The Stillwater Conspiracy (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 4) Read online

  Affectionately, Marion S.

  Neville knew he would worry. He had never been to Washington, but his expectation was that the Navy Yard, even if it was new, must still be in the city’s waterfront district; probably a dangerous place for two extremely attractive women. Now he wondered whether injuring Stearns was a triumph. The end result was to place Marion in danger. Even if not in danger, she was back amongst a pack of the strongest rivals for her hand that he would ever have.

  The second letter was from Mary:

  Churchgate Street

  12th November, 1804

  Bury-St. Edmunds, Suffolk

  My Dear Neville,

  I apologize for having delayed my writing. It has been difficult to address a letter to you rather than to John, but I have forced myself now.

  I truly thank you for your compassion on your visit. Your suggestion to discuss my feeling with your mother was tremendous as well. She is the most marvelous person, and said that she was only waiting for me to ask – didn’t want to intrude. My heart must be fifty stone lighter.

  I swear that before your visit Martin was the only reason to drag myself from the bed, but now I am out and about some.

  I pray this letter finds you well,

  Affectionately, Mary Towers

  That’s right, Neville thought, It’s ‘Towers’ now, isn’t it? I wonder if there’s a relation to my first lieutenant…

  “As such voyages go, we shouldn’t complain, should we, Mr. Johnson?”

  “No, Sir, I wouldn’t. An ordeal of forty days and forty nights, if you please: it should be tenth February by tomorrow when we’re in to Spithead. The wind was mostly fair, we had no serious winter storms, even in the Bay of Biscay. There was your typical foul current at the gut of Gibraltar, a few days’ delay by Nelson while he wrote his replies, only a single side errand to Corsica, and one chase.”

  “That about sums it up, I’ll agree,” said Neville. “And that chase was the only worrisome thing.”

  “Aye. When that Corvette came out of Brest I thought he’d have us. I still wonder how he got by the blockade.”

  “I do as well, Mr. Johnson, but he did it. What I can’t figure is where he went that second night. Would he not assume we were heading for Gibraltar? Why would he suddenly turn off? Did he think we were getting clever and did the same, so that by morning we would be his sitting duck?”

  “We’ll never know. He could have had urgent orders for Cadiz and used the night to breach our blockade there as well. He must be good at it.”

  “Right. Well, there’s the south end of the Isle of Wight, unless I forget the coastline entirely. Send my complements to Mr. Catchpole and ask him if he would step up here and help me decide if we should try to go in yet today or whether we must stand off for the night.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  “I am as anxious to drop our anchor as the next man, Mr. Catchpole,” said Neville when he arrived, “but given the late moon, the tidal currents, traffic, wind and shoals, I am afraid we should stand off until morning. What say you?”

  “I agree, Commander. We should stand off,” was Catchpole’s final comment.

  Neville had letters he had written to his family and to Marion that he was anxious to post, and he expected a few from them. He had sent one from Toulon on a ship bound directly for the Americas, but any letter home he had decided to carry himself – as well as a sack of letters and packets from the fleet.

  There was the question of orders to Jamaica, as well, but even that was secondary to the Navy List. He should be well up by now, if not made post already.

  Neville ordered the launch over the side as soon as the anchor splashed. Since they had been stationed at Spithead as an advice boat, he was required to remain aboard for any abrupt orders to depart with a packet. An advice boat might leave a man or two behind who were in on various duties, but it couldn’t sail without the captain.

  “Straight back, now, Mr. Framingham. Drop our bags off and bring the same from shore.”

  He wasn’t back for three hours.

  “Here he comes now, Commander Burton,” said Foyle. “There, see?”

  “I don’t. Your young eyes are better than mine.”

  “Just left of that semaphore tower there,” Foyle said, pointing to a scrap of white beneath a similarly colored building nestled in the green countryside, “Launch has her sail up.”

  It thumped alongside in another twenty minutes, and Framingham heaved a post-sack up the side.

  “Why so long, Mr. Framingham?”

  “They couldn’t find our sack, Sir. When they found it they said they hadn’t expected us for another fortnight. Sorry.”

  “Well how did they expect to add any… never mind. Come on up. Send that down to my cabin.”

  Neville went below to open it and to sort official mail from letters. He looked at the official mail for anything that looked like sailing orders. There was one. He put that aside and then sorted through the mail for any personal letters. There were several.

  “Hajee, call for Mr. Johnson to come get the ship’s post, if you please.”

  Mr. Johnson appeared a few minutes later. “Will we be in long, Commander?” he asked as he was picking up the post-sack.

  “You can wait, if you’d like the answer to that. I think this one here might be sailing orders.”

  Neville broke the green wax seal with a knife and took an envelope out of the canvas enclosure.

  “It is indeed from the Admiralty, Mr. Johnson. One moment.” He broke the red wax seal on the enclosed envelope and retracted the orders.

  “It says,” said Neville, scanning the words, “that we are – oohoo! Sorry, Mr. Johnson. It says we are off advice-boat duty. We…” he read further, “…we have two weeks to complete for – oh, Lord!... convoy duty, taking… oh, not so bad, then… only a single ship to Jamaica. To Jamaica, Mr. Johnson! Back to someplace warm. You’re not excited, I see.”

  “Not entirely, Sir. Some of the men will be very disappointed, and some even angry. Here they’ve at least a chance to see home. But that’s just my opinion Sir. They’re all navy men, Sir; they’ll go where you lead them.”

  “Thank you for that, Mr. Johnson. But it does mean we have some time. Take Cookie and go into town. Fetch back enough good fresh stuff for a salmagundi for supper, if you would, please.”

  At the thought of fresh food, even though supplies of any such thing might be slim in February, Johnson’s eyes brightened and he hurried off with the post.

  His next attention, even before that of the letters from Marion, went to another admiralty packet. Why or how he had chosen the first as the ship’s orders and why he suspected this to be personal business he was not sure, but the first had indeed been the ship’s orders. He opened it.

  The letter inside was the culmination of years of day-dreaming.

  The Seal of the

  Admiralty

  Sir,

  By the hand of Admiral John Jervis, First Lord of the Admiralty, and my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, Having been Pleased to Sign a Commission promoting you from the rank of Master and Commander to the rank of Post-Captain in His Majesty’s Navy;

  I have been given their Lordships command to acquaint you therewith.

  I am, Sir,

  Your very humble servant,

  Thos Langston,

  Secretary to the Admiralty

  Attachment

  The second page:

  The Seal of the

  Admiralty

  The Honorable

  First Lord of the Admiralty,

  John Jervis, First Earl of St. Vincent

  Seventh January, 1805

  Commander Neville Burton,

  By virtue of the Power and Authority given the Lords of the Admiralty by His Majesty, We do hereby order you to join with the company of His Majesty’s Frigate La Désirée, now lying Jamaica Station, and go aboard her before she sails from thence on or about May of this year and to execute what orders are given you
from your Admiral or any other of your superior officers. Hereof none of you shall fail as you may answer to your country at your peril.

  ….signatures &c….

  HMS La Désirée… Could she be the same frigate that chased us out of Hispaniola last year? he wondered. She was fast.

  He’d read the orders for Superieure to depart in two weeks. There was much to do, but his men had been informed and they knew their roles. There was no need for him to jump up and run about at this very minute; he would look to his other letters.

  The letter from Sir William Mulholland, written the second of January, congratulated him on his being made post and sought to advise him that he should soon receive orders to sail to Jamaica. Wonderful sentiment, indeed, and proof that he was somehow involved, but old news now. I must thank him for it.

  The five letters from his mother, sister, and Mary were, as always, a great comfort to receive. The content was almost entirely the news of Bury St. Edmunds, but two of them contained a page each from the letters of his brother-in-law, Major John Gage Hall, who was still in India, and his friend, Lieutenant Daniel Watson, now of HMS Thunderer.

  I must admit that I am not so interested in the affairs of the army, but I must send some comment of consolation to Elizabeth- But look at this from Daniel:

  “…We [HMS Thunderer] will be sailing to Plymouth for a refit soon. Rumor has it that we shall be paid off. I am afraid that makes my immediate future quite uncertain. I might be held for the recommission following a few months or I might be assigned to another ship. The best news is that whichever happens, my dear Angelica, I shall be home again soon to spend some time with you and Martin. I look forward…”

  Daniel should be almost home now. I’ve missed him again!

  Another thought occurred to him. I must write Joseph Dagleishe with my most sincere congratulations. His name was above mine on the Navy List, so he must be made post. Where would they have sent him, I wonder?

  Then there were the six letters from Marion. He removed them from their envelopes, arranged them by date, and began to read. He was extremely pleased to know that she thought of him often. The letters were weekly:

  She wrote the eighth of November as her ship stood from Jamaica.

  She wrote on the fifteenth, twenty-second, and thirtieth of November with news of the passage, the weather, and the other passengers.

  She wrote on the twelfth of December to advise him that she had arrived safely in Washington to find his letter from Toulon waiting for her; for which she was ‘extremely comforted’.

  Enough of all this. I must get up and be active. After I set everyone to their duties for completing stores, I shall have just enough time to go into London. I can make arrangements to have the furniture I ordered delivered to my flat, arrange for payments of the rents, and drop by Sir William’s to thank him personally. Then it will be off to Jamaica and Marion – and my first proper command of a frigate!

  13 - “Acceptance”

  “This passage has gone well, Comman… Captain, has it not?” queried Midshipman Foyle a few days before Superieure expected to begin seeing the low islands of the Bahamas. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m just not used to it even yet. “Your epaulette looks better on the right shoulder.”

  “Thank you for that, and I agree that the voyage has gone well. It is now almost three weeks since the first of March when we weighed anchor in Spithead. I think the more northerly route of crossing served us well; I should thank Mr. Catchpole for his suggestion. We are lucky, too, that Blessing sails well.”

  “On the subject of promotions, Mr. Foyle, have you thought about sitting for lieutenant?”

  “I certainly have, but I don’t have the time in yet, even with a year of false muster. I must wait yet another one. I am working with Mr. Framingham, though. His experience is great, and I think he may be planning on sitting again himself, after all this time.”

  “He would be excellent for you to study with, no doubt of it. He might sit, you say?”

  “Aye. Serving on a small ship changes everything, he says. You see the ways of the captain first hand. He says that would never happen on a rated ship.”

  “He is correct in that. I am pleased to learn he wishes to advance. There’s nothing worse than a sour old midshipman.”

  “Sail, Ho!” the lookout cried from the fore.

  “Where away, Mr. Mulgrove?” Foyle yelled back.

  “Starboard quarter. One sail.”

  “Keep an eye, Mr. Mulgrove.”

  The quartermaster of the watch rang eight bells. “Pipe the hands to supper, Mr. Johnson,” yelled Neville forward.

  “Pass word of the sail to each watch, Mr. Foyle. There is little likelihood it can catch us in a single night, but everyone should be reminded it’s there – if it follows. After supper we’ll have gun drill, just to be sure we’re ready for her. Beat to quarters after second grog and run out both sides. Put a watch on it.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  “Mr. Johnson,” He had walked aft after piping dinner. “Take the names of any who can’t stand at gun drill. We’ll see if any are saving rations.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  Neville and his officers were feeling prickly on the following morning. It was not the weather, which remained fine, with a fair fresh breeze and a patchy sky. The air temperature was rising as they sailed south as well. There should have been feelings of increasing comfort.

  “The islands are up ahead. We’ll see them soon,” said Mr. Catchpole when the sun had scarcely purpled the eastern sky. “Maybe today.”

  “Get a man up, Mr. Foyle,” said Neville. He was feeling the tension like the others. “Be sure to have him look aft for a sail and forward for land. Have him take a long glass today.”

  The ship began to wake up. Eight bells of the Morning Watch sounded. Neville could hear Mr. Johnson and his mates rousing the men below. They straggled up and soon the sound of holystones began. There was still scarcely enough light for the lookout to see anything more than two cables away, but that would change quickly.

  Neville decided to climb up and take a look himself. A little exercise before breakfast is always a good thing.

  “Sail …” began the lookout in a loud voice, and finished with, “oh,” quietly as Neville appeared beside him.

  “Where’s Blessing?” asked Neville.

  “She’s there,” he said, pointing about three points off the starboard bow.

  “Where’s the other, then?”

  “There aft.” He pointed. “Much closer than it was last evening. Two rectangles one above the other; maybe two pairs of them.”

  Neville looked through the glass for a minute and then handed it back to the lookout. “Any idea what she is?”

  “Too early to say, Sir. Could be any two- or three-masted barky from what we can see now.”

  “Good work. Keep a close watch on her. Call down if you can identify her.”

  Back on deck, Neville called Catchpole, Foyle, and Framingham.

  “Whatever happens, we must be sure that Blessing is not captured. I have told you who is aboard, have I not?”

  “No, Sir. You’ve only mentioned ‘an important person’.”

  “My apologies, then. I had not meant to keep it secret forever. She carries Sir George Nugent, Governor of Jamaica, back to that colony…

  “Blessing is not defenseless; she has guns - fourteen each eighteen-pounder carronades, but those should only be used in the worst emergency. So, Mr. Catchpole, shape a course very carefully to lie between her and this sail until we know her intentions. That should be easily done.

  “Mr. Framingham, signal Blessing to increase sail.”

  After a few minutes Catchpole suggested a two-point course adjustment.

  “Blessing’s setting stun’sl’s at her fore and main. She should begin to pull away from us soon,” said Neville. “Let’s see to our visitor.”

  “A French corvette, Sir, is what I think she is,” said Framingham. “Three-masted, some
thing like a frigate, but low of freeboard, without the fo’cs’l and quarterdeck. You see, even now we rarely catch sight of her hull, and she’s much closer.”

  The day wore on. Blessing’s sails became smaller and smaller and the corvette’s larger. Dinner passed.

  “Spill some wind, Mr. Catchpole. Let’s annoy this Frenchman as soon as we can and as far from Blessing as we can manage. For that matter, I think we should go right at her. Whatever the case, we must not let her slide past. If she’s as fast as she seems and we let her by, she’ll have Blessing for sure.”

  “Seven knots now, Sir,” reported the seaman at the log.

  “Slow to three or four, then, Mr. Catchpole. Frenchie should be on us in a couple hours.”

  “Deck, haloo!” yelled Musgrove, now returned to the watch platform at the main.

  “Go on, man,” hollered Framingham.

  “Corvette for sure. French flag. I count her as 24 guns.”

  “Thankee, Musgrove…

  “We’ll have our work cut out then. And she is sailing fast. Must be steady on twelve knots or so. Do you judge us still in her path, gentlemen? I’d say we are.”

  They all agreed.

  “My plan is thus,” began Neville, “We shall shape a course to steer close across her bow such that she must take action and not simply sail by. She will fire at us as we come, but she will not want us to cross her bows, because we might rake her badly as we cross. What would you expect her to do, Mr. Foyle?”

  “She should turn to starboard as we close, Sir, in order to give us a full broadside. If she carries cannon rather than carronades we may be badly damaged before we are close enough to do her much damage.”

  “So I expect; but she must slow to avoid a collision, and we can return our broadside of carronades when we are in close. Load chain or canister for the first broadside and ball for the second. We probably have as many men as she does. We should seek to grapple alongside and board if we can’t disable her. Be sure your marines are ready, Mr. Denby.”