Chapter 42: A Clerical Error

London, March 1809

For the third time, Tony was reading the order he had received that morning.

Tony smirked. A court of inquiry was only a step shy of a court martial, and perhaps it was a step towards one. They had made it back in the damaged Asia, had even reached Portsmouth, against the earlier plans to seek safety in Falmouth. The dry docks were all busy, but it was decided by the port admiral to float the half-finished Malta out of her dock. In all haste, Asia‘s ordnance and ammunition stores were removed, lightening her by over 400 tons before she was docked.

Once the dock was drained, Tony viewed the damage himself. It was not pretty. Over a length of twenty-two feet the hull was bashed in. The copper sheets had been torn off, and it was only owed to the excellent workmanship of the French shipwrights that the planks had held, even badly splintered as they were. Three of the starboard side knees had also cracked, causing the groaning noises of the hull in the heavy seas.

The work was halted then, and a commission was appointed to assess the damage and to make recommendations for Asia‘s future. After weighing the repair costs against the value of the ship it was finally decided to refit her. She was paid off, however, and effective the 1^st of March, Tony was on half-pay. Asia‘s crew was transferred to receiving ships to await their next posting. There was nothing Tony could do in Portsmouth, and he travelled to High Matcham to await the next stages of the drama.

He was a restless man, though, worrying about his immediate future. Repercussions were more than likely given the damage Asia had sustained. Sitting out in the countryside he was cut off from information and that worried him. Thus, he and Harriet decided to open the house on Camden Court in London where he would be able to be closer to where decisions were made. It was the first time that he ever spent a night in the house which had been Rupert Palmer’s and this fact unsettled him further.

Now he had to face a court of inquiry. Admiral Lambert had tried to calm him, telling him that such a procedure was inevitable. It was true that he bore no responsibility for sailing in the Bay of Santandér in the middle of a violent winter storm. That was for Maynard to explain. It was also true, however, that the condition of his ship was his responsibility, and that included the sails. Ultimately, the failure of the mizzen topsail was the cause for the grounding. Could he have prevented that? Had there been time to control the condition of the canvas?

It was true, too, that he had planned to give up his command, to devote more time to Harriet and the children, but to be beached in infamy would be an altogether different story.

His one consolation was Harriet. She was finely attuned to her husbands feelings and anxieties, and she had done her very best to distract him. Every night she had given herself to him, letting him know of the unconditional love she felt for him. In her soothing embrace Tony had found some peace of mind. Yet, during the next days, she would not be able to help him for he had to travel to Portsmouth to attend the Court of Inquiry.

A “friend” would not be required, as this was not a court martial. Yet, he had received encouraging notes from various places. Maynard himself had given Tony a copy of his own report in which he stressed the tactical necessity of leaving Santandér and the unexpectedly strong gale force winds which they encountered in the outer bay. It would also help that seven of Sir Charles Cotton’s ships had suffered severe damage in the same storm. Only, they had sailed on the open sea, and the damages were restricted to masts and rigging.

“Do not fret, my dearest,” Harriet’s sweet voice interrupted his train of thoughts. “The court of inquiry is only held to fully exonerate you. I have that from my mother, and you know how well she is connected.”

Tony forced himself to smile. “I know, believe me, but such courts can be tricky things. I want to take a leave, but I don’t want to be beached under a cloud.”

“Darling, the court will comprise fellow captains. Do you earnestly believe that they will hold you accountable for storm damage? That shoe can be on the other foot in no time. I cannot believe that they would want to set such a precedent.”

That made more sense than any other thing he had thought about. His smile was genuine when he put his arms around Harriet. “I have a very prudent wife. Be patient with me when I have self doubts.”

“I have them, too, but as a rule, I do not doubt you,” Harriet smiled back, relieved at his reaction. “Oh, we shall have visitors for dinner. Again.”

Tony suppressed a groan. ‘No good deed goes unpunished,’ he thought. As it had turned out, the Spanish Envoy in London was reluctant to accept the Princess Isabella as his house guest. Tony could understand that now. He had offered temporary accommodations — with Harriet’s enthusiastic agreement — and now not an evening went by without some Spanish expatriate inviting himself to dine with the princess. Those dinners were invariably stiff affairs, with a constant need for translations and explanations. Tony did not begrudge the young princess who had shown herself to be of a very pleasant and amiable disposition, but he resented many of her countrymen.

“Who is it today?” he asked listlessly, and his worst fears became true.

“The Conde de Alcalosa,” Harriet smirked.

She shared Tony’s dislike of the man. A little over forty years old, portly and with the face of a degenerate, he showed an interest in the young girl that was revolting given her youth and beauty. Yet, he was a leading voice among the small Spanish expatriate community in London and slated for ‘greater things’ as Harriet had heard. Now Tony’s groan was open.

“Not he again!” he protested sotto voce. “I swear, Harriet: Another of his tactless remarks to you, and I’ll carve him up like the fat Christmas goose he is!”

On occasion of his last visit, the Conde had remarked that Harriet was hardly a fitting Dueña for a princess, given her low birth. Tony had not been present then and had only heard about the remark second hand or he would have issued a challenge and let the man have a taste of the finest Toledo steel, diplomatic complications be damned.

“Let me ask Isabella whether she really appreciates his visits. Perhaps we can claim that she is indisposed at his next call.”

That was what they settled on, and in the evening Tony and Harriet had to bear the presence of the Conde. Thankfully, the princess claimed indisposition immediately after the main course and the Conde left shortly thereafter. Once he had left, the princess came back down and asked for a talk.

“My dear Sir Anthony and Lady Carter, I must apologise for the inconvenience I am causing. I have perceived your lack of enthusiasm for the Conde’s frequent visits. I expect, however, that my guardian and uncle, Don Eduardo Villa y Cortez, will have me join him in Colombia. Since the Conde has been appointed by His Majesty’s Crown Council to succeed Don Alonso as governor of Cartagena, his suit for me will not be opposed by my uncle.”

She looked anything but enthusiastic and Tony fought the temptation to offer a comforting embrace to this young girl who was destined to be a pawn for her uncle’s ambitions. Harriet had no such compunctions and she hugged the princess with feeling.

“This is not to offend you, my dear, but should you decide to refuse any such schemes you can count on our support. I was married against my will once, and no girl should suffer such violation of her will.”

“It is my duty,” the princess said sadly. “It has been explained to me by my Dueña. I was waiting for the summons in León when the French approached. My flight to Gijón was but a deferral of what must happen.”

“So you were promised to the Conde already?” Tony asked.

“I did not know him then. Now that I do ... I fear my will has no bearing.”

“Regardless, Your Highness can always claim our hospitality,” Tony said with emphasis, totally forgetting in this moment that his own position may well be in hazard in a few days.

Harriet cast him a grateful smile and nodded her assent. “My husband speaks for me, too.”

The young princess smiled shyly and blushed. “You have been gracious hosts. My poor mother died when I was but a small girl and I have barely a clear memory of her. Living with you in the last weeks, Lady Carter, has given me a notion of what I have missed.”

With that, the girl retired leaving Tony and Harriet at a loss of how to handle the situation.

At least, the Conde did not call upon them again in the next days. Three days later, Tony took a coach to Portsmouth, two days ahead of the inquiry. He lodged in the George, not far from the dockyard and spent most of the next day on board the Asia going over the logbook, the written orders, the charts and over the duplicate of Maynard’s report. Maynard had been absolutely loyal to his flag captain, making it clear that he had ordered to sail from Santandér and that he had weighed the weather conditions agains the necessity to leave the port before it might fall to the French.

Tony also went over Mr. Chalk’s reports, the minute details of when the sailmaker had inspected which sail for rot and tear. All this was listed in painstaking detail in poor Chalk’s clear handwriting. The mizzen topsail had indeed been inspected during the evacuation of Moore’s troops from Corunna, and no faults had been detected with it.

Tony went over the charts again, even using his magnifying glass, but there was no hint of the submerged rocks in the passage. Gradually, he relaxed, arriving at the conviction that no blame could be attached to him. There were examples for captains who had run aground through no fault of their own: even Admiral Pellew — arguably the best sailor of whom England could boast — had run his Arethusa aground in ‘98 or ‘99, barely bringing her to port with all hands at the pumps.

Tony spent the evening in the common room of the George, studiously avoiding any places where he might run into the captains who would sit on the Court of Inquiry. He avoided any spirited drink that evening, contenting himself with a thin ale. John Little watched him like a hawk all evening, but Tony had decided to stop worrying and he calmly read a book in his room by the light of an oil lamp until it was time to go to bed.

All reassuring facts aside, he was still nervous when he prepared himself on the next morning. He forced himself to eat his breakfast in leisure, he drank three cups of the excellent tea the George offered, and he made like he was studying the morning papers. His inner excitement grew however and it cost him a great deal of effort to walk calmly towards the dockyard.

The pipes of the anchor watch shrilled when he stepped on the deck, just as it was proper, and a sergeant of the marines bade him wait in the chart room. He could hear the pipes when the members of the court arrived and it was only shortly after that he was called into the after cabin where the court had assembled on one side of the table Tony had purchased three years ago.

The court was headed by a vice-admiral, Sir Winston Piedmont, a veteran of the West Indian station and currently on half-pay. He also recognised Captain Drummond whom he knew from his time in the Medusa. The other three captains were unknown to him, all senior to him, and all but one without current command. Piedmont started the questioning.

“Sir Anthony, we are here to establish the exact circumstances under which HMS Asia ran aground off Santandér. We are given to understand by the written testimony of Sir William Maynard that he gave specific orders to leave port, in spite of the adverse weather conditions. Do you wish to comment, Sir Anthony?”

“Sir William made the decision, Sir Winston, but I agreed with his reasoning wholeheartedly.”

“In spite of the raging storm?” Captain Drummond asked.

“Sir, there was no way of telling how long the Spanish would be able to keep the French out of Santandér. Once the place was in French hands, it would have been almost impossible to escape from the inner bay.”

“Very well, Sir Anthony,” Piedmont nodded. “Now for the situation in which you decided to navigate the narrow passage between the island and the coast line. In your report you stated that the mizzen tops’l gave way. Had there been any indication of its weakening?”

“No, Sir Winston. As stated in the late Mr. Chalk’s reports, the sailmaker had inspected the sail in question during our brief stay at Corunna. There was no indication that it might be damaged.”

“Very well, Sir Anthony. Now, with the leverage of the mizzen tops’l lost you could not keep your intended course, is that true?”

“Yes, Sir Winston. We had to sail close to the wind to pass the island safely on the windward side. To go about was now impossible without the leverage of the mizzen tops’l and there was not enough leeway to wear ship. I decided then to sail the passage instead. I hoped that we would be able to set sails aft in the shelter of the island.”

Now, Drummond spoke up. “Sir Anthony, did you study the charts of the entire bay, including that passage, before you sailed from Santandér?”

There was a certain sharpness in that question, and the other members of the court looked at Drummond with surprise.

Tony had his answer pat, however. “Indeed, Sir, I did. The chart indicated sufficient depth and no rocks or shallows were charted.”

“Yet, Sir Anthony, you ran your ship against a rock. Is it possible that you may have overlooked the marked rocks in your chart?”

Thank God he had studied the charts again the day before, Tony thought. He could respond with decisiveness, therefore. “No, Sir, there was no oversight on my part. The chart showed no rocks in the passage.”

Drummond bent sideways and produced a rolled-up sea chart. He unfolded it on the table and looked at Tony accusingly.

“Well, Sir Anthony, perhaps you can be so kind and tell us what you can see on this Admiralty chart of the Bay of Santandér?”

Tony stepped forward, nonplussed. After one look at the chart, however, he felt his blood leave his face. There, in black ink on Drummond’s chart, were four elongated shapes in the passage, indicating rocks. The blood that had left his face returned with a vengeance, colouring Tony’s face in the deep purple of anger. Again! Again he was the victim of an incomplete sea chart. With an effort, he swallowed his anger.