The Patriot's Fate (9 page)

“And tell him what? That Mrs Clarkson and I are playing a game of
vingt-et-un
? Hardly a criminal offence, I’d chance.”

“Not a criminal offence, Mr Marshall,” Fraiser said, “but one that will certainly see you off this ship. If you were to play a game with Mrs Clarkson, you would have been better to do so at the gunroom table.”

Marshall considered him for a moment. “Very well,” he said finally. “We shall do so in future.”

“There will not be the opportunity,” Fraiser said firmly. “You shall leave this ship without delay.”

“I shall what?” Marshall stepped out of the cabin. He was dressed in a plain shirt and britches, and his hair was not dressed and hung in a tangle. “You stupid old fool; you are naught but a sailing master; how dare you presume to order me about?” The marine’s complexion had grown dangerously red, and he all but spat his words. “I am your superior and could buy and sell any warrant officer a hundred times over. You have absolutely no authority in this matter, and certainly none over what I do in my free time. And in addition you have made an outrageous suggestion that has upset Mrs Clarkson deeply; I insist you apologise.” Marshall’s face was barely inches away from Fraiser’s, although the older man met his glare with quiet composure.
 

“There will be no apologies, unless you see sense and choose to offer one,” Fraiser said, his words clipped and firm. “I have found you carrying on in a commissioned ship of war. Worse than that, a fellow officer’s wife is involved. The matter shall be taken to the captain, or you will leave this very evening; it is your choice, and you must make it straight away.”

Marshall considered Fraiser for a second, then a quizzical look played upon his face. “You’re serious, aren’t you? I cannot just walk off a ship to which I am appointed.”

“Mr Marshall, you can do exactly that; hand in your papers if need be, but go, and go now. There will be time to appoint a new man in your place.”
 

“You jumped up, Jesus bothering nonentity…” the marine stopped, mouth open, desperately searching for words.

“I have right, and the law on my side,” Fraiser continued smoothly. “And the Lord as well, since you choose to include Him.”

Marshall continued to stare at the man, then suddenly pushed past, out of the surgeon’s cabin, and across the gunroom to his own. He went inside, slamming the frail door behind him.

“Steward, do we have some food?” Fraiser asked suddenly, turning away from the half opened cabin door and ignoring the sound of a woman’s sobs from within. The gunroom servant appeared, rather too readily he thought, and placed a bowl of steaming stew on the table.

“And I’ll take a cup of tea, if you please,” Fraiser said, seating himself, and pulling the bowl towards him. He began to eat and continued, even when Marshall bellowed for his servant. He was just finishing his meal as the two of them bustled out of the cabin, out of the gunroom and, in Marshall’s case, off the ship.

Chapter Four
 

“We are for the Irish station,” Banks said; and, strangely, the statement brought no immediate reaction. All of the officers present had been expecting a posting to the Channel Fleet, and it took several seconds for them to properly register the news. “Admiral Kingsmill is at Cork, and we shall be based there, though we are bound for Dublin first with despatches and to be briefed,” he continued, taking advantage of their surprise. “
Scylla
will be travelling alone, but I believe it likely that further reinforcements are to be sent to join us shortly.”

Banks looked down from the head of the table. Of the four men before him, three he knew well; only Chilton stood out as the newcomer and, as he had only just returned from his recruiting drive, still remained something of an enigma. The captain unfolded the orders he had received that morning; they carried far more background information than was usual, but then Evan Nepean, the secretary to the Board of Admiralty, was known to have an interest in Irish matters.
 

“I think at this point it may be worth a brief résumé for those who are not fully aware of the current state of affairs,” Banks said. “You may well have heard of the rather ragged uprising a few months back.” He raised his eyes and looked at each in turn. Caulfield, he knew, had Irish connections; Fraiser was a Scot; and it was not inconceivable that Chilton or even King held sympathies. Should he notice any sign of support in these, or any of his officers for that matter, he would have them exchanged without delay. The Irish situation was difficult enough; it was vital that he trusted everyone: there was no room for subversive tendencies or misplaced ideals.
 

“The attempt was ill organised and inconclusive,” he continued, studying them still. “This was partially due to our agents infiltrating the illegal organisation known as the United Irishmen, and partially to the firm hand taken by the military. A series of arrests were made which raised the tension and precipitated a spontaneous revolt that was relatively easy to put down; although not without bloodshed, of course.” The men were meeting his gaze with nothing other than total attention, and Banks continued, quietly relieved.

“We think that the rebels had been planning something a little more elaborate, very likely involving French forces. Similar expeditions have been staged in the past; I know that most of you will be aware of the attempt in ‘ninety-six, when enemy ships came as far as anchoring in Irish waters. That attempt failed, and I am proud to say that our last ship had no small hand in the matter, which incidentally may well have influenced my Lords of the Admiralty when selecting
Scylla
for this task.” He paused; there was no harm in reminding them of previous success. “So May’s rebellion was defused, although feelings still run high, and it is considered that another attempt, possibly with assistance from the French, is likely.” To Banks, the Irish’s apparent fascination with rebellion truly was surprising. Why any nation should wish to decline the presence of Britain, with its wealth, power and intelligence, was something of a mystery.
 

“There are at least two squadrons of enemy shipping thought to be in the general vicinity; one of them, commanded by Commodore Savary, left France when news of the May uprising was received. They are known to be carrying upwards of a thousand troops, which, though not an especially large force, will probably attract support from the civil population. We have yet to discover where they are bound; they may even be half way to the ‘Indies by now, but if Ireland is their destination a landing must be avoided at all costs.”

He studied the men again and then relaxed. “So, gentlemen; are there any questions or comments?”

Only Chilton, who was unused to his new captain’s strange habit of inviting his inferiors to hold an opinion, looked in any way disconcerted. Caulfield was the first to speak.

“You mentioned support, sir. As I recall the Irish station is not blessed with many ships; when can we expect assistance?”

“True, they have only one liner plus a handful of frigates and some smaller stuff in the south,” Banks agreed, “hardly sufficient to protect a country as large as Ireland. But then the Admiralty is fully aware of the situation, and hopefully the Channel Fleet will stop any sizeable force venturing too far. Privately I would expect at least one flying squadron to be despatched to reinforce us without delay, and there may be others joining on a more permanent basis.”

Fraiser was the next to speak, and did so with his customary quiet assurance. “The crew, sir. There are many Irish amongst them.”

“Indeed, Mr Fraiser,” Banks said, picking up the thread. “And all must be watchful. In some ways we are in a far better position than the Army; an enemy at sea is clear and indisputable; whereas on land there is no telling whom you can trust. But that does not mean we are immune to sympathisers amongst our own. If you have doubts or suspicions you will report them to me without delay. And clearly any act that could be looked upon as sabotage will be dealt with in the firmest manner.”

He waited, but no one was keen to add further. “Very well, gentlemen; our orders are to sail at the earliest opportunity: can you give me the current situation with stores, Mr Caulfield?”

The first lieutenant cleared his throat. “Yes, sir, we are fully victualled in all bar fresh water, although the remaining tonnage required can be taken on in a morning. We are also awaiting candles and tallow from the renderers, but would have sufficient should you wish us to proceed. Fabric and frame are in good repair, with only regular maintenance, and some small attention to the forecastle caulking required. And standing rigging is now complete, with running to be likewise by the end of the morrow. The outstanding problem is men.” He allowed himself a brief sigh. “Despite Mr Chilton’s gallant efforts we still remain forty able down, and could probably find a place for that many landsmen if given the chance.”

Banks leant forward in his chair. “I think I can put your mind at rest. We have been awarded a draft from a seventy-four, currently being paid off in Torbay. There should be fifty prime hands with us by the morning after next.” The officers’ look of surprise and relief was like a tonic. Banks savoured the moment, even though it was probably the last favour his father would grant him.

“They will indeed be welcome,” Caulfield murmured. Banks glanced up; all the lieutenants were actually smiling like a bunch of lads, while Fraiser assumed an expression of smug approval.

“We have also had news of a replacement for Mr Marshall,” Banks continued, oblivious to any affect that mentioning the man was having on at least two of his officers. “We are to receive a captain of marines, a Mr Westwood, in addition to a replacement lieutenant. Also a further fifteen private soldiers and a corporal.”

“That will be quite a force, sir,” Caulfield remarked.

“Indeed,” Banks eyes fell for a moment. “It is possible that
Scylla
will be involved in operations ashore, and provisions are being made to see that we are properly equipped.” There was a moment’s silence; all were well aware that any land based action was likely to be difficult and deadly; their force of marines, though large compared with the usual frigate’s compliment, was minuscule in military terms. And, if they were deployed, the very fact would be a sign of failure: an indication that the enemy had been allowed a firm stronghold and that every available resource was needed.

“It is indeed strange that Mr Marshall chose to leave so suddenly,” Banks said, collecting his papers together and considering for a moment. “Problems of a family nature, I understand, but still…” He was clearly hoping for some response, some thread of information, but received nothing but blank stares in return. Even Fraiser, usually one with particular concern for his fellow man, showed a remarkable lack of reaction. But then Banks was conscious that Marshall had made very little impression on him, and he supposed the others felt the same. Yes, rather a nonentity, he decided; and, that being the case, it was probably better that he had gone, even if taking on a replacement this close to sailing was inconvenient.

“Very well gentlemen,” he said, bringing himself back to the subject in hand. “I am sure we all have plenty to keep us busy; if no one has any objections we will aim for Wednesday’s morning tide: I will signal to that effect.”

* * *

Egmont
had been a decent ship, of a proper size, and with a lower gun deck stuffed full of thirty-two pounders, an armament worth talking about. This
Scylla
was nothing more than a row boat in comparison, and her eighteen pounders, what they were pleased to call the great guns, were almost an insult to a man accustomed to handling true weaponry. As a quarter gunner Surridge was used to having overall charge of four of those monsters. And he had trained men to use them, trained them in such a way that they did not lose their heads or cry for mother when the shot started flying, or their mates got snuffed about them. He could probably do so again, even on this piss poor little gig, if that was what King George intended: Surridge, or Suggs, as he was known to the men, wasn’t inclined to go against authority as high as that. But he didn’t have to like it, and even now, from what he regarded as a position worthy of respect, Surridge could still cause trouble on the lower levels should he choose to do so.

He’d drawn one of the coveted hammock spaces at the end of a row. It was almost next to the galley, which was convenient, as Surridge hated chewing tobacco but was fond of a night time pipe, and handy for the heads. But in
Egmont
he had wangled a cabin – not a true one admittedly, it was more a partitioned off pen; the carpenter had made it to house a gentleman’s fag when they were shipping a bunch of gentry coves back to England. Surridge had claimed it as soon as the party left, and it was an indication of his character and position in the social hierarchy of the ship that he had done so over the heads of several petty officers superior to him. He’d liked that cabin, both for its space, and the recognition it gave of his true worth. To go back to sleeping amongst other men, and in a ship that hardly warranted use of the title, was not Surridge’s idea of advancement. Besides, he had been looking forward to a decent cruise ashore. With three years’ wages in his pocket he should have been able to spend a happy week or so in the Torbay brothels and tap houses, and to find his plans so drastically altered had thoroughly spoiled Surridge’s day.