The Shadow of Great Britain

114: Chapter 74: Respect of the Strait Fleet 114: Chapter 74: Respect of the Strait Fleet On the deck of the Beagle.

Eld clutched his cracked palm and hissed in pain, “Damn it!

That really hurts!”

Arthur glanced at the sailors sprawled around him, resting against the railings and masts, and pointed to several battleships on the horizon, some seven or eight times larger than the Beagle, before asking,

“What’s the story with those?”

Eld, squeezing his eyes and pursing his lips at Arthur, saw that he understood and fished out a pipe from his pocket to light it for him.

After taking a puff, Eld answered contentedly.

“You’ve certainly come to the right person.

Edward Codrington, General, former commander of the Mediterranean Fleet, now commander of the Channel Fleet, and also my uncle’s former superior.

Back in the day, he also participated in the Battle of Trafalgar, serving under Admiral Nelson as the commander of the reserve squadron, leading his forces to heavily damage the Spanish Navy’s flagship, ‘Prince of Asturias’.

As a highly decorated and distinguished veteran officer, had it not been for the small mistake he made a couple of years back, he would not have been dismissed from his post as commander of the Mediterranean Fleet and sent back home to the Channel Fleet as a lucky charm.

In accordance with the normal career progression of naval officers, a man with the credentials and military accomplishments of General Codrington should have been promoted to Admiral by now.”

“Small mistake?” asked Arthur, “Is the Royal Navy this strict with its officer promotions?

Such a distinguished general held back in his career over a minor error?

What exactly did he do?”

Eld chewed on his pipe and said, “It’s not that big of a deal.

It was just during the Greek War of Independence in 1827, when Codrington, as commander of the Mediterranean Fleet, led the combined fleets of Britain, France, and Russia in the Battle of Navarino and annihilated the entire naval force of the Ottoman Turkish Empire.

If I remember correctly, in that battle, without losing a single ship, Codrington sunk or captured more than sixty Ottoman Turkish ships, including three large battleships, over twenty cruisers, and a whole bunch of assorted vessels.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur couldn’t help but twitch, “You call that a minor incident?

Wasn’t that battle brilliantly fought?

What was the Navy Department thinking?

Not only did they not commend him, but they also sent Codrington back home to sit on the bench?”

Eld looked at his close friend, bumping Arthur’s chest with his shoulder.

“Arthur, how can you not understand?

You have this kind of thing at Scotland Yard too, right?

Just like police officers are naturally supposed to solve cases, but there are some cases that spell trouble for whoever takes them on.

And Royal Navy Admirals are naturally supposed to win battles, but there are some victories that ruin whoever achieves them.

Codrington is a prime example of the latter.”

Arthur frowned and pondered this for a moment but soon understood the implications.

“Codrington getting sacked for a victory must have something to do with the Cabinet’s ‘balance of power policy’ on the continent, right?

By crushing the Ottoman Navy, the eastern Mediterranean would become Russia’s domain, which I suppose is something the Foreign Office wouldn’t want to see.”

Eld nodded slightly, “You’re spot on, Arthur.

In fact, the Foreign Office and the Navy Department had already sent numerous orders to Codrington, telling him to ignore provocations from the Ottomans and to resolve issues peacefully as much as possible.

Codrington did try to negotiate peace, steering his fleet into Navarino Bay as a show of deterrence against the Ottoman army and even sending messengers demanding that the Ottomans comply with the ceasefire agreement with Greece and withdraw immediately from the Peloponnese.

But the Ottomans, clearly not fans of taking advice, not only refused to withdraw but also killed the messengers sent by Codrington, and then they were the first to open fire on Codrington’s fleet.

The rest, you can probably imagine…”

Arthur wiped the sweat from his forehead, “No wonder Codrington gave the order to sink the Barbary Pirates’ ships without any question; he indeed had good reasons to be so furious with the Ottomans.

Winning a tough battle and still ending up so frustrated, if it were me, I’d probably need to find somewhere to vent too.

Luckily, that fat Frenchman wasn’t on a pirate ship; otherwise, given Codrington’s mood, he might have really sunk them too.

After all, he probably has little patience for the policies of the Foreign Office.”

“Isn’t that the truth?”

Eld shrugged his shoulders, “Codrington’s military career is likely over.

The Foreign Office hates nothing more than generals who don’t follow their orders.

Oh well, I can’t exactly say that, given that before him was the Duke of Wellington, Arthur Wellesley, who also disliked being directed by the Foreign Office and the Army.”

Colonel Fitzroy, who was standing by, couldn’t help but speak, “Eld, it’s not the same.

Army generals might be allowed their quirks, but absolutely not in the Royal Navy.”

Eld asked blankly, “Why is that?”

Colonel Fitzroy replied seriously, “Because the Royal Navy has plenty of capable admirals, Richard Howe, John Jervis, Cuthbert Collingwood, William Cornwallis—just name any, and they are all highly renowned.

But the Army has seen only one Arthur Wellesley in several hundred years, so we have to cherish the Duke of Wellington.”

Laughter erupted among the crew after Colonel Fitzroy finished his statement.

The sailors joined in the fun, “Who could disagree?

After all, defeating the French is nothing unusual for our Royal Navy.

While in the Army, even a little battle like Waterloo gets blown out of all proportion.”

Great Dumas, who had been resting by the mast, stood up in anger upon hearing this, “Listen here!

You Brits only won because you had a run of luck, try winning without the Prussian reinforcements; I’d like to see how you’d fare in the Battle of Waterloo then!”

To his surprise, rather than arguing, the sailors nodded in agreement, “You’re right, Frenchman, that’s the most reasonable thing you’ve said today.”

Colonel Fitzroy hurriedly went up to calm him, “Mr.

Dumas, don’t be upset.

Actually, I do recognize the technical capabilities of the French, and Britain is not superior to your homeland France in every aspect.”

Hearing this, Great Dumas also controlled his fiery temper, “Colonel, indeed you are different from these coarse sailors.

One can tell from your conversation that you have received a considerable level of higher education.”

Colonel Fitzroy smiled with narrowed eyes, “Correct.

Only by the combined forces of Britain and France can we create the most powerful weapon of the 19th century!”

“Oh?” Dumas asked in confusion, “What is the 19th century’s most powerful weapon?”

Seeing his baffled expression, the sailors couldn’t help but laugh even more crookedly.

Arthur approached sympathetically, whispering in his ear, “Don’t you know?

Mr.

Dumas, the greatest weapon of the 19th century is the warship, captured from France, piloted by a Brit.”

Great Dumas was about to rage when suddenly, a pleasant military tune resounded over the sea.

It was the Royal Navy’s march of the United Kingdom—”Heart of Oak.”

All the sailors who had been lounging on the ship sprang to their feet, even the usually tone-deaf Eld composed himself and stood at attention, saluting the flagship of the Channel Fleet, the “Conqueror.”

Suddenly, there was a whoosh as a gangplank slowly extended from the towering side of the “Conqueror,” reaching down to the deck of the “Beagle.”

A few officers clad in neat Royal Navy red and black uniforms, wearing epaulettes, descended with firm strides.

They stood on the deck, glanced around, and then addressed Colonel Fitzroy, “Robert, you’ve done well today.”

Colonel Fitzroy quickly stood at attention and saluted, “For Nelson!”

The officer nodded and then inquired, “Do tell, where is Mr.

Arthur Hastings from Scotland Yard at this moment?”

Arthur, who was leaning against the railing smoking his pipe, flicked the ash from his pipe overboard upon hearing this and raised a hand in signal, saying, “I am Arthur Hastings, is there something you need from me?”

The officers approached him, glanced at his blood-stained shirt and his mouth with traces of blood, then nodded solemnly and slowly raised their hands to salute.

“Mr.

Hastings, The Fleet Commander of the English Channel for the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Royal Navy White Ensign Lieutenant General, His Excellency Edward Codrington would like to see you.”