Sailing Orders

by David O'Neil

On the HMS Racer things were not so bad. Even as the smoke cleared from between the two ships, the men on the Racer were serving the guns ready for the next attack.

  Captain Graham stood looking across at the battered French ship. “Helm a’lee” He called and the ship came round, the shot holes in the sails not helping but there was enough wind to keep steerage way.

  As they approached the Niobe from the stern quarter, the bow man called “She has struck her colors, sir.”

  “By God, Martin. So she has. I knew we had the measure of her. Did I not say?”

  “You certainly did, sir, and you were right. Shall I call away the longboat?”

  “If you please, Mr. Bowers. I believe I will attend myself.” The Captain went below to don his best coat while the longboat was pulled in alongside from its place astern while the action was being fought.

  The boat pulled over to the captured ship with the Captain and a party of Marines on board.

  For some reason Martin was uneasy about this. He turned to the Master, Jared Troop, “Swing her head round. I don’t trust this man. I want our guns on him.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. I’m uneasy too.” He turned to the helmsman. “Bring her head round. Get her under our guns.”

  The head swung slowly round until the guns could cover the French ship.

  The longboat came alongside the Niobe and the bowman hooked on. On the deck there was a flurry of activity and several men appeared overlooking the longboat. They heaved several cannon balls over to drop and smash through the boat’s bottom. Martin watched in horror as the longboat broke apart and the men were flung into the water.

  “Jolly boat away. Mr. Brown, arm yourself. Guns at the bulwarks 1, 2, and 3, fire as you bear.”

  While the jolly boat was still being hauled in, the guns fired and the bulwarks of the Niobe dissolved in a lethal shower of splinters, the screams and cries from the French ship testified to the effect of the salvo. “Boarding party, get ready, starboard side.” Martin called.

  Both ships had cleared the struggling survivors in the water, and the Racer slipped alongside the French ship, grapnels flying across to secure her. With sword drawn, Martin led the boarders on to the decks of the enemy ship to find the deck strewn with bodies and few men on their feet who cast aside their weapons as soon as they saw the boarders.

  On the quarter-deck the Captain was propped against the stern rail using his sword as a prop to stop himself falling.

  Martin strode over to him angrily, still furious at the treacherous smashing of his Captain’s boat.

  The French Captain pushed himself off the rail and presented his sword to Martin then sank back against the rail. He was bleeding from more than one wound.

  In halting English he said, “I apologise for my men. They were unhappy at my poor efforts at fighting this ship. Your answer to their treachery was enough. He waved vaguely at the bloody mess on the main deck. Then he collapsed.

  Martin called for the doctor. When Abbot arrived he looked briefly at the Captain then shook his head. “He will be dead soon. There is nothing I can do for him, except make him a little more comfortable, perhaps in his cabin?”

  Martin considered for a moment then nodded.

  The jollyboat returned with seven survivors out of eighteen. The Captain lay on a board across the boat. He was white-faced and in considerable pain. Of the other survivors only one was injured badly, his foot had been smashed by one of the cannon balls. The doctor had them taken back to Racer, while Martin made arrangements for the safety of the Niobe.

  Later, having left the prize in the hands of Lieut James, Martin visited the Captain in his cabin. The sound of hammering and rumbling resounded through the ship, and across the waters separating the two ships the sounds of the repairs being made to the other ship added to the noise.

  Captain Graham was on his bed, still white-faced, when Martin entered. His eyes opened after a few moments.

  “So, Martin, the ship is yours now. I know you will look after her.”

  “Why no, sir. You are still my Captain…..” He broke off distressed at the look of pain that was accompanied by a gasp from the man on the bed.

  As he turned to call the doctor, Graham spoke. “No, he has enough to do with the living, I will be gone soon enough.” With an effort his voice strengthened. “My orders are in the desk there. Take them and read them. It is up to you to finish what we have started. I have a broken back and will soon be gone.” He shook his head at Martin’s start of protest. “I cannot feel my legs, and I have a bleed within that Abbot cannot stem. In my desk there is a letter to my parents, please deliver it. Happily, there is no wife to console. I never seemed to have the time to marry.” He was speaking slowly, and Martin had to lean forward to hear him, as his voice faded. He looked into the eyes of his Captain and saw the life leave him.

  He left the cabin and muttered, “He’s gone,” to the Captain’s servant waiting outside the door. Back on deck amid the chaos of the repair work, he straightened up and took command once more.

  That night they lay hove-to, while the necessary repairs to both ships, were carried out. Martin could not sleep, and so spent time on deck, watching waiting and thinking. He was sad at the death of Captain Graham. He had proved to be a good friend.

  He became aware that he had company when he felt a small hand slip into his and squeeze lightly. Alouette said “I could not sleep either, so I came to keep you company.”

  Martin felt guilty once more. He had been striding up and down on the quarterdeck, forgetting that the cabin below his feet was occupied by the lady.

  “I am sorry.” He said. “I should have remembered that your cabin was below the deck here.”

  She put her finger to her lips “Hush, sir. You have no need to apologise. You are the Captain of your own ship. I am but a passenger, perhaps guest.”

  She slipped her arm through his and walked with him, up and down the deck for some little amount of time in companionable silence. She yawned. “I confess I am tired perhaps you are ready to sleep, too. It had been a long and busy day, and tomorrow will probably bring more events. Come. Escort me below and get some rest yourself.” She giggled quietly and teasingly said. “If you are below, you will not disturb my rest.”

  “One moment, please.” He called the Master. “Mr. Troop, I am going below. You have the deck. Call me if you need me.”

  “Aye, sir. I will.” To himself Jared Troop thought, “Poor bugger, got the weight of the world on his shoulders.” He thought for a moment then a smile crossed his face. “She’ll do him some good, I reckon.”

  The passage was dark below deck and Martin escorted the lady to her door. Before he realized she had slipped into his arms. Her warm breath warned him of the kiss she gave him. He felt the soft body pressed to his and he lifted her in his arms, and carried her through the door to the cabin. He set her on the bed and found her helping to remove his clothes as he removed her robe to discover her nakedness beneath.

  The two ships were making good headway, despite the shortage of men to crew them. Martin commanded HMS Racer, with Lieut James in command of her larger prize, Niobe.

  Both ships had been repaired as well as the limited resources allowed, and though the pumps were needed in both, they were able to maintain reasonable headway.

  One week after the action, Martin was able to breathe a sigh of relief. The mountains of Sicily hove into sight.

  When they reached Palermo and dropped anchor, it seemed the weight of the world suddenly slid off his shoulders. It had been lodged there since the death of his Captain.

  He reported to the Admiral, who listened to his verbal report with great interest. Admiral Nelson had not been aware of the secret orders regarding the agents, and their dropping and recovery. The arrangements for the repairs to HMS Racer were put in hand immediately, and a temporary skeleton crew found for Niobe, while she waited her turn for the dockyard’s attention. Admiral Nelson was saddened by the news of the death of Captain Graham. “He
was a fine young man with a great career ahead of him. To die as a result of such treachery is such a waste. He served with me in the Agamemnon at Toulon, you know”

  “Yes, sir. I met him in the harbor at Toulon.”

  “Why, so you did, I recall. Well, there is nothing to be done, I’m afraid. You will remain in command until a suitable Captain is found.” He looked keenly at Martin, “Are you happy with that?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Nelson seemed satisfied and shortly afterward sent Martin back to his ship with the assurance of a favorable report.

  Alouette had gone ashore with her fellow agents to report to Sir Anthony Watts, a man who occupied a vaguely ambiguous position in the Embassy. Martin while still nominally Captain of Racer was lodged ashore while the repairs were undertaken to the ship. He had been aware that he would not retain the position, as he was too junior, but meanwhile he worked at the position as best he could.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Spy Games

  Alouette called upon him to pass a message from Sir Anthony Watts.The knock at his apartment door was a surprise. The door was answered by his servant, Peters. The topman had adopted him since that first action where he had commanded the prize when part of the crew of HMS Arun.

  “It’s the French lady, sir!” Peters announced.

  Shocked, he had risen to his feet and straightened his coat by the time Alouette came in. Peters retreated discreetly.

  Alone, Alouette stepped up to Martin and swiftly kissed him on the lips.

  “Bonjour, Cheri. How are you, Martin. Is all well?”

  “All is fine, Alouette. But this is a little indiscreet.”

  “There is no problem. I have a message from Sir Anthony. He wishes to see you in his lodgings this evening.”

  As Martin started to protest, she put her fingers against his mouth. “No, Cheri. He is a powerful man. You cannot afford to refuse to meet him at least. Come, now. He is waiting.”

  Sir Anthony Watts did not stint himself as far as lodgings were concerned. The tall elegant rooms were furnished with taste and style.

  He greeted Martin courteously, and put him at ease with a glass of good wine. Alouette, duty done, disappeared leaving the two men alone.

  “So, Lieutenant Forest-Bowers. Is it Martin?” The question was innocent and Martin could not take offence. Sir Anthony was middle-aged, of slender build but not unfit by any means. He carried himself with unconscious grace, a reflection of a well-trained body.

  He had a slight accent that Martin thought may well be Irish or from south west Scotland.

  The purpose of the meeting was swiftly approached with a directness that Martin would learn was typical of the man. “So, Martin. I understand that you speak French?”

  “True, sir, though I am told I have the accent of Martinique rather than metropolitan France.”

  Sir Anthony lapsed into colloquial French. “Alouette tells me that you have no difficulty in the use of the language, as do many of our countrymen.”

  Martin replied in French. “My instructors insisted that I learned to think in French. Luckily, I seem able to do so.”

  “Good, because I have at my disposal a ship. I believe that it is what is called, a schooner 75 feet in length?”

  “That sounds right, sir.”

  “I wish that you take command of the craft for an excursion to Corsica, and the French coast. You would need to carry a group of agents to drop off and collect over the next six weeks. I can tell you that your ship will not be complete for two months. We have a current shortage of timber of the correct type. If you are agreeable, I understand from Lord Nelson that you can be available for this task. Before you decide, I must stress that it is important that the boat be commanded by a French speaker, and the mission will be extremely dangerous. If you are captured you will be treated as spies, and it will be the guillotine for all of you.”

  Martin sat and considered for a few minutes. His host showed no impatience. Finally “What of the crew of the schooner. Do I choose them or are they supplied?”

  “The ship is of the Navy. The crew will be your concern.”

  “May I see the craft before I give my decision?”

  “I see no reason why not. I can take you to see her now if that would suit?”

  “All would need to be volunteers!” Martin said.

  “Of course, sir.” The bosun, Carter, said,” Only volunteers, I understand, sir. I’ll have the men assembled on deck so that you can address them, sir.”

  Bosun Jacob Carter addressed his selected men in the ’tween decks. He had selected them carefully. All the men who joined from Corsica and Sardinia were there plus the pick of the crew of the Racer. “Now, as you know, Mr. Forest-Bowers is a good officer. He’s learnt well as many of us know, and he looks after us well. This is our chance to watch out for him. You’ll recall the French lady from Egypt. She will be coming too. You are all supposed to be volunteers. I told Mr. Forest-Bowers that you had all volunteered. Are there any objections? Anyone wish to make a liar of me?”

  Nobody dared say a word.

  “Good lads. I knew you would have jumped at the chance for a bit of sport with our Martin. The ship needs tidying up but that’s only for inside. On deck she has to look like a Froggie, so don’t forget to bring your old clothes with you.”

  The Perle heeled to a brisk breeze, the dirty sails full. Martin adjusted his balance and walked along the sloping deck past the lashed-down guns, five each side of the broad deck. He thought that the six-pounder guns would do little to stop a real warship, but perhaps would scare something of their own size.

  Midshipmen Brown approached escorting Alouette, who much to his delight rested her hand on his arm for support on the sloping deck.

  Martin smiled to himself. She was as capable of maintaining her balance on this deck as Brown was himself, but it was second nature to her, politesse, earning the adoration of the young man. He touched his hat in greeting to Alouette, who had in fact shared her bed with him, maintaining the fiction of their first meeting of the day. “Good morning, M’selle. You slept well?”

  “Certainly, Captain. Thank you, the cabin is quite comfortable, and the weather fine.” The smile that accompanied this comment gave nothing away. Martin was reminded of the comment by Captain Graham.

  “Every man on this ship, including me, would happily take her to his bed, but I would wager that the only man to succeed would be the one she selected, and for her own reasons, unlikely to be romantic.

  Taking her arm, he escorted her to the chair placed on the deck in the shade of the mainsail. Peters, his servant, brought her coffee as Martin resumed his walk along the flush deck of the coastal schooner. Recalling Graham’s words brought a sad smile to his face. Being used by the lady was not the worst thing to happen, and it did not change his love for Jennifer Bowers.

  The Tricolor flew out stiffly, and he caught a glimpse of it as he turned. He was not happy about sailing under false colors, but he recognized the need in the circumstances.

  At present there were several other coastal ships in view. This close to the French coast it was to be expected. His ship was one of the larger ships in view at present. Most of the others were ketches and sloops, with one or two square-sail barges used for carrying salt from the salt pans of the Camargue.

  A xebec was the biggest of the other boats in sight and it was surprising that she appeared to be very clean and fast for a trader of her type. She also seemed to be taking an interest in the Perle.

  As Martin walked back to the wheel at the stern of his command, he said to bosun Carter. “That xebec is a little too interested in us. Make sure we are ready to greet him if he gets too friendly.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. I’ll have a welcome waiting for him.”

  Through the morning the xebec closed in on the schooner. Martin was not keen to let the other ship know just how fast the schooner was.

  On the deck the ropes were cast off the cannon Loading was undertaken, tho
ugh the ports were not opened nor were the guns run out.

  Midshipman Brown watched the approaching ship through a telescope. “She is pierced for ten guns. Though all the ports are still closed, there is activity on deck.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Brown.” Martin acknowledged the information, still uncertain about what action to take.

  The problem was solved when the approaching ship unfurled a long banner with an emblem of a scimitar in gold on a red background. Her gun ports opened and a bow gun fired a shot across the bows of the Perle.

  “Take the lady below and clear for action. Gun ports open. Port helm, Mr. Troop. Ease her now. Steady. Port broadside, fire as you bear.

  One by one the port side guns fired at the xebec. Her guns were firing also, though the aimed cannon balls from the Perle could be seen doing damage. The lateen rig of the xebec allowed it to sail close to the wind as did the fore and aft rig of the schooner. Martin called for the topsail to be furled as it interfered with her ability to sail as close to the wind.

  The speed of the sail change plus the response from the guns must have upset the Captain of the attacking ship. Perhaps he realized that this was not the slovenly trader he had anticipated, for she hesitated, a slight jink in her course, noticed by the master, Jared Troop. “She is going about!” He called.

  “Ready about. Starboard guns stand to. Lee ho!” Martin had not hesitated, the ship spun round onto the other tack while the xebec was still starting her turn. “Starboard broadside, as you bear.” Midshipman Brown’s voice had broken, but it was still high pitched with the excitement of the moment.

  The gunfire caught the xebec in stays, halfway round her turn. The bow bore the brunt of the damage. The foremast was shattered at the base and fell forward taking the top section of the main mast with it. The stem was weakened and planks were sprung either side of the bow. The sea brought the ship to a halt, sinking her by the bow. There was a commotion at the after end and a wailing sound. Several small boats appeared with masts being raised as the crew apparently abandoned the ship and others to their fate.