A Sloop of War Page 2

  ‘No, sir! That is decidedly wrong!’ insisted Robertson. ‘For if Adam Smith is correct, I will have exchanged a reluctant workforce for a far more willing and productive one, and my plantation will thrive in efficiency as a consequence. It is that greater productivity that will make the whole scheme financially sound.’

  ‘So what did you do?’ asked Linfield.

  ‘I confess that I am by nature an impulsive man, so no sooner had the idea come to me, then I was resolved to making it a reality. I freed them all. Oh, I lost some of my work force, naturally. There were those who chose to use their freedom to move elsewhere on the island, but the hundred and fifty who remained are quite as productive as the two hundred I had, so in that regard Mr Smith was quite correct.’ Linfield felt compelled to shake Mr Robertson’s hand for a third time.

  ‘Sir, I congratulate you on your Christian humanity to your fellow man,’ he pronounced, beaming at the planter. Robertson tried to shake himself free of the surgeon’s hand.

  ‘Christian humanity may go to the devil, sir,’ he said. ‘It played no part in my resolution. I did it because it was a superior way of running my affairs, no more and no less.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Linfield releasing his grip on Robertson’s hand.

  ‘Regrettably there has been one facet of my project that I did fail to take into account,’ continued Robertson. ‘It has nothing to do with your Christian humanity, sir, and I do tire of receiving news from London that I am now the toast of Mr Wilberforce and his ilk. No, when I was pondering on the various advantages and costs of the scheme, I was somewhat focused on the pecuniary benefits. I gave scant consideration as to what effect the emancipation of my work force might have upon my neighbours.’

  ‘Are they not inspired to follow your example?’ asked Linfield.

  ‘No, they are not, sir,’ replied Robertson. ‘Utter horror and alarm might be a more accurate description of their reaction. At a stroke I believe I have become the most hated man in Barbados, at least among the white population. Which, in a rather circuitous way, is the explanation as to why you find me seated here alone.’

  ‘That is regrettable, sir,’ conceded the surgeon. ‘But will they not come round in time?’

  ‘Aye, doubtless they might,’ replied the planter. ‘I am not overly burdened by the unpleasantness of my situation. One cannot have owned as many slaves as I have done without tending to become a wee bit thick-skinned. It is a shame for my two daughters, however. They are both of marriageable age but now find themselves quite cut off from polite Barbadian society.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Linfield, ‘I imagine that must be difficult for them.’

  ‘No matter, sir, for it cannot now be helped,’ said Robertson. ‘For better or worse I have carried my resolution into effect.’ Linfield felt that the plantation owner was probably a lot more philosophical about his family’s exclusion from society than either of his daughters were likely to be. Perhaps it was with them in mind that he proffered his suggestion.

  ‘I cannot help but observe,’ he said, ‘that the solution to your daughters’ dilemma might not be staring you in the face.’ Robertson looked at him blankly. After a while Linfield indicated his own coat.

  ‘I am not sure that I follow you, Mr Linfield,’ said the planter.

  ‘I was indicating my uniform, sir,’ explained the surgeon. ‘Are there not a considerable number of Royal Navy ships now based at Bridgetown? It would be passing strange if there were not a few potential husbands for your daughters among their many officers.’

  ‘Do you have any particular officer in mind?’ asked Robertson, holding the younger man’s gaze.

  ‘No, no, not specifically,’ replied Linfield, his face blushing a little. ‘It was more of a general observation.’

  ‘Hmm, I see,’ said Robertson. ‘Well I do believe it may prove to be a valuable one, perhaps a very valuable observation.’ He gazed out into Carlisle Bay and pondered on what the young surgeon had said. At that very moment the willing sea breeze brought a further two warships around the headland. Doubtless both were crammed with eligible young men.

  ‘What do you make of those two vessels, Mr Linfield?’ he asked. The surgeon looked over to where the ships made their way across the water.

  ‘I do not recognise them at all,’ he said. ‘They are both frigates, but they are in a very sorry state.’

  As they beat up into the bay, Robertson could see what Linfield meant. The lead ship, the smaller of the two, lacked a proper mizzen mast. Her sides had numerous patched shot holes, and several of her yards had thickened sections like knuckles where they had been fished. Much of her quarterdeck rail was missing, the gash in the wood white and obvious like a bite from an apple. A long stream of silver pulsed out to one side, showing how her pumps worked just to keep her afloat. High in her remaining masts flew a battered looking Royal Navy ensign.

  The second ship was a much larger frigate, and if anything it was in an even more battered condition. At her bows she lacked most of her foremast, and for a bowsprit she had little more than a stump that protruded from her beakhead like a broken tooth. Her long red sides were peppered with shot holes, with doubtless more unseen damage below the waters of the bay to judge from the pumped stream of water she too was emitting. Her stern was covered by an old sail stretched across it, the damage there presumably too significant to be patched at sea.

  ‘Oh, but look!’ cried Linfield, grabbing Robertson by the arm. ‘The second ship is a prize! See how our brave navy ensign flies over the tricolour of France! Bravo, sir, oh Bravo!’

  As the two ships approached the shore, both men could hear the sound of distant cheers from the warships at anchor, drifting up on the breeze. The sound was taken up on shore by the workers at the naval dockyard and spread outwards from there into the streets of Bridgetown.

  Chapter 2

  Barbados

  Alexander Clay was the first lieutenant and temporary commander of the frigate Agrius, the smaller of the two damaged ships. He looked drawn and weary as he waited in the great cabin of the flagship Princess Charlotte. His calm grey eyes were bloodshot and rimmed in red. His normally tanned face looked pale and more gaunt than usual, while his best uniform coat still bore some of the scars of recent battle. One sleeve had a hastily mended rent and there was a dark patch on the back where his servant, Yates, had tried but not entirely succeeded in sponging out the last of a marine’s blood who had been shot while he stood close to Clay.

  In the last four days he had slept for no more than a few snatched hours, and had only washed and shaved for the first time prior to coming to make his report to the admiral. He had been through and won a desperate sea fight that had cost the Agrius a third of her crew, including her captain. For much of the battle he had thought his ship would lose, but after Captain Follett had been killed he had managed to out manoeuvre his larger opponent to win through.

  The moment of his victory had been the start of his troubles. Only a hundred and sixty of the frigate’s crew had survived the battle unscathed. With this number of men he had had to secure an even larger number of French prisoners, attend to the needs of a similar number of wounded from both sides, make vital repairs to two ships and then provide each with a skeleton crew for the three hundred mile voyage to Barbados. It was unsurprising that his normally tall frame was slumped down in his chair, on the verge of sleep, when the door of the cabin swung open.

  ‘Lieutenant Clay, is it not?’ asked Vice-Admiral Benjamin Caldwell, commander of the Windward Islands station, with a smile of welcome. Clay scrambled to his feet and shook the proffered hand. He found himself looking down into the kindly brown eyes of a brisk little man. The admiral was probably in his late fifties but it was hard to tell his exact age on account of the short horse hair periwig he wore, in spite of the tropical heat.

  ‘Please retake your seat, Lieutenant Clay,’ Caldwell continued, full of old world charm. ‘Can I supply anything to fortify you after the rigours of your journey
here—a glass of sherry perhaps?’ Without waiting for an answer he waved forward his white-gloved steward, and a crystal glass of pale liquid appeared by his elbow, together with a fresh baked biscuit.

  ‘My apologies that I kept you waiting,’ he continued. ‘I was issuing instructions for the removal of your many wounded to the hospital ashore, and for the dockyard to start work on repairs to your ship directly. I know that my clerk has your written report, but perhaps you would be kind enough to favour me with a verbal account of the Agrius’s actions? You might start with an explanation as to what has become of Captain Follett.’

  Clay wondered for a moment if the admiral was always this polite, or did he reserve his most attentive behaviour for those that came with captured enemy ships in their wake. Gathering his thoughts he began.

  ‘I regret to report that Captain Follett was killed during our recent action with the Courageuse. He was swept into the water when we lost our mizzen mast, and failed to resurface. We instituted a search for his body at the conclusion of the action, but without success.’

  ‘That is very sad news, Mr Clay,’ said Caldwell. ‘I know the family, and his fall will come as a grave loss to them. But wait, do you not have his nephew on board, young Nicholas Windham? How has he taken the death?’

  ‘Not well at all, I am afraid, sir,’ replied Clay. ‘He was close to his uncle, and I believe that he feels the loss keenly. Mr Windham survived the battle well otherwise—he escaped injury.’

  ‘I will invite him over for dinner so that I can console him properly,’ said Caldwell. ‘Now, we have got in a sad muddle, starting your account with its ending. Let us hear of your actions from their proper beginning. Pray start with your departure from Plymouth.’

  ‘We left Plymouth on the 20th of March, sir, and successfully convoyed the three East Indiamen we were protecting as far as Madeira,’ began Clay. ‘With the exception of one occasion off Lorient where we beat off an attack by a privateer, the voyage was largely uneventful.’ Uneventful, thought Clay, what was he saying? It had only been uneventful from a naval point of view. There had been his meeting with the beautiful Lydia Browning on board one of the Indiaman, from which they had both fallen deeply in love with each other. Then there had been his violent dispute with the late Captain Follett when he had prevented Clay from meeting Lydia to propose marriage on the eve of her departure for India.

  ‘Uneventful you say?’ said the admiral. ‘Excellent. What then happened after you arrived at Madeira?’

  ‘As soon as your orders arrived we set sail, sir,’ continued Clay. ‘As instructed we sailed with all despatch in pursuit of the Courageuse with her cargo of reinforcements for the French island of St Lucia. We first sighted the enemy at about thirty-one degrees west. Regrettably it was close to sunset and we were unable to close with the enemy before the onset of nightfall. A dark night followed, during which we lost contact with the enemy.’

  ‘That is very unfortunate, Mr Clay,’ said Caldwell, his face unreadable. ‘Was all done that should have been to re-establish contact with the French?’

  ‘It was sir, but it was an almost moonless night, and in spite of our best efforts the enemy did evade us. The next day we resumed our pursuit of the French. We were becalmed for two days, which I believe allowed the French to get ahead of us somewhat. We next encountered them in fifty-two degrees west, during a storm. We again closed with them, bearing considerable sail at the time, when we were hit by a violent squall. That resulted in considerable damage aloft, and by the time we had made good our repairs, the French were out of sight once more.’

  ‘One moment, if you please, Mr Clay,’ said the admiral. A small v had appeared between his eyes and it had grown as the account went on. Clay found the admiral’s expression reminiscent of the frown he had so often seen on the former Captain Follett’s face during their time together.

  ‘Are you saying that you overhauled the enemy twice and yet on both occasions they evaded you?’

  ‘That is correct, sir,’ answered Clay.

  ‘Can you offer an explanation for this?’ he asked. Yes, Clay felt like shouting, it was because the ship was under the commanded of an arrogant fool who refused to listen to any of my advice. But he also realised how important this meeting with Caldwell could be to his future career. He took a deep breath before he answered.

  ‘Sir, the Agrius was under the command of Captain Follett at this time,’ answered Clay. ‘I am sure he had reasons for acting as he did, but I am afraid he did not share them with me. I will naturally provide you with all the information I have, but I do not believe it is my place to speak ill of such a recently fallen officer.’

  Caldwell held his gaze for what seemed a long time to the waiting Clay, but he was able to return his look calmly enough, sure that he at least had done his duty.

  ‘Very well, Mr Clay,’ said Caldwell. ‘I believe I understand. Pray continue.’

  ‘We next encountered the Courageuse in the roadstead at Casteries in St Lucia. She came out to fight with us, and after an extremely hard-fought action we prevailed, with the loss of a third of our crew, including the captain who fell quite early in the action. I took command of the Agrius after that sad event.’

  ‘Just a moment, Mr Clay,’ said Caldwell, holding up a hand. ‘I confess I am a little perplexed. When I saw the Agrius come in with her prize, I assumed that you had caught the Courageuse before she could complete her mission to resupply St Lucia as I had ordered. Are you saying that you failed, and that she was able to land her cargo?’

  ‘I am afraid that is so, sir,’ Clay replied. ‘We fought her after she had unloaded.’

  ‘But this is terrible news!’ bemoaned the admiral. ‘Do you realise that I am planning a descent on St Lucia with a view to her capture? It was essential for this endeavour that the island should have received no fresh encouragement to resist.’

  ‘Sir, I do understand that this will come as a disappointment,’ said Clay, aware that Caldwell’s eyes had long since ceased to look kindly. ‘I anticipated that you would at least need to ascertain the nature of the reinforcements that were delivered to the island. I have arranged some informal intelligence gathering among the surviving officers and crew of the Courageuse over the past few days using four Italian members of my crew who speak good French and have served aboard a French vessel. The details are in my report, but I believe I have obtained a reasonably full account.’ Clay passed across a sheet of paper to the admiral.

  Caldwell looked at the proffered sheet, and read out the list.

  ‘2nd Battalion, 43rd Regiment, 520 men

  2 companies of the 90th Regiment, 140 men

  46 gunners from the Garrison Artillery

  Arms additional to those borne by the above,

  400 stands of muskets

  200,000 rounds of cartridges

  An unknown amount of powder taken from the Courageuse’s magazine.’

  ‘This is very impressive, lieutenant,’ said Caldwell, looking up from the sheet. ‘Are you quite certain as to the veracity of the contents?’

  ‘Yes, sir, everything listed there comes from more than one source among their crew,’ Clay replied.

  The admiral rose from his chair and walked up and down the long line of stern windows that made up the back of the great cabin of the big three-decker. His silhouette was black and unreadable against the bright glare of mid-morning sunlight as it streamed in through the glass. After what seemed an age to the waiting Clay, he returned to his desk with a smile for the young officer.

  ‘As I am sure that you are aware, it is customary in the service to promote the first lieutenant of a ship that has been successful in an action against a superior opponent,’ began Caldwell, his eyes once more kindly. ‘It is deemed to be a compliment to the captain, although I like to think of it as an acknowledgement that efficient ships win battles, and it is first lieutenants that make ships efficient. I will not hide that I am vexed that the Agrius did not stop those men from arriving to comfor
t our enemy in St Lucia, but I cannot hold you responsible for failings that happened under your previous captain. Since you have been in command, I am unable to find fault with your actions. So I shall go ahead and promote you to master and commander with immediate effect. It will at least serve as a reason for you to purchase the new uniform coat you so obviously stand in need of.’

  ‘Oh, sir, you quite overwhelm me,’ said Clay. ‘I have been so engaged with the struggle to bring home the Agrius and our prize, I have not had the leisure to consider the possibility of promotion.’

  ‘Well, it is done now, so let me be the first to congratulate you,’ smiled the admiral, gripping Clay’s hand.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Clay. ‘I have naturally worked and longed for promotion ever since I was posted lieutenant, and yet now it has arrived, I find myself quite ill-prepared. Thank you again, sir, although that phrase falls so very short of expressing the depth of my gratitude.’

  ‘Shall we let matters rest at “thank you” then?’ said Caldwell. ‘But I am forgetting, you must at least let me be the first to wet your new swab. Price, more sherry here, and get Captain Miller to join us.’

  The admiral’s flag captain joined them, together with the other members of his staff, after which several toasts were drunk to the health of the newly promoted Clay, and his hand was shaken by one and all. Although his smiling presence was very much at the heart of the celebration, he found his thoughts leaving the great cabin of the Princess Charlotte and turning to distant India, where the woman he loved would soon be arriving. She had agreed to wait till he was in a financial position to marry her, and now he had taken a significant step along that road. He lifted his glass in silent toast. I am on my way, my darling Lydia, he promised. When his attention returned to the cabin, he found he was once again alone with Caldwell.

  ‘Now to business, Captain Clay,’ said the admiral, producing the unfamiliar title as a wedding guest might first produce the bride’s married name, knowing it would draw a smile. Clay was not a captain yet, but commanders were called “captain” in the service as an honorific. ‘I will also be promoting Charles Parker—commander of the Rush, a sixteen gun sloop of war. He will be made post, and take command of the Agrius. Which means I will need a new commander for the Rush—would that be of interest?’