Chapter 33: HMS Clyde

January 1814

It was impossible not to fall in love with his new ship immediately. As HM sloop Lark approached the large frigate, Thomas drank in the lines of the hull, the rake of her masts, and the excellent shape. Clearly, her previous captain had spent a considerable amount of his own money on the ship. From the gilded carvings around her stern windows to the masterfully applied paintwork the ship showed the affluence of her former captain.

Lt. Warden hove to a cable length from HMS Clyde and gave Thomas the use of his side boat. Thomas left Leeds and Bartleby in charge of his possessions and had himself rowed to Clyde‘s port. They were hailed of course, and the boatswain answered with the customary ‘aye-aye’ that announced the arrival of an officer. Thomas had slipped his boat cloak off the shoulders to show his epaulettes, giving the watch on the quarterdeck some advance warning.

It must have helped, for when Thomas stepped through the port, there were six side boys in attendance and the boatswains’ pipes shrilled to receive him. An older lieutenant stood at attention. Thomas gave the man a nod and introduced himself.

“Captain Sir Thomas Grey, come aboard!”

“Welcome aboard, Sir Thomas. I am Lieutenant John Harvey, 1st lieutenant and in temporary command.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Harvey. May I ask you to call all hands?”

“Aye-aye, Sir Thomas!” Harvey answered before he gave a nod to a grizzled sailor. A second later, the pipes shrilled again, and the crew came spilling up the companionways, milling around the deck until they stood ordered in divisions.

“All hands, Sir Thomas!” Harvey announced.

“Thank you, Mr. Harvey,” Thomas answered, producing his orders. Then he addressed the assembled officers and crew. “Orders given to me, Sir Thomas Grey, Knight of the Order of Saints Maurice and Lazarus and Captain in the Royal Navy:

“Sir Thomas,

You are herewith requested and required to assume command of His Majesty’s Frigate Clyde, 44, at your earliest convenience.

“Signed, Sir Edward Pellew, KCB, Vice Admiral of the Red and Commander in Chief, Mediterranean Fleet.

“You officers and men! It gives me pride to be appointed to this famous frigate. It was in ‘05 when this ship sailed into Portsmouth harbour with an 84-gun French ship of the line as her prize. I was a mere midshipman ordinary then, attending the Royal Naval Academy, and like my fellow midshipmen we cheered this ship and her valiant captain. Now, almost nine years later, I am reading myself in as her captain, and I shall do my best to add further glory to this famous ship. Thank you!”

“Hats on!” Harvey ordered, and then, “Dismissed!”

The crew returned to their tasks, casting curious glances at their new captain, whilst Thomas received the introductions of the wardroom members. Lieutenants Jonathan Coombs and Albert Powell, the sailing master Mr. Abraham Ingles, the surgeon Mr. Leander Whales, the purser Mr. Paul Mercer, and Lieutenant James Purdue of the Royal Marines completed the wardroom. Thomas did his best to memorise names and faces, planning to invite them to dinner as early as possible to get an impression of them.

Mr. Harvey then showed him to the cabin, and Thomas’s eyes went wide. Not only was the cabin elegantly furnished, it was comparatively huge in Thomas’s eyes.

“Sir August left behind his furniture and cabin stores for his successor, Sir Thomas. He is returning to the throne of his fathers, now that Boney has been driven out from his lands, and he won’t have need for them.”

“Sir August?” Thomas asked bemused.

“His Serene Highness, The Prince of Hohenstein, Knight of the Garter, styled himself Sir August whilst in command of this ship, Sir Thomas.”

“That is very accommodating of His Highness,” Thomas said. “I shall have a few personal things that I wish to use, but my steward will see to it. May I trouble you to send the cutter to the Lark schooner to pick up my secretary, my steward, and my belongings?”

“Of course, Sir Thomas. I ... we heard that you sank an Algerian two-decker with the Unicorn. We are very proud to have you as our new captain, Sir Thomas.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harvey. Perhaps we can spend some time this afternoon to go over the ship’s logs and clades with my secretary?”

“Aye-aye, Sir Thomas. I shall send the cutter now.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harvey.”

Thomas was left alone in the cabin and he inspected the furniture. Hohenstein had even left behind his china and glass wares which were admittedly of far superior quality compared with Thomas’s own. The chairs were upholstered with leather and infinitely more comfortable than the old chairs he had inherited from his father. A soft carpet, with only minimal signs of wear, covered most of the deck and added to the feeling of luxury. Yes, being appointed to Clyde was a step up for him.

Soon, Bartleby and Leeds arrived, together with a work party of sailors who moved Thomas’s possessions into his new quarters. Bartleby grinned with delight over the beautiful furniture and fittings, and even Leeds who came from a wealthy home was deeply impressed.

Later that afternoon, a boat from the flagship arrived with their orders. Clyde was sailing with the van of the fleet under Rear-admiral Fanning. That was a downside of commanding a large frigate. Clyde was too large and valuable to be detached for cruiser warfare. During evolutions, Thomas’s task would be to link the van and the main fleet and to relay signals between both forces. During their routine blockade duty, Clyde would provide cover and protection for the small vessels that ventured into French waters. In other words, they would alternate between messenger boy and chaperone duties. At least Admiral Fanning had a good reputation.

Thomas spent the rest of the afternoon and the evening going over the logs and reports, with help from Mr. Leeds and some explanations from Mr. Harvey. The latter also had dinner with Thomas, prepared by Bartleby with Thomas’s own cabin stores.

Dawn was late, but with the first light, Clyde made sail to reach a position some four miles off the entrance to the harbour of Toulon, out of reach from the coastal batteries. Two sloops then sailed in closer for the daily routine of counting masts in the inner harbour and gauge the readiness or lack thereof of the French fleet. At least the drizzling rain had abated, giving the crews a chance to dry their clothing.

Later in the day, they received a mail bag from the main fleet, and in it were letters for Thomas. With no official mail in the pile, Thomas of course started with the letters from Mirabel, the latest first. She assured him of her well being and of the continued acceptance she enjoyed. She reported that finally the body of Mr. Ousmane had been washed ashore near Tarifa, identified by his peculiar style of clothing. The governor had appointed a new charge d’affairs and sent him to Algiers, together with a note of condolences for the loss of the Dey’s fine xebec and his cousin. So far, Mirabel reported, there had been no answering note.

A letter from the newly minted Mrs. Florence Darby had also arrived in Gibraltar. She had settled in Portsmouth, or rather in Southsea, finding lodging with a Widow Barley whilst her husband was busy readying his new ship. She was still happy, and Darby was an exemplary husband, she wrote.

With Mirabel’s letters finished, Thomas continued with a letter from Mr. Egerton. That worthy reported that Captain Sir Thomas Grey was becoming quite popular with the anti-slavery movement in Parliament, and that Thomas, should he return, would have no trouble winning a seat himself. Mrs. Egerton also sent her regards, and so did the dignitaries of Guildford.

Next came a letter from Mr. Chalk, informing Thomas of the successful purchase of another fifteen-hundred acres of woodland, bearing stands of old oak and beech trees. The rent payments were also in, and according to Mr. Conway, the year had been good for the tenants and their squire. The restoration work on Thomas’s house was finished, and Mr. Conway found the work done by the carpenter, Polk, to be quite satisfactory.

The next letter came from Captain Muir. He was now the captain of a fifth-rate frigate, the Jason, of 32 guns, and patrolling the North Sea. He’d even had some luck with prizes, catching two American merchantmen.

The last letter came from Harriet-Anne – Lady Manning as she styled herself. She reported that she was still in mourning and had little of a social life. She offered her felicitations to Thomas and Mirabel, but a paragraph down there was a passage that made Thomas blink.

Of course, with you being a post-captain now and even a knight, I am not hearing the end of Mother’s laments that I should have chosen you instead of my late husband. Indeed, I must admit that your advancement in the Navy is nothing if not miraculous, and that I would be much better off as the wife of an absent captain rather than as the widow of a dull old man who out of insane jealousy prevented me from any contact with society once we were married. I would have much preferred leading a life of chastity for a true and tried hero.

Yet, thinking of the bliss Mirabel feels now (she writes to me frequently), I cannot regret our spur-of-the-moment decision to be friends rather than betrothed to each other. I know how much she always cared for you, and I am proud of you for the wisdom you showed in picking this fine young woman for your wife!

She went on for a few more paragraphs about the dismal life she had led whilst married, and Thomas realised that the price she’d had to pay for her social climb had been a stiff one.

In his answering letter which he started immediately, he commiserated with her, but also encouraged her, pointing out that she would soon be able to move in society as an eminently eligible widow, young, rich and beautiful. She would soon see her first marriage as a small price for her future good fortune. He only hoped that this would be true.

That evening, Thomas also hosted the officers in his grand cabin. Bartleby had rearranged a few things and had even hung Thomas’s oil paintings and his coat of arms from the bulkhead. Thomas’s own desk had replaced the one left by Sir August, and some smaller pieces of furniture had been exchanged. To Thomas, the cabin felt more like his own that way.

The dinner gave Thomas an opportunity to meet his officers socially and assess their personalities. Harvey was quite obviously in control of the wardroom. Thomas noticed that the officers looked at him frequently for approval. That was a point in Harvey’s favour, but Thomas did not like it that even Mr. Coombs, the 2nd lieutenant, cast such looks at the man he might have to replace at any time. Powell was freshly commissioned and still very young, possibly younger than Thomas when he had been the Nº3 in Artemis. He still had to accept his new role and might need some guidance. Ingles, the sailing master, was in his late thirties, quite portly already, and a man of few words. However, his lively eyes betrayed his interest in the conversation at table. Whales, the surgeon, was the only officer who did not look at Harvey for approval. He offered his opinions freely and without hesitation and reminded Thomas of his trusted Mr. Fox in Unicorn. Mercer was quite the opposite. Smallish and sitting hunched, he was obsequious to almost everybody, to Thomas in particular, but he seemed insincere, almost shifty. Thomas decided to have a careful look at the books. Mr. Purdue, the Royal Marines lieutenant, was nothing like Unicorn‘s Gerard, or any other Marine officer Thomas had met so far. He eschewed wines and spirited drinks entirely, admitting to being a teetotaller, and he conducted himself in a most rigid and inapproachable fashion. A man out to making a career in the Navy, Thomas thought, avoiding all pitfalls and allowing himself no vices.

Led by Mr. Harvey, the officers asked a few questions about Thomas’s earlier commands. They had heard about Dido and her bullion ship prize, but they were wide-eyed when Thomas mentioned the shares of Dido‘s officers. In turn, Thomas learned a few things about Clyde‘s more recent career. Sir August must have been an energetic captain, keeping up drills and exercising the officers and crew, but Clyde had been stuck in the monotonous blockade duty. Her last action had been the destruction of a French squadron in the port of Roses, on the Spanish coast, in the aftermath of the loss of HMS Sutherland, almost three years ago. Clyde had led the fire ships and fired her own broadsides into the anchored French ships of the line, and she came away from the battle with distinction and minimal casualties. That was back when she was serving as flagship for Commodore Sir Anthony Carter.

None of her present wardroom members, save for Mr. Whales, had been on board then, but many of her warrant and petty officers remembered those days of excitement and glory. Some of them had even sailed under Sir Anthony Carter in the Asia ship of the line, fought the Battle of Rochefort and survived Asia‘s near-grounding on the Galician coast. Those men would be the least satisfied with their current role, Thomas assumed.