Harry Heron: Midshipman's Journey

by Patrick G Cox

  The second shot brought a response from the lugger, and the lookout hailed from aloft, “Deck there! Lugger’s makin’ sail and changing course. She be French—her colours are plain now.”

  He had barely finished speaking when the midshipman at the signal duty called, “Brig is signalling, Sir! She asks for assistance to reach port.”

  “Damn! That lugger will outrun us on that course. Secure the guns, Mister Firebrace. We’ll heave too astern of the brig. Let us see what assistance he may need.” Frowning in thought, he paused. “Call away the quarter boat; we will send a party to ascertain what aid they need and who their attacker may be. That lugger is damnably well handled; she is already well beyond our range to overhaul her.”

  The Captain looked at Harry and said, “Mister Heron, into the quarter boat with you, sir. Accompany the fifth Lieutenant.”

  Surprised since he was so very junior but pleased to have been chosen, Harry touched his forelock. “Aye, aye, Sir.” Following the Lieutenant, he scrambled up the nettings and tumbled into the boat, which had already been swung out. A Marine thrust a pistol into his hand.

  “’Ave a care, sir. Tis loaded an’ primed. Keep t’ pan covered if ye can.”

  Taking his place in the stern sheets clutching his dirk and with the loaded pistol tucked into his belt, Harry pulled his waistcoat over the butt and firing lock as he’d seen his father do. The boat began to drop toward the water, landing with a bump in a trough and immediately soaring upwards amid a clatter of blocks as the falls were released, and sheering away from the looming bulk of the ship on the bow painter and under the influence of the tiller controlled by the burly coxswain.

  Excited and not a little frightened, he clutched the gunwale. The sea was much rougher and more threatening seen from the vantage point of a ship’s boat, and this impression was increased by the darkness. Harry listened and watched as the coxswain gave the orders to cast off the painter, ship the oars and give way. It struck him that these men had carried out these evolutions so often that they could perform them in the dark and at sea almost by instinct alone.

  Passing under the stern of the brig, he saw her name for the first time. Raised white lettering on black proclaimed her the Porta Caeli of London, and Harry smiled briefly reflecting that anything less like the Gate of Heaven than this battered little ship now wallowing in the rising wind and swell would be hard to find. He had little time to consider the joke as the bowman hooked on to the main chains and he had to follow the Lieutenant in a frantic leap to board the brig. Mistiming his leap, he dragged himself aboard with his shoes filled with water and his trousers and stockings soaked to his waist.

  It took a bare few minutes to see the damage the brig had suffered.

  “We’ve a shot hole below water, Mister. Per’aps more’n one. T’ water’s gainin’ fast.”

  The Lieutenant nodded. “I feel it in her motion. What is your cargo?”

  “Mixed—kegs mainly. Cider from Devon, tallow, pitch, hides fer t’ tanning works in Poplar, iron fur t’ yards at Deptford. Wit’ more ’ands an’ a spare pump we kin cope. Iffen we kin fin’ t’ ’oles, we kin get a fother over ’em.”

  The Lieutenant nodded. “I agree.” Turning to Harry he ordered, “Mister Heron, get you back to the ship; my compliments to the Captain. We will need more hands and a pump. Quick as you can now.” He walked to the bulwarks with Harry and saw him safely into the launch.

  Tumbling into the boat, Harry nodded to the coxswain, his stomach rebelling again at the violent motion. “Take us back to the ship if you please,” he gritted through chattering teeth, fighting down the nausea.

  “Aye, aye, sir.” The coxswain let loose a string of orders to his oarsmen and the boat plunged clear of the brig, swinging across the waves to fight its way back to the Bellerophon.

  From the boat, Harry managed to call up to the Captain the Lieutenant’s request, and received an acknowledgement. A few minutes later, they were called back alongside, and several more men scrambled down to join them in the boat.

  From the entry port, Lieutenant Firebrace called down, “We cannot send a pump at this time Mister Heron. Take the men to Mister Greenway and tell him to take the brig to Portsmouth. When you’ve delivered them, return with the boat. We will meet the brig in Portsmouth.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Harry managed, giving the coxswain the order to bear off and make for the brig.

  The heavily laden boat struggled back to the brig amidst spray and solid bursts of water that drenched its human cargo.

  “Mister Greenway, sir, I have extra hands, but they cannot send the extra pump until we reach the anchorage. The Captain’s compliments, and you’re to bring the brig to Portsmouth, sir. He will send the pump aboard there.”

  Lieutenant Greenway nodded and waved him away. “Get you back to the Bellerophon then, Mister Heron. My compliments to the Captain, if you will; we shall make our way to Portsmouth as soon as we can plug the holes.” He laughed. “At least we have found them now.”

  Scrambling out of the boat as soon as it was once more secured to its davits, Harry felt elated, exhausted and cold. His clothing was soaked through, his shoes filled with water and his teeth chattered. Dragging the pistol from his waistband, he returned it to the Marine. “I fear it would not have served me, Higgs. It got a good soaking almost as soon as I tried to board the brig.”

  The Redcoat grinned. “Allez ’appens, sir. I’ll tek care o’ it.”

  DAWN FOUND THE BELLEROPHON MAKING SLOW PROGRESS beneath a leaden sky toward the shelter offered by the anchorage of Spithead under reefed topgallants and foresails. The wind had been increasing steadily since their encounter with the French corsair and her victim, and was now approaching storm strength. The sea was angry, a churning cauldron of deep troughs and steep tops blowing sheets of spray and scudding spume.

  To add to the misery of seasickness, the wind had a biting cold edge to it, and flurries of sleet engulfed them from time to time. Even a couple of hours below had done little more than allow Harry’s sodden clothing to drain to a uniform dampness, and now he was once more chilled to the bone. Seeing this, the third Lieutenant called him over. “Find your messman. Ask him to find you a tarpaulin coat you may borrow. It will keep you a touch drier and warmer.” He grinned. “See the purser when we are secured, and give him my compliments. He’ll supply you with a suitable one at your cost, of course.”

  When he was once again astern feeling a bit more protected against the weather but now struggling with bouts of nausea, Harry could see that the brig’s reefed topsails could just be made out through the blown spume and spray. The ship seemed to suffer her own seasickness as she struggled to expel the water seeping in from the shot damage.

  On the positive side, the wind lent the ship more speed, and by midmorning, she was rapidly closing the entrance to the Spithead channel with Selsey Bill visible to starboard. The ship shuddered and heeled ponderously as the wind gave a powerful gust, causing Harry to stagger into Ramsay.

  “Have a care, Heron,” drawled the older youth. “You’ll have to gain your sea legs quickly else you’ll be overside before you can stop yourself.” He steadied Harry and added, “Here, get a grip on the nettings and roll with the ship; it makes it much easier on the stomach too.

  “Thank you,” Harry rasped. “I hope that my stomach recovers soon; presently it feels as if it is taking the place of my lungs.”

  “It will ease once we are out of this confused sea,” said Ramsay. “It will be much livelier on the brig, and she will still have a lot of water aboard. And, as you have discovered, taking a boat to another vessel in these rough waters is a dampening experience!”

  “Aye.” Harry smiled briefly. “And the seas look far bigger from a small boat than from here.” He ducked as a burst of spray sailed high across the deck from the weather side. “I should not care to have to take a launch or gig away in this now.”

  “Nor I!” declared Ramsay emphatically. �
�But it may be required of us sometime today.” He looked across to where the master was conferring with the Captain. “Hello, it looks as if we are to reduce sail still further—yes, there go the s.”

  The pipes began their shrill trilling, and the cry for all hands rose above the wind.

  The ship heeled steeply to the thrust of the wind, and the topmen were swarming aloft. As Ramsay watched, he remarked, “Well, our little home from home will be a mess after this. The bilge water always finds its way betwixt the deck and the hull at this angle, and the commode will have slopped as well. Damn, it will take ages to clean out again.” Leaving Harry wondering exactly what he meant, Ramsay strode forward and bellowed, “, take that man’s name. He’ll have the whole yard down on us if he doesn’t belay that halyard properly.”

  Joining his senior, Harry wondered how Ramsay had known or even spotted the fault. He watched as the pushed the man aside and secured the halyard properly. As the man turned, Harry recognised him as one of the men taken from the prison hulks. “I don’t think that fellow can be blamed for his error, Ramsay. He is fresh from the hulks before we sailed.” He frowned as he noticed the man nursing his left arm. “I think he may have something wrong with his arm; look how he seems to nurse it.”

  “Don’t be fooled, Heron, he’s a seaman right enough. Look at the ease with which he stands the deck, and he knows that he was doing the belay badly. Look at his face; the guilt is plain.” He smiled at Harry, adding, “You’ll have to learn to watch them, or they will take advantage of you and you’ll never assert your authority.”

  The spoke sharply to the former prisoner, and Harry noted the man’s crestfallen look as he was sent back to work. There seemed to be a familiarity between them. Harry remarked to Ramsay, “It seems the knows the man already, and I see what you mean—he walks the deck with a surety that others lack. I shall take care to watch for him in future.”

  WITH THE REDUCTION OF HER SAIL AREA, THE SHIP RODE more easily, although the motion was still violent and uncomfortable. Again, Harry learned that this was to be expected as the tide was now once more pushing up the narrowing channel toward the North Sea and directly into the eye of the wind. Added to this was the peculiar current that runs at certain states of the tide in a counter motion against Selsey Bill and attempts to return to the Spithead Passage. The master was obviously well aware of this and now made use of it to ensure the ship received its assistance, arriving in the shoaling waters at the entrance to the passage between the Isle of Wight and the mainland shoreline. As the shelter of the land was reached, the waters steadied somewhat and the ship made easier passage toward the anchorage at the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour.

  Once more Harry found himself consulting the signal book as first they made their number to the anchored guardship then to the signal station itself. After that came a flurry of signals instructing them to anchor in a certain position, and then a signal for the Captain to report to the admiral for orders.

  The activity kept Harry fully occupied as the ship’s canvas was reduced, and it almost caught him by surprise as she was brought ’round into the wind and the great anchor was released to plunge to the mud below. The motion changed almost in an instant as the ship fell away to her cable and began the different motion of a ship tethered to her anchors.

  “Mister Heron,” called the first Lieutenant. “As soon as the Captain’s gig departs, take the launch and a party to the Porta Caeli. She is just coming into the anchorage. Get a boatswain’s mate to accompany you and take a portable pump. You had best take ten extra men as well; Lieutenant Greenway will need some assistance, I’m thinking!”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Acknowledging the order, Harry hurried away to find a boatswain’s mate, conscious of the fact that he knew very little about who to select from the crew to take with him. He felt that every eye was on him as he conveyed to Boatswain’s Mate Smales the requirement for the pump and the men to be placed in the launch for conveyance to the damaged brig.

  With a grin, Smales touched his hat. “Aye, aye, Mister Heron. Ten men, the pump and the launch, sir. Leave it to me, sir.” He turned away to bawl orders to a group of men nearby. Harry found himself at the centre of a flurry of activity as ten men chosen by Smales carried out his instructions. In no time at all, it seemed, the launch was lifted in her slings, hauled outboard, and lowered alongside. The boat was no sooner in the water than the boat crew were hurrying into her and preparing the oars. The pump and other equipment was lowered to her as well, followed by the men selected for the task until the boatswain’s mate called up from the sternsheets to Harry, “All present and correct, Mister Heron. Ready when you are, sir.”

  “Off you go, Mister Heron.” The first Lieutenant appeared at his elbow. “Keep an eye on the men as you go. Remain with the launch and bring her back once you have discharged the men and the pump for Mister Greenway.”

  Feeling a little embarrassed that it all seemed to have happened without his guidance, Harry clambered down the tumblehome. Taking a seat in the place the boatswain’s mate indicated was where he should sit, he said self-consciously, but with every bit of authority he had inherited from his father, “Very good, Smales. Take us to the Porta Caeli, if you please.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Grinning, the big boatswain’s mate turned to the crew and barked, “Bow, fend off. Let go the painter. Out oars.” When the oars were thrust into their rowlocks, Smales ordered, “Give way together.” Expertly he put the tiller bar over and began to swing the loaded launch ’round in a great curve to lay her on a track that would take them to a point of intersection with the course being followed by the labouring brig as she made for the anchorage.

  Chapter 13

  A New Ship

  The pull to the damaged brig from the anchored HMS Bellerophon was a long and wet one. Regular bursts of spray sliced across the rowers, drenching them, and making Harry glad of his borrowed oiled tarpaulin coat. Several of the older hands among the passengers wore oiled canvas jackets, or they huddled beneath pieces of sailcloth that kept them reasonably dry. He recalled the first mate’s instruction to equip himself with an oiled coat or cloak from the purser’s store and decided to do it as soon as the opportunity arose.

  The wash of water over his feet drew his attention. Glancing downward, he saw water was accumulating in the bottom of the boat, and he looked at the boatswain’s mate, wondering if the man had noticed. This must have happened during the night while he was in charge of the quarterboat. Instinctively, Harry knew it was not a good sign, and should be dealt with immediately, a lesson he and Ferghal had learned to their cost in the small dinghy they had sailed on Strangford Lough.

  “Smales, I think we should get some of the men to remove the water we are shipping.”

  The burly warrant officer looked down at him with surprise and approval at the wisdom of one so young. “Aye, aye, sir!” He looked at the huddle of spare hands between the rowers and called out, “Blake, Gunn, Wright, Small—break out the bailers and get cracking. I want the boat kept dry, you slackers!”

  He glowered at the rest of the men. “And the rest of you can spell them on the baling.”

  To Harry he said, “Sorry, sir, I should have spotted it.”

  “No matter.” Harry grinned. “At least we are dealing with it now.” He nodded toward the brig. “She looks as if she is riding heavily; she must have shipped a lot of water.”

  The boatswain’s mate looked at the approaching brig and nodded. “That she is, sir. Look at the water they are pumping overside—the pump we carry will be needed, I’m thinking!”

  He gave Harry an appraising look, privately thinking that this youngster missed very little. He focused his attention on bringing the launch alongside the brig and transferring their extra men and the pump. To achieve this properly, the brig needed to heave to, but he could see this was not going to be the first choice of the men working to bring her to safety.

  He drew this to Harry’s attention. “I�
��ll come up on her lee under the main chains, sir. The men can board her there, and we can offload the pump when they bring her to anchor if the Lieutenant agrees.”

  Harry nodded, grateful for the boatswain’s mate’s experience in these matters. “Very good, Smales. I can confer with the Lieutenant or the ship’s own officers while the men make the transfer.” He stood up and balanced himself by clutching the gunwale. He called to the men forward. “We will lay as close as we can to her main chains. Get yourselves aboard her as quick as you can, but take care.”

  The men acknowledged his instruction and prepared to transfer to the brig. Smales brought the boat up on the brig’s quarter, urging the oarsmen to hold the stroke at a pace that kept them abreast of her, gradually easing closer, taking care to avoid fouling his oars on the wallowing hull as he did so. When he achieved the right position, he bawled to the bowman, “Now, Richards. Hook on to her. Quick man, and get the painter on as well!”

  From above him, Harry heard the voice of Lieutenant Greenway and looked up. “Good morning, sir! I have brought you some hands and a portable pump to assist, but I fear we cannot unload the pump until you are at anchor.”

  “Well done, Mister Heron,” the Lieutenant said, and he seemed about to say more, but a shout interrupted him.

  In his peripheral vision, Harry saw one of the seamen miss his footing as he lost his grip and fell between the launch and the brig. Without thinking, he lunged across the boat to see the man struggling just beneath the surface. He plunged his arm into the water, almost falling overboard himself, and grabbed a handful of shirt. Harry drew the man to the surface as the launch continued its forward motion. He clung on for all he was worth, but was slowly being pulled from the boat.