A Busy Season (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 8)

by Andrew Wareham

  At the time, kow-towing to a greasy Army captain and begging favours, he meant every word of it, but five miles offshore with a convenient westerly he could feel a little more generous. Besides that, there were just so many of them! A Defaulters List of more than one hundred was ridiculous; he would be forever about the business.

  "Call the men to Divisions, Mr Blenkinsop!"

  Two hours and he was stood in front of his crew, the men all in their best and wearing clean shirts, freshly shaven and pigtails newly plaited for the old-fashioned who still wore them. They wore as well expressions of virtuous interest in all their captain might have to say; no doubt he had important information to disclose which they would be glad to know. There was an expectant hush.

  Frederick looked them over and mentally cast away the speech he had prepared; they all knew exactly what had happened and all that their captain had done. Certainly they were thankful not to be languishing in the cells, those who had been arrested, but they had expected him to come to their rescue - that was part of the captain's function, after all. They fought for him; he looked after them when there was an unfortunate falling-out ashore - that was how it always had been.

  "There will be no shore-leave at Gibraltar for the rest of this year, men! The Admiral has been very plain about that."

  They shrugged - Gibraltar was a boring sort of place anyway; they would much prefer time ashore in Malta, or perhaps in Naples, which they had heard was a really wicked city, unfit for any Christian man and just the spot for a few hours of leave.

  "We are sent to discover, if possible, a French convoy which may be passing along Spanish shores with stores for their fleet so that they may venture out to attack Lord Nelson. That must not happen. We must be very careful to destroy every one of them - not one to reach Cadiz. We must say goodbye to the chance of prize-money, I fear, except that I am sure they will have a frigate or two, or perhaps something a fraction greater which may be persuaded to fly our flag with a little of effort on our part! We are to do our duty for the King and for Old England! The chaplain will now call God's blessings on our noble enterprise."

  Blenkinsop stood forward and cried 'Off Hats', as was proper, and Mr Samways raised his eyes to Heaven.

  The crew listened with critical attention - the chaplain's services were the closest they ever came to God and they liked to know he was doing his part properly. The Catholics and Dissenters among them mumbled quietly when it came to the repetition of the Lord's Prayer, feeling bashful about saying the words, no doubt, but they all took a part in the traditional ritual - it was the way things were done in the service and custom was all. Besides that, if they were to go short of shore leave then they must make their own entertainment, and the chaplain could play his part; perhaps he could be persuaded to a sermon next time. Some of them could remember the chaplain of four years before - he had been good for an hour when he got to describing the details of Hellfire and Damnation, better than a play. They had all been quite upset when the drink finally got him and he was taken away raving, two big men in white coats to each arm; mind you, the more thoughtful said, that also was something not often to be seen and well worth it for the entertainment value.

  Frederick retired to his cabin, dissatisfied with himself; he had prepared a powerful homily on whoremongering and drunkenness and their evil effects and general undesirability; he had also been ready to threaten flogging for future offenders. He suspected that he really should have shown willing and put the fear of his vengeance into them; some captains would have, he knew. But he was certain the men would have chuckled quietly to themselves, knowing that he was saying the words out of a sense of duty and that he would not bring out the cat and flog a hundred of his men just because of a promise made to an Army officer.

  He sat down again with the note from Captain Murray that had sent him to sea in haste.

  'A convoy reported to have entered Cartagena and to be remaining for four days, having been caught in a storm off the coast and needing to make good damage sustained in the sudden blow. An escort of two French frigates, thought to be due to return to Toulon, and to be replaced by Spanish. The word is of eight ships, each of about two hundred tons and alleged to be merchantmen that have been laid up due to the difficulties of trade and bought by the French and refitted just sufficient for this one voyage, hence susceptible to the storm winds.'

  If the word was correct, and Captain Murray was never wrong, then he had a day in hand. The sole question was whether to heave-to out to sea or to find a bay with good holding ground and no fishing village where he could lay up until dawn. He called for the master and his charts.

  Captain Murray strode into the Flag Lieutenant's little office, out of breath from running uphill from his own workplace; even two hundred yards was an exertion on the Rock.

  "I must speak to the Admiral as a matter of urgency, sir."

  "He is with the Governor, Captain Murray; their weekly conference and due to last another two hours."

  "I must disturb him, I fear."

  The Flag Lieutenant had been nearly two years in post and knew what could be done and what must not be. The conference with the Governor was not to be casually interrupted, but Captain Murray was a figure of some importance and would not make the demand lightly.

  "Come, sir."

  Murray waited impatiently while the young man slid into the Governor's workroom and whispered to his master and then emerged to beckon him in.

  He bowed perfunctorily to the Governor and his Secretaries, addressed himself to Admiral Clerke.

  "I have information that you may wish to act instantly upon, sir."

  It was the rule that Intelligence was not to be disclosed unnecessarily, even to the highest of officials. Admiral Clerke stood and took Murray into a far corner of the large room, cocked his head to his murmur.

  "The convoy, sir, that Euripides has gone to intercept. I have word from Tetuan, from the Empire, that an informant of theirs believes that it is false, that it is no more than a trap of sorts, specifically aimed to destroy Sir Frederick. The message implies that the Moors have access to the councils of the Spanish navy. They are very rich and pay heavily, sir, may well have bought a high-ranking grandee of Spain. I am much inclined to give credence to their words, sir. It is rare indeed for them, or anyone else, to make this sort of contact with our offices; and I was not aware that they knew of me personally."

  Murray was inclined to be indignant at the extent of the Moors' knowledge. He had been sat in his office, comparing a pair of routine reports from separate informants in Spain for discrepancies, fretting that they directly contradicted each other on certain points, when there had been a knock on his outer door. He kept a large porter on that entrance, supplementing the Marine sentry who stood outside, and he had been surprised when he had ushered a Moorish gentleman into the office.

  "Full Moon, sir."

  To Murray's understanding that password was known only to two men in London; he did not expect it to be offered by a Moroccan. However, the man had the word, so he must be listened to. The message of an operation out of Spain, organised with French assistance, had sent him running.

  His next task, after attempting to save Sir Frederick's neck, would be to send an urgent message to London, to the effect that there was at least one informant in their ranks who was talking to the Moors, and at a high level. After that he had to determine why they had chosen to allow him to become aware of this fact - was Sir Frederick so important to them for some reason? More likely, they were simply demonstrating their bona fides before passing on a much more important piece of information, which might, or might not, be true but which they would wish him to act on. The British government chose to ignore the fact, finding it embarrassing perhaps, but the Moroccan Empire was a power in the Mediterranean, one that might well be flexing its muscles.

  The Admiral was much upset by this information; he was at peace with the world, was in the best of moods, his lady having informed him only that day that she
was in a promising condition. He had almost given up hoping for a second child, was quite delighted at the prospect. Now he heard that Sir Frederick, and his most powerful single ship, was in jeopardy.

  "I have nothing in port that could come to his aid, Captain Murray. Not so much as a despatch runner to quickly take a message. Harriet brig is in, but she is slow and too small to offer practical assistance. She must sail on the offchance, I think."

  "I would wish to go with her, sir. It was my information that sent Sir Frederick north."

  "It was, and done in good faith. There is no gain to you risking yourself, Captain Murray, still not wholly healed as you are. No, sir. You will remain here, sir."

  Harriet sailed, without Murray, and they settled to wait, sure that they would hear only bad news.

  Euripides lay under the shelter of high cliffs in a bay half a day's sail southwest of Cartagena. The bulk of the crew were fishing, catching very little but hopeful, half of them with lines out, the remainder telling them how to do better. It was to all intents and purposes, a rest day.

  Kavanagh stood at Frederick's side, peering at the rocky shore.

  "Just the place for lobsters, sir. It was back at home, sir."

  "Where was that, Kavanagh?"

  "Cornwall, sir, down towards Land's End itself. We was used to go out in the villagers' boats, sir, in the season, my brother and myself. He was older than me by a year, not much of a chap in build, weedy in fact, but very clever, sir. Nose always in a book. Not like me. But he liked to go out in the boats, sir, though never to give a hand, just to watch."

  "He was the heir, I suppose?"

  Frederick was fishing himself, unashamedly interested.

  "Yes, sir. He is now Sir Jack, and owner of the lands thereabouts. All of the lands, sir, my father would not split the estate up. He died when I was fifteen and my brother promised me an income for life, as soon as he was one-and-twenty and his own master. My mother was long gone and I had no wish to spend nearly five years penniless and dependent on charity, so I came away to make my fortune. It did not seem to work that way, sir!"

  "It rarely does, I believe. Will you go back to Cornwall, Kavanagh? As my follower you have the freedom to go without being called a deserter."

  "I do not know, sir. I am sure that brother Jack will have put aside a farm for me - he was never a mean-hearted fellow - and that there is a comfortable little house and a few good acres there. But I do not know that I am cut out to look after my turnips, sir!"

  "There are worse ways to live, I believe. Should you wish to return, even for a visit, give me the word."

  "Thank you, sir. I should imagine he will be wed now, and the father of a hopeful family. I doubt he will need his vagabond brother back, sir. Longboat's signalling, sir!"

  The boat had been sent out to watch the coast, in case the convoy came early in sight.

  "Merchantman, sir, inshore. Polacca, two hundred tons or thereabouts."

  The unfortunate captain would be working his way from battery to fort to harbour down the coast, hoping to remain in shelter, safe from the corsairs and the English both until he could make a run through the Straits and then probably to Ceuta or another of the Spanish’s North African possessions. He could not be left to spread the word of Euripides' presence.

  "Enquire of the boat whether the Spaniard is armed, Mr Masson."

  There was a delay of two minutes, spent in vigorous semaphoring to the signaller in the boat.

  "Stern and bow chasers, sir, and two broadside ports; enough to fight off a Barbary rover, sir."

  "Bugger! Not a boat attack. Mr Blenkinsop, make sail! Mr Calver, close the merchantman, sail as appropriate."

  "Dowse the galley fires, sir?"

  Dinner was boiling and many of the messes had a duff in the pots as well, anticipating action next morning early. At best, putting out the fires would delay the evening meal, and it might well spoil their puddings.

  "No. Take the risk, Mr Blenkinsop. Send a fire party to the galley in case of need."

  It was a breach of the regulations, sufficient to condemn him before a court if Euripides took fire, but the action to come must be insignificant. It was necessary always to apply discretion in the interpretation of the laws they lived by.

  "Rules, Mr Blenkinsop, exist for the guidance of wise men and the blind obedience of fools."

  Blenkinsop was sure that the fools lived a safer, and probably longer, existence; it was not his neck on the line, however. He smiled and agreed.

  All went well, Euripides displaying her twelve hundred tons and massive broadside to the poor little merchantman and accepting her scream of fright and instant surrender.

  "Mr Watson! Take four men and bring her into Gibraltar, sir."

  Burning her would produce clouds of smoke and draw attention, quite probably in itself announce Euripides' presence on the coast; she had to go in.

  Watson gave brief thought to heading off in a quite different direction, returning to an independent existence, then accepted that he had turned respectable. He would become a Naval lieutenant rather than chance it on the private lay. The pirates out of Madagascar were still busy and made a good living off of the pilgrim run up to Mecca, which supplied quantities of slaves to sell on, and from India merchants' country ships, which were often rich; but the word in the Trade was that their days were numbered, they had attracted attention from the Navy and the Bombay Marine. Other than Madagascar the only business left was in the China Seas, and that was an area with its own set of risks. Better to take to a life of virtue, he thought, reluctantly - it was not one half so amusing!

  A day down coast, well on his way to Gibraltar, he met Harriet brig and spoke her at some length; Watson gave her the unwelcome news that Sir Frederick must have met up with his convoy, had been planning to discover them at dawn.

  "See a grey goose, sir?"

  For some reason that particular expression irritated Frederick. He had heard it nearly every day of his seafaring life, had accepted that it marked the change from night to day routine, had ordered up the look-outs a thousand times, but it still seemed damned silly. It was traditional, however, and therefore must not lightly be changed; he gave the call and the men ran to their dawn stations.

  "Load ball and run out, Mr Blenkinsop. Bar-shot to ready-use for the eighteen pounders and the chasers."

  The Gunner had not been expecting that order and had to run with his mates to dig the rarely used loads out of the bins at the very back of his magazine. Bar-shot was used to destroy the rigging of an enemy and had little place in current tactical thinking.

  Frederick peered at his watch and muttered his disapproval - three minutes since his order and the bar-shot had not appeared.

  "Not good enough, Mr Blenkinsop!"

  "Poor, sir! Very poor! I shall speak with the Gunner, discuss with him whether the finds the responsibilities of his Warrant too onerous. Perhaps he would be happier as a gun-captain."

  "Not happier, necessarily, sir, but quite possibly better suited."

  Bar-shot was heavy, weighed far in excess of its nominal eighteen pounds, and the Gunner was no longer the most athletically-built of men. He ran up on deck carrying two shot, face bright red and panting. It was almost as entertaining as the races and the gun crews began to lay wagers on whether he would have a heart attack before he had brought his loads to every gun.

  "For Christ's sake! This will take forever! Captain Thomas! Marines to assist the Gunner, if you please."

  The Marines carefully collected their muskets together in the care of one man from each platoon and then doubled below decks, reappeared marching to their Sergeant's cadence and placing a pair of shot to the racks of each upper deck gun. The Gunner would have been irritated at this usurpation of his function, but he was too busy having an attack of asthma which led to his removal to the Surgeon's care.

  "Not the time to be ill, Mr Blenkinsop. A very poor sense of self-discipline, sir."

  "I doubt the poor fellow could
help it, sir. He probably does not intend to be unable to catch his breath."

  "Possibly, possibly - a little of moral fortitude and I am sure he could do better!"

  Frederick had expected the convoy to be in immediate sight at dawn, was irritated that it was not; in the circumstances, any target for his ill-temper would do.

  The Spanish were evidently late risers; it was half an hour later, the bell ringing loudly when the hail came from the foremast.

  "On deck, sir, topmasts, sir, north-east at a distance. Hull-down, sir."

  "Mr Barber, a telescope, sir, and tell me all you can see. Take a sweep of the whole horizon while you are there."

  The midshipmen were all very young, with the exception of Masson, who could not truly be trusted with an important task. A master's mate was a better choice.

  Barber grabbed the master's smaller telescope and ran to the foremast and up to the topgallant pole unstopping.

  "Now that is how a seaman should move, Mr Blenkinsop! None of this damned wheezing and coughing halfway!"

  Blenkinsop thought he might be somewhat unfair in his criticism, but it was not his place to say so.

  "Eight brigs and xebecs, sir, under plain sail on a north-westerly wind."

  Well reported, the wind could be a little different even a few miles away, particularly when close to the coast. The escorts would be to windward - should be, at least, but the Spanish had their own ways which sometimes seemed lubberly to English eyes.