Chapter 32: A Spectre from the Past

December 1813

“Good morning, Sir Thomas! It’s past four bells, wind nor’easterly, ship’s still hove-to under double reefed tops’ls, flagship in sight to South!”

That was Bartleby, waking his captain with a short report, freshly gathered on the quarterdeck, as had been his custom for the past four years. Thomas forced himself awake, acutely aware of the cold that permeated his sleeping cabin, made even worse by the damp bedding. It was a miserable and wet winter in the Mediterranean, and nobody on board owned a single dry garment anymore.

With another shiver, he dressed hurriedly, eschewing his morning shave in favour of getting his hot breakfast a little earlier. A pot of coffee, steaming hot, and a bowl of reheated soup from the day before were what he needed, and he spooned the soup eagerly, feeling the warmth of the meal drive away the shivers.

Wrapping himself in his watch cloak, he stepped onto the quarterdeck which was still in darkness. Acting lieutenant Middleton stepped forward to give his report, but it was nothing out of the normal order. They were lying hove-to some four miles south-east of Frejus, a small port thirty miles east of Toulon. The coast between Frejus and Nice was the patrol area for which the small inshore squadron was responsible.

Upon returning to the fleet, Unicorn was attached to the squadron to replace a sixth-rate frigate, HMS Nemesis, 28, which had been converted into a troopship. The squadron leader, Commodore Albert Masters, should have been quite satisfied with the exchange that had strengthened his small squadron considerably, which consisted of Masters’s own Conqueror, 74, the frigates Unicorn, 32, and Castor, 32, and the gun sloops Marigold, 16, and Penzance, 14. Yet, for some reason unbeknownst to Thomas, Masters harboured an aversion against Unicorn and her captain.

Fortunately, unlike Commodore Hastings, Masters did not see fit to invite his captains to his ship for social gatherings or even for professional discussions. Once every two or three weeks, he summoned them to give them orders, in Thomas’s case always laced with some snide remarks.

So far, the squadron had been moderately successful, capturing four coasters and even a small brig. Yet, even those small successes held not much appeal for Thomas under the new commanding officer. He had also left Gibraltar two months ago, leaving Mirabel and Teresa behind with Angela, and he missed them fiercely. The three weeks in Mirabel’s company had made him realise how much he cared for her. It was not just the physical aspects of their married life that he missed. Simply watching her from across a room had been a pleasure, holding her hand and conversing with her had given him peace of mind. He could understand his father now who had given up his command, his chance of promotion, to return to his home and his wife.

Thomas shook himself out of this musing. He was in the Navy where foul tempered superiors were a common enough occurrence. Around him, the ship came to life. Work parties started to scrub the decks. It seemed to Thomas that they performed their duties with extra vigour, probably because they were as cold as Thomas.

Looking about he could now see the shadow of the Conqueror two or three cable lengths to port. To starboard, the shape of Penzance could be seen dimly, also hove to like the rest of the squadron. It would be over an hour before daylight he knew, and he better had his breakfast before Masters would start their daily regimen of pointless evolutions. The commodore certainly loved being in command, and he conducted himself as if he commanded a fleet.

Mr. Hearn could be seen inspecting the forecastle. He had taken over the duties of the 1st Lieutenant seamlessly. He had profited immensely from the changes over the last year and grown into an alert and energetic officer. Darby, of course, had sailed for Portsmouth with his young wife and with Thomas’s best wishes. The wedding had been a small affair, but the bride had not minded that at all. For Florence, becoming the respectable wife of a Navy officer was all of what she had ever dared to dream, but she also genuinely cared for Roger Darby. She had been honest to him about her past, and the fact that he continued in his courtship rather than pursuing a dalliance endeared him to her even more.

Once again, Thomas shook himself from those reminiscences. Breakfast had to be ready by now, so he walked aft and to his cabin where he found Bartleby waiting with more coffee, fried eggs with bacon, and weevil-free ships biscuit from the cabin stores. He ate with relish and then dressed for the day, enjoying the warmth of a freshly ironed shirt. Bartleby was really doing his best under the circumstances, and ironing was the only way to get the damp out of the clothes.

His suspicion was confirmed shortly after he stepped out onto the quarterdeck again. It was getting light, and immediately signal flags rose along the halliards of the flagship, ordering the ships of the squadron to go to the wind in a line ahead. That meant for Castor to sail as vanguard, with the two gun sloops flanking the Conqueror, and Unicorn bringing up the rear. It was easy enough for Thomas with his well seasoned crew to bring his ship into her proper position, a cable length behind the two-decker, and he made certain that they sailed exactly in the flagship’s wake.

For the next six hours, the commodore made them practice the usual evolutions, such as wearing ship and going about in line. Wonders over wonders, Unicorn did not pick up a single admonishing signal, but Castor did when she veered to windward by perhaps a half pistol shot. Marigold fell behind briefly at one point and also received a scathing signal, but when Penzance was ahead there was no signal.

That was strange, but not unexpected. Penzance and her captain were exempt from the commodore’s frequent rebukes; why, Thomas knew not. In the lists, she was commanded by one Lt. Francis Gerard. Thomas had not met the man yet since there had been no gathering of the captains so far, but he assumed him to be the commodore’s protegé. That was not uncommon in a Navy where nepotism held sway rather openly and unashamedly.

Finally, with the light beginning to fade again, the squadron hove to again and Thomas could give orders for the men to have a belated hot meal. They were cold and hungry after the long day spent almost entirely on their manoeuvre stations. To make things worse, it was Christmas Day, and they had expected at least a double grog ration and a special meal. Thomas gave orders to the purser to even things out with the supper.

Thomas had planned to invite his officers for dinner, but that was not to be. A little before the start of the First Dog Watch, signal flags appeared again. This time, it was the commodore inviting the captains to dinner. Therefore, Thomas had to send his compliments and the prepared food and drink to the wardroom whilst he hurriedly changed into his Nº2 uniform, complete with 50-guineas sword and the star and sash of his knighthood.

Still, he was curious to meet his fellow captains and to see Masters in a social setting. Thomas guessed the man to be in his early fifties. Yet, he was only seven years Thomas’s senior in rank, probably explaining his attitude towards a very young frigate captain. Sitting in the stern of his gig on the way to the Conqueror, Thomas shrugged. That could not be helped. After all, he considered himself a quite successful captain, both in terms of prize monies, but also in terms of battle honours.

He was also senior to Captain Dillon, the other frigate captain, and thus he had his gig hook on first. Slipping off his cloak, he stepped on the Jacob’s ladder. Six sideboys manned the port as Thomas stepped on the upper deck of the Conqueror, and the boatswains’ pipes shrilled over the dark deck. There stood Masters, giving Thomas a very cold greeting and tasking a midshipman with escorting him aft and to the cabin. He could hear the pipes again a mere minute later, and soon another junior captain joined him in the spacious cabin. Captain Dillon at least smiled when he came to attention.

“Captain Charles Dillon, of Castor, at your service, Sir Thomas!”

“A good evening, Captain Dillon,” Thomas replied. “It is good to finally meet you in the flesh.”

Dillon nodded ruefully and looked around in the cabin before he answered in a low voice.

“It’s like it is, Sir Thomas. At least we’ll have a chance to get acquainted tonight.”

“So true, Captain. I hear the pipes again. That means that Banks or Gerard must have arrived.”

Dillon looked confused at first, but then his face cleared.

“Oh, that’s true, Sir Thomas. You have not met them either. Mr. Gerard was replaced with Lt. Edgar Dumfries four months ago.”

Thomas could not quite hide his surprise.

“Oh, I did not know that Mr. Dumfries was still active,” he temporised.

“You know the man, Sir Thomas?”

“He was the 1st Lieutenant in the old Sultan, back in ‘09. I was fourth.”

Dillon was surprised and possibly amused.

“That is quite a reversal of fortune, Sir Thomas. I better warn you, Sir. He’s Captain Masters’s brother-in-law.”

“That would explain why he’s exempt from censure,” Thomas nodded.

Dillon nodded sagely. “That is my thinking, too, Sir Thomas.”

Inwardly, Thomas sighed deeply. Now he knew why Masters disliked him. Dumfries must be resentful of Thomas and his success, and his opinion had likely coloured the commodore’s views as well.

He could now hear the sentry coming to attention outside the cabin, and Thomas turned towards the door. Masters entered first and then bade two lieutenants enter.

“Do come in, Gentlemen. Let me do the honours first. Captain Sir Thomas Grey of the Unicorn frigate, Captain Charles Dillon of Castor, Captain Peter Banks of Marigold, and Captain Edgar Dumfries of Penzance. I believe Sir Thomas knows Captain Dumfires?” Masters ended smugly.

“Why, indeed, Sir,” Thomas answered lightly. “I trust that you are fully recovered then, Mr. Dumfries?”

Whilst it was customary to address a commander as “captain” in social settings, addressing a lieutenant with the same courtesy title was a bit too much in Thomas’s view. The older man stared at Thomas with distaste and barely hidden anger.

“Yes, ... Sir Thomas,” was all he answered, and the words seemed to leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Well, it’s a delight to see you again,” Thomas returned. He gave the other lieutenant and friendly nod. “Of course, I am also delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Banks.”

Like Dumfries, Banks was an elderly man, with weather-beaten features, but with a friendly smile.

“I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Sir Thomas.”

Masters shot Thomas an ugly look. “Why don’t we all sit, gentlemen?”

They did. Thomas found his place card on the far side from Masters whilst Dumfries sat next to the commodore.

“Captain Dumfries is my brother-in-law,” Masters said curtly. “My table, my rules, gentlemen.”

Thomas gave another inward shrug and forced his face into a neutral expression. Dillon’s face showed the ghost of a smile, but was soon impassive again. Masters then gave a sign to his steward who placed a terrine on the table. It was pea soup of all things, likely from the purser’s stores. A quick look around the cabin showed Thomas a lack of personal furnishings and items of luxury, and he understood that Masters was hurting for money. He had only recently been assigned to the command of the Conqueror, and he must have been on half pay before, Thomas realised. He was conscious of his own good fortune in matters of money and he knew that many excellent captains were not as lucky. With another inward sigh, he let the steward ladle pea soup into his bowl. He would be feasting on his own fine cabin stores with his officers had it not been for Masters’s invitation.

From then on, the evening dragged along, only sparsely enlivened by a conversation that revolved around the damp weather, the latest news from the fleet, and – strangely – the poetry of Lord Byron. Thomas answered politely when asked but did not volunteer his opinions on those issues. It was peculiar how Masters did not discuss his planning with his captains. As the most senior captain after Masters, Thomas could expect to be involved in plotting their activities, but the commodore did not let the conversation move in that direction. In a clairvoyant moment, Thomas realised that Masters was insecure in the presence of his captains, who were both landed gentlemen and quite successful frigate captains. Thus, he rather included the two elderly lieutenants in the conversation. Thomas resigned himself to being taciturn and sat through most of the dinner quietly.

Finally, Masters saw fit to rise from the table and bid his guests a good evening. Being the senior captain after their host was rather welcome to Thomas as it afforded him with the privilege to make his escape soonest. He was very careful nevertheless to show nothing but polite gratitude when he bade his farewell. Yet, when he sat in his gig he saw a glass of Port wine and a few chunks of cheese from the Grey’s lands before his inner eye.

Back in his cabin, sipping his Port and nibbling on the cheese, he shook his head in amazement. So Dumfries, of all people, was commanding the Penzance sloop. Actually, it was a huge step down for the man from being the 1st lieutenant of an almost new 74-gun ship under a renowned captain, to being in command of a 4-pounder sloop. True, some five years before, Thomas would have loved such a command, but then he had been a very junior lieutenant. For a man of Dumfries’s seniority it had to be humiliating. Then again, Thomas remembered how the man had badmouthed him without reason, and his sympathy for Dumfries waned considerably. Perhaps a 14-gun sloop was more than he deserved.