Tag: Royal navy

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This Blighted Expedition

JAN ANTHONIE LANGENDIJK (1780-1818) The Bombardment of Flushing, 13/14 Aug 1809. drawn 1809

This Blighted Expedition: Book 2 in the Manxman series, coming this autumn…

It is 1809. Austria is back in the war and London has committed to a new campaign in Europe in support. A force of 40,000 men and 600 ships gathers along the south coast of England. Their destination is Walcheren; a lightning strike against the French dockyards on the Scheldt.

Captain Hugh Kelly RN finds an old adversary at the centre of the campaign and realises that Sir Home Popham never forgets a perceived slight. Meanwhile his wife, Roseen, waits in England, but news of victory at Flushing is quickly clouded by more sinister reports and as the troops begin to arrive home, it is clear that something has gone badly wrong with Lord Chatham’s Grand Expedition.

Lieutenant Alfred Durrell finds himself on a temporary secondment as Popham’s aide, a posting which places him at the heart of the campaign as relations between the army and navy begin to deteriorate.

Lieutenant Giles Fenwick is broke and tired of serving under the worst captain in the 110th infantry and longs for a chance to prove himself. As the campaign drags on, Giles faces a stark choice between regimental loyalty and personal integrity with a potentially heavy price to pay.

Captain Ross Mackenzie is newly promoted as captain of the light company and tries hard to fit in, but finds himself pitted against a fellow officer whose personal problems could bring disaster down on the second battalion.

Katja de Groot runs the business she inherited from her husband and is raising three children when the British invasion takes over her home and threatens her livelihood. Katja finds unexpected happiness in her growing friendship with the captain of the light company, but can it survive the horror of war?

As the campaign begins to crumble under bad weather, poor planning and divided leadership, it seems that retreat may be the only option. But in the damp, mosquito-ridden dykes and canals of Walcheren, the British army faces an enemy more deadly than the French…

An excerpt from This Blighted Expedition

When the work was done, Hugh stood on the quarterdeck looking out over Ter Veere. He was feeling slightly sick and he wondered how his other officers were feeling. He could not confess his discomfort to anybody other than Durrell. Durrell had been with him at Copenhagen and knew how Hugh had felt watching the bombardment and burning of the city. Hugh had been relieved at the time that he had not been called upon to participate; most of the work had been done by land batteries on that occasion. This time, Lord Chatham’s army had not had time to land all their guns and Fraser’s division had only five 9-pounders and a howitzer. Reducing Ter Veere would be the job of the navy.

The Iris was the largest of the ships called into action; most of the others were small gunboats. Hugh wondered about that. With fire coming from the town, the Iris was going to present the best target. He knew that Chatham rather than Strachan had given the order for the gunboats to engage and he was not sure that the Earl knew one ship from another, but Sir Home Popham was Chatham’s constant companion and Hugh suspected the list of ships had come from him. Hugh found it hard to believe that Popham would deliberately risk a ship of the line to settle an old grudge, but he had also always suspected that Popham could hold a grudge for a long time.

Hugh had tried to minimise the risk to the Iris by positioning her at an angle where the guns could still direct accurate fire but would be less vulnerable. It was the best he could do. In a skirmish at sea he was an expert at manoeuvring his ship out of danger but there was no way to do so when bombarding a target on land.

General Fraser, having given plenty of time for a message of surrender, gave the order and Hugh relayed it to his crew. He stood at the ship’s rail watching as the first of the guns boomed out. There was some movement among the gunboats to find the best range and the town walls were hit. Almost immediately, the town guns returned fire and a deafening cannonade drowned out everything else. Hugh gave no orders to move the Iris. He had the range and his guns were doing damage to the town walls. Some of the smaller boats were moving in closer to fire barrages over into the town itself, but Hugh kept his position. He was following his orders to the letter and could truthfully answer any questions about his actions but he had no intention of risking his ship for the glory of slaughtering innocent citizens.

The noise was deafening. Firing a naval cannon was a complicated process which required endless practice to ensure a quick turnaround, and Hugh’s men had practiced until they were expert. Some of the youngest boys were employed as powder boys, running gunpowder up from the magazine below to keep the guns supplied. The number of men in each gun crew depended on the size of the gun with the largest manned by twelve men. It was hot work and the crews worked stripped to the waist, labouring to haul the enormous guns back after each recoil. 

Listening to the guns, Hugh thought his men were firing more slowly than usual. In battle they could usually manage a shot every two minutes, but this was a more steady pounding. Some of the gunboats were firing more quickly. Hugh thought about sending a midshipman below with orders to speed up and then changed his mind. He remained in place, his eyes fixed on the town walls which were being reduced to rubble and silently prayed for a signal of surrender.

It was becoming more difficult to see now, as clouds of black smoke rolled across the water. Hugh could smell it, felt it in his throat and his nose and instinctively changed his breathing to accommodate it. Below his feet the deck shuddered as another broadside crashed out. Hugh felt it as well as heard it, the whizzing sound as the heavy shot flew through the air and hit the target. At one end of the town wall a small tower had been tilting over for some time and suddenly it collapsed as if it were made from a child’s building blocks, folding in on itself and disappearing in a cloud of brick dust.

None of the return fire had touched the Iris, but not all of the gunboats remained unscathed. Two had already retired out of range with damage to masts and rigging. Through the morning the wind had increased and Hugh kept a wary eye on the weather. He did not know the tides in this water at all but it was clear that some of the smaller vessels were beginning to struggle and he watched for a signal, hoping that the barrage would be called off.

One of the gunboats on the starboard side of the Iris appeared to be in some trouble. Hugh had been looking out towards the town, which was more visible now that the wind was blowing away the black clouds of smoke which had hovered above the waves for the past few hours. Lieutenant Greene’s voice made him turn.

“She’s in trouble, sir.”

Hugh went to join him. The gunboat had lost its mast and given its lurching progress on the tide, Hugh suspected its wheel as well. Gunboats were generally small un-decked vessels which carried between one and three cannon depending on size. This was one of the smaller versions, a single-masted boat with one cannon and a swivel gun mounted on the railing. It was listing badly and Hugh could see a dozen crewmen frantically manning the oars, trying to bring the little boat under control. She was drifting wildly, tossed on the increasingly choppy sea, and two men trying hard to bail out were fighting a losing battle.

“Launch boats,” Hugh said. “Let’s get them out of there, she’s going down.”

Greene spun around, shouting the order and Hugh’s men raced towards the ship’s boats. As with all the ship’s routines they were well practiced. Hugh stood on the quarter-deck watching the progress of the stricken gun-boat.

The first of the Iris’s boats had barely touched the water when an enormous crash made Hugh stagger and almost fall. He turned back to the town just as a second shot hit, smashing into the port railing. A seaman staggered out of a cloud of black smoke clutching his upper arm which was soaked in blood. An enormous splinter protruded just above the elbow and he looked stunned.

“Get him down to the surgeon,” Hugh yelled furiously. “Are the boats launched?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get those men off the gun-boat. Mr Perry, check for casualties. Mr Greene, bring her about, we’re a sitting target here, let’s make it hard for them to aim.”

As the Iris moved smoothly into her new position, Hugh stood watching his boats. It was difficult to row with the gusting wind and against a strong tide and progress was slow. Beyond them, he could see the gunboat low in the water. Suddenly she tilted and the single cannon began to roll.

The crew abandoned all attempt to salvage her and jumped to safety. Several of them began to swim strongly towards Hugh’s boats. The gun-boat upended with her bow pointing towards the sky and then she was gone, a black shadow visible for a while through the slate grey water until she vanished from sight.

Another barrage from Ter Veere crashed out and one fell just short of the Iris, sinking harmlessly into the waves. Hugh thought he was out of range now, but was taking no chances. He was trying to balance the safety of his ship but at the same time remain within reach of the returning boats. They had reached the first of the stricken crew now and were hauling them up into the first boat while the second rowed on into the litter of smashed wood which was all that could be seen of the gun-boat. Several crew members clung to pieces of wreckage and Hugh realised he was holding his breath. He was out of range of the guns but his boats were not and a lucky shot would send them instantly to the bottom with all hands lost.

“Sir, signal to retire,” Greene called, and Hugh took a long breath and then another. He had been waiting for it; the wind and tides were making it impossible to continue the bombardment from sea.

“Get them aboard, Mr Greene and get us out of here,” he said.

This Blighted Expedition is the second book in the Manxman series, featuring Captain Hugh Kelly RN and Lieutenant Alfred Durrell. Have you read the first book yet? An Unwilling Alliance is also book 1.5 in the Peninsular War Saga and forms a bridge between the two series.

Readers of the Light Division romances may also be interested to know that Giles Fenwick, hero of The Reluctant Debutante, is one of the main characters in This Blighted Expedition. Giles also features briefly in A Regrettable Reputation and is the hero of my ghost story, An Exploring Officer which is free to read here. Giles also features in several books of the Peninsular War saga and might very well have a starring role in book six, An Unrelenting Enmity which is due out at the end of this year or early next year.

An Unwilling Alliance (Book 1 of the Manxman series)

It is 1806.

Captain Hugh Kelly RN returns to the Isle of Mann after fifteen years with a few months leave and a small fortune in prize money to find himself a sensible Manx wife.

Roseen Crellin is determined to resist her father’s efforts to find her a husband. Still dreaming of the young English soldier who sailed away and broke her heart, she has no intention of encouraging Captain Kelly’s courtship and certainly no intention of developing feelings for the man.

Major Paul van Daan is newly promoted and just back from Ireland, sailing with his battalion to Copenhagen under the command of Sir Arthur Wellesley.  Paul’s courage and talent are unquestioned but his diplomatic skills need some work and in a joint operation with the navy there are many ways for a man of Paul’s temperament to get things wrong.

As Britain hovers on the brink of war with neutral Denmark and the diplomats and politicians negotiate to keep the Danish fleet out of Bonaparte’s hands, a more personal drama plays out on the decks of the Royal Navy and in the lines of Lord Cathcart’s army which could change the lives of Hugh, Roseen and Paul forever.

An Unwilling Alliance is available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback.

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Ramsgate, July 1809; an excerpt from This Blighted Expedition

JAN ANTHONIE LANGENDIJK (1780-1818) The Bombardment of Flushing, 13/14 Aug 1809. drawn 1809
Bombardment of Flushing

Ramsgate, July 1809; an excerpt from This Blighted Expedition

Book Two of the Manxman series is due out later this year and follows the fortunes of Captain Hugh Kelly of the Iris during the Walcheren campaign of 1809. The Walcheren expedition was a joint operation and explains what the second battalion of the 110th infantry was up to while Major van Daan was fighting at Talavera.

In this excerpt both the navy and the army are becoming increasingly frustrated at how long it is taking to get the expedition underway.

Book One in the series, An Unwilling Alliance, is available on kindle and in paperback on Amazon.

It was another five days before the Iris sailed from Ramsgate. The expedition had seemed on the verge of launching several times, and was delayed each time. On the 20th Hugh had said a tender farewell to Roseen, watching her fight back tears and wondering if she knew that he was doing the same. On the following day, he sent a boat with a message requesting that she join him aboard, since it was clear that the expedition, once again, was going nowhere.

Lord Chatham’s arrival to take command of the forces was quickly overshadowed by the arrival of news from Europe. Two weeks earlier, the Austrian forces had been defeated by Bonaparte at Wagram, just north of Vienna. Hugh imagined there had been a huge in-drawing of breath among the leaders of the expedition. Lord Castlereagh and Lord Chatham, presumably after some discussion, let it be known that the expedition was not to be suspended. Although the original intention had been to use the attack as a distraction to assist the Austrians in their campaign, a successful attack on Antwerp might still act as an incentive to keep Austria in the war. Hugh sat in his cabin, writing a carefully worded letter to Major van Daan, fighting somewhere in Portugal or Spain, and wondered how much that had influenced the decision to proceed or whether the two men had stood looking out over the masts of the fleet, every ship crammed with weapons, supplies, horses and men, and decided that it would be too embarrassing or simply too difficult to call a halt to such an enormous and expensive campaign.

The delay on the 21st was caused by a change of wind, which meant that the other half of the expedition, with the forces led by Chatham’s second-in-command, Sir Eyre Coote, were unable to sail from Portsmouth as planned. Hugh received the tidings in his cabin and summoned Durrell to share the news.

Durrell read the orders in silence and looked up at Hugh. Hugh raised his eyebrows, inviting comment.

“At this rate, we’ll be lucky to sail before the end of the month, sir. And the weather is only going to get worse.”

Hugh nodded soberly and rose to bring wine. “I’ve sent for my wife,” he said. “You can call me a sentimental fool, Mr Durrell, but even a short time longer with her is worth it.”

“I wouldn’t be so impertinent, sir, I’d feel the same. But another delay?”

“Aye. What do you think?”

Durrell’s clear blue-green eyes were steady on his. “I think if we’re going to go, we should get a move on, sir.”

“Personally, I think if we were going to go, we should have already gone, Mr Durrell. But we can be very sure that nobody is going to be asking for our opinion about any of it. I wonder what the army makes of it all?”

Durrell gave one of his unexpected grins which made him look much younger. “Are you missing your source in the 110th, sir?”

“I think I am. Although I’ve a feeling that if Major van Daan were here, he’d have expired from sheer frustration by now. Never mind. I shall enjoy supper with my wife and try to remain calm, and well out of the politics of it all.”

Despite Hugh’s determination, it was impossible to ignore the politics. Over the next few days he received a stream of visitors including Admiral Keats, Captain Codrington, and to his exasperation, Captain Sir Home Riggs Popham. All of them had something to say about the progress, or lack of it, made by the expedition, and all of them seemed very clear where the blame should lie.

“Bloody Chatham,” Codrington said gloomily. “We’d have been on the way if it hadn’t been for him. Did you know that the French fleet have sailed out of Antwerp and are anchored off Flushing? Sir Richard Strachan is sure we could bring them to an engagement if we caught them.”

Hugh regarded him owlishly. “If we caught them?” he enquired. “Ned, have you been over-indulging? Take that glass away from him, Mr Durrell, he’s had too much. Can you explain to me, because I’m a greenhorn here, fella, and don’t know much about the navy and suchlike, exactly why the French are going to sit sunning themselves on the quarterdeck waiting for us to sail in and cut them off? Do they do that often in your experience, because if they do, I’ve missed it.”

Codrington flushed slightly and then drained his glass and held it out to Durrell. “I’ll have another, Mr Durrell, before your captain gets stingy with it. All right, Hugh, what is it exactly you think we ought to be doing?”

“Following the orders we’re given and not going off on a spree,” Hugh said firmly. “I’m not arguing that the army are bloody slow, it’s the size of the boots they’re clumping around in, but it’s not going to help if we go without them. Even if we could bring the French to battle, what use is that when half our ships are stuffed full of redcoats? We need to offload them at the very least.”

Admiral Keats was somewhat more circumspect. “A pity so much time has been lost,” he said, settling himself into Hugh’s day cabin. “This is very good wine, Captain Kelly, where did you get it from?”

“It was a gift,” Hugh said. The wine had arrived in two crates shortly before he had embarked, having been re-routed from Chatham dockyards. “I’ve a friend serving in Portugal with Wellesley.”

“In the army?” Keats said, sounding so revolted that Hugh laughed aloud.

“In the army, sir. Although if it makes you feel better, he served in the navy first.”

“One of the better ones then. I wish I had as much faith in our commander-in-chief.”

“He’s hardly had time to do anything yet, sir.”

“He’s hardly been out of bed before noon since he’s been here, Captain. And he’s insistent on awaiting the arrival of the ships from Portsmouth. Won’t sail without Coote. Strachan is furious.”

“Strachan has been furious ever since I first met him, sir.”

“Oh, come on, Captain, don’t tell me you’re happy about this.”

“I’m not,” Hugh admitted. “Although it does mean an extra few days with my wife.”

“Is she with you?” Keats said, brightening visibly. “Bring her over to dine today, man, I’m starved of feminine company and I am devoted to your wife; I never know what she’s going to say next.”

“Nor do I, sir,” Hugh admitted. “Thank you, we’d be delighted.”

Keats settled back into Hugh’s favourite armchair reminding Hugh of Molly, the ship’s cat when she found a particularly comfortable spot in the sun. “This is very pleasant,” he said. “It hasn’t escaped my notice, Captain, that you’ve not been seen on shore much this past week.”

“Or at all,” Hugh said placidly. “To be fair, sir, I’m in the navy, this is where I’m supposed to be.”

“Popham was searching high and low for you yesterday,” Keats said, and the tone of his voice when he spoke the name made Hugh grin. “Apparently there are three stray staff members needing a passage and he thought you might have space for them.”

“More staff members? Jesus, how many are there? I’ve already got six of them wedged into the officers’ day cabin, I don’t need any more.”

“The Earl of Chatham has a large staff,” Keats said neutrally. “I have counted at least seven ADCs and I may have missed a few. At any rate, you are safe from Popham, he caught up with Codrington and has sent them over to the Blake.”

“Serves Ned right for hanging around on shore too much. I find it interesting that Popham didn’t think to look for me aboard my own ship, it clearly didn’t occur to him that’s where a captain might be. Any more news of when we’re sailing?”

“As far as I’m aware, we’ll be off the moment the Portsmouth fleet arrives, but God knows when that will be, they’re pegged in by the wind at present.”

“Captain Codrington informs me that Sir Richard Strachan is unhappy,” Hugh said, and Keats spluttered with laughter, spilling wine on his sleeve. Brian hurried forward with a napkin to mop up the mess.

“Thank you, lad. Is that the word he used to describe it? Sir Richard is pacing the quarterdeck uttering oaths I can’t even work out the meaning of and threatening to turn his guns onto Lord Chatham’s lodgings if he doesn’t get his arse moving soon. I was privileged to be present when he received the Earl’s last letter, I thought we’d need to send for the surgeon.”

Hugh was laughing; it was so easy to visualise Strachan’s fury. “Ned seems to think that Sir Richard could have taken the French by surprise if we’d moved faster,” he said.

“They’d have known we were coming the second we set sail, they’ve their own informants watching us and a small boat can get across to Flushing a lot faster than we can. Strachan gets carried away by his own rhetoric sometimes and he can’t stand waiting. Chatham won’t leave without the Portsmouth fleet, his second-in-command is with them and he probably wants Coote to be there to do all the work he doesn’t want to have to do. But I doubt these few days will make that much difference; it’s the previous month of farting around doing nothing which will have done the damage.”

Hugh studied Keats thoughtfully. “May I ask you a question, sir?”

“By all means.”

“Why do I get the odd feeling that nobody is really happy about this expedition?”

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Wellington’s Birthday

Arthur Wesley, later Sir Arthur Wellesley and still later the first Duke of Wellington was born on this day in 1769 and to celebrate Wellington’s birthday there will be a lot of articles and blog posts out there which tell the story of his extraordinary life far better than I can.

As my readers know, Wellington is a significant character in the Peninsular War Saga. I’ve read several different biographies of him during my research along with a huge number of contemporary diaries and letters from men who served under him and each account puts a slightly different slant on Wellington’s character. Over six books, I’ve developed my own view of Wellington. I rather suspect I owe a good deal to Rory Muir’s historical view of him but as a novelist, I have the flexibility to add my own nuances, especially with regard to his relationship with my fictional characters.

Today, as my tribute to Wellington on his 250th birthday, I’ve put together a collection of some of my own favourite Wellington moments from my novels. I hope you enjoy them.

An Unconventional Officer - love and war in Wellington’s armyWe start in India, in an Unconventional Officer, when the young and newly promoted Paul van Daan fights under Wellesley at Assaye. At this stage, the two hardly know each other, but there is already a sense of some of the conversations to come…

“Captain van Daan.  They’re quieter over on the right than they were, it seems.  Would your ruffians have something to do with that?”

“Maybe, sir.  We came in to support the 74th but the dragoons were doing a good job so we went for the guns.”

“Lose many?”

“I don’t know yet.  One man down defending the first gun, but we took some heavy shooting to our right.  We’ll not get out of it unscathed.”

“None of us will, laddie.  They’re on the run now.  Their French officers took off, no discipline left.  Eyes right, the general is approaching.”

Wellesley reined in.  He looked exhausted and the horse he was riding was not the one he had set out on that morning.

“Major McTavish, Captain van Daan.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well done, sirs.  You’re hurt, Captain van Daan.”

“Not serious, sir.”

“Good, good.  I sent a man over to send you into battle, but he couldn’t find you.”

Paul glanced up at him warily.  “I was around, sir,” he said.

“Yes.”  Wellesley studied him with thoughtful blue grey eyes.  Finally, to Paul’s relief, his lips twitched slightly.  “You anticipated correctly, Captain.  You might not always be right, however.  I prefer my officers to await orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did Colonel Maxwell…”

“No, sir,” Paul said definitely.  “We went in ahead of him, he waited for your orders, sir.”

Wellesley shook his head.  “You’re a bloody liar, Captain, as you know very well.  I’ve sent Wallace to rally the remains of the 74th and get them out of the range of those guns.  Although they’re not doing much damage on this side, but they’ve started up again on the left, firing at our rear.  Harness is taking the 78th back to recapture them, Captain, are your men able to join them?”

“Yes, sir.”  Paul nodded to his sergeant who took off at a run to summon the rest of the light company.  

“Good, let’s get those guns back.  God knows what the cavalry are doing!”

Paul turned to follow his gaze and realised that having done their work, Maxwell’s troopers seemed to have gone out of control and crossed the Juah, with their colonel following them.  “They all right over there, sir?”

“I sincerely hope so, I could rather do with them over here.  What is wrong with officers of the cavalry, Captain?  Why can they never follow a simple order?”

Despite himself, Paul grinned at the general’s exasperated tone.  “I might not be the best person to ask that today, sir.”

An Unwilling Alliance is not part of the main sequence of books, taking place during the Copenhagen campaign of 1807, but it is one of my favourites in terms of the development of Wellesley and Paul’s relationship. In this scene, Paul is in trouble for upsetting the Royal Navy and Sir Arthur Wellesley is not amused…

Sir Arthur Wellesley was furious.

Paul finally managed to find him alone in his sitting room the following day, writing a letter to London. He had been pleasant on Paul’s arrival but his face had steadily darkened as Paul told his story. He said very little apart from to bark a question when a point was not clear. Paul told the story in full.  There was no point in holding back; at some point the entire tale would come out. Paul suspected that by now the bosun from the Flight would be telling it to Admiral Gambier and he was fairly sure that the man would be telling a version that made him appear less culpable.

Wellesley had not asked him to sit down and Paul stood to attention, fixing his eyes on a spot on the wall as Wellesley allowed the silence to lengthen when the story was told. Eventually his chief spoke, in tones of pure ice.

“Am I expected to get you out of this particular mess, Major van Daan?”

Paul shifted his gaze to Wellesley’s face. “No, sir,” he said. “I don’t expect you to do anything at all. You needed to know, because the bosun from the Flight is going to tell the Admiral what happened and it is going to come back to you. I am sorry.”

“Sorry? Do you think that is enough? You effected an armed boarding of a Royal Navy ship, locked up the crew, threatened the captain of the Iris when he very properly came to take over and asked you to leave and kidnapped a group of men who had been legally pressed into naval service without making any attempt to speak to a senior officer in either service about…”

“I did make an attempt to speak to the Admiral, sir. I spoke to Captain Sir Home Popham.”

“Don’t interrupt me!” Wellesley snapped, furiously. “You deserve to be court martialled and cashiered for this, you insubordinate young imbecile! The situation here is difficult enough; we’re invading and threatening a neutral country, nobody knows who is in command or whether the army or the navy should be taking the lead, orders from London are slower than usual and nobody is telling me anything at all or listening to anything I have to say! Admiral Gambier has every right to be furious about this and every right to demand your stupid young head on a plate and if he writes to Horse Guards to that effect or even complains to Lord Cathcart, there isn’t a damned thing I can do about it. I am not in command here and I don’t have that much influence.”

Paul met his gaze. “I know. And I know you don’t want to hear it, sir, but I am genuinely sorry. I lost my temper.”

“When you were a twenty-one year old junior officer, Major, your outbreaks were mildly amusing, mostly because they caused no real damage. At your age and with your rank they are no longer funny.”

Paul could think of nothing to say. He suspected that he had genuinely gone too far this time. His friends had told him often enough that he could not continue to rely on Wellesley’s indulgence indefinitely. On this occasion he knew that his chief’s fury was exacerbated by his own frustration at being sidelined from the centre of events. Wellesley was ambitious and had pushed for this appointment, wanting to get away from his administrative and political duties in Ireland and back into combat where he believed he was meant to be.

Paul agreed with him. He had served under a variety of officers in both his early navy career and since joining the army and he had never come across any man whom he respected as he did the austere Anglo-Irish general. He had caught Wellesley’s eye in India when he was a young lieutenant and they had remained in contact since then, corresponding regularly. He knew that despite the twelve year age gap, Wellesley liked him and he returned his chief’s regard. They were friends, as far as it was possible to be friends with the distant, unemotional Wellesley and Paul tried hard not to trade on the fact.  

He had not consciously assumed that Wellesley would extract him from his current situation, but he realised that it had not occurred to him that the general might not be able to. In India and in Ireland, Wellesley had been in command. He was subordinate here to Lord Cathcart and the political situation made it difficult for him to demand immunity for a young officer’s rash disregard for the dignity of the navy.

“Nothing to say, Major?” Wellesley said finally.

Paul shook his head. “Not really, sir. I could make a very impassioned speech about the state of those men aboard that ship. I could point out that I wouldn’t have needed to get involved at all if they’d listened to me when I went to the flagship to tell them what was going on. I could work myself into a temper all over again about a system that pays bonuses for legalised kidnapping, but we all know that I’ve a personal axe to grind on that particular subject; the navy stole two and a half years of my life when I was a boy and you don’t want me to go into detail about what some of that was like, trust me. But none of that matters, because you’re completely right. I’m old enough and intelligent enough to weigh up the consequences of my actions and I didn’t. I went blundering in and I didn’t give a thought or a single damn about how I was going to get out of it. And it isn’t fair to expect you to put your neck on the block because I need to learn self-control. I am sorry. Let it take its course.”

There was heavy silence in the room. Outside it had begun to rain and Paul could hear the raindrops against the shutters, the wind whistling through gaps in the wood. He thought inconsequentially that it was typical of Wellesley to find himself in a billet that would be freezing cold at night and not bother to change it.

An Irregular RegimentIn An Irregular Regiment, Paul has married his second wife, who is something of a favourite of Wellington’s, and is preparing to join the army in chasing Massena out of Portugal, when Paul learns that his chief has a particularly interesting job for him…

“I imagine so,” Wellington said. “Really, Colonel, you never fail to surprise me.  With the Duke gone, Dundas is making his own appointments to my army and he has sent me Major-General Sir William Erskine, whom you will meet tomorrow at my reception.  He is to take over the light division during General Craufurd’s absence.”

Paul sat very still, staring at his commander-in-chief. He felt suddenly very sick.  Wellington looked back at him steadily. There was a long silence. Eventually, Wellington said:

“I know you are about to start swearing, Colonel.”

“I actually don’t know any words rude enough to cover this,” Paul said, taking a deep breath.  “Was this your idea or Horse Guards?”

“What do you think, Colonel?”  Wellington sighed.  “I have no choice but to accept him.  He is politically very well connected, of the right rank and knows the right people.”

“And according to popular gossip he is arrogant, inexperienced, blind as a bat and mad as a Bedlamite.  Are you seriously proposing to allow him to command troops at all, let alone Robert Craufurd’s light division?”

“I don’t have a choice, Colonel.”

“Why don’t you send him out in command of my light company for a couple of days, sir?  I can pretty much guarantee they will solve your problem for you.”

“Colonel, murder is not a solution I can countenance I am afraid.”

“What a shame.”

Wellington shook his head.  “I should know better than to confide in a relatively junior officer…”

“You should know better than to confide in me and expect me not to tell you what I think, sir.”

“It is my aim to cause as much damage to Massena’s army as possible, Colonel. I…”

“And the light division would be perfect for that, sir, if you had the right commander.”

“You’re too young and you don’t have the right connections.”

“Christ, I’m not suggesting you give them to me. Either Beckwith or Drummond are more than capable!”

“Colonel, my hands are tied.  He is here and I need to use him, at least until I can come up with a very good reason not to. I have given him limited command and he has not done as badly as I feared.”

“He’s not had much chance so far but if you get Black Bob’s division slaughtered under this lunatic, sir, I suggest you take leave of absence before he gets back, because he’ll shoot you,” Paul said shortly.  “What do you want me to do?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on, don’t tell me I’m here for a chat and a drink. I’ve spent four months working my arse off in Lisbon to get your army supplied, I’ve come back ready to fight and you are about to give me a job that you think I am going to yell about. How long have I known you, sir?  Cut line and tell me what it is.”

Lord Wellington was silent for some time and Paul studied him. He could almost see his chief considering the best way to phrase his orders, something he seldom did. Usually Wellington barked out instructions and expected them to be obeyed and the care he was taking over this made Paul’s heart sink.

“Very well. You’ll meet Erskine tomorrow. I want you and the 110th to operate under his personal command, in addition – but not as part of – the light division. You’ll provide him with ADCs, try to give him some guidance…”

“You have got to be fucking joking, sir!”

“Watch your language with me, Colonel.”

“My apologies, sir, it just slipped out. Is there something I’ve done recently to piss you off?  Because if there is, I wish you’d just tell me what it is and I’ll apologise. I have to be the worst person in the world for this job. Johnny Wheeler once told me I have the diplomatic skills of a five year old, and honestly, I think he was being generous.”

“Listen to me for a moment. You will be in the thick of the fighting. I want you to act as liaison between General Erskine and the light division but you’ll also be in a position to report back to me.  If things are going wrong, you are a man I trust to make difficult decisions without fear.  God knows you’ve made up your own orders often enough over the years.”

“Yes, in the heat of battle or when no other orders are available. I also fight very well under the command of a good general, by the way.”

“I know you do, Colonel, I commanded you at Assaye, Rolica, Vimeiro, Talavera and Bussaco. And you did exactly what you were asked to do on each occasion and you did it well. But at Assaye you went in to help the 74th before I could get to you to give the order.  And at the Coa you defied Robert Craufurd to double back and retake that knoll, saving the rest of his troops during the retreat. That is why I want you within reach of Major-General Erskine. Because you being there could save lives.”

Paul stared at his commander. “Tell me this is a joke,” he said, too angry to be polite.  “You are giving Robert Craufurd’s light division to a half blind lunatic with no experience of either war or command and you are expecting me to do what exactly?”

“Colonel, don’t lose your temper with me.”

“Sir, I have already lost my temper with you, telling me not to is only going to piss me off more.”

“The light division needs a commander. I have to do something with him, his family are too influential for me to ignore. At best he is inexperienced; at worst he might be dangerous.  So I’m putting him in charge of men who are going to be able to work round him.  Beckwith and Drummond are good men, used to Craufurd.  They’ll know what to do if he makes a mistake.  And if they don’t…”

“Sir?”

“If they don’t, you will,” Wellington said quietly.  “I’m putting the 110th under his direct command.  You’ll march with him, provide him with ADCs, make sure he’s where he should be when he should be.  And make sure that the light division knows what the hell is going on.”

Paul stood up and went over to the window.  “And what happens if that goes wrong?” he asked.

“It won’t.”

“It bloody well could and you know it. If I can’t manage him, my lads end up dead, possibly taking half the light division with them. And if I do manage to survive it, I’m neither senior enough nor well connected enough to survive what they’ll do to me at Horse Guards.   Either way you’re in the clear.  If I manage it, you’ll get a slap on the back and political points.  If I don’t, you stand back and point and I’m going down.”

“That is unfair, Colonel. I have always supported you, no matter how appalling your behaviour at times. Another commander would have left you to your fate after Copenhagen or sent you for court martial after the Coa.”

Paul was silent, aware of the truth of it. Wellington had always supported him when he had been in trouble, but he also understood that his chief would put the needs of his command ahead of any friendship. Paul had no problem with that; it was what he expected, but the idea of Erskine in charge of the light division appalled him and the idea that he was being expected to manage it, was worse.

“How long do you think it will be before General Erskine has me up before a court martial, sir?” he asked finally. “You know what I’m like.”

“I know you’re getting better at it. You can do this, Colonel van Daan,” Wellington said steadily. “You are probably the only man I would trust with it.”

“You’ve got a very funny definition of the word trust, sir.”

“I’ve never yet given you an order you’ve failed to obey,”

It nettled Paul as he knew it was meant to. “No. And you haven’t this time. I’ll do my duty, sir. It’s what I do. But you need to do something for me in return.”

“Which is?”

“Before we set off, I want to borrow your man of business. I need to get my affairs in order. And I need you to give me your word that if he gets me killed, you’ll make sure she’s all right.”

Paul had shaken his commander and he knew it. “Colonel…”

“Your word, sir.  I can get everything set up and ready for my lawyers at home.  But the only thing my family knows about her is that I married the widow of a thief and a deserter, practically over my wife’s grave. They’re not supportive of us and they don’t need to be.  Sooner or later they’ll meet her and get to know her and they’ll think it’s the best thing I ever did.  But at the moment she’s on shaky ground.  So if I die, I need you to use every piece of influence that you have to make sure she gets what she’s due.”

“I will.”

“You promise me.”

“Colonel you have my word on it.”

“And look after her.  Nobody else can do it. I don’t think any of them understands her yet the way you do, with the exception of Leo Manson and he’s too young.”

Wellington studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded.  “I will.  But it isn’t going to be necessary. You are better at this than you think you are, Colonel, I wouldn’t be doing this if I weren’t sure of that.”

“Well I appreciate your confidence, sir.”

“As to the rest, I give you my word that I will support you if you’re put in a difficult position over this. And I can, I’m not in command of the reserves any more. You take care of my light division until Craufurd gets back and if Erskine comes baying for your head, I will throw him out.”

Paul looked at his chief with troubled eyes. He wanted badly to believe him and he knew that Wellington was completely serious in his intention. He also knew that nothing meant as much to his chief as remaining in command and winning this war and he was under no illusions that he would put that aim ahead of anything else, probably including friendship.

“Thank you, sir,” he said finally, given that there was nothing more he could say. He saw Wellington visibly relax and wondered if the general had actually expected him to refuse.

“Excellent. I’ll expect you and your officers at the reception tomorrow evening, Colonel. Have you met General Erskine at all?”

“Not really, sir, I’ve seen him around.”

“Bring your wife.”

Paul eyed his commander in chief.  “Sir, when my wife hears about this one, you might be better off if I leave her at home,” he said shortly.  “But we’ll be there.  If you’ll excuse me, I’ll need to go and brief my officers about this.  They’ll need at least a day before they get over it enough to guarantee they’ll be civil.”

An Uncommon Campaign, 110th at the Battle of Fuentes d'OnoroIn An Uncommon Campaign, Wellington is furious in the aftermath of the French garrison’s escape from Almeida while Paul is drawn into army politics in order to secure the promotion of a good officer…

“Don’t start asking difficult questions, Colonel.”

“I have to. Because if you don’t tell me the truth you know perfectly well that at some point something is going to happen that I don’t like and I’ll probably blow up about it when I ought to keep my mouth shut.”

Wellington sighed. “I would rather be dealing with your wife at this point,” he said.

“Well you can’t. I know she’s a better politician than I am, sir, but she’s not well.  What are you giving them that I’m not going to like?”

Wellington studied him for a long time. Then he rose and went to the decanter. He brought it to the table and poured two more drinks and sat down. “I am writing to London concerning this disgraceful affair of the Almeida garrison,” he said. “In it, I am listing the reasons I believe it to have gone wrong. What I will not be doing is hanging Sir William Erskine out to dry. Privately I intend to convey to Horse Guards that I could do so at any moment if I am asked to place yet another officer of dubious competence over a man of honour and ability. I am then going to tell them of my appointment of Lt-Colonel John Wheeler to full colonel of the 112th light infantry.”

“Light infantry?”

“May as well make it worth my while.”

“All right, sir.  And who, may I ask, is the chosen scapegoat?”

“Not a scapegoat, Paul.  Not in the sense you mean.  A lot of mistakes were made but the biggest was the bridge at Barba del Puerco. I sent out an order the previous day to General Erskine to send the 4th under Colonel Bevan out to the bridge. For reasons which nobody seems to be able to explain to me, Colonel Bevan did not go there. The result was that Brennier had free passage over the river.”

“I thought I’d heard that Bevan was there,” Paul said.

“He arrived in order to join in the attack on the retreating French troops. If his men had held the bridge as they should have…”

“Have you had this properly investigated?” Paul asked quietly.

“Is Colonel Bevan a friend of yours, Paul?” Wellington asked.

“Have you met Colonel Bevan, sir? He is a charmingly naïve gentleman with his head stuffed full of notions of honour and gallantry which make my hair stand on end and a tendency to sink into black despair on a regular basis. No, he’s not a friend. He disapproves of me. I frequently want to shake him. But he’s a good man and not a bad officer. And he has a reputation for being highly conscientious. If he’s actually being blamed here for something he didn’t do…”

“He isn’t. I’m not lying about anything, Paul. I’m just not stressing the obvious, which is that both Campbell and Erskine, who command divisions, ought to have been able to work out between them how to prevent the French from breaking out of Almeida and managing a night march on little known paths to cross into Spain. If you and Craufurd had been guarding Almeida for me he wouldn’t have got beyond the first line of your pickets.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Paul admitted. “So you let the commanders off the hook and blame poor Bevan for getting lost in the dark and quietly point out to Horse Guards how embarrassing it would be for them if their appointment – namely Erskine – should later turn out to have been grossly negligent. And then you bring up Colonel Johnny Wheeler and the 112th. Got any other favours you’re asking of them at the same time?”

“A more regular pay chest might be nice, Colonel, but I’m not optimistic.”

Paul drank.  “You were right. I bloody hate it and I wish I didn’t know anything about it.  But I want Johnny Wheeler commanding my men because he’ll keep them alive. What will happen to Bevan?”

“Nothing. God in heaven, Colonel, I’m not going to court-martial the man, he won’t be the first to make a mistake in this war. I would hate to be hauled over the coals for some of my recent choices at Fuentes de Oñoro. I’m not even going to give him a dressing-down in person. There will be a report in the London Gazette which might be embarrassing for him, but he’ll survive it. At some point he will do something gallant with his regiment and I’ll issue a commendation which will also be mentioned in the London Gazette and it will all be forgotten.” Wellington studied Paul. “There is another name which is going to suffer the same fate by the way but I doubt this one will distress you as much. General Erskine is placing some of the blame for the delay in my orders being sent onto Captain Longford.”

“Is he?  What is Longford supposed to have done?”

“He was at a dinner in Villa Formoso with the general when my orders were delivered. According to Erskine he told Captain Longford to deliver them to Colonel Bevan and the captain failed to do so for several hours.”

“Bollocks,” Paul said shortly. “Longford’s not that stupid. He’s trying to build himself a career out of this posting, if he got handed your orders he’d have taken them on the spot. What happened, Erskine put them in his pocket and forget about them?”

“We will never truly know, Colonel.”

“I’ll know, sir. Well it might put a brake on Vincent’s ambitions, but he’s used to that. He’ll smile and say the right things and keep kissing arses until it’s all forgotten. Do him good after what he did at Sabugal. Although it is bloody unfair that Erskine gets off scot free.”

“Paul – you can’t tell anybody about any of this. Not even your wife.”

“If I told Nan about this she’d crucify me,” Paul said bluntly.  “We share a passion for justice which I’m setting aside for Johnny and the 112th. Do I need to do anything about Grey?”

“No. Try not to hit him again. But he insulted your wife, another officer would have called him out. What did he say, by the way?”

“It involved Captain Cartwright.”

“Ah. Yes, that has caused a bit of gossip, Colonel. People are saying you are about to become the father of two children.”

“Is that what you meant about my morals earlier? If I’d fathered a bastard on Arabella Cartwright last year, sir, we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation because my bloody corpse would have been found castrated in a ditch outside the nearest military hospital. And if she finds out what you and I have just done to Charles Bevan you might be right there next to me so you’d better be able to carry this off.”

In A Redoubtable Citadel, Wellington faces two bloody sieges within a few months and is particularly grouchy about his officers taking leave…

It had been a frustrating few weeks for the commander of the third brigade of the light division.  Arriving back at Wellington’s lines, Paul found his general in a foul mood, furious about delays in reinforcements arriving, problems with his supply lines and the slow progress of his siege train.  Wellington was still in Freineda, leaving it to the last possible minute to move his headquarters towards Badajoz.  He had spent weeks feeding disinformation to the French about his intentions and had been rewarded by a significant lack of troop movements towards the city, but he knew that once it became clear that he intended to invest the fortress and take Badajoz, the French would move to try to relieve it.  It was a delicately balanced strategy and Wellington found himself, not for the first time, short of men, money and equipment.  He was also short of a commander for the light division, General Charles von Alten having been delayed, and it was quickly clear that he expected Paul to step in to the breach.

Wellington’s senior officers greeted Paul’s return with evident relief, which told him all he needed to know about his commander’s mood during the past weeks.  Since the quick series of promotions which had led him to command a brigade at thirty, Paul had faced a good deal of resentment and opposition from some of the other officers.  He had heard himself described as a wealthy, middle class upstart who had bought his way to success but he was cynically aware of how much they relied on him to manage the commander-in-chief when he reached the point of addressing his generals with the biting sarcasm of a disgruntled Latin master speaking to a particularly dense first year.  The tone of his note requesting Paul’s return had been abrupt to the point of rudeness.

Paul was greeted with pleasure by his own officers.  He bathed and changed and took himself up to Wellington’s headquarters where his chief regarded him with a frosty eye.

“So you’re back?” he said with heavy sarcasm.  “I hope you’re well rested, Colonel?  I wouldn’t want to think I’ve interrupted your holiday too soon.”

“Well you did, sir,” Paul said frankly.  “My family brought my children out to see me, I could have done with another month to tell you the truth.  But the tone of this charming missive informed me I’d done as well as I was going to.  What’s going on?”

He dropped Wellington’s letter onto the table and stood waiting.  His chief picked it up and looked at it for a moment.  “Don’t you want to hold onto this, Colonel?  All my other officers are saving my briefing notes for their memoirs,” he said.

“No thank you, sir, I’ve had enough rude letters from you over the years to be able to recreate a generic bollocking without an aide memoire.  The only letters I hold on to are those from my wife.  She’s a better correspondent than you are, to be honest.  What’s the matter, siege train not arrived?”

“Nothing has arrived!” Wellington said.  “Get yourself a drink, for God’s sake and pour me one as well.  I thought you’d be in a better mood.”

“I was until I walked in here and you started yelling at me.”  Paul went to pour brandy and Wellington’s orderly grinned and effaced himself.  “Want me to tell you about our lovely parties in Lisbon?”

“You don’t need to; your wife wrote to me.  Her description of the Regent’s attempts at flirtation are the only thing that has made me laugh this month, she has a gift.  I wonder if she would accept a post as my secretary?”

“She isn’t going to accept any of the posts you’re likely to offer her, sir, since they would all lead to the same thing and I do not trust you with her.”  Paul put the glass down on the table and sat down without being asked.  “Tell me what’s been going on.”

In the most recent book, An Untrustworthy Army, Paul is put in charge of clearing the last French garrison out of the Retiro in Madrid and finds that he is expected to do so in front of an audience of cheering locals…

Dawn, and then full daylight, brought a new problem. The early sun lit up the astonishing spectacle of an audience.  The citizens of Madrid, some of whom had probably not been to sleep from the previous night’s celebrations, began to throng the streets close to the Retiro, ready to watch the attack on the interior lines. Others appeared on the roofs and balconies of nearby houses. Paul, trying to call his men into order to storm the breach in the wall, surveyed the area in complete astonishment.

“Jesus bloody Christ, we need the light division amateur theatrical group over here, it’d be the biggest audience they ever got. And probably the most appreciative. Where’s Lord Wellington, has he seen this sideshow?  Can we get them cleared out?  If the French decide to make a fight of this, people are going to get hurt. Major Swanson, we need to send a message down.”

It took thirty minutes for the reply to come, a brief and clearly exasperated message from Wellington. Paul read it and looked up at Carl.

“Apparently he’s made representations to the town council, but people aren’t willing to leave,” he said. “I feel my patience diminishing, which is never good.”

An enormous cheer greeted the manoeuvring of three companies of the seventh division into position.  The British soldiers echoed the cheers with a response of their own, drowning Sergeant-Major Carter’s shouted orders to his men about their position.  Carter took a deep breath and looked over at Paul.

“This is bloody chaos,” he said.  “They’re dopey bastards in there, mind, I’d have opened fire by now.”

“If they’ve got any sense they’ll surrender and hope we can get them out of here alive,” Paul said grimly.  “They’re not getting past our lads, but even if they did, these people will tear them to pieces.  Why the hell did Joseph leave them here?”

“Making a point, sir,” Captain Manson said. “He might have left his capital but he didn’t leave it undefended.”

“Two thousand men against the entire army isn’t a defence, it’s a present.”

Another enormous cheer swelled the crowd and Paul swore fluently.  “Carter, get them moving over to the right. Use hand signals if you need to. Any trouble with them, I’ll kick their arses personally. I don’t…ah look, we’ve company.”

Lord Wellington was approaching, making his way with some difficulty through the crowded streets, two young ADCs trying hard to make a path for him with their horses. Paul waited several minutes to be very sure that Wellington had got the point about the difficulties of conducting operations with a crowd of civilian spectators. When he suspected that his chief was on the verge of laying about him with a riding whip, he called over to Sergeant Hammond.

“Sergeant, get over there and clear a path for his Lordship, will you?”

Hammond was wearing his most deadpan expression. He saluted. “Right away, sir.”

Paul dropped his voice. “Don’t make it look too easy, Sergeant.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

Wellington’s horse emerged finally from the throng which were being neatly held back by the 110th and Paul saluted his chief with a pleasant smile.

“Morning, sir, come to see the show?  I think they can find you space over on that balcony, and I must say I like the look of the pretty dark haired lass on the end, see if you can squeeze in next to her.”

“I will remember to mention to your wife how observant you are when she’s not around,” Wellington said smoothly, reining in and dismounting.  “Do not think that I am unaware of how long it took you to intervene there. Have you had a good night?”

“No,” Paul said briefly. His attention had been caught by a movement up at the fort, and he shielded his eyes from the brilliant early sun. “Is that…?”

“A white flag. I think so,” Wellington said. “I wonder if we might be able to avoid bloodshed after all? Signal that we will meet with them, Colonel. Let’s see if we can put an end to this.”

Lord Wellington, as a fictional character, is an enduring delight to write. His somewhat acerbic personality jumps out of the pages of his letters and orders and his perfectionism and attention to detail make it possible to include him in a novel about his army in a way that is far more difficult when writing about other commanders. Biographers have differed about his style of leadership, his abilities as a general and his personal relationships, and I have probably taken a little from each of them.

My Lord Wellington is a highly complex man who is capable of great warmth and kindness as well as appalling tactlessness. He finds personal relationships difficult, but is very loyal to those he considers friends. His relationship with my fictional officer, Paul van Daan, is central to the books, but equally important is his relationship with Paul’s young wife, who gradually becomes his friend and confidante in a way that foreshadows his future relationship with Harriet Arbuthnot.

I love writing Wellington and miss him in those books where he does not appear. As with all fictional accounts of real historical characters, I don’t claim to have ‘got him right’. None of us can really claim to know a man who was born 250 years ago, but as a novelist I have tried to create an interpretation of him that tallies with what we know of him from contemporary accounts.

Happy 250th Birthday Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington from one of your constant admirers.

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Happy New Year from Writing with Labradors

 

Happy New Year from Writing with Labradors and welcome to 2019.

It feels like more than a year since I wrote my first blog post of 2018. So much has happened during the year, both personally and professionally, that it’s hard to know where to start, but as always, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed getting to know more of my readers, both in person and online, and I love the fact that more and more people are beginning to contact me through the website and following me on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

2018 saw the publication of two new books. The first of these, which came out in April, was An Unwilling Alliance. This book is the first of a new series, following the career of Captain Hugh Kelly RN, a fictional Manx Royal Navy captain during the Napoleonic Wars. It is also part of the Peninsular War Saga, slotting in approximately between books one and two, telling the story of Paul van Daan and the 110th during the Copenhagen campaign of 1807. I was able to set part of the book on the Isle of Man, where I live, and I loved being able to talk about the island to a wider audience.

The second book of 2018 was An Untrustworthy Army, book six of the Peninsular War Saga. It tells the story of Wellington’s Salamanca campaign and the miserable retreat from Burgos at the end of 1812. For some reason, I found this book very difficult. Partly, it was because my fictional brigade is part of the light division which was unusually not very active during much of this campaign. Partly, I think it was because the end of the campaign was genuinely so miserable, that it was hard to tell the story without sinking into unrelieved gloom. I think I managed it eventually, but it took a while. Fortunately, Craufurd the Dog stepped in with a bit of light relief. There were also goats.

The Bridge at OrthezRichard and I went on a tour of the Pyrenees in April, to research Vitoria and the Pyrenees campaigns. We had a great time and toured a few battlefields although I suspect we ate and drank rather better than Wellington’s army in 1813. I’m really looking forward to the next few books, as the Pyrenees give a lot of scope for the 110th to really get itself into trouble. We also spent a week in Northern Ireland in the summer, which was beautiful and set off a whole new sub-plot involving the United Irishmen and Michael O’Reilly in my over-active brain. Watch this space for that one, it’s happening sometime.

I wrote three new short stories this year. An Impossible Attachment was written for Valentine’s Day and tells the story of an unlikely romance between a French prisoner of war and the widow of an English officer in Portugal in 1812. The Quartermaster was a Halloween ghost story set in Ciudad Rodrigo in 1812 and The Christmas After tells the story of eight people thrown together on a winter’s journey by mail coach in 1815 who find common ground in their memories of the battle of Waterloo; it completes the story begun in An Impossible Attachment.

In October, I was invited to join a panel of historical novelists speaking at the Malvern Festival of Military History and it was a great experience to be up there alongside some of the best in the genre. The bonus was that I got to spend the weekend listening to a fantastic line up of historians, culminating with the wonderful Paddy Ashdown talking about his latest book.

On a personal level, it has been a mixed year at Writing with Labradors. Luka, our leopard gecko died early in the year at the age of twelve. She was my son’s eighth birthday present and for many years her tank lived in his room. Later she moved into my study and would sit watching me work for hours, during the evenings after her feed.

 

 

 

In May, our lives were lit up by the arrival of Oscar, our new baby black labrador. Oscar is completely gorgeous and has fitted into our family as if he’d always been there. He and Joey bonded immediately and are completely inseparable. Toby was a bit more aloof to start with, but quickly fell in love, and the three of them had the most marvellous time through the early summer months. The weather was hot and sunny and we practically lived outside, reading, writing and watching the three dogs playing.

 

Back on his feet…

We had a fright in June when Joey, our twelve year old yellow labrador’s back legs suddenly gave out, and we had a couple of days of sheer misery, wondering how serious the problem was, and if we were going to lose him. It turned out to be a false alarm, it was arthritis, and stronger pain relief and joint supplements very quickly got him back on his feet.

I’ll never forget that summer, because it turned out to be Toby’s last. The amazing weather continued, the kids’ exams were over, and we spent every minute we could outside in the sun. My daughter asked for a hammock for her birthday in July and it became Oscar’s new playground, leaping through the air to join her as she lay there reading, while the older dogs watched, looking as though they were laughing. I was working on the new book, enjoying all of us having time to be together, enjoying Oscar becoming an essential part of family life.

On July 23rd I worked in my study in the morning, but all three dogs wanted to play, so we moved outside and I sat working on the porch while they ran around chasing each other. They collapsed finally for a long nap, woke for dinner and then sat with us on the porch again until after dark. We said goodnight and went to bed. The following morning Toby was lying peacefully in his usual spot and I didn’t even realise he was dead until I touched him. It was a horrible shock; he was fourteen but other than his arthritis, seemed really well and there was no warning.

Despite the shock, it was a very peaceful end and although we miss him desperately, I’m so grateful for that. I was worried about Joey but although he missed Toby, I’m thankful that we had already got a new puppy, as it made the transition much easier for him. Once again, Writing with Labradors is down to two dogs, although Toby is close by and will always hold a very special place in my heart.

So what’s next? I’m planning a busy year in 2019, with the following projects on the go:

  • My next book is the second about Hugh Kelly and tells the story of the disastrous Walcheren campaign of 1809. As with Copenhagen, this was a joint operation with the army and navy. Paul van Daan is busy in the Peninsula with Wellesley, but the 110th has a second battalion and I’m looking forward to getting on with the research and meeting my new characters. I don’t have a publication date for this one yet, as the subject is completely new and I can’t yet tell how long the research will take. I intend to go to Walcheren for a research trip and I’m very much hoping to be there in August for the 210th anniversary re-enactment.
  • I’m attending the Wellington Congress in Southampton in April to indulge myself in learning more about my favourite general and to meet up with some good friends.
  • I’m hoping to attend the Malvern festival again.
  • I’m starting a new venture this year, teaching some adult education classes in history and creative writing at the Isle of Man College.
  • I’m aiming for four free short stories this year, to celebrate Valentine’s Day, Summer, Halloween and Christmas.
  • I’m hoping to make a good start on (possibly even to finish) Book 6 of the Peninsular War Saga, which is set during winter quarters of 1812-13.
  • The Peninsular War Saga will be available in paperback, initially from Amazon, but later in the year from some local bookshops and to purchase through my website.
  • A complete revamp of my website.
  • New editions of the two books of the Light Division romances series, to connect them more closely to the Peninsular War Saga.

With all this to look forward to, 2019 is going to be a busy year here at Writing with Labradors. Thanks so much to all of you who have read and enjoyed the books, and a special thanks to those who have left reviews. I really value them.

Have a happy and healthy new year and I look forward to hearing from many of you in 2019.

With much love

Lynn, Joey and Oscar

 

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The Peninsular War Saga

General Robert Craufurd fought the battle of the Coa on this bridge

I began writing the Peninsular War Saga some years ago. At the time, I was attempting to find an agent or a publisher for one of my standalone historical romances, without much success. I had a lot of very positive feedback about my writing, my plots and my characterisation but everybody was saying the same thing; we’re sorry, but there is no market for traditional historical romance any more.

More than one agent urged me to try to write a contemporary romance. I made several attempts and hated all of them. Many people told me that with just a little adjustment, I could write for Mills and Boon historical. Once again, I made the attempt, and the people at Mills and Boon were lovely, gave great feedback, but were just not sure that my characterisation was quite right for them. I was getting nowhere.

To cheer myself up, I decided to scrap all my dreams of writing a marketable historical romance and just write something that I really wanted to do. There was definitely no market for a new series about the Peninsular War, since it had been done to death in the years following the runaway success of the Sharpe books and TV series. Still, it’s what I wanted to write, and since it was clear that nobody was going to read it anyway, I felt very liberated. I decided I could write it just for me, about a collection of people who didn’t always feel heroic or brave or even that patriotic. A lot of them joined because they had no option, or because they needed a job. They fought and they died and a lot of them became heroes. They also got wet, got grumpy when they were hungry, got sore feet and developed a bad head cold from time to time.

I wanted to explore areas of the war that I’d not really seen a lot about. What about the medical services? How did the commissariat work and who was responsible for ordnance and transport and prisoners of war? And what about the women and children who followed the army? What was it like in camp and on the long marches and all the boring hours between battles and skirmishes? What were relationships like between officers and men, away from the parade ground and the tidy regulations which governed army life?

Out of all these questions was born the Peninsular War Saga. Finally tired of trying to persuade an agent or a publisher to read one of the books, I decided to publish independently, without really thinking I’d sell more than a dozen copies, let alone develop an enthusiastic following. With book five doing well and book six in the early planning stages, I consider I’ve been incredibly lucky.

The Peninsular War Saga tells the story of the men and women of the fictional 110th Infantry during the wars against Napoleon; in particular, a young officer called  Paul van Daan who joins the regiment in 1802 as it is about to go to India to fight under General Arthur Wellesley.

An Unconventional Officer - love and war in Wellington’s army
Book 1 in the Peninsular War Saga

An Unconventional Officer: the Peninsular War Saga Book 1 (1802 – 1810) 

From the battle of Assaye, through Italy, Copenhagen and Portugal, we follow the early career of Lieutenant Paul van Daan, the most unusual officer ever to join the 110th as he attempts to find his place in the regiment.  Along the way he makes both friends and enemies, discovers a talent for leadership and shares his life with two very different women.

An Unconventional Officer is slightly different to the other books, as it covers a longer time period, almost eight years. I wanted it to be a full introduction to Paul’s story and to get him to the point where he was well-established in Wellington’s army. While it introduces many of the main characters, the heart of this novel is the love story between Paul and Anne and its theme is Paul’s gradual development from a young officer willing to break all the rules, to a slightly more mature officer who is beginning to learn to fit in a little better.

An Unwilling Alliance: The Manxman, Book 1 and the Peninsular War Saga Book 1.5 (1806-07)

This book is really a spin-off from the Peninsular War Saga, but it fits very securely within the series as well. It takes place halfway through the action of An Unconventional Officer, during the Copenhagen campaign, which is mentioned, but not explored in book one. I adore this book, partly because the navy theme enabled me to set part of it on the island which is my home and which I love, and partly because it is a real coming-of-age book for Major van Daan as well as a key point in his developing friendship with Sir Arthur Wellesley.

It is 1806 and Captain Hugh Kelly RN returns to the Isle of Mann after fifteen years with a few months leave and a small fortune in prize money to find himself a sensible Manx wife. He pays court to Roseen Crellin, who is determined to resist her father’s efforts to find her a husband. Still dreaming of the young English soldier who sailed away and broke her heart, she has no intention of encouraging Captain Kelly’s courtship and certainly no intention of developing feelings for the man.

Major Paul van Daan is newly promoted and just back from Ireland, sailing with his battalion to Copenhagen under the command of Sir Arthur Wellesley.  Paul’s courage and talent are unquestioned but his diplomatic skills need some work and in a joint operation with the navy there are many ways for a man of Paul’s temperament to get things wrong.

As Britain hovers on the brink of war with neutral Denmark and the diplomats and politicians negotiate to keep the Danish fleet out of Bonaparte’s hands, a more personal drama plays out on the decks of the Royal Navy and in the lines of Lord Cathcart’s army which could change the lives of Hugh, Roseen and Paul forever.

An Irregular Regiment

An Irregular Regiment: the Peninsular War Saga Book 2 (September 1810 – April 1811 )

This book covers an area of the war that I knew very little about. The building and manning of the lines of Torres Vedras are absolutely fascinating and worth a lot more time than I was able to give them. It is also the story of a young couple learning to be married, and sets the tone for Paul and Anne’s relationship throughout the series. If you don’t leave your hero and heroine at the church door, you have to work out what their marriage is going to be like, and I loved the challenge of that.

On the heights of Bussaco Ridge, Paul van Daan leads his battalion into action under Lord Wellington in his defeat of the French under Marshal Massena.  The book explores Paul’s developing career, and the happiness of his marriage to the lovely young widow of a fellow officer.  As Wellington prepares to chase Massena out of Portugal, Paul is serving under the worst general in the army and must find a way to keep his regiment safe and protect his reputation.

An Uncommon Campaign, 110th at the Battle of Fuentes d'OnoroAn Uncommon Campaign: the Peninsular War Saga Book 3 (April – June 1811)  

In addition to the battles and the personal stories of my characters, I wanted to introduce something about army politics during this book. I particularly love finding an interesting, funny or even a very sad story from history and trying to work it into the lives of my characters.

Lord Wellington has led his army to the Spanish border where the French occupy their last stronghold in Portugal at Almeida.  As the two armies face each other in the village of Fuentes de Onoro, Colonel Paul van Daan is becoming accustomed to his new responsibilities in command of a brigade and managing the resentment of other officers at his promotion over older and longer serving men.  His young wife is carrying their first child and showing no signs of allowing her delicate situation to get in the way of her normal activities.  And if that was not enough, Paul encounters a French colonel during the days of the battle who seems to have taken their rivalry personally, with potentially lethal consequences for the 110th and the rest of the third brigade of the light division.

A Redoubtable Citadel: the Peninsular War Saga Book 4 (January – June 1812) 

This was definitely the most emotional book for me to write. I wanted to highlight the plight of women in wartime, and I’m proud of this book, but it was extremely painful for me.

In the freezing January of 1812, Lord Wellington pushes his army on to the fortress town of Ciudad Rodrigo and a bloody siege with tragic consequences.  Colonel Paul van Daan and his wife Anne have a baby son and in the aftermath of the storming, take a brief trip to Lisbon to allow Paul’s family to take little William back to England.  With his career flourishing and his marriage happy, Paul has never felt so secure.  But his world is shattered when his young wife is taken prisoner by a French colonel with a personal grudge against Paul.  As Wellington’s army begins the siege of Badajoz, the other great Spanish border fortress, his scouts and agents conduct a frantic search for the colonel’s wife.  Meanwhile Anne van Daan is in the worst danger of her life and needs to call on all her considerable resources to survive, with no idea if help is on the way. 

An Untrustworthy Army: the Peninsular War Saga book 5 (June – December 1812)

This book covers both triumph and miserable retreat and was a wonderful opportunity both to introduce some new characters and to revisit one of the major storylines from the first book. It turned out to be more emotional than I expected and I loved being able to highlight one of my favourite characters whom I felt I’d neglected a little. The story of the retreat from Burgos was impossible to glamorise and highlighted both the best and the worst of Wellington’s army.

It is June 1812 and back with her husband and his brigade, Anne van Daan is beginning to recover from her ordeal at the hands of Colonel Dupres as Lord Wellington marches his army into Spain and up to Salamanca. In a spectacularly successful action, Wellington drives the French back although not without some damage to the Third Brigade of the Light Division.

Still recovering from their losses at Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz earlier in the year, the Light Division remains in Madrid while Wellington lays siege to Burgos but some of Paul’s brigade have troubles of their own.

Lieutenant Simon Carlyon is determined not to allow his dead brother’s shameful reputation to blight his career in the army but finds it harder than expected to serve under the man who killed him. Colonel Johnny Wheeler is finding the lie he told to protect others difficult to live with, faced with the unrelenting hostility of a young officer. And Captain Michael O’Reilly’s life becomes complicated through a casual act of kindness.

The end of the campaigning season is not going as well for the Allied army and triumph turns to an undignified and dangerous retreat.  At a time when the discipline of Wellington’s army seems to have broken down, Van Daan’s brigade need to set personal matters aside and concentrate on staying alive long enough to reach safety.

Future Books

That’s as far as I’ve got with the novels. My next book is intended to be the sequel to An Unwilling Alliance, covering the disastrous Walcheren campaign of 1809. I’ve not been able to find a novel covering this campaign before so it feels like uncharted territory. I intend to pick up Hugh Kelly’s story, but as the campaign once again involved both army and navy, I will be joining the men of the 110th second battalion, who, while Major van Daan was leading the first battalion to glory in the Peninsula, were unlucky enough to be sent to Walcheren. The working title is An Inauspicious Expedition.

The other books in the Peninsular War Saga, as planned so far are as follows:

An Unrelenting Enmity: set during winter quarters from December 1812 to April 1813

An Auspicious Action: the story of the battle of Vitoria

An Uncivilised Storming: the Pyrenees and San Sebastian

An Inexorable Invasion: the invasion of France

An Improbable Abdication: Toulouse and the return to England

An Unmerciful Engagement: Waterloo

An Amicable Occupation: the Army of Occupation

Looking at that list, I feel a combination of excitement and sheer terror. At present I seem to be able to manage two books a year, but some of these will take more research than others, so I don’t promise that. There will also be more in the Manxman series, since I hope at some point to be able to reunite Hugh Kelly and Paul van Daan.

Currently, I’m beginning the research for the book about Walcheren, which will be published some time next year; I can’t give a date yet until I have a better idea of how long the research will take. I’m also making notes about book 6 in the main saga, which may be quicker to write, given that it is set outside of the main battles and campaigns, although obviously, given that this is the 110th, there will be some action.

So far, most of the books have been published only as e-books, but I am working at changing that. Early next year I am hoping to have all the books in paperback on Amazon, and then to get them into some bookshops or for sale on my website later in the year.

I’ve come a very long way from believing that nobody wants to read another series about the Peninsular War, and I’m so grateful to all my readers, especially those who follow me on facebook and twitter and visit my website regularly. Some of you have left fabulous reviews as well, and every good review is like a gift, even if it’s only a couple of lines.

It has been a good year in many ways at Writing with Labradors, despite losing our beloved Toby. We’re so grateful we have Oscar to step into his paw prints, and we’re looking forward to an even better 2019. In the meantime, remember to look out for book giveaways on Amazon on Christmas Eve, in honour of the Jolabokaflod or Christmas Book Flood. And for future giveaways and updates, please click on the link to subscribe to the newsletter.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from all of us at Writing with Labradors.

 

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The Battle of the Clogs

Køge Town Hall, c. 1850

 

Sir Arthur Wellesley, later the Duke of WellingtonThe Battle of the Clogs, also known as the Battle of Koge, took place in Denmark in 1807 when British and German troops under Sir Arthur Wellesley defeated a Danish force trying to defend Copenhagen which was being besieged in an attempt to persuade the neutral Danes to hand over their fleet to the British in order to prevent it falling into the hands of the advancing French. The campaign was seen as an unpleasant necessity but was not popular in England. The following is an excerpt from An Unwilling Alliance, set during the campaign.

In the huge market square he found more of his men guarding increasing numbers of prisoners. Some of the Danish troops had taken refuge in the buildings around the square. There were a few desultory shots fired, with no accuracy, but these were dying out now. The hussars and many of the 92nd had moved on through the town, chasing the remaining defenders south towards the bridges. The 52nd was moving around the square, battering on doors and clearing out small pockets of resistance in public buildings. They seemed very controlled and very disciplined and Paul left them alone and led his men over to the town hall where Danish troops, clearly out of ammunition, were throwing missiles down on the heads of a few members of the 43rd who were trying to batter down the door.
A red-haired captain was leading them. Paul approached him, dodging a wooden stool which crashed onto the cobbles beside him, narrowly missing him. The captain saw him and saluted.
“Sir. I’ve orders to clear them out of here.”
“Might take a while, Captain. Mr Swanson!”
“Sir.”
“Translate, will you? One of the officers will understand Swedish.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell them to surrender. We’re taking prisoners, not slaughtering them. They can look around the square and see that.”
Carl moved back quickly, avoiding a bucket hurled from the upper storey. He raised his voice and shouted up to the men at the windows. Paul waited. After a moment there was an enormous crash and his lieutenant jumped back to avoid the splash from what was clearly a chamber pot. It shattered on the stones and the smell of urine and excrement filled the air. A voice shouted back down and Paul raised his eyebrows to Carl who shook his head.
“Didn’t get all of that, sir, but I’m translating it as ‘no’.”
Paul looked around. More and more prisoners were being escorted into the square. He could see scattered weapons, discarded by the fleeing Danes, and poignantly, a selection of wooden clogs. In their haste to escape, the irregular troops had thrown aside weapons, if they had them, and kicked off the awkward wooden clogs to speed their flight. Some of the men now under guard were barefooted.
“Where’s General Wellesley?” he asked.
“Not here yet, sir. The 43rd are mopping up the remains down by the bridge, he might be there.”
“All right, we won’t wait. Sergeant O’Reilly!”
The Irishman jogged forward, saluting. “Yes, sir.”
“Four men. Collect up everything they’ve thrown at us that will burn and pile it up against the door.”
“Yes, sir.”
O’Reilly turned, calling out orders, and Paul watched as the men began to gather the splintered and broken furniture. O’Reilly carried a bench towards the solid wooden door of the town hall.
“Not that door, Sergeant.”
O’Reilly turned, surprised. Paul was looking up at the windows of the town hall. A lone officer, hatless and fair-haired, his coat soaked in blood, stood looking down at him and Paul had a strong sense that the man had not needed Carl’s Swedish translation. Paul met the other man’s eyes for a long moment. The Dane was probably about his age, surrounded by his men, desperate and angry and determined and Paul hated himself for what he was about to do.
He had seen the flutter at the window of the neighbouring house earlier, gone almost before it was visible, but he was very sure it had been a woman’s face. There had been no sign of a woman or child in the chaos of the battle through the streets. He suspected that many of them had taken refuge in nearby churches, but not all. Still looking up at the officer in the upper window, he pointed to the house.
“That door,” he said loudly and clearly. “Burn it down. And stand well back, because that’s a wooden building and once you’ve lit it, it isn’t going to stop with the door.”
Paul suddenly wished that he had not chosen Michael O’Reilly for this particular task. His sergeant ought to know him better, but he realised, seeing the expression on the Irishman’s face, that he had seen too many cottages and churches burned out in his native Ireland by the English and should not have been asked to carry out a similar order here in a neutral country. But it was too late and Paul could not back down without alerting the Danish officer.
The colour had drained from Michael’s face and the dark eyes were fixed on Paul in mute horror. Paul looked back at him steadily.
“Get on with it, Sergeant,” he said.
O’Reilly turned away, carrying the bench over to the house and his men followed, piling the broken furniture against the door. Long minutes passed and Paul could feel his heart hammering in his breast, his nerves stretched to breaking point, waiting for the officer to crack.
The sound came, not from above, but from the prisoners in the square, a high pitched yell of horror, a plea in a language Paul did not understand. He did not need to, to grasp the man’s terror. He was shouting, running forward, calling up to the men at the window, gesticulating in the direction of the house and Carl Swanson moved to catch him, holding him back, speaking to him in Swedish.
Paul had no idea if the prisoner understood, but suddenly there was movement in the town hall and a weapon landed on the cobbles, a gun, useless with no ammunition, but a symbol. More followed. Paul looked up at the fair haired officer again and recognised sheer hatred in the man’s eyes. Slowly and very deliberately, the officer reached for his sword. He unbuckled it and held it out, dropping it to the street. It hit the cobbles with a ringing sound.
Paul did not take his eyes from the man. “All right, Sergeant. Move the bonfire away from that door, would you? Set a guard, make sure nobody bothers the women and children in there. They can come out when they’re ready but nobody goes in without permission. Captain Wheeler, get this door open and get them out, line them up with the other prisoners. Be very careful, I don’t trust this lad.”
“Yes, sir,” Wheeler said quietly.
“Captain Young, once they’re all out, take your company through this building and make sure it’s clear. Once you’ve checked, we can use it as a temporary hospital and mortuary.”
“Yes, sir.”
Paul stood watching as his men moved about their duties. They were unusually quiet and he understood why. He had shocked them and he knew it. He had shocked himself. If the fair-haired officer had held his nerve, Paul knew that he would not have given the order to light the fire that might have killed whoever was hiding in the half-timbered house but even making that threat was unlike him. He had been desperate to end the slaughter and had found, instinctively, the way to do it, but it was going to be hard to live with for a while.
The Danish prisoners filed out of the town hall under careful guard. Paul stood watching them. Most of them were looking at the ground, not raising their eyes. A few shot quick glances over at the other house, now with half a dozen of his third company stationed on guard. The Danes were calm and silent. These were regular troops in full uniform and they had held out to the bitter end. Paul watched them go past to join the other prisoners and was glad it had not ended in slaughter.
The fair-haired officer came last and he was injured, worse than Paul had realised from below. He was supporting his right arm with his left and was soaked in blood.
“Wait,” Paul said. He was sure the man understood English. “You’re injured. We have a doctor on the way over from Roskilde. My men will show you where…”
“I go with my men.”
The voice was heavily accented but very clear. Paul took a step towards the officer, intending to look more closely at the wound and the man spat, hard and accurate, directly into his face.
There was an audible gasp from several of Paul’s men. Paul looked into the other man’s eyes and thought, inconsequentially, that the colour was like his own. He wiped the spittle away on his sleeve without looking away.
“I’ll send the surgeon up to you then when he gets here,” he said evenly and turned away.
“You are worse than the French.”
Paul did not turn. He felt an irrational urge to argue, to tell the young officer what he had seen and heard of in Italy and from veterans back from Europe but he did not. On this day, in this town, the Danish officer was right.

An Unwilling Alliance is the first in a new series following the fortunes of Captain Hugh Kelly but linked to the Peninsular War Saga and is available for kindle and paperback on Amazon.

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Sir Home Riggs Popham

Portrait of Sir Home Popham in the museum

Sir Home Riggs Popham, who features in my recent book, An Unwilling Alliance, is one of the most fascinating characters I’ve read about during my research and I am completely unable to make up my mind how I feel about him. As a novelist rather than a historian, I need to be able to present a historical figure in a way that is believable and fits in with the perspective of my fictional characters, but in the case of Popham I find my heroes as ambivalent as I am.

Popham had a wide and varied career and was the subject of much controversy during his lifetime. He was the subject of one court martial and several different investigations, none of which seemed to hold back his career to any great degree. He was a naval officer who seemed more comfortable with the army and was both admired and disliked by contemporaries. The Duke of York applauded his ability while Lord St Vincent seems to have loathed him. He was ambitious, talented and clearly very intelligent but seems to have had the kind of personality that made enemies as easily as friends.

Popham was born in Gibraltar in 1762 to Joseph Popham, consul at Tetuan. His mother died giving birth to him and his father later remarried. Between his two wives, Joseph Popham had a large number of children; sources seem to vary as to the number. Home Riggs Popham was educated at Brentford School and then at Westminster and may have been admitted to Trinity College, Cambridge, although it is not clear how much time he actually spent there. In 1778 at the age of 16 he entered the navy as a captain’s servant on board the Hyaena.

Popham’s early career in the navy was fairly typical. He was involved in a number of skirmishes and spent a few months as a prisoner of the French in 1781. He was promoted to lieutenant in 1783. Aboard the Nautilus in 1786 he was responsible for surveying the coast of south-west Africa, building a reputation as an excellent hydrographer.

Progress in the navy was often slow. There were more officers than good commands and many excellent men were unemployed and on half-pay awaiting a ship, including Popham in 1787. Obtaining leave from the Admiralty, he bought his first ship and sailed for India as a trader. He operated to and from India for several years, marrying the daughter of an East India Company officer, Elizabeth Prince, in 1788. During these years he continued with his surveying work, later publishing A Description of Prince of Wales Island with charts. He also discovered a new channel between the island and the mainland through which, in the spring of 1792, he piloted the company’s fleet to China and he was presented with a gold cup by the governor-general in council, who also strongly commended him both to the directors and the Admiralty.

Popham’s commercial activities, however, were causing some suspicion and in 1791 his ship was seized by an English frigate as a prize of war, brought into the Thames, and condemned as a droit of Admiralty for having traded in contravention of the East India Company’s charter. The case was far from clear and Popham appealed, eventually receiving £25,000 over a period of time, which left him with considerable losses. There were rumours that he had been smuggling. He had also failed to renew his leave and was consequently temporarily struck off the lieutenants’ list although he was reinstated in 1793.

In September of that year, Popham was appointed agent for transports at Ostend for the campaign in Flanders under the Duke of York. It was a job to which he was ideally suited, with his excellent organisational skills and understanding of logistics. He formed a corps of sea fencibles to defend Nieuport and distinguished himself to such a degree that on 27 July 1794 the Duke of York requested of the Admiralty that he be appointed superintendent of inland navigation and promoted to commander, an honour which earned him the nickname of ‘The Duke of York’s admiral’.

When the Allied forces retreated in 1795, Popham was in charge of the evacuation and proved himself so competent that in March of that year the Duke wrote to the First Lord requesting that Popham be promoted to the rank of post captain. It is very likely that this rapid promotion at the request of the army engendered some resentment among Popham’s naval colleagues.

During the invasion threat of 1798, Popham set up and commanded a district of sea fencibles. In May he submitted a plan for destroying the Saas lock at Ostend and was given, command of the expedition. The lock was destroyed, but because of worsening weather, the troops under Major-General Eyre Coote could not be re-embarked, and were obliged to surrender. The following year, Popham was sent to St Petersburg to attempt to persuade Tsar Paul to provide troops for a proposed landing in the Netherlands. He took the tsar and his family sailing which they apparently enjoyed so much that they presented Popham with a gold snuff-box and a diamond ring, and the tsar made him a knight of Malta. Popham secured the force needed and returned to England.

Later that year Popham was once again involved in inland navigation as an allied force under General Sir Ralph Abercromby landed on the Helder peninsula. It was poorly supported by the 10,000 Russian soldiers sent by the tsar and the campaign ended with another evacuation which Popham managed with his usual flair. He was awarded a pension of £500 a year and send back to Russia to try to mollify the tsar although Paul, furious at the failure of the campaign, refused to see him.

Back at sea, Popham began working on another project; the signalling system for which he is perhaps best known. His Telegraphic Signals, or Marine Vocabulary, provided ships with a flag system containing letters, words, and common phrases and enabled captains to communicate effectively. Popham’s code, was used by Nelson and his frigates at Trafalgar. It did not immediately supplant the official Signal Book for the Ships of War but was used to supplement it. Popham continued to improve the code over the next twelve years and it was widely used, finally being officially accepted by the Admiralty in 1812.

At the end of 1800 Popham commanded a troop ship with Abercromby’s army invading Egypt. Once there, he was commissioned by a secret committee of the East India Company to negotiate trade treaties with the sheriff of Mecca and other Arabian states as ambassador directly responsible to the governor-general of Bengal, Lord Wellesley. Popham was successful only with the Sultan of Aden. In addition he continued his surveying work, later publishing an excellent chart of the Red Sea.

On his return to England in1803 Popham found himself at the centre of another controversy, accused of having incurred ‘enormous and extraordinary’ expenses on repairs to his ship, the Romney in Calcutta. A series of investigations followed, during which Popham published A concise statement of facts relative to the treatment experienced by Sir Home Popham since his return from the Red Sea to rebut the charges. It appears that the case may have been fabricated by Lord St Vincent’s secretary, Benjamin Tucker, in the hope of currying favour and trading on the First Lord’s well-known dislike of Popham. The matter finally went to a select committee of the House of Commons which reported that the figures had been grossly exaggerated and Popham was innocent.

Popham had political ambitions and hoped to become a lord of the Admiralty. He served as a Pittite MP in several different constituencies between 1804 and 1812 and some of his naval appointments were undoubtedly the result of political favour. With his wide variety of interests, Popham became interested in the invention of ‘submarine bombs’ which proved unsuccessful in practical use. He also took an interest in the idea of attacking the Spanish colonies in South America, an idea which had been debated for some years, and in 1804 submitted a paper on the subject to William Pitt, after meeting the Venezuelan patriot, Francisco Miranda.

At the end of 1804 Popham was appointed to the Diadem and in August 1805 he sailed as commodore and commander-in-chief of an expedition to the Cape of Good Hope with a force under General Sir David Baird. The operation was a great success, with Popham leading his marine battalion during the attack, and the Dutch surrendered the colony. The squadron remained in Table Bay to guard against a possible French attack.

At this point, Popham conceived the idea of making an attack on the River Plate. Presumably he assumed that with the Tories, led by William Pitt, his patron, in power, he could expect tacit approval, particularly if he were successful. Reluctantly Baird allowed him to take 1200 men; the squadron sailed and at St Helena, Popham ‘borrowed’ a further 180 men. There he heard that Pitt was dead, but not who had replaced him.

 On 25 June 1806 the small force under the command of Brigadier-General William Carr Beresford landed near Buenos Aires. With the addition of the marine battalion it totalled 1635 men. The Spanish were surprised and there was very little immediate resistance. The city surrendered on 2 July and Beresford took possession. Popham sent an enthusiastic open letter to the merchants of England announcing this lucrative new market for their goods. He had spoken too soon, however. By 10 August a force of 2000 Spaniards entered the city, overran Beresford’s men and took them prisoner. Popham and his squadron could do nothing but blockade the river and wait for reinforcements.

On 3 December, with reinforcements arriving, Rear-Admiral Charles Stirling arrived to with orders for Popham to return to England. On his arrival on 20 February 1807 he was put under open arrest to await court martial on two charges: of having withdrawn his squadron from the Cape without orders; and of having launched his Argentine enterprise ‘without direction or authority’.

Typically for Popham, this incident received a mixed reception. In Argentina, Popham is often seen as the catalyst of the independence which followed the invasion. To the Admiralty he was an officer who had acted improperly; to the City of London he had made a bold attempt to open up new markets, and he was presented with a sword of honour. He was tried at Portsmouth in March 1807, was found guilty and severely reprimanded.

Surprisingly, Popham’s career does not seem to have suffered from this. In July he was appointed captain of the fleet with Admiral James Gambier in the expedition against Denmark, and this is where we meet him in An Unwilling Alliance. Several other captains, including Hood, Keats and Stopford apparently protested at this appointment although it was probably Popham’s experience in joint operations which caused Gambier to ask for his appointment. Popham was one of the three officers appointed to negotiate with Denmark at the end of the bombardment, along with Wellesley and Murray.

Popham’s next command was of the 74 gun Venerable during the disastrous Walcheren campaign. Popham’s role in this particular fiasco was interesting, since he seems to have been heavily involved in the planning of the expedition. The blame for the failure of the campaign, which should probably have been shared between the army, the navy, the planners in London and sheer bad luck landed squarely on the shoulders of the army commander Lord Chatham even though the enquiry officially exonerated him, but there may well have been some issues with the planning of the expedition from the start.  Dr Jacqueline Reiter, who has written a biography of Lord Chatham, points out in this post that although there was inevitable recrimination between the army and the navy after the campaign, Lord Chatham seemed to consider the Admiralty planning of the expedition responsible for the disaster, something with which Popham was undoubtedly involved.

Whatever the truth of the Walcheren fiasco, Lord Chatham’s active military career was over while Popham, still in command of the Venerable, was sent to northern Spain to assess possibilities for co-operating with the guerrillas and conducting a kind of naval guerrilla warfare against the French in support of Wellington. He was highly successful at this, keeping an entire French army ‘distracted’, and capturing Santander.

Popham seems to have received very little recognition for this achievement much to his disappointment. There is speculation that his controversial career had finally caught up with him. At the end of the war he was promoted to rear-admiral and made KCB but he was not employed on active service again. He seems to have lost whatever political influence he had once had and had made too many enemies during his colourful career.

From 1817 to 1820 he was commander-in-chief in Jamaica. They were not good years for Popham. He suffered badly from yellow fever and lost one of his daughters to the illness. His son, Home, also died of some kind of pulmonary illness. In 1818 Popham was made KCH but his health was failing. In June 1820 he suffered a series of strokes and wrote to the Admiralty asking to be relieved of his command.

Sir Home Riggs Popham and his wife sailed for England on 15 June. They arrived at the end of July and on 11 September, at Cheltenham, Popham died of a third stroke at the age of only 58. He was buried in the churchyard of St Michael and All Angels at Sunninghill in Berkshire, close to his home, Titness Park. His wife died in Bath, aged ninety-four in 1866. They were considered to be a devoted couple.

The brief sketch I have drawn of Popham in An Unwilling Alliance is not enough to give a full picture of the man and I have a feeling I have a lot more to learn about him. Popham was clearly an intelligent and inventive officer whose achievements are quite remarkable. His work on naval communications was ahead of his time, his work at the Admiralty on the chart committee helped establish the excellent reputation of Admiralty charts. He was a scientific officer with a considerable talent for organisation and often worked better with the army than with the navy. He was a good captain, a loving husband and an affectionate father.

And yet there is always something else about Sir Home Riggs Popham. Suspicion and accusation dogged his entire career. Some of his exploits are extraordinary but I have the sense that he must always have been looking over his shoulder, waiting for his past to catch up with him. He received high praise for many of his achievements, but he does not seem to have been generally liked.

It is difficult to know whether Popham’s reputation as a “damned cunning fellow” is based on his actions or simply on a difficult personality. His achievements are remarkable but in an age when the ideal of a naval officer was Horatio Nelson, a scientist and surveyor who specialised in joint operations with the army was unlikely to become a national hero and it is ironic that some of Popham’s finest moments seem to have involved the evacuation of troops from difficult situations.

Whatever the truth of it, Sir Home Riggs Popham – elusive, enigmatic and controversial – is a gift to any historical novelist and I am looking forward to revisiting him during the Walcheren campaign.

An Unwilling Alliance is a novel of the 1807 Copenhagen campaign, available on kindle and in paperback at Amazon.  My next book, This Blighted Expedition, following the Walcheren campaign, will be published later this year.

 

 

 

 

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Publication of An Unwilling Alliance

Naval Action off Cape Santa Maria, Portugal, 1804

Today heralds the publication of An Unwilling Alliance, my ninth book, set during the Copenhagen campaign of 1807, a joint operation between the army and the navy. It is linked to the Peninsular War Saga and features Major Paul van Daan, the hero of the series but it also introduces a selection of new characters.

In 1806, Captain Hugh Kelly RN returns to the Isle of Mann after fifteen years in the navy. He has a few months leave and a small fortune in prize money and intends to inspect the house he has just bought and to find himself a sensible Manx wife. His investment in a local shipping business introduces him to Josiah Crellin and his daughter, Roseen.

Hugh is quick to see the advantages of a marriage with Roseen Crellin. He also finds her very attractive. Roseen is unconvinced. She is determined to resist her father’s efforts to find her a husband and is still dreaming of the young English soldier who sailed away and broke her heart. However it proves to be difficult to dislike Captain Kelly.

Major Paul van Daan of the 110th infantry is newly promoted and just back from Ireland, sailing with his battalion to Copenhagen under the command of Sir Arthur Wellesley.  Paul’s courage and talent are unquestioned but his diplomatic skills are another matter and in a joint operation with the navy there are many ways for a man of Paul’s temperament to get things wrong.

As Britain hovers on the brink of war with neutral Denmark and the diplomats and politicians negotiate to keep the Danish fleet out of Bonaparte’s hands, a more personal drama plays out on the decks of the Royal Navy and in the lines of Lord Cathcart’s army which could change the lives of Hugh, Roseen and Paul forever.

St Michael’s ChapelI’ve really enjoyed writing this book for a number of reasons. It is the first of my books to be set partly on the Isle of Man where I live, and I loved writing that section. The island is a beautiful place and being able to share a little of that with my readers has been very special.

It is also the first book to be based around the navy and I’ve enjoyed the research. I’m thoroughly enthusiastic about it now and am looking forward to future books on the decks of an early nineteenth century warship.

The book has taken me back a little in time to an episode of Paul van Daan’s earlier years. It was strange writing this and has made me realise how much he has grown up during the ten years or more covered by the first four books of the Peninsular War saga. It was fun to revisit the younger Paul before he settled down and learned some self-control.

It was also fun developing the new characters. Hugh Kelly and Roseen Crellin are very different to some of my previous characters. Hugh was the son of a  tenant farmer who drank himself to death.  He went into the navy as a boy and worked his way up, which has given him a far more down-to-earth view of the world than some of my other heroes. Roseen is slightly better born but still an ordinary Manx girl who has only been off the island twice. She is socially very awkward and proving hard to marry off; nothing like the socially adept heroines of some of my other novels. For all that, I love the way this relationship develops, by fits and starts. It feels very real to me and I have a feeling that Hugh and Roseen are going to be one of my favourite couples.

Copenhagen on fire, 1807

I have told the story of the Copenhagen campaign in a separate post. This is not a campaign which includes lots of exciting battles and skirmishes. The battle of Koge was over very quickly and although there was an ongoing naval duels for a couple of weeks between the smaller boats of the two nations, the Danish fleet was completely unprepared for the British invasion and its army was cut off from the capital. The Danes fought bravely with what little they had but it was an uneven contest.

I have tried to show a balance in the novel between the pragmatism of the British invasion and the discomfort felt by a lot of the people involved at an unprovoked attack on a neutral country. War was not always a glorious business and was also sometimes very tedious. Much of the campaign involved both army and navy sitting around waiting for the diplomats to finish their negotiations.

The title is also one of my favourites as it has several meanings. Roseen is determined not to make an unwilling alliance with a suitor she does not know and may not like. There is also an unwilling alliance between the army and the navy who often struggled to work together in joint operations. As for poor Denmark, it was trying desperately to maintain its neutrality while being pushed inexorably into an unwilling alliance with either France or Britain.

An Unwilling Alliance is a story of love, of friendship and of war on both land and sea. I hope readers of the Peninsular War Saga will enjoy this glimpse of a different moment in the life of the 110th infantry and I look forward to further adventures with Captain Hugh Kelly RN.

 

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Peel Town, 1806 – an excerpt from an Unwilling Alliance

Peel Town was ten miles from the Crellins’ Malew home and they set off early with one of Hugh’s grooms riding at a discreet distance behind. The weather was cooler and cloudy but the rain held off and they arrived by mid-morning. Hugh left the groom to stable the horses at the inn which was right on the quay and led Roseen along the busy seafront.
Peel Town was on the west coast of the island, a thriving and busy little town situated on the tidal estuary of the River Neb sheltered to the north by the rocky St. Patrick’s Isle and to the west by Peel Hill. The grey stone of Peel Castle out on the island was less well preserved than Castle Rushen although there were signs of building and activity, with scaffolding erected in places around the walls. The ongoing war with France had given a new incentive to coastal towns around the British Isles to improve their defences, and Roseen remembered the work being done on the little fort down on St Michael’s Isle.
Peel was primarily a port, its main industries fishing and ship building and the quayside was thronged with people in a way that she only saw on market days in the quieter streets of Castletown. Over the centuries the town had grown up on the right bank of the river facing Peel Castle on St Patrick’s Isle. It was a rabbit warren of tiny cobbled streets of sandstone and brick houses running from inland down to the busy heart of the town by the sea. The oldest houses tended to be close to the quay with newer and more elegant buildings further back.
As always, the usual smells of the sea, wood fires and tar from the ship works were overlaid in Peel Town by the smoky odour of herring smokers. Many of the small cottagers smoked their own kippers but there were one or two commercial enterprises now, smoking larger quantities of fish and exporting them to England. Hugh led Roseen along the quay. Several people hailed him and he responded cheerfully, leading Roseen to assume that Captain Kelly had spent some time here during his months back on the island. About halfway along, a white painted Manx cottage with several large sheds attached bore a painted sign announcing Shimmin’s Smokery. Hugh rapped on the door to the house and it was opened after a moment by a very young maid in apron and cap.
“Is Mr Shimmin in?” Hugh asked, and a voice from within hailed him with cheerful vulgarity.
“Bloody hell, is that the Kelly boy again trying to cadge a free breakfast? Every damned time he comes to town he’s on my doorstep…”
“Watch your mouth, you miserly old coot, I’ve a lady with me!” Hugh shouted, and a man emerged from a dark passage. He was probably sixty, fat and red faced, dressed in the fashion of a previous age with pale breeches and a waistcoat and coat straining across his ample stomach.
“Well how could I have expected any sensible female to be seen out in your company?” he demanded cheerfully. “Ma’am, my apologies. James Shimmin, at your service.”
Roseen offered him her hand and he bowed over it gravely with old-fashioned courtesy, then straightened and looked enquiringly at Hugh who grinned.
“I’m guessing you’ve not met Miss Crellin, James, she’s the daughter of my business partner Mr Josiah Crellin of the Top House, Malew. Miss Crellin, this fat old goat is Mr James Shimmin, proprietor of Shimmin Smokeries. He smokes the best kippers on the island, which of course means the best in the world, and he was a friend of my father’s. He’s also completely right, I am indeed here for a free breakfast. How are you, James?”
“All the better for the sight of a pretty girl. Come through into the dining parlour, Miss Crellin. Sally, get some food on. The new bread, mind, we’ve guests. And fry up some of the smoked bacon, I want Captain Kelly’s opinion on it. Where’s my wife?”
“Out back, sir, with the chickens.”
“Call her in, will you?”
They ate in a small, dark parlour which had probably once been the main room of the cottage before it had been extended to display Mr Shimmin’s increasing prosperity. There were two front sash windows and a big open kitchen hearth. A selection of prints adorned the walls and a big dark oak table was quickly set with traditional pottery plates and cups.
Mrs Shimmin was some years younger than her husband, a comfortable motherly Manx woman who made Roseen feel very welcome. They chatted about local concerns; the coming harvest and the unexpectedly fine summer weather and the fishing prospects. Roseen knew many of the local fishing families through her brother.
The food was excellent and plentiful, the rich smoked fish and bacon supplemented with home baked soda bread and fresh milk from the Shimmins’ smallholding. The two men drank mild ale and talked a little of the war and of Hugh’s probable recall to duty soon.
“You not tempted to come out, fella?” Shimmin asked, studying Hugh. “It’s not like you’ve not done your duty. How many years is it?”
“Almost fifteen,” Hugh said. “I was twenty two when I had my first commission. Don’t think I’ve not considered it, James, especially now that I’ve a place of my own to come home to.”
“I heard there’d be no shortage of officers ready to take your place,” Shimmin said.
“That’s true enough, but they’re not all that good at it. Better than the army, mind, half of them have paid for their promotions and they’ve no idea what they’re doing. But still – the navy’s been very good to me. Not the right time to drop them in the brine.”
“You don’t think he’s beat then?”
“I think he’ll take a while to come back from Trafalgar. He lost his navy there, whether he admits it or not.”
“And we lost Lord Nelson,” Shimmin said. “A great pity.”
Hugh grinned. “Nelson was a great commander,” he said. “But between you and me, there are others I’d rather serve under. He was a bit of a twat, to be honest. Sorry, ma’am, forgot there were ladies present.”
Roseen had begun to laugh. “Captain, I cannot believe you just said that about England’s hero! You will be keel-hauled!”
“I’m careful where I say it, but I’m not the only one. I’m friendly with John Quilliam who was his first lieutenant at Trafalgar and although he’d nothing but good to say of the man’s talent and leadership, he didn’t like him much. Bit of a peacock. But the men loved him and it’s sad he’s gone.”
“So can Bonaparte rebuild his navy?” Roseen asked. The grey eyes studied her thoughtfully.
“He can, and he’ll make the attempt. But if he wants to damage British trade through a blockade he’ll need to do so quickly before we rebuild the European coalitions. The powers-that-be are more worried that he’ll steal a fleet from somebody else.”
“Not Spain?”
“No, Trafalgar finished Spain. But both Denmark and Portugal have a fleet. Both are currently neutral – more or less. Portugal, I’d say, would favour an English alliance over a French, if they get the choice. Denmark, I’m not so sure. They’re not fond of our navy.” Hugh set down his napkin and smiled. “And I’m talking war on a day of pleasure. Forgive me, Miss Crellin.”
“It is particularly irritating when you treat me as though I were a child, Captain, unable to understand the least thing about the war, or politics, or trade, or anything else,” Roseen said in measured tones. “Has our brief acquaintance given you the impression that I am intellectually less capable of understanding such matters than your male friends?”
She saw, with satisfaction, that she had genuinely shocked him. James Shimmin gave a snort of laughter.
“That’s told you, Captain Kelly! You should hold on to this one, she’d be good for you!”
“Thank you, I will bear that in mind,” Hugh said faintly. “Miss Crellin, my apologies. It isn’t your intelligence that I question, it is your interest in matters military. It is not generally considered a subject for ladies at the gatherings I’m used to attending.”
“Then they must be very dull. What are the ladies allowed to speak of beyond their needlework and the latest gossip, I wonder? Is there a manual? You must provide me with a copy so that I do not make any further faux pas.”
Hugh started to laugh. “You are the worst termagant I have ever come across! Feel free to continue making me feel bad for the rest of the day if you want. Should I ask if you want to come and look at this yacht with me? I shall try not to offend you again.”
Roseen blushed slightly. “I’m sorry. I should not have…”
“No, please do.” Hugh rose and held out his hand. “It’s a shock, but you’re very good for me. I keep telling you how hopeless I am socially, it’s time I learned.”
“I am not the best person to teach you, Captain, I don’t have the reputation of knowing how to behave properly myself. Mrs Shimmin, thank you for a wonderful meal, it is so good of you. I hope you are not annoyed by our squabbling, we do not seem to be able to help it.”
Outside the clouds had darkened and Hugh studied them thoughtfully. “I’m not so keen on this weather, I should probably have brought the carriage. I hope it holds off.”
“If it doesn’t, I’m not going to drown, Captain. I’m Manx. Rain isn’t new to me.”
He laughed aloud. “And I’m coddling you again, aren’t I? All right, lass, no more of it. Come and tell me what you think of this yacht, then. She’s not new and she’s been badly neglected but she has beautiful lines and I think with some work she’ll be a gem.”
The yacht was moored at the far end of the quay; the boy waiting to show them around was an underfed lad of eighteen or so, presumably not the owner. Roseen climbed the ladder onto the battered wooden deck without difficulty and stood looking around her in some delight.
She could see immediately the appeal of the old boat. Despite her neglected appearance she was a graceful vessel, 25 feet in length, schooner rigged and built some forty years earlier. While Hugh asked a series of intelligent questions of the boy and inspected woodwork and masts, Roseen climbed below into the cabin area and stood looking around thoughtfully. After some time he joined her.
“She’s in poor condition but with time and money spent she’ll be lovely again.”
“Who owns her?”
“The owner is a man called Callow, an advocate in Douglas. She was his father’s but he’s not a sailor himself. Recently inherited and he’s selling off everything he has no use for.” Hugh’s voice was quiet. “She’s priced too low, I don’t think he knows anything about sailing or yachts, I want to snap her up before somebody tells him he’s got this wrong. There’s also a small boatyard with some storage. I’ll take that off him at the same time and Isaac can find me a man who can take on the restoration.”
Roseen turned to look at him thoughtfully. “Has this man had a good look around that boatyard?” she asked.
“No idea. Why?”
“I’d get it checked thoroughly once you’ve signed the contract. Wouldn’t want any surprises if the excisemen come calling.”
Hugh froze, studying her in some surprise. Then he looked around again and caught his breath. “This cabin’s too small.”
“By three or four feet against the outside, I’d say.”
“There’s not that much smuggling done here these days, I’m told.”
“There was forty years ago, before the Duke of Atholl sold out to the English. One of the Manxman’s favourite pastimes, for all they blamed it on the English and the Irish.”
Hugh looked around him again. Now that she had pointed it out, the disproportion was obvious. He glanced again at Roseen and said:
“Is that how your father got his start in trade, Roseen?”
She laughed, obviously unabashed. “If it is, Captain, he’s hardly likely to tell you about it. The reversion to the English crown put a stop to that, and it’s all before your time and mine. Do you object to being in business with a former smuggler?”
“I’d struggle more with a former slaver. I’ve boarded one or two slave ships in my time, the images stay with you.”
The girl shivered with real revulsion. “How horrible. There are men living here who have done very well out of slaving. The Gellings, up Ramsey way for one, and I’m told that old Orry Gelling is hoping to find new ways around the law.”
“Well he’ll find himself in trouble then. The government is serious about this, once the navy isn’t spending all its time chasing the French we’ll be policing it very thoroughly and I don’t know any officers who like slavers. But as for smugglers, it’s in the past. I don’t like the fact that it still goes on; the French wars have been kept afloat at times by gold and information from English and Irish smugglers. But your father is well beyond that point, lass. I’m dying to find out what’s behind that panelling and I will certainly warn Isaac that he’s to rip that storage apart to make sure there’s nothing embarrassing left behind. But I’m going to make an offer on this lady, she’s gorgeous. Have you seen enough?”
She nodded and he helped her up, thanking their guide and promising that his man of business would be in touch over a possible offer. Business over with, they strolled up into town, past the solid tower of St Peter’s Church and through the market square. Roseen paused to look in several shop windows but Hugh was faintly amused to see that her interest was purely practical. She passed the silk merchant and milliner without a glance but paused to look thoughtfully at a carpenter and furniture maker.
“Did you get your new bed frame, Captain?”
“Yes, I ordered it from a carpenter in Douglas, he made it especially. I’m tall.”
Roseen looked round at him with a quick smile. “Is that a problem aboard ship?”
“It won’t be aboard my new ship, I’ve ordered a much longer bunk specially made for me. The joys of being captain.”
“No more squashed toes,” Roseen said, moving on. “Do you mind if we stop at the herbalist – we’re in need of a few things for the kitchen at home, the one here is better than the one in Castletown.”
“I’m at your disposal, Miss Crellin.”
The girl turned her head to look up at him. “I can never work out when I am to be Roseen and when I am Miss Crellin.”
“Nor can I. It’s why I get it wrong so often. Do you mind?”
She shook her head firmly. “No, I like it. Miss Crellin sounds like some dreadfully missish female that I should have very little time for.”
“I need to be formal with you in public, lass. There are rules; even I know that.”
She laughed aloud. “So do I although I cannot always remember what they are.”
“My name is Hugh.”
She looked horrified which made him laugh. “Captain, I must not. People would genuinely be shocked.”
“All right. Just for your information, I will not be shocked and you may call me by my given name any time you wish. I’ll leave you to choose your moment. The herbalist is along here if I remember right.”
They wandered through the square, stopping at one or two stalls. Surprisingly for a town of its size, Peel Town had no regular weekly market although several times a year it held a cattle fair and traders set up their stands to take advantage of the extra custom. But there were usually a few farmers bringing produce in for sale and setting up informal market stalls and the square by St Peter’s had always been known as the market place although Hugh was not sure that it was officially called so.
Their shopping done they wandered back down through the town. A number of people called greetings to Hugh and several of the gentry recognised Roseen and bowed, their eyes alight with curiosity at her escort. Hugh glanced at his companion and wondered if she was aware that island society was rife with gossip about his interest in Josiah Crellin’s daughter.
Hugh had asked Isaac Moore what he knew about Roseen Crellin. Moore had made some discreet enquiries and had reported that she had the reputation of being something of a hoyden and as she had freely admitted to him, had not been seen much in local society until recently when her aunt and her father had clearly decided that it was time to rein her in and get her ready for a suitable marriage. Her reputation meant that she was not as sought after as one might have expected, given both her prospects and her lovely face but there were rumours that one or two local gentlemen were waiting to see if Miss Crellin managed to settle down and behave well enough for them to consider her a respectable bride.
Their hesitation might well give Hugh the advantage he needed. He was not overly modest about his own value in the island marriage market. Mann was not crowded with prosperous unmarried gentlemen with a distinguished naval career and money in the bank and it had been made very clear to Hugh during these past months that Roseen Crellin was not his only option. A few months ago he would have been ready to look around him and weigh up the merits of several girls who had shown themselves very willing but he admitted ruefully that he was no longer even remotely interested in the fair charms of Miss Quayle or the frosty elegance of Miss Amy Corlett. Setting aside her excellent dowry and the advantages of an alliance with her father’s business, Roseen Crellin with her dusky curls and quick smile, was a girl he found immensely attractive in her own right and he was fairly sure it was a shared attraction.
She was probably not the easiest woman he could have chosen for a bride, and a few months ago her outspokenness and unconventional outlook might have given him pause. Now that he was coming to know her, he realised that he liked her better for her refusal to conform. Life with Roseen Crellin might occasionally be difficult but it was never likely to be dull. She would gain social confidence with age and encouragement but Hugh admitted that he found her occasional awkwardness endearing and he liked her hardiness and her lack of pretension.
Arriving back on the quay they wandered along looking at the boats and talking about fishing. She was surprisingly knowledgable, presumably from the times she had gone out with her brother. He felt a strong desire to see her aboard his ship, to give her the tour and answer her questions about what he did and how he lived his life. It occurred to him suddenly that if she agreed to an early marriage, he could take her with him to Yarmouth when he went to overlook the final stages of the refit.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
“No, not at all. Why?”
“I was wondering if you’d be willing to walk up the hill before dinner. I love the view from up there and I’m curious about the building work.”
Roseen laughed. “Thomas Corrin’s folly? Yes, half the island is talking about that one. His wife is buried up there and it’s said he’s building a tower in her memory.”
“She died?”
“Just after Christmas, in childbirth. Very sad, they’re saying he’s gone a little mad with grief. But I like the walk.”
“Good. Let’s leave the parcels at the inn.”
It was a steep climb up the hill on the west side of the Neb, the paths narrow but well worn. By now he was used to her agility and although he glanced at her occasionally to make sure that she was not struggling, he did not offer help although when they finally reached the building site at the top of the further hill he reached for her hand and she gave it to him. They walked forward, studying the piles of stone and the scaffolding. Three or four builders were working steadily and another, possibly the foreman, was standing nearby watching, alongside another man in his thirties dressed in dark clothing and a black beaver hat. The two men turned at the approach of Hugh and Roseen and Roseen bowed.
“Mr Corrin, how are you?”
“Miss Crellin. I’m well enough thank you.” Thomas Corrin turned his sad dark eyes onto Hugh and studied him. Then he smiled. “And if I’m not mistaken, I know this fine gentleman. Although you’ve grown a bit since I last remember you, Hugh.”
“It’s good to see you, Tom. You’re a bit taller yourself since we were at the Clothworkers together.”
“Unlike Moore who’s hardly grown an inch,” Corrin said with a grin. “I’d heard you were back and I understand you’ve taken over the old Cretney estate. I should have called, fella, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I heard about Alice, lad. I’m so sorry, I know how you felt about her.”
Corrin nodded and turned to look back at the partly built tower. “They think I’m mad, the good people of Peel Town. Building this up here. She loved this place. She’s buried up here, you know. Just over there. Didn’t want her in that bloody churchyard; it’s full of people I’ve no time for. Up here…I feel closer to her, somehow. Like me, she was never one for the established church.”
“Tom, I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but if you’ve the money to spare and it gives you comfort you can build a tower in her memory on every bloody hill on this island as far as I’m concerned. She was a lovely lass, I remember her running around with us when we were children, and you must miss her like hell.”
Corrin smiled. “You’ve not changed,” he said. “I’m glad you’ve decided to settle back home, boy, too many of our good men leave and don’t come back. You married?”
“Not yet,” Hugh said briefly and he saw his childhood friend’s bright dark eyes shift to Roseen. Corrin grinned.
“Aye, well you’ve time. You going back to the navy?”
“Yes, until this war is over. They’ve need of experienced captains. I’ve a ship refitting over in Yarmouth but I thought I’d take time to come home and settle my affairs here for a few months. If I make it through the war, I’ll come home for good.”
“No yearning for the high life in England then?”
“I’ve had the high life in England,” Hugh said. “Travelled a fair bit of the world. But this is home, always will be.”
Corrin glanced at Roseen again. “You’ll be in need of a good Manx lass then,” he said cheerfully and Hugh saw the girl colour slightly. He shook his head.
“Don’t be an arse, yessir, you’re putting my lass to the blush. We’ve nothing settled yet, there’s time.”
“Well don’t waste it, boy, she’s too pretty to wait around for the likes of you to make up your mind. You’d best get yourselves down, it’s mizzling already but we’re in for a downpour. It’s been good to see you, Hughie.”
“You too. Now we’ve met, get yourself over to me next week – come Tuesday afternoon and you can dine with me and Ise and we’ll get drunk and toast your lass, who’s much missed and his upcoming wedding.”
“He finally going to marry Voirry? About time, I’m surprised she’s waited. I’ll be there, Hugh, if only to laugh at you as a respectable landowner. Miss Crellin, it’s been a pleasure.”

An Unwilling Alliance is available for pre-order on Amazon now.

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An Unwilling Alliance – to be published in April 2018

Naval Action off Cape Santa Maria, Portugal, 1804

An Unwilling Alliance is the new book, due out in April 2018 and tells the story of Captain Hugh Kelly RN who returns to the Isle of Man after fifteen years away with a few months leave and a small fortune in prize money to find himself a sensible Manx wife.

Roseen Crellin is twenty-one and determined to resist her father’s efforts to find her a husband.  Still dreaming of the young English soldier who sailed away and broke her heart, she has no intention of encouraging Captain Kelly’s courtship and certainly no intention of developing a liking for the man.

Major Paul van Daan is newly promoted and just back from Ireland, sailing with his battalion to Copenhagen under the command of Sir Arthur Wellesley.  Paul’s courage and talent are unquestionable but his ability to manage the minefield of army politics has some way to go, and in a joint operation with the navy there are many ways for a man of Paul’s temperament to get things wrong.

Hugh joins Admiral Gambier’s fleet, trying to forget the girl he left behind him while Roseen’s unhappiness leads to a rash escapade that risks both her reputation and her life.  As Britain hovers on the brink of war with neutral Denmark and the diplomats and politicians negotiate to keep the Danish fleet out of Bonaparte’s hands, a more personal drama plays out on the decks of the Royal Navy and in the lines of Lord Cathcart’s army as an impulsive action puts Paul’s future in the army at risk.  Hugh Kelly finds himself torn between his duty to the service and a reluctant admiration for the young army officer willing to gamble his career on an act of charity.

An Unwilling Alliance is set on the Isle of Man and in Denmark in 1806-7.  For readers of the Peninsular War Saga, the action takes place during the first book, An Unconventional Officer and introduces Captain Hugh Kelly RN of HMS Iris who is from the Isle of Man.  In the following excerpt, Hugh’s courtship of Roseen is finally looking hopeful…

 

St Michael’s ChapelSt Michael’s Isle was the northern most point of the Langness Peninsula. Roseen remembered her father telling her that it used to be detached at high tide, a true island, but the causeway had been built in the middle of the previous century to link it permanently. It was formed of rocky slate, it’s acidic soil limiting the plants that could grow there, and it was inhabited now mainly by sea birds of all kinds, wheeling overhead with their hoarse cries and occasionally swooping down into the choppy sea which crashed onto the rocky shores of the island. It was a place of peace and great beauty but it was not quiet.
Roseen had grown up loving the sound of the sea and had always longed to live close enough to it to hear it through her open bedroom window at night. They dismounted and Hugh led both horses to the old chapel and tethered them to a rusty iron gate which had been put up to prevent people going into the chapel which was disused, roofless and probably dangerous. He turned back to Roseen and held out his hand and she smiled and took it. She was becoming accustomed to Captain Kelly’s assumption that she could not make her own way across rough ground, or indeed, up a flight of stairs, without his assistance. Privately, Roseen suspected his chivalry was an excuse to hold her hand, but she had no intention of asking him. He was likely to tell her the truth. He was also likely to stop doing it if he thought it annoyed her, and Roseen realised with some surprise that she did not want him to.
There were two buildings on the island. The tiny ruined chapel dated back to Celtic and Norse times and had long been abandoned, home now only to nesting birds and rabbits. The second was a circular fort, built originally under Henry VIII as part of a major coastal defensive system. It had a wall walk at the top and supported eight cannons. It had fallen into disuse for many years but was re-fortified in 1640 by James, 7th Earl of Derby, a strong royalist, against the ships of Oliver Cromwell during the English Civil War.
The fort was renamed Derby Fort and the Earl’s initials along with a date of 1645 could still be seen engraved above the fort door. Hugh paused to look at them and Roseen came to stand beside him.
“It’s small but it looks very solid,” she said.
“Aye, it is. Not that it was likely to be stormed by land, but with the other battery on the far side at Ronaldsway I wouldn’t enjoy sailing into Derbyhaven Bay under fire from two sides.”
“That one is more recent, isn’t it?”
Hugh nodded, pointing across the bay to the small battery. “At the end of the seventeenth century, I believe. I don’t know what condition that one’s in, not really looked closely, but I’ll bet they’ve done some work on it recently. They use this one as a lighthouse as well, don’t they?”
Roseen nodded. “Yes, for the herring fleet. When you’re out on the boats you can see it for miles, it’s an excellent location…”
She broke off realising what she had just said. Hugh did not respond immediately. He was looking out to sea at a small fleet of boats outlined against the bright sky in the distance and Roseen wondered if he had heard her and sought frantically for a change of subject. After a moment he looked round and smiled.
“Don’t look so horrified, Miss Crellin, you already told me, don’t you remember? When we were touring the house.”
“I’d forgotten,” Roseen admitted. “I don’t do it now. My father was worried it might cause people to think ill of me.”
“I think it was fine when you were a lass and your brother was with you. But your father is probably right that you had to stop. People will make something of nothing with a girl’s good name.”
“Does it bother you?” Roseen asked, and then could have bitten her tongue. The question implied a far closer relationship than she was willing to admit at this stage. At the same time, she really wanted to know the answer.”
“No, I can’t see any harm in it,” Hugh said simply. “Although if you were my daughter and looking to find a good husband I’d probably feel it was my duty to ensure that the busybodies didn’t find an excuse to gossip. Luckily they’re not here, so it’s none of their business.”
A voice startled both of them, a hail from the ramparts of the fort. A figure in a red coat was visible, musket in hands, looking down at them.
“Who goes there, sir?” he called.
“Captain Hugh Kelly of the Iris. Jesus, fella, you frightened the wits out of me, I’d no idea the place was occupied.”
The sergeant of fencibles grinned in a manner that suggested he was well aware of the effect of his unexpected shout. “Sorry, sir. Just half a dozen of us on guard duty. They’re keeping it manned now as a lookout. I wondered if you wanted to bring the lady in for a look around, since you’re here?”
Hugh looked at Roseen. “Would you like to, Miss Crellin?”
“Yes, thank you. I’ve been here so often, but never inside.”
There was little to see inside. Most of the stone flags had long gone or were broken and grass had taken their place. There were the remains of a free standing building, too damaged to guess it’s original purpose, although the sergeant and six soldiers of the fencibles had turned it into a makeshift camp site with a small fire lit. Roseen imagined this was not a popular duty but the men seemed to have made the best of it. Two of them manned the battlements while the others rose and saluted Hugh with commendable speed as he approached. It was odd to see him accepting and returning the salute as his due. It was not how Roseen saw him and she wondered suddenly how different he was aboard his ship with hundreds of men under his command.
In recesses in the wall to the north and north-west, six cannons covered the entrance to the bay and Roseen listened with some amusement to Hugh’s questions about the guns, their origin, their age and their maintenance. The sergeant answered as best he could but it was very clear that Hugh knew a good deal more than he did about the guns. They inspected the lighthouse placement which was probably the most useful aspect of the fort, and when their visit was ended she saw Hugh speaking quietly to the sergeant, before slipping him what was clearly a vail. The smartness of the sergeant’s salute suggested that it was a generous one.
Riding back towards Castletown and then on to Malew and the Top House for dinner, Hugh was quiet and Roseen thought about that and realised that she was very comfortable with his silence. She studied him as they rode and wondered what he was thinking about.
“Miss Crellin?”
She realised, in some confusion, that she had been staring at him and blushed. “Oh – I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”
“No, it wasn’t. You were probably wondering if I was still alive, I’ve been sitting here like a stuffed owl for a quarter of an hour and there’s no excuse for it. My manners are terrible, it’s my job to entertain you.”
“No, it isn’t. That makes you sound rather like a performing monkey.”
Hugh choked with laughter. “Is that better or worse than a stuffed owl?”
“I am not sure. Probably I would choose the owl. Half the officers in Castletown are definitely more like the monkey and it is tiresome. I was just wondering what you were thinking about but it is none of my business.”
“It is if I choose to make it so, lass. And it is so boring I’m embarrassed. I was thinking about guns, wondering about placement on the Iris and whether I could get my hands on a couple of 68 pounder carronades. They’d be unusual on a ship of her size, but I’ve seen how useful they can be. But this is not the time…”
“What are the usual guns on a ship like the Iris?” Roseen asked, cutting off his apology. She had never really thought much about naval gunnery but she liked hearing Hugh talk about his profession. He did so rarely but it was different to the posturing of the young army officers she had met. There was genuine enthusiasm in his voice when he talked about the Iris which lent interest to the subject.
“She’s a 74 gun third rater, which means two gun decks. Beautifully built and very fast; she was taken from the French and although I hate to say it, they build faster ships than we do, although we’ve got very good at copying their designs. She carries twenty-eight 32 pounders on her gundeck, twenty-eight 18 pounders on her upperdeck, four 12 pounders and ten 32 pounder carronades on her quarterdeck, two 12-pounders and two 32 pounder carronades on her forecastle, and six 18 pounder carronades on her poop deck. The carronades are short-range guns, they smash the enemy ship to bits. Up on the forecastle they can make a big difference in a close fight, Victory had two at Trafalgar. I am trying to work out who owes me a favour or two. And I am astonished that your eyes are not glazing over with boredom. I am actually boring myself.”