by David O'Neil
For Martin, the stern cabin was spacious after the rather more cramped quarters in his previous commands, with the curtained alcove for his sleeping berth, the desk, and the new cabinet with its secure storage for wine and glassware now safely attached to the bulkhead. So accustomed was he to the two stern chase guns that he hardly noticed them in his inspection.
Jennifer interrupted his survey, “Martin, my dear. Have you sufficient linen for the voyage?” Martin smiled fondly at his wife whose figure was beginning to show signs of the eventual arrival of a second child into their lives.
“My dear, I have sufficient linen to supply half the fleet, I do believe. In fact my servant has had problems finding space to store everything. Now I fear you must join Lady Isabella, for I am to interview my new officers. Your presence is guaranteed to distract them if you remain here.”
Seated at his desk later that day he studied the man in front of him. Lieutenant Athol Donald was a burly Scot who had been captive of the French until his rescue by riflemen of the army in Portugal. His refusal to give his parole had meant he was imprisoned in the port of his capture. The relief of the port had been one of the early successes for the building army in Portugal.
He was older that the average having been in his rank for eight years. His previous commissions having been in line of battle ships, where, as Martin well knew, unless you were of the select few, the chances of promotion are scarce. The scions of the privileged families being first considered for advancement, while professional sailors like Donald were retained, prized for their expertise in ship handling and navigation.
“Well, Mr. Donald, you have seen the ship. What do you think of her?”
Mr. Donald pursed his lips and then said, “She’ll do, sir. She has a good feel about her and the look of a flier.”
Martin smiled. “Good. I will expect the watch lists to be organized and the ship ready to sail on the tide at noon tomorrow.” He stood and held out his hand to the man before him.” You are welcome aboard my ship, Mr. Donald.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll not let you down!”
The orders were to join with Rear Admiral Sir Alexander Cochrane in the West Indies. The voyage across the Atlantic gave Martin the chance to shake down the new men who had joined the crew transferred from HMS Diane. He soon discovered that he had found a good man in Athol Donald. The two new younger lieutenants, James Haskall and William Bates were, but recently, midshipmen, both from ships of the line.
On the third day at sea, leaving the waters of the English Channel finally after battling contrary weather, he came on deck to find Mr. Donald walking the quarter deck with a small smile on his face.
Martin studied the other three ships comprising the small detachment en route to join the West Indies fleet. The cutter Daisy, now under her new commander Lieutenant Reed, was making headway, snapping at the heels of the Brig/Sloop HMS Walrus captained by Commander Brown. He had distinguished himself during the raids on the French invasion forces, when Martin was raiding Boulogne. The supply ship Hastings, was as usual finding it difficult to keep up. Her shape was designed for cargo not speed.
“Good day to you, Mr. Donald, a better morning I see. Tell me, you seem to have the deck. Where is Mr. Haskall?”
Donald looked aloft at the mizzen top. “There was a question of the security of the mizzen-topmast, sir. Mr. Haskall asked for it to be frapped to make sure it was not going to break under the stress of the past two days. I volunteered to take the deck while he made sure the job was properly done. I got the impression that he got little masthead practice on the Indefatigable and he decided that, if he were required to order others aloft, he should know what the problems were first hand, if you take my meaning?”
“And you volunteered to help him acquire this experience of course! I am pleased that you take your duties so seriously. I am sure Mr. Haskall will thank you for your efforts on his behalf. Please ask him to see me when he has completed his survey aloft. He must be finding life on a frigate considerably different to his time on a ship of the line.”
Martin paced the quarterdeck for the next half hour. he then called Lieutenant Donald. “I will be in my cabin if I am needed. Perhaps you could produce the midshipmen’s journals this afternoon. I will be interested to read what they have to say about our present orders. Oh, and dine with me tonight and perhaps one of the young gentlemen. I’ll leave the choice to you.”
With a small smile he went below and called for coffee.
The knock on the door reminded him that he had sent for Mr. Haskall.
“Enter!” He called.
His servant, Wells poked his head in. “It’s Mr. Haskell, sir.”
“Send him in, Wells,, and bring more coffee please.”
James Haskall was nearly six foot tall and ducked as he entered the cabin. With his hat on he just managed to clear the deck planking above his head. He touched his hat and stood more or less at attention. His languid stance irritated Martin, but he had the impression that there was more to this man than met the eye.
“Stand straight, Mr. Haskall,” Martin said quietly. “You are not at a coffee morning in Albany.
Haskall straightened up and hit his head on the cross beam.
Martin noticed and smiled to himself. Then he said “Perhaps you had better seat yourself. This will not take long, I hope.”
Haskall removed his hat and seated himself on the chair opposite his captain.
Martin sat back and studied the young man before him. Six perhaps seven years his junior, Haskall had dark hair and fine features, an intelligent face Martin decided. He was slim but not skinny.
“Why were you aloft during your watch on deck?” Martin asked.
“I was worried about the state of the mizzen topmast, sir. I thought it might need frapping.”
“I see, and where was the bosun at this time, perhaps the Sailing Master?”
“They were engaged elsewhere on deck.”
“You asked the First Lieutenant to take the deck while you went aloft to check the mizzen topmast?”
“Yes, sir.” Haskall was starting to worry.
“Are you aware of the duties of the officer of the watch on a naval ship, Mr. Haskall?”
“Yes, sir, but….”
“But, Mr. Haskall. If from your lofty position you observed some hazard almost under the ships bows, what would you have done?”
“Why I….”
“Mr. Haskall, just between us here, you are aware that with a skilled crew aboard there was no reason for you to leave your post on deck. In your position you are expected to exercise leadership and command men. It implies that your crew are competent to carry out your orders without needing your personal supervision. Trust your men, Mr. Haskall, and they will trust you!”
“I, I was never allowed to do anything without supervision..”
Martin sat back in his chair as Wells brought the coffee in. “Thank you, Wells. Another cup, please.”
Wells brought an extra cup from the locker in the cabin, and withdrew.
“Coffee, Mr. Haskall? It’s James, is it not?”
“Yes, sir. Please, sir.”
“James, there are many things different between a ship of the line and a frigate. On this ship I expect my officer to act like officers. If a man fails in his duties on a small ship like this, it is noticed. It is also dealt with swiftly. If you wish to practice your skill at climbing the rigging, then off duty you are welcome to do so. I would point out though it can interfere with the duties of the crew. The First Lieutenant, Master, the bosun and I, are all here to deal with the fate of this ship, and all will be pleased to answer questions and give advice. You are expected to learn and lead the others junior to you. Take heed of today. Watch the way Mr. Donald deals with things. Cultivate the Master. His knowledge of sailing and navigation is second to none. Probably most important at the moment, the bosun knows every rope and hatch on this ship. He knows the men. Use his expertise and learn from him.
“The s
hip is a machine that works as well as its component parts, the crew, can perform. Each has his place and task. Find your place fit in, and you will do well.” He rose to his feet. “Good day, Mr. Haskall.”
Haskall saluted. “Thank you, sir. I will, sir.” He ducked his head and left the cabin.
Martin sat down again and finished his coffee. Noticing the untouched cup left by Haskall he shrugged and drank that too. He thought Haskall would probably be alright.
William Bates was a different proposition, as junior he was berthed in the gunroom with the midshipmen. There was little to say of the man apart from the fact that the gunroom was kept in an orderly manner. It would be interesting to see Mr. Bates when he presented the books of the midshipmen today.
Bates was stocky and fair haired with a countryman’s face. That was Martin’s conclusion upon meeting Bates that afternoon. He had seen him on occasion after boarding, but had not really had any chance to study him or to gain an impression of the type of man he was. Seated in front of his captain, William Bates turned out to be a blunt, straightforward character who was at sea from choice, and had gained his place through the good offices of the squire in his village, a retired Admiral. From that time on, it seemed determined application had served him well. Together the two men went through the midshipmen’s journals. In view of the short time they had been at sea most of the entries covered the time at anchor. There was an obvious difference in the presentation between those who could write well and the others who could not. The four were generally regarded by Bates as a typical gunroom. Some better than others, but as yet no one outstanding.
That evening Athol Donald and David Sessions appeared to dine with their captain. Sessions was the youngest of the four midshipmen. He had been accepted because his father was a former Lieutenant, wounded under Martin’s adoptive father. The family was not poor, a fact that was reflected in the quality and tailoring of his clothing.
He was well mannered and made no mistakes with the cutlery. For most of the meal Martin and Athol Donald talked, periodically pulling Sessions into the conversation.
Toward the end of the meal Session asked a question of his two elders. “I have been told that this is the season the treasure galleon sails from Darien. I presume, since Spain is once more our enemy, we may interfere with her progress if we encounter her?”
Donald raised his eyebrow and left it to his captain to reply.
“We are most unlikely to encounter her, but, were we to do so, of course we would not allow her to pass unchecked. Her cargo would be a serious asset to the Joseph Bonaparte. In the present situation she would probably be heavily escorted.”
Donald said, “I have heard that the Spanish colonies do not all recognize Bonaparte as king.”
“Well, if we encounter her we will assess the problem at that time.”
Chapter twenty six
Pirates
The small French convoy was battered by weather and from the look of it gunfire. The corvette was low in the water and afloat by virtue of the pumps alone, judging by the noise that could be heard at some distance. The larger ship was being repaired. Her damage appeared to be mainly from gunfire. The third ship was not French. At the sight of the three British warships it was making off rather foolishly, as Reed in his cutter flew in pursuit overhauling it hand over fist. The fleeing pirate from the distant African coast had depended on boarding the French ships, having pounded its victims with the two heavy cannon it carried. The battered French ships had been possible prey, but even the cutter handled as she was could be a match as long as she stood off and pecked away with her six pounder popguns, and her nine pounder bow and stern chasers. He would not have stood a chance in a straight fight. Because of her agility the Daisy could run rings around the clumsy-looking Pirate.
For Reed it became obvious when caught and passed the hidden side of the ship. She had suffered gunfire, and the hole in her side was being patched as she left the scene. Daisy’s nine pounder bow gun hit the repaired section having bounced off the water. The ball smashed the patch and disappeared into the hull. Reed had been cursing the gunner for wasting his shot, until he saw the fluke result. “A golden guinea if you can repeat that shot,” he called to the gunner. The men cheered and ran out the gun once more. This time they had to settle for smashing the starboard rail and cutting a swathe through the men swarming the deck. The blood ran in streaks down the side of the ships as she heeled in to the long waves. The water slopped into the hole that once more gaped in her side.
As HMS Fox ran out her guns the corvette struck her colors. On the bigger ship, reminiscent of a Spanish frigate, there was activity and apparently dissent, “Fire a shot over her bow Mr. Donald.”
The crash of the gun resolved the dissention on the frigate. The Tricolor dropped as the halyard was cut.
HMS Walrus had boats in the water with a boarding party for the corvette, Martin ordered Donald to take Haskall with his party to the frigate, which they could now identify as the Hermione. She had originally been Spanish, though now obviously with a French crew and a French name.
On the deck of the Hermione Athol Donald realized that something was not right. The damage to the ship was mainly cosmetic. The Captain was in an ill-fitting coat and obviously upset at losing his ship, but there was a furtive aspect to his manner that did not go with his position in command. The second boat arrived with the marines and their sergeant. He spoke to Haskall. “I do not like this. There is something wrong. Damn it. This crew doesn’t fit with this vessel. Lieutenant Haskall, I am going to see the captain.” He turned and called the sergeant over. “Mr. Haskall, take over. Sergeant, have your men finish disarming the men on deck. Then herd them all forward and guard them. Mr. Haskall, have all the hatches closed and locked until either myself or the captain gets here. Do you both understand? Haskall, you are in command! Nobody comes on deck or goes below while I’m away!”
Lieutenant Donald scrambled down into the nearest boat. “Back to the ship, and put your backs into it.”
Martin stepped onto the deck of the captured ship. He was immediately aware that there was something wrong. The crew members were all sitting around the windlass in the bows of the ship.
“Sergeant! Over here with two men. Bosun, with me. Open the main doors to the stern cabins!”
Peters walked to the barred door. Using the blade of the cutlass he carried, the bar dropped and the door swung open. There was noise from within. Two men stumbled out, both were bloody with wounds from sword cuts. The men were in French uniform, and when they saw the British uniforms, one turned and called to someone behind him. From within came a line of people including women and children. All the men were wounded in some way.
Martin spoke to the leader. “Who are you?” He asked in French.
The man wearily lifted his head. “I am Lieutenant Marquand, second in command of this ship. My captain had made an arrangement with these corsairs.” He waved at the men at the bow of the ship. “Our captain ordered us to stop when the ship appeared. He was in command of the Minette corvette and he ordered them not interfere. The corsair opened fire and crippled the Minette, though she did manage to get some shots off and damage the corsair. I killed my captain when we were boarded. He greeted the Pirate and told them the ship the treasure and the women were there for the taking. I rallied the loyal members of the crew whom the boarders had not yet encountered. We managed to close the deck entries and they barred the doors to keep us below. I can only assume that they intended sailing the ship to their harbor.” He stopped and leaned against the rail.”
Martin called Peters and held out his hand. “Flask?”
Startled, Peters looked at his captain. “Sir!”
“Flask, Peters. I need the brandy.”
Reluctantly, Peters rummaged in his waistband and found a small flask which he passed to his captain.
Martin passed it to the wounded Frenchman. He waited while the man drank some of the contents.
&nb
sp; The man revived somewhat and continued his story. “I saw your ships coming and I thought perhaps they were more of these scum.” He waved his hand at the seated men. “Then I saw your flag and realized we were saved.”
There was a signal from Daisy asking for assistance.
Martin said to the sergeant. “Secure the prisoners. Mr. Haskall, take command. Peters, stay with Mr. Haskall and get the crew working.”
Martin swung over the side and returned to the Fox.
They sailed over to the spot where Daisy was hove-to. The fleeing corsair was getting lower in the water as they watched. There were boats being dropped into the water all around her and an astonishing number of people filling them. As the frigate approached Martin used the speaking trumpet to call to Lieutenant Reed. “Stand away, Mr. Reed. These men are pirates and if you attempt to help them they will overrun your ship.”
In response to the call, Reed’s craft took the wind and drew away from the approaching boats.
On the pirate ship itself, with decks almost awash, a surge of people poured up on deck. Most of them seemed to be women.
“Take us alongside, Mr. Donald.”
“Prisoners, sir?” The lieutenant enquired.
“Looks that way. Shall we find out?”
Already close, the Fox scraped alongside the sinking ship. The boarding net thrown over the side was soon covered in people climbing to safety, assisted by the Fox’s crew.
The woman who took charge was dressed in what had once been an expensive gown. She approached Martin and to his surprise addressed him in English. “Thank you, Captain. We were destined for another fate, I assume. I was on a merchant trading vessel taking passage to England when we met the pirates. I am Mary Rankin, companion to Lady Sutton. My mistress insisted I wear one of her gowns so that I could stay with her when we were captured. Sadly, she has not survived. The captain desired her. For the past three days since we were captured, he used her himself. He then decided that she was not really to his taste and the crew were given their turn. We watched her thrown overboard, already dead, from all appearances. That was yesterday. This morning we came up with the French ship, and our ship was holed in the skirmish.”