The Normandy Privateer

by David McDine

  Before Anson could ask more, Wallis walked over to the door, held out his hand and, nodding vigorously, repeated: ‘Yes, biting our hands off …’

  The interview was clearly over and Anson was instructed to return next day to collect his orders and a letter of introduction to present to Home Popham at Dover a fortnight hence.

  On the way out of the building, Anson put his head around the waiting room door. Armstrong was still there with a few other hopefuls. He looked up expectantly. ‘Was I right?’

  Anson nodded. ‘No sea-going appointments to be had, apparently. It’s to be the fencibles, based down at Seagate.’

  Armstrong nodded sympathetically. ‘I regret I cannot wish you joy of it, mon vieux. But never mind, they say worse things happen at sea!’

  17

  Anson returned to the Ship and Shovel to extend his stay for another night, which he achieved without difficulty. That evening, as he settled in a corner of the bar to peruse a copy of The Times over a glass of sherry, a shadow loomed over him. ‘Armstrong! A successful visit to the corridors of power, I trust?’

  ‘’Fraid not, mon vieux. For some unaccountable reason their Lordships declined to see me in person. And, finally, after an extremely long period of contemplating my own navel, some jumped-up junior captain condescended to see me – only to tell me how bloody lucky I am – excuse my Anglo-Saxon – to have a job at all. Seemed to think my signal station is some kind of sinecure. Cheek of the devil!’

  Remembering Armstrong’s diatribe of the night before, Anson ventured: ‘I’ve no doubt you explained the facts of signal station life to him?’

  Armstrong held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I tried, mon vieux, believe me I tried. But to no avail. He made it crystal clear that I will not get another job this side of Armageddon, so that’s that.’

  ‘Ah well, allow me to start drowning your sorrows with a drink—’

  ‘Good idea. I think we both need to do a night’s-worth of sorrow-drowning – you faced with a dreaded Sea Fencible appointment and me stuck firmly at my signal station. We’ll have a quick one here and then set a course for brighter lights to seek members of the fair sex who might need cutting out!’

  Anson bowed to the inevitable, fully aware that the night’s sport would once again leave him with the very devil of a headache.

  *

  Sure enough, the dull pain behind his eyes was there once more when he awoke next morning, but a long lie in and a good breakfast set him up for his return to the Admiralty.

  His fellow-reveller was nowhere to be seen, but the run ashore with Armstrong among the hostelries of London had sealed their friendship, and alcoholic oaths had been made to keep in touch – and give aid to one another should the need arise.

  This time, Anson was not keep waiting by the Admiralty flunkeys. As soon as he announced himself he was shepherded by a porter to Captain Wallis’s outer office where he was handed his commission and the letter of introduction to Home Popham.

  But as he made to leave, the clerk asked him to wait for a moment and he was summoned into the inner sanctum.

  Wallis looked faintly embarrassed. ‘Your predecessor at the Seagate detachment was mentioned, er, in passing so to speak …’

  ‘That I recall, sir. Is there something more I should know?’

  ‘The thing is, Anson, that he’s missing, we know not where, nor why.’

  Anson registered a puzzled frown. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.’

  ‘No more do we. The fact is that he’s disappeared and although nothing can be proved it is suspected that the detachment’s bosun may have had something to do with it. Apparently Lieutenant Crispin had complained to the divisional captain that something was wrong and that he was investigating. Then silence.’

  ‘So am I to investigate his disappearance?’

  ‘Not to the point where it interferes with training up the detachment and trialling the new craft. If he turns up again, which seems unlikely, you’ll have to hand him over to the divisional captain. And you may need to replace the present bosun if you find the present one suspect.’

  ‘With one of my own choice, sir?’

  ‘Of course. In view of the special relationship you will have with Home Popham, just do whatever you think fit.’

  ‘Through the divisional captain?’

  Wallis frowned. ‘To be honest with you, Captain Hoare is, well, a bit of a fop. He’s keener on the social round than he is on navy business. Do him the courtesy of keeping him informed about the routine – the manning, training and suchlike. But in reality you will be reporting discreetly to Home Popham – and taking your instructions from him.’

  ‘Might that not cause difficulties, sir?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe, but Home Popham and I will back you up as long as you get the detachment sorted out and get the job done.’

  Anson wondered if there were still more skeletons in the cupboard, but thought it wiser not to voice further concerns. However, before leaving Wallis’s office, he managed to stutter a request which the captain, clearly somewhat embarrassed by the revelations he had just made and anxious to get on with the other business of the day, impatiently granted with a dismissive wave. ‘Yes, yes. Dictate a note to my clerk and it shall be done.’

  He left London a happier man. It had been obvious that his need for recovery time would keep him ashore for a while, but he had at least avoided a sedentary post, or worse, no job at all. As he had seen in the Admiralty waiting room, there were plenty of unemployed half-pay officers around, washed up on the beach, missing the opportunities of war. And he had just avoided becoming one of them.

  In his pocket, he carried orders instructing him ‘to take command of a volunteer force of Sea Fencibles effectually preventing the landing of an enemy in this country’. His task was to protect the coastal strip ‘from Folkestone exclusive to Dymchurch inclusive’ with Seagate at its centre.

  The vellum document added: ‘We require and direct you to repair forthwith to Seagate, and take upon you the command of all such men as may from time to time enrol themselves within the said district for the defence of the coast.’

  He also carried a sealed letter addressed to Commodore Home Popham, and another that he had himself dictated to one of the clerks. Now duly signed, sealed and official, it was a request to the naval hospital at Deal that Captain Wallis had been only too willing to support for the officer about to take command of the Sea Fencibles of Seagate.

  Having endured quite enough bouncing around in coaches on his way to London, Anson had resolved to go back by sea and caught the Margate hoy, one of the sloop-rigged, single-masted coasting vessels that carried passengers and freight to and from the capital from all around the North Kent and East Anglian coast.

  After a swift, incident-free, passage he hired a post-chaise to Deal where he asked to be set down outside the naval hospital in the East Barracks, made his number with the officer commanding to explain his business, and was shown around.

  Anson was impressed by what he saw. The Deal hospital was no match for the two great home station naval hospitals at Haslar and Plymouth, but it was sufficient for its role of servicing the warships using the Downs anchorage.

  Clearly great strides had been made in the treatment of the navy’s sick and hurt, as they were euphemistically known, and Anson knew only too well how important good treatment and care was in a service where more men were lost to disease and accidents than ever perished in battle.

  He found the two objects of his mission sitting on a bench wearing drab hospital uniforms and supping mugs of ale. A pair of navy-issue crutches leant against the wall.

  Both men were astonished to see Anson and made to rise, but he signalled them to remain seated.

  ‘Didn’t expect to see you ’ere Mr Anson, sir,’ said Fagg, removing the foully smoking clay pipe that had been clenched between his teeth. ‘Come to be mucked about some more by these sawbones? There’s plenty of ’em ’ere and they’ll take a knife to yer
as soon as look at yer.’

  ‘No, I’m well enough thankee. I’ve come to check on you two.’

  The pair exchanged a puzzled frown. ‘Kind of you to visit us, sir. We appreciates it, don’t we lobster?’ They were clearly pleased but some of the old intimacy of the Auberge du Marin and their escape had evaporated. It might only be a stone frigate and a hospital at that, but it was as if they were on board a ship again where the gulf between quarterdeck and lower deck was vast. His smart new uniform emphasised the point.

  Anson realised that, and asked them kindly: ‘How are you both mending?’

  Fagg ventured: ‘Better’n we was ’oppin’ an’ crawlin’ through France, eh, sir?’

  ‘You’ve been treated well, I trust?’

  Hoover nodded. ‘Well enough, sir, and now I’m pretty well mended I guess I’m about to get my marchin’ orders. I’d kind of like to go back to Phryne, but they tell me that’s unlikely. More’n likely they’ll send me to Chatham to wait on some other ship. ’

  Anson gestured at the crutches and asked Fagg. ‘And how about you? Is the ankle still troubling you?’

  ‘By the time we got ’ere it was ’urtin’ agin somethin’ cruel.’ Fagg grimaced at the memory. ‘They said as ’ow it weren’t set proper and splinted it up agin. I’m not allowed to put no weight on it for a while. At the minute I’m no good to man or beast. But seems it’ll be all right in a while, though I’ll proberly always walk wiv a limp, a bit crooked like – and I can forgit bein’ a foretopman. No more friggin’ abaht in the rigging, eh, sir?’

  Anson looked pained. He could imagine what a blow that must be. But Fagg was philosophical. ‘I could serve on as a cook or summat, but not as a proper seaman, so I’ll see if they’ll give me a discharge – swallow the anchor like. Then mebbe I’ll ’op up to Chatham an’ get work in the dockyard, in the stores, or the colour loft. Always liked flags, I ’ave.’

  ‘You, a dockyard matey?’ Hoover grinned. ‘I guess if you were in the stores they’d be wise to nail everything to the floor. And, any road, ain’t the colour loft women’s work?’

  ‘Awlright then, what if it is? Mebbe I’d be able to get me stiff leg over now an’ then!’

  ‘But what about you, sir – are you rejoining Phryne?’ Hoover asked.

  ‘No, it appears I’ve already been replaced in the ship, and it seems sea-going appointments are as rare as rocking horse droppings. I’ve been ordered to rest up for another couple of weeks. But then I’m being given a new appointment – to command a small shore-based force down at Seagate. It’s one of those they’ve set up to counter an invasion, although after Aboukir one doesn’t look likely for a while. I’m not entirely sure I wanted to take it, but it’ll be better than nothing …’

  ‘As you say, sir, better’n nothing.’

  ‘That’s right.’ He deliberated for a moment, then, mind made up, he told them: ‘I’m afraid that you two are in it with me – as soon as the surgeons pass you as fit, of course.’

  Both gasped in astonishment. ‘Us?’

  ‘Yes, you. We made a pretty good fist of escaping from France together and for this appointment at Seagate I’ll need a bosun and a master-at-arms – people I can trust.’

  Fagg, genuinely amazed, stuttered: ‘I’m, well, like what they say, speechless.’

  Hoover observed: ‘That makes a change.’

  ‘But we ain’t got the rank fer them jobs—’

  ‘You have now.’ Anson took a letter from his pocket and waved it at them. ‘I’ve got an official document here that says I can do more or less whatever I want. You won’t have a Navy Board warrant. That don’t apply in the fencibles, but you’ll be rated petty officer, and Hoover here’s to be promoted to sergeant.’

  Both were now truly speechless.

  ‘So, are you up for it?’

  There was no need for them to reply. Their broad smiles told him they were.

  ‘Now,’ Anson rose, ‘I’m off to beard the commander and inform him what’s afoot. Then, as soon as you’re passed fit to travel, we’ll get you over to Seagate and the fun will begin.’

  Then, he had an afterthought. ‘Corporal – sorry, Sergeant – Hoover, did you say they’re about to discharge you as fit?’

  ‘That’s right, sir!’

  Anson rubbed his chin. ‘Good, then I need you for a rather special task. Have you got what you need in the way of uniform and what-not?’

  ‘I’ve just got to go and get a new uniform and all the trimmings at the barracks. Everything’s going to be brand new, sir, on account of them selling our kit in the old Phryne because they thought we were dead.’

  ‘New, you say? That’s fine. You’d best make sure the uniform the stores wallahs issue you with is showing you with the right rank – sergeant. Then get your dunnage together and I’ll square it with the commander that you can come with me now. The paperwork will catch up soon enough.’

  Sergeant Hoover had never looked happier, but Fagg could not help showing his disappointment not to be escaping from the hospital along with him.

  Anson considered for a moment before telling him: ‘Don’t worry, the minute you’re passed fit enough you’ll be given the necessary paperwork and money for you to coach it to Canterbury. When you get there seek out the carrier who calls three times a week and he’ll bring you to me at my father’s rectory. The carrier will be told to look out for you.’

  Fagg queried: ‘What abaht uniform or whatnot, sir? All I got is this ’ere horspital stuff and I ’spect they’ll want it back.’

  ‘Apparently the Sea Fencibles don’t have a particular uniform, but as bosun you’ll be expected to look the part, so you’d better get into Deal as soon as you’re up to it and get yourself kitted out. A blue jacket with brass buttons, japanned hat – that kind of thing. The hospital purser will advance the money.’

  Both were clearly overjoyed with this totally unexpected upturn in their fortunes, and Fagg nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘Now, I’ll go and sort things out with the commander. If all goes well we can soon get to grips training a parcel of fishermen, boatmen and smugglers to prevent the French hordes landing on our stretch of coast.’

  ‘Amen to that!’ said Fagg, taking a long swig of his ale, while Hoover scuttled off to the barracks to collect his smart new uniform and get his kit together.

  18

  Back at the rectory, Anson introduced Hoover to the family and settled him into a room in the servants’ quarters. For anyone like him, used to sardine-cramped hammocks, his spartan room with single bed, chair and table with washing bowl and water jug was the height of luxury.

  Over a glass of pre-dinner sherry, Anson told his expectant father how his appointment at the Admiralty had gone. The rector was taken aback. ‘Sea Fencibles? Isn’t that rather a come-down from sea service?’

  ‘Somewhat, I suppose.’

  ‘And removed from action and the opportunity for advancement?’

  ‘If the French invade, it’s the Sea Fencibles who’ll be in the front line – even in front of the front line, attacking the landing craft with our boats.’

  ‘But we hear that after his fleet’s drubbing by Nelson at Aboukir even the French First Consul himself is of the opinion that the invasion of England is beyond French capabilities.’

  ‘That may be the case now, but the ultimate aim of the French must be to defeat us in these islands so that we cannot sustain our navy. Without achieving that, they cannot command the sea and dictate what happens outside Europe. The situation can easily change and we must prepare for that day.’

  His father’s disappointment needed no words. To him, such land-based appointments were for unambitious, comfort-loving has-beens. Hopes of having a rising hero in the family were dashed, at least temporarily.

  Mrs Anson appeared not to know or care about the nuances of the naval appointing system and was delighted that her son would be serving ashore rather than afloat. For one thing, it would make him more readily available for matc
h-making.

  She was also quite taken with Hoover. ‘He’s such a clean, smart and well-mannered young man, although almost as thin as you, dear. I’ve told Maggie to do her best to fatten him up. I trust all your men in the navy are as well spoken and as well groomed?’

  Anson thought of Fagg. ‘Not quite all, mother. Hoover’s smart because he’s a marine, not a ragamuffin sailor, and his speech and manners could be the result of his American upbringing rather than his time afloat mixing with coarse, ill-mannered navy people like me …’

  ‘An American? Good heavens!’ exclaimed the rector. ‘I hope he’s not a rebel!’

  Rebel or not, the Anson daughters were also much taken with him, but as Elizabeth remarked to Anne when they were alone: ‘He’s gentlemanly and a very personable and good-looking man. Such a pity he’s not an officer!’

  *

  Over the next few days, Anson and Hoover spent a good deal of time together drawing up plans for training the fencible unit they had not yet clapped eyes on. They worked out a system of training with the great guns, musketry, half pike and cutlass.

  Boat-handling was to come, but they agreed that should be no great problem since many of the men would have been in and out of small craft since boyhood.

  ‘Until such time as we can find an experienced gunner, you and I must lead on gunnery as well as small arms drill. Fagg can take the lead on recruiting and discipline. But, first and foremost, we must find out who we’ve got and assess their level of training and so on.’

  ‘Just so, sir. And then recruit however many more we need?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Anson made a note. ‘So I had best draft a notice that we can put about, stick up in the pubs and so forth. I’ve seen one from another area in a newspaper, so no sense in reinventing the wheel. I’ll pretty much copy that, well, the style of it anyway.’

  He also told Hoover what little he knew about the disappearance of his predecessor at Seagate.