Chapter 21: Wake-up Call

February 1813

Three days later, with the last repairs finished and the last stores stowed away, Unicorn was ready to sail in the morning. After one last evening ashore and a delightful farewell offered by the lovely Florence, Thomas had come aboard late, but he was up before the first light to supervise the weighing of the anchor. Unicorn and Dido would sail together on their return to the fleet, always with an eye on catching some blockade runner.

Dido was riding her anchor two cable lengths to port from them, weakly illuminated by a lantern light much like Unicorn. Muir was probably getting her ready to sail just like Thomas. They had only taken a small load of water which was always a scarce commodity on The Rock, planning to call on Port Mahon for fresh water, as was usual for the ships of the Mediterranean Fleet. This meant that Unicorn was short some 60 tons of weight, making her ride higher in the water. Having studied his ship whilst she was lightened, Thomas had a good idea of her underwater lines, and he’d had the crew shift stores and ammunition on the previous day to optimise the trim. Today would tell him whether he had succeeded.

“Fifteen minutes to sunrise, Sir,” Mr. Royce, the sailing master, offered.

“Very well, Mr. Royce.” Thomas looked around in the weak light on the quarter deck. “You there, what’s your name, young man?” Thomas was as yet unable to distinguish one of the “young gentlemen” from another in the dim light, despite having dined with his officers during the refit.

The midshipman of the watch stepped forward. “John Brown, Sir, midshipman!”

“Well, Mr. Brown, kindly pass the word to the wardroom that we’ll weigh anchor in fifteen minutes.”

He was slightly miffed that none of his officers save for the master were on deck, in spite of last evening’s announcement of his plans. Treleven at least showed up not a minute later, but the crumbs on his coat showed that he’d been breakfasting. The rest of the wardroom showed barely before it was time to pipe up the hands.

“I am happy that you gentlemen found the time in your busy schedules to attend the weighing of the anchor,” he grated, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

The reactions were varied. Gerard came to attention and blushed. Hearns looked guilty and cast a look at Treleven who pretended to study the chalk board. Pons just gave a smirk, like a spoilt schoolboy.

“All hands! All hands on deck!” the boatswain intoned whilst his mates were sounding their pipes.

Within seconds, Unicorn‘s deck filled with men. The nailed soles of the soldiers’ boots thumbed foreward where they manned the capstan. The topmen streamed up along the shrouds and spread over the topsail yards where they waited for orders.

A look to port told Thomas that Dido was following suit. Beyond the tip of the peninsula, the sea was touched by the reddish gold of the sun; on this side of The Rock, the sun would not crest the mountains until a half hour later. Yet, there was enough light.

“Mr. Treleven, weigh anchor, if you please!”

The marines and waisters strained against the capstan bars, pulling in the cable through the hawse one foot at a time against the northerly breeze. After five minutes of back-breaking efforts, the shout “Anchor’s free!” from the bow was welcomed.

“Mr. Treleven, have the forestays’l and the tops’ls set! Quartermaster, helm to starb’d!”

The topsails filled with the breeze whilst the staysail levered Unicorn before the wind. Within two minutes, the ship began to gather speed, barely ahead of Dido.

“Let’s set the t’gallants, Mr. Treleven!” Thomas ordered next, watching Dido‘s sleek form cut through the waves. Sixth-rate or not, Thomas would have gladly kept his old ship.

He watched as the topgallants were unfurled, and he was not, could not be happy with the time these manoeuvres took.

“We shall have to practice this,” he said to Treleven who nodded dutifully.

“Yes, Sir. I shall see to it.”

Both ships were by now sailing south along the western shore of The Rock. Dido was slightly over-reaching them even flying the same sails, but to be fair, that had to be expected in this moderate breeze and with the wind from their quarters. All in all, he was not unhappy over Unicorn‘s performance so far. She responded well to the rudder and picked up speed easily enough. Now, if he could speed up his officers and crew as well, he’d have a good fighting ship he mused.

“Prepare for saluting the Fort!” he ordered absentmindely, and whilst the thunder of the nine-shot salute rolled over the sea, he was making plans to exercise his officers and crew.

Then it was time to lay the rudder to port. Thomas watched ship and crew like a hawk. He still thought there might be room for improvement, but the manoeuvre was decent enough. Then Unicorn was on her new course, due east, with a full breeze from the North, and lying over decidedly. Still, Thomas thought she could carry more sail, just not her huge courses.

“Main stays’l and mizzen stays’l, if you please, Mr. Treleven.”

When the log was cast, Unicorn made eight knots, keeping up with Dido and churning through the choppy water. That was more like it, Thomas thought. Still, now was not the time to lean back.

“Mr. Treleven, kindly release the watch below for breakfast. Half an hour. Then the watch gets to eat. After that, we’ll see if we cannot improve our topmen to an acceptable standard.”

Treleven swallowed. “Aye-aye, Sir.”

“I will be aft for a short breakfast myself. Call me if my presence is needed!”

Bartleby had held water boiling for him and quickly brewed a fresh coffee for his captain. The table was laid already with fresh bread from the afternoon before, fresh butter and thinly sliced smoked ham, jamón. Now Bartleby came with the coffee but also with two fried eggs. Thomas actually rubbed his hands before he attacked the food with all the hunger of a young and active man.

For a few precious moments, he enjoyed the peace and tranquility, reminiscing about the last days. Florence had put a claim on him over the last evenings and strangely, Mirabel had played along, wishing him a good night and giving him a friendly kiss on his cheek. Angela Benning had simply winked at him before she left him to his fate. It was as if both other women had agreed to let Florence give him some much needed comfort. He had feared that Florence’s bold actions would offend and hurt Mirabel, but she had hugged him with feeling on the evening before and even given him a dazzling smile before he stepped into his gig. Women could act strangely, Thomas concluded, an explanation as good as any.

The watch was still below having their breakfast when Thomas returned to the quarter deck. This time, Treleven had chosen to be prepared. Asked by Thomas, he proposed a full sail drill, removing and bringing up the top hamper, and even running out the studding sail yards. Thomas let his 1st lieutenant supervise the exercises. Come the noon, the topmen were in an exhausted state, but getting closer to the performance Thomas expected of a Royal Navy frigate.

After a break over the noon hours, Thomas, without warning, ordered the ship cleared for action. With a sardonic smile, he watched the ensuing chaos on the decks. Had his officers really not anticipated this? It seemed hard to fathom. After a pitiful fourteen minutes, a blushing Treleven reported readiness.

“Then let us see, Mr. Treleven,” Thomas answered with a shrug.

With his 1st lieutenant at his side, Thomas inspected the quarter deck first and found that two men at the second 32-pounder carronade had no idea of their tasks. Mr. Midshipman Barlow, in charge of the quarterdeck guns, would go without grog for a week.

Slowly, methodically, Thomas inspected the guns on the main deck. He found five more men who could not recite their tasks and had Treleven note those down. On the forecastle, everything seemed alright, but then he found that the shot garlands held no balls for the 32-pounder carronades. Another Midshipman, Mr. Montgomery, was destined for sobriety for a week.

Next Thomas inspected the fighting tops. Surprisingly, all was well up there, or perhaps not, since the tops were manned by the marines, and Mr. Gerard was a man who did everything by the book when he was sober.

Up in the foretop, another omission was discovered. The safety chain had not been fastened around the topsail yard, risking the yard to be shot away. The foremast was Pons’s responsibility, and Thomas decided that he would have words with his 3rd lieutenant, old shipmate or not.

Climbing down to the deck, Thomas then inspected the orlop deck where he found Mr. Fox and his attendants in good order and with their clean torture tools in readiness. Only two men were swinging in their hammocks, both suffering from bone breaks incurred during provisioning.

“Are you men getting good care down here?” he asked.

Both men’s eyes bugged out at being asked by their mighty and severe new captain.

“All right, you don’t look starved, so don’t answer,” Thomas laughed.

Further down in the hold, Thomas inspected the powder room. The chief gunner and his mates worked in almost darkness down here, holding buckets with filled paper cartridges ready for the powder monkeys.

“Where d’ye bring those cartridges, boy?” Thomas asked one of the boys.

“M-main deck, Sir, starb’d an’ for’rard!” he squeaked.

“Very well. If you remember when your captain’s asking, you’ll remember when the Frogs’ll fill the air with iron,” Thomas smiled, causing some chuckles.

He led the way again back to the main deck.

“Well, Mr. Treleven, you could tell where we need improvements. Let us practice this again. Release the men from stations if you please, and give them a short break. Then we’ll repeat this until we get it right. Questions?”

“No, sir. Aye-aye, Sir,” was all Treleven could answer.

“You really took them to task, Sir,” Captain Muir chuckled.

He and Thomas were sitting at dinner in the after cabin of HMS Unicorn as she and Dido lay anchored off Port Mahon. The Spanish authorities had been alerted, and on the next morning, they expected the water hoys to come out from the harbour so that they could fill their water casks for three months.

“Well, at least they won’t embarrass me now, when we reach the fleet,” Thomas smiled back. “Mallard and Lonsdale left a mess.”

Muir nodded. “I can imagine, Sir. Unicorn‘s performance was poor in the battle. Too slow, too undecided, and sloppy manoeuvring.”

“Lonsdale was made commander afterwards?”

Muir nodded gloomily. “In the Badger sloop, Sir. Let’s hope he won’t wreck her, Sir.”

Thomas thought briefly.

“Captain, if you can agree, I’d like for us to dispense with formality when we’re amongst ourselves. You’re my senior in years, and I’m not that much your senior in rank. I’m Thomas if you can agree.”

Muir’s face broke into a proud smile. “I’m James, and I’d like that, Thomas.”

“Well, with this out of the way, we should plan our cruise along the coastline. We should reach the coast around Barcelona with this wind, but heading for Palamós will be more in keeping with our general course, and we never had that much luck with prizes around Barcelona.”

“Pellew will appreciate it if we take a look at Roses and even Banyuls,” James mused. “I agree, though, that we should skip the Catalan coast around Barcelona. Too much out of our way, I’d say.”

“Not many pickings further along that coast I’m afraid. The French move most of their goods along those canals between those etangs, whatever that means. I’d rather not risk landing parties there.”

James nodded emphatically. “We may just as well cut straight to West once we’ve looked into Cerbere and Port Vendres.”

“My thinking. Pellew will have tasks for us I’m sure, and we’d better not dawdle.”

“I suppose he will just he glad to have two frigates back.”

“I forgot to ask – is Clancy still leading the squadron?”

Muir shook his head. “He and Woolcombe got into a bad argument. They duelled. Clancy was shot and lost his arm from the gangrene. Pellew relieved them both of their commands and sent them home.”

Thomas shook his head. “They had been arguing before I believe. But to lose an arm over a silly argument...”

“It was about the prize monies I heard. Clancy wanted to reinstate our sharing agreement. Woolcombe then insinuated that he’d only had his change of heart after missing out on our bullion ship.”

“That was a serious accusation,” Thomas had to admit. “I cannot honestly say that I was sorry about Clancy’s decision.”

James chuckled. “Melrose told me how you kept your face perfectly straight when you listed the load of the Belle Armande. He said Clancy looked as if he’d bitten into a lemon.”

“No, I cannot say that. He took it in very good grace, at least after the first shock. I have no complaints about the man.”

“Well, he’s gone. Melrose moved up and took over Caroline. Commander MacAuliffe was newly posted in Thisbe, and Circe went to Captain Murtaugh. Nobody knows whether the squadron will be detached again and which ships will be in it. Could be that Thisbe and Dido will do inshore patrols for the fleet.”

Thomas shook his head. “Hardly. Frigates, even small ones, are too precious to be risked that way. He has sloops for that. The whole matter probably depends on the events on the peninsula.”

“Very likely. Wellington will break out of Portugal again after the winter. He may choose to advance in the North though.”

Thomas agreed. “It’s what I’d do. The supply lines from England are shorter that way. Fortunately, it’s not something we have to decide.”

“So true. I like it fine in the Navy, now of course more than ever.”

Thomas smiled. “I can imagine. Have you heard from your family?”

James nodded and smiled. “Oh, yes. My father’s letter arrived with your packet ship. He’s very proud of course. He was a wee bit worried about my future. You see, my older brother Jeremy will inherit the lairdship. My younger brother Jonas is a minister already, and I was stuck in rank as a lieutenant, quite likely for life. Now he writes that my mother is having all the young widows and lasses for miles around for tea to find a match for her high and mighty son, the captain.”

Thomas smiled sadly. “Yes, that’s what mothers do the moment we gain post rank. It was my own mother’s favourite pastime to list and categorise all eligible females, always adapting the list to my eventual rise through the ranks. The first and foremost candidate was Miss Harriet-Anne Paddington, the daughter of my mother’s best friend. Alas, Harriet-Anne had higher ambitions. She’s Lady Manning now.”

“You must be eligible in the extreme now.”

“Yes, it is a good thing I could return to the Mediterranean, and a better thing that I could bring along my poor cousin, who would otherwise have bourne the brunt of the battle for my hand during my absence.”

“Too bad she’s your cousin, or you would not have to look far for a bride. She’s a lovely lass and well bred, and one can see that she’s loyal to a fault.”

James Muir’s words hit Thomas like a bucket of cold water. James could not know that he and Mirabel were not at all related by blood, but his other statements were the perfect truth. Mirabel was beautiful; there was no other word to describe her. She had been raised by Margaret Grey to the same principles as Thomas himself. Lastly, she was the one person left on this Earth whom Thomas would entrust with everything he had, including his life. Why on earth had he not seen this? What if Mirabel found a suitor among the numerous young officers? Did she even feel for him, Thomas, like a bride should feel? He’d always treated her like a younger sister. Perhaps he was a big brother to her?