”, to show the cockade of his rank, then his beaming countenance as he pulled his slightly tubby, middle aged figure up the last few steps. Once on deck, he looked around for those that appeared as authority and saw the three Officers at attention and at the salute. He chose the correct one and headed straight for Lacey, hand outstretched and with a smile that, if anything, had broadened.

  “My dear Colonel Lacey, permit me to introduce myself, Rear Admiral Staveley, in command of this port. May I congratulate you and give you joy on your victory. A splendid, a most splendid, heroic effort, and a marvellous success. I can’t tell you how good it feels to have one of those damn pirates tied up against my quayside. Those two have been plaguing this coast for months and have cost us dear, but you, my dear sir, you have broken the pair and no more can they play their damn tricks up and down my piece of ocean. Marvellous. Marvellous.”

  All this whilst he pumped Lacey’s hand up and down with both hands of his own.

  “Thank you, Admiral, but may I introduce Major O’Hare and Ensign Rushby? Both played a significant role in the action.”

  Staveley transferred his hand pumping to O’Hare and Rushby.”

  “Major. Rushby. Capital. Capital. Yes. Yes. Now listen. You are all invited, with any other Officers as tyou choose, to dinner in our Officers’ Mess. This evening. I’ll brook no argument and, I feel sure, you’ll not be sorry to stretch your legs off this old tub. What? Not wrong am I? Hmm? Now, I want to hear now, all the details, before I leave, about how you took her. Every detail, you understand, for my own satisfaction.”

  Lacey stood aside and motioned the Admiral to the door under the quarterdeck.

  “Our pleasure, Admiral. The Army likes to boast about its Naval victories, and all accompanied by a glass of madeira, if you partake?”

  “Partake? Does the tide go in and out? Lead me on.”

  The small party entered the great cabin, which contained Captain Smallcombe, who was quickly introduced, but Staveley had eyes only for the French tricolour draped over a table to the side. He made a beeline straight for it and seized a portion in both fists. To the onlookers it seemed as though he were about to rend it apart, but he simply lifted it up, emitted a sound that could not be identified, then cast it back down onto the table, with what could be identified as a grunt of satisfaction. Lacey asked the question that all were thinking, as he handed Staveley his bumper of madeira.

  “The battalion’s first battle trophy, Admiral. I do so hope that we are entitled to keep it?”

  “Indeed you are, my dear Lacey. Oh, my word yes. Wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, first things first. How many will you be bringing to dinner?”

  Lacey looked in puzzlement at O’Hare.

  “About, eight, nine, would you say, Major?”

  “Oh surely. Yes, about that Colonel. For certain. We can find about that number from amongst us who were involved in some way.”

  Staveley walked away from the discarded flag and beamed anew.

  “Nine it is. I’ll send some boats for you at seven. Now,” and in the time honoured Naval manner he cleared a space on the desktop and began assembling a collection of inkwells and paperweights, ‘show me how it all happened.

  oOo

  Two longboats arrived at the due time, six oars in each manned by sailors in immaculate navy ducks and each steered by a young Midshipman, even more immaculately turned out than his crew, which had to be assumed, for it was impossible to detect. Five embarked in one, four in the other. Rushby sat with Carr and Drake, the first and the last wearing their headdress; Carr not, he was sporting a bandaged head, thereby he was “excused shako”. Rushby was clearly enthralled with the spectacle. The Great Rock, pink in the Westering sun, the ships and small boats sitting above their own reflections, the small details of the harbour, and the buildings and houses, tumbling in random up the steepening hillside.

  “I wish I’d brought my sketchbook. This is wonderful. I couldn’t arrange the subject better, even if I had the power.”

  Drake answered. Carr had gone into quiet mode.

  “Well I’m afraid you haven’t, and you couldn’t have brought it anyway. Not good manners, you understand. You must commit it to memory, and Carr and myself will each remember three things that you must add in. Won’t we, Henry?”

  Carr smiled and realised that he had a part to play.

  “Yes, yes. Of course. Three things. I’m doing mine now. Which way are we looking?”

  Rushby and Drake replied in unison, with Drake pointing for added emphasis.

  “That way!”

  “Right.”

  They were met on the harbourside by a Captain and two Lieutenants of the Royal Marines and led off to a low whitewashed building, which, nevertheless, managed to look important and imposing. Once through the door and into the mess room they were greeted by a roar of cheering, loud huzzas, and clapping by all present, and nine of the assembly came forward with bumper glasses of good sherry for their guests. The glasses were raised high, to nothing in particular, just more cheering and huzzas. All quickly took their places and the progression of courses began. From the onset it was a rowdy affair, good cheer in large measure ran up and down the table. It was plain that the capture of one of the Privateers was a double welcome triumph and this set the tone for the evening. As each course came and went, all in the 5th remarked on the quality of the food; the fish and the lamb and above all, the wine. Lacey, Guest of Honour on Staveley’s right leaned over to his host and remarked the same.

  “Ah, Lacey. This is Spain and the old Dons are never too inclined to take this warfare thing too seriously. The Spanish fishermen regularly come over from opposite to sell their catch, and each day along the causeway between us, sort of neutral territory if you understand, there’s a regular market. And, if a cart comes a bit far and unloads on our side, no one cares too much. Especially if the old Generalissimo, my opposite number, gets a share of the lucre and a box of cigars with my compliments, then all goes on in just the way that we would want it. They’re no strong allies of the French, you know. Especially after Trafalgar. They’ve worked out what they’re up against. Trade matters to them, and they haven’t a fleet left. Can’t get to their own colonies, even.”

  Lacey nodded.

  “Then Amen to peaceful coexistence.”

  The good wine was extensively imbibed by all and the noise level rose to that of a small skirmish. A Midshipman was hoisted up to propose the Loyal Toast and with that Staveley decided that a speech of some kind was required. The factual substance of his discourse was that “the French had been given another drubbing” and that the success of the 5th was “on a par with the boldest example of cutting out that he had ever heard of.” However, most of the speech was a vehicle for yet further toasts to the “Good Officers of the 5th” and the “boarders who took her”. Lacey made a reply complimenting his host on his excellent table, pronouncing to all that ‘we’ve shown that against the likes of us the French are very beatable”, and, lastly, making his own toast to the “excellent Captain Fallway, now present, of the Ipheion, and his good crew of stout British tars”, which drew the loudest support and placed the glassware, and table itself, in some peril from the furious drubbing of all hands upon its thick tablecloth.

  With that the port arrived and the assembly sunk into an even deeper state of inebriation, with even Carravoy and D’Villiers eventually shedding the caricature of aristocratic posturing and finding themselves thoroughly caught up in the intoxicated merriment. Toasts arrived thick and fast. They toasted the 5t
h Provisionals, “good as the Marines”. They toasted Major O’Hare, as the first man aboard, and then they toasted his sword, as the piece of good English steel that struck the first blow. They toasted the Grenadiers, the 3rd, then the Lights, all “damn fine shots”. Then they toasted Carr, Carr’s bandage, and the hole in his head, the last proposed by Drake, who couldn’t find the chair that he had just risen from and, in a state of abject confusion, instead sagged to the floor.

  Lacey and O’Hare, knowing from the onset what was coming, managed to stay relatively sober, as also did Heaviside, as was his nature, but their fellow Officers of the 5th, all young men, were determined to match the Navy glass for glass. Come the end of the wine soaked affair, all staggered off; Infantry, Navy, and Marines, providing communal support in two’s and three’s, all enthusiastically proclaiming each other as, “Damn fine fellows”. The bonhomie continued, even to the quayside, and cries of mutual admiration, both for each other and the service they belonged to, carried across the water as the longboats pulled away. For Carr, Drake, Rushby, and others, the last double toasts did their work on the journey back and the notion of them climbing a rope ladder up the ship’s side was out of the question. Instead, a rope was lowered from the davits on the end of the main yard and each was hoisted, as an incapable bundle, to land on the deck. Deakin, on watch with Halfway, stood on the forecastle and watched proceedings.

  “Does any of this look familiar to you, at all, Toby?”

  oOo

  Colonel Lacey sat at the desk of the Captain’s Cabin, penning a letter with the help of Major O’Hare. On the end of the desk, neatly folded and sunk in brown paper was the French tricolour, the letter was to be placed on top before the parcel was finally sealed over.

  “I’ve asked General Perry to take charge of this ensign until our return, and I’ve commended the courage of both yourself and Captain Carr. What other names should I mention?”

  “That’s very kind of you, Colonel. Sure, I was only doing what I was supposed to do, but I do think that you could mention the initiative shown by Drake and Heaviside, those were good ideas of theirs. For Heaviside again, and Carravoy, say that both led their men as good Officers should. That will about cover it, I’d say.”

  Lacey made the additions, signed it, sanded it and placed it on top of the tricolour. Then the parcel was bound and addressed. At that point, Ensign Rushby knocked and entered, plainly the worse for wear from the previous evening, head down, eyes to the decking, neither of which could he have elevated, even had he wished to. He was bearing a letter.

  “Letter just arrived, Sir. I think it’s from the Admiral. It came in his boat, Sir, and they are standing by for a reply. Also, I thought you’d like to know, Sir, there’s a ship leaving for home this afternoon.”

  “Thank you, Mr Rushby. Please take this parcel and see that it gets safely into the Admiral’s boat. I will make a reply directly.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  Rushby gathered the parcel and gratefully exited the cabin. The sunlight reflected from the sea beyond the windows was causing him acute pain in the centre of his forehead.

  Lacey opened the letter and quickly scanned the short message.

  “It’s from Staveley. The Ipheion has a wounded mast, whatever that means, and it must be repaired before sailing on. Staveley estimates something short of a week, they have to take the mast out altogether and step in another, as he puts it. He says that he has an empty Marine barracks that we can all use, the families too, off the Tansy. It will be a bit crowded, but it’ll serve if we want it. What do you think?”

  “I think we should accept his offer, Sir. Stuck a week on board these ships, looking at the shore, will not do much for anyone’s good feelings. No fresh air, for another, and floating above our own filth. You’ve been becalmed, Sir. Pestilence can result. I think it a good idea to get them off and to have a wee stretch of the legs, as it were. We’ve been on these ships a long time, and a bit of marching and drill ashore will do no harm”

  Lacey nodded in agreement and quickly prepared the reply. A shout to the sentry got the letter on its way.

  Eight bells were sounding to mark the end of the forenoon watch, as Lieutenant D’Villiers, somewhat aggrieved and not feeling in the best of fettle himself, despatched himself on his errand around the ship. He had been instructed by Major O’Hare to inform all Officers that a ship was about to leave for Plymouth and this was their chance to get a letter home. His calling on Captain Heaviside resulted in his leaving with a letter to be sent, the good Captain merely needing to seal up the results of his daily communication to his wife. Calling on the cabin of Carr and Drake, however, brought results of a very different kind. From within the room that reeked of a night “born of the bottle”, two faces peered at him, both shaded by a blanket. Which was which he could not determine, but the mouth of one opened to enquire the reason for the intrusion.

  “There’s a boat leaving this afternoon, bound for England. This is a chance to get a letter home. Thought you’d like to know.”

  There was no reply; the only acknowledgement that he received was the replacing of the blanket over what he thought was their faces. It was he who finished the one sided conversation.

  “Well, thanks for your concern! Only following orders. Wish I didn’t have to bother.” He shut the door.

  “Henry, Henry. We’ve got to do something. If they don’t receive a letter along with all the others, what are they going to think?”

  The reply was a noise more akin to something from the animal kingdom. On hearing it, Drake sat himself up, swung his legs around, found he was going the wrong way and fell out of bed. From his position on the floor he uncovered Carr’s head.

  “Come on. If we help each other, we’ll get it covered.”

  He cudgelled his befuddled mind into action, inside his aching head.

  “As we live in each other’s pockets, they’ll expect the content to be much the same. I’ll get washed, then you. Oh, from now on, I’m keeping a daily letter on the go. I’d advise you to do the same. I’ve been lazy. We can blame mal de mer, a bit, but I don’t think it’ll stretch too far. You think of something, then I will. That’ll take up a page or two, then finish with affection and the promise of a better job next time. We’ve been in action; that sort of thing.”

  All this reached Carr’s ears in various levels of sound quality, for one because Drake was washing his face, then drying it, then pulling his shirt over his head. For two, Carr’s head hurt so badly, that there was nothing else that he could think of. He managed to sit up.

  “God. If the Navy drink like that, it’s a wonder half their ships aren’t sunk by collisions or some other nautical mishap, or they all just get lost. Leave that water there, dear fellow, I’m going to stand up and attempt to reach it.”

  This he did, and he washed himself whilst Drake uncovered the pen, ink and paper. In this way, painfully, slowly, with many pauses whilst they battered their thoughts, and with little editorial deliberation, two letters were fashioned and made the postbag on time. Drake ensured the conveying of the same down into the longboat waiting at the side, and then his attention was drawn to the Tansy. He had heard the expression “water carnival’ before, but what he saw, moving with the speed of black treacle over a cold plate, away from the side of the Tansy, best answered to that description. Three large barges, each pulled by four large sweeps, each with two oarsman, was ladelling its way towards the shore, each crowded full with the women, wives, children and the camp followers that they had brought with them. Each barge had at least three musical instruments, each playing a different tune, giving the occupants a magnificent choice as to which to dance to, which they did. Jigs and reels were being described all up and down the deck, whilst the children and anyone else who could climb, were festooning the rigging of the single mast with as many items of flags and bunting as they could lay their hands on. All aboard were waving to others on the corresponding vessels, waving hats and coloured scarves, shouting to
each other, singing to each other. The celebratory affair was added to when the three passed, at a speed that would make the bovine tramp to milking look like a stampede, through the local Spanish fishing fleet. Spanish songs, shouts, and lewd gestures added to the cacophony and the fairground confusion. The families were going ashore.

  The significance of the sight was not lost on the likes of Deakin, Halfway and Miles. Nor the Officers such as Drake, Rushby and Carr. If the families were going ashore, then surely they would be also? Drake looked anxiously around and was relieved to see Major O’Hare.

  “Excuse me, Sir, but I see that the families are being taken off. Does that apply to us also?”

  “Yes, Mr Drake, indeed it does, but only for a few days, whilst the Ipheion is repaired. You may pass the word around, and tell all to make ready, but remember how much you wanted this when you are marching and drilling up and down the open spaces of this place, and finding out just how much a slow sea voyage takes your wind away.”

  Drake heeded little of the last point of wisdom. He was smiling from ear to ear.

  “Yes Sir. I’ll pass the word on, Sir.”

  Their own disembarkment was a far more dignified, orderly and speedy affair, the troops, with their Officers, sat erect on the seats of a flotilla of longboats, looking for all the world like some kind of landing force. The men marched off to the barracks, the Officers to whatever applied; Officers quarters in the barracks or a billet in the town. All now being veterans of barrack life, all settled in quickly, which freed the late afternoon and early evening for exercises at double time, especially forming square and advancing in column. Very soon Drake came to appreciate O’Hare’s final words. What he could easily cope with back in Somerset, now had him gasping for breadth, and he was not alone. That night all settled quickly to a night ashore, to find silence that highlighted almost eerily what they had grown used to, the sounds that accompanied a night on a ship moving at sea.