Harry Heron: Midshipman's Journey

by Patrick G Cox

  “Smales,” he exclaimed. “I cannot hold him!”

  Time seemed to stand still as the big boatswain’s mate released the tiller and reached forward to grab hold of Harry and the struggling seaman. With a powerful wrench, he pulled the man halfway into the boat depositing Harry into the bilges as he did so. From his vantage point, Harry watched as Smales pulled the man all the way inboard and grabbed the tiller to steady their course. Gingerly he got up and sat himself on the stern sheets to regain his breath and collect his thoughts.

  The boatswain’s mate hauled the winded man to his feet again, his anger thickening his accent. “Thought you could run by drownding yoursel’ did ye?” he snarled. “Not with Mister Heron to catch you, you don’t! Now, get yourself aboard t’ brig, you clumsy bastard! An’ don’t try nuthin’ as stupid again!”

  The man stumbled past the grinning oarsmen as Harry realised the Lieutenant was once more calling his name. “Sir, I beg pardon.” He stood up the better to hear the Lieutenant, conscious he was trembling and cold.

  “I said well done, Mister Heron. For a moment I thought you might be trying to inspect our damage!” The Lieutenant grinned, his eyes lingering where the unfortunate seaman had been hauled aboard. “Have your bowman pass a long painter. We will take you under tow until we anchor and can take your pump aboard. Then I shall want you to fetch the carpenter and his mates from the Billy. We have some shot holes we cannot reach; damned French must have fired as she rolled to leeward and exposed her bilges.”

  The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully for Harry as he ferried seamen and messages back and forth between the brig and Bellerophon. He at least managed to get an oiled jacket from the purser to replace the borrowed garment. The final task was to fetch Lieutenant Greenway and the spare hands back to Bellerophon. A second launch was sent to fetch the pump and other hands. Among those who boarded the launch for this short trip was the man who had fallen.

  His journal for the day made interesting reading, and his letter home gave a full account of the encounter in the channel as well as a description of the storm and the brief exchange of fire when they had saved the brig from a French lugger.

  The following day, Sunday, saw the storm still blowing hard but once more swinging north and westerly giving the ship an uncomfortable motion at her anchor in Spithead. The ship’s routine began in its usual manner with the decks scrubbed, the rigging checked, and the hammocks stowed in the nettings. Following breakfast, the crew fell in by divisions, with Harry at his station as officer in charge of a group of some twenty men who formed part of the third Lieutenant’s division. To his surprise, he noticed that the man he was instrumental in saving had been assigned to it. Harry asked the about it.

  “I see Small has been transferred to this division, Mister Llewellyn; is there some reason?”

  “Aye, Mister Heron, sir, he requested it, and the first agreed to it. Thought he might do better in this division with someone he feels obliged to.”

  “Obliged, Mister Llewellyn?” asked Harry, puzzled.

  The ’s reply was lost as the arrival of the Captain on deck brought the Royal Marines to attention with a rattle of drums and their fife band. The salute died away as the Captain took his place at the quarterdeck rail and drew out the Articles of War. These were read with great solemnity before the Captain, accompanied by the first Lieutenant, descended to the gangways and inspected each division. The Captain paused at Harry’s group and addressed the seaman Harry had saved.

  “Small, is it not?” Without waiting for confirmation, the Captain said, “I see you are recovered from your swim. I know your face; what ship were you ere this?”

  The man flushed scarlet. “Aye, sir, ’t were the Gorgon, sir, in ’92.”

  “I remember. You took a cutlass slash to your shoulder, did you not?” The Captain looked hard at the man. “What brought you to the hulks?”

  “Hard times, sir.” The man looked down at his feet and mumbled, “No Captain wants a man with one arm not working proper, sir.”

  “And is it now working fully, Small?”

  “Well enough, sir.”

  “Well enough you lost your grip boarding the brig.” The Captain nodded. “Mister Brydges, Mister Heron, attend me after divine service.”

  IT DID NOT TAKE LONG FOR THE CAPTAIN TO HEAR THE FULL STORY. “Rate him an assistant sailmaker, Mister Firebrace. Mister Heron, I shall leave you to inform Small.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  The interview with Small had been brief, but Harry had been touched and a little embarrassed by the almost tearful gratitude of the old seaman.

  The February wind was chilly, but the sunlight, though weak, was at least warm on his cheeks as Harry stood his watch. With the ship at anchor in Spithead, his only task was to keep a sharp eye for any signals from the port admiral or a senior ship. It had been a quiet watch thus far. The weeks since the eventful December day the ship first set down in this anchorage had certainly been busy, and he was learning fast.

  “Mister Heron, a word if you please,” called the third Lieutenant, Mr. Brydges.

  “Sir?” Harry hurried to where his Lieutenant stood on the leeside of the quarterdeck. After six months as a midshipman on His Most Britannic Majesty’s Ship Bellerophon, Harry now stood almost eye-to-eye with the rest of the men on board ship.

  “The Captain is expecting a visitor shortly—Captain Blackwood of the Spartan—and has given orders that you are to join him when his guest is aboard.” He smiled, adding, “You are to take a luncheon with them, and I may tell you that you are being considered for transfer. As you know, this ship will be reduced to peacetime manning in the next few weeks and will remain here as a guardship. Spartan is to sail for Botany Bay and the Indies; if you are transferred, you will have the opportunity to see the New South Wales territory and the South Seas. You have all the luck, my lad. Now go and get your best uniform; our Captain will expect you to do our ship credit.”

  HALF AN HOUR LATER, HARRY WAS AMONG THE SIDE PARTY that welcomed Captain Robert Blackwood aboard the Bellerophon, his best uniform coat freshly pressed and his shirt and trousers clean and neat. The man who came through the entry port to return the salute of the sideboys and Marine band was of moderate height, medium build and angular face. He wore his hair in an old fashioned queue, neatly tied with a black silk ribbon, and Harry was startled as the newcomer returned Captain Lord Garlies’s greeting in a distinctly Ulster accent.

  “Welcome aboard, Robert,” said the Captain, greeting his visitor. “I have arranged a luncheon so you may meet those whom I’ve suggested are transferred to your command.”

  “Thank you, George. I understand you have among them someone from County Down. I may well know his family.”

  “Indeed, we do; young Midshipman Heron. He has been with me these last six months and shows excellent promise.”

  Harry overheard the Captain’s compliment as the two post Captains walked aft toward the break of the poop and the Captain’s great cabin.

  “Mister Heron, Mister Tanner.” The first Lieutenant beckoned them. “Attend me if you please.”

  The two midshipmen hurried to the first Lieutenant and touched their hats to him, responding, “Sir?”

  “Gentlemen, you will dine with our Captain and his guest in a few minutes. Mister Greenway and I will be joining you. You already know the purpose of Captain Blackwood’s visit; do either of you have any objection to the transfer?” Mr. Firebrace studied them both carefully.

  Surprised by this question, since the navy did not usually ask, Harry shook his head. “No, sir, if I am ordered to transfer I shall do so, though I would rather remain with the Billy, of course.”

  Kit Tanner nodded his agreement.

  “Good, good,” the first Lieutenant mused, pausing for a moment before adding, “I have to tell you the peace may hold, though many doubt it. Had you elected to remain, it is likely you would have been sent ashore on half pay, as most of th
e ships you see about us are to be paid off and laid up. Even this ship will not retain her full complement; as a guardship, it is not necessary to do so. You, however, have been recommended by our Captain for this opportunity. Make sure you live up to his expectation.”

  “We shall do our best, sir,” replied Kit Tanner. Harry’s senior by half a year, but nearest in age to Harry, he was his closest friend in the gunroom.

  Harry added his assurance then asked, “Will any of our company be transferred as well?”

  Lieutenant Firebrace regarded him quietly for a moment. “Yes, Mister Heron, as Spartan is new, she has a considerable number of vacancies to fill and will be taking fifty of our fighting complement and some of our senior rates as well.” He smiled as he looked at the boy’s anxious features. “And your man O’Connor will have the opportunity to go with you, fear not.”

  THE CAPTAIN’S DINING TABLE WAS SET FOR A FEAST. One advantage to being at anchor in Spithead was that the ship had access to fresh beef, fresh poultry, and other foodstuffs. After the usual fare of the gunroom, the midshipmen made the most of this opportunity and spent a very pleasant meal listening to their seniors as they discussed the politics of the peace, the future of the fleet, and their own ambitions.

  Captain Blackwood studied them from his place next to Captain Lord Garlies, George Stewart, and when the port began to circulate, he addressed Harry. “Mister Heron, I believe I know your family. You are a relative of Mister John Heron of Comber, are you not?”

  “Aye, sir, he is our cousin,” replied Harry.

  “Indeed, and your father is Major James Nelson-Heron I think, late of the Royal Fusiliers?”

  “That is true, sir. Though now he is managing our farm at Scrabo.”

  “So I am informed. I believe I have the pleasure of his acquaintance. We met in Gibraltar, as I recall.” He smiled at the memory. “He is well?”

  “That he is, sir. I have a letter from him and from my mother this very day.”

  “You have a house on Scrabo, you say? Was that not where the United Irishmen made their attempt on the garrison at Newtownards? Did they strike at your house and farm?”

  “No, sir, although it was a very tense and unsettling night for our family. My father sent my sister and me with our mother and the other women of the house to Downpatrick while the men camped on the Dundonald side of the hill. We lost a few sheep and a horse, but that was the worst of it.”

  Harry smiled. “They almost ended the fight themselves when they divided their force and marched on the town—only to have each division mistake the other for the garrison.” Laughing, he added, “My father still tells the tale and loves to point out that the troops were withdrawn to Bangor to avoid a battle in an undefended town. It was all over within a short time as they were themselves withdrawn, rather piecemeal, I think, to support other groups.”

  “I am led to believe,” replied Captain Blackwood, “that the outcome was not a happy one for any of us. There will be bloodshed in the years to come arising from this folly.” He frowned slightly, and added, “I have accepted the transfer of another two midshipmen from the sixty-four Glatton. One of them you may know, though he is somewhat older than yourself: Eamon Barclay of Raholp.”

  “I know the family, sir,” replied Harry carefully.

  Captain Blackwood studied him quizzically for a moment. “Yes, I expect you do. There is still an unsettled dispute between you, is there not?”

  “I think my family regard it as settled, sir. I cannot answer for the Barclays.” Harry’s answer was decidedly guarded. He did not wish to open this topic to public debate.

  “Quite so, but if memory serves, it was over a claim involving tenants of your family dispossessed by a grant of land made under the Commonwealth, is that not so?”

  “The O’Connors—yes, that is so, sir, but it was settled by the High Court in Dublin over a hundred years ago. The court cleared my great grandfather and censured the Barclay of the time. I believe that matter is closed as far as my family are concerned.”

  Harry did not explain that the property at Raholp was a part of his family’s holding, seized by Cromwell after charges were brought by the Barclays against his great grandfather’s sire.

  Because the Herons were dispossessed, their tenants were subject to a campaign of vilification and harassment, which culminated in the seizure of several who, having then been accused of being Catholic and fomenting rebellion, were to be sold into slavery and transported to the new world. Harry’s family somehow raised sufficient money to pay the bond price and then worked to frustrate all further attempts in this regard by the Barclays. It reached its conclusion in the High Court some considerable time later, with the court rejecting the Barclay claim to the bounty for rebels and the slave price for the members of the families they had attempted to sell. That they retained the Raholp lands rankled the Herons, themselves plantationers, who were also granted this land under Queen Elizabeth along with other smaller grants elsewhere in the county, with Scrabo being one of these.

  “Hmm,” said Captain Blackwood. “Very well, Mister Heron. I am, as your Captain has no doubt informed you, to offer you an opportunity to transfer to my ship. I have vacancies for two midshipmen. Knowing your family, I feel you could be one of them, but I must warn you, Midshipman Barclay will be the gunroom senior. I would understand perfectly if you were to decline this opportunity.”

  “Sir, I feel I should accept this post, but I am torn by the fact that Captain Stewart, Lord Garlies, accepted me as one of his midshipmen, and I owe him a debt of loyalty for it.”

  “Nonsense, my boy,” said Captain Stewart. “I took you on as a midshipman for the very good reason that I saw in you a likely lad. You have more than lived up to my expectations, as have you, Mister Tanner. That is why I have commended you both to Captain Blackwood.”

  The Captain paused. “Make no mistake; this ship will be tied to her moorings for some time, reduced to men enough to work the ship if the need arises and no more. Captain Blackwood is to undertake a voyage that will provide you both with an opportunity to learn your craft in a way that few others do.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “This ill feeling between your family and the Barclays—do you think it will make it impossible for you to do your duty aboard the Spartan? If so, tell us now, and I will see what else I can do for you.”

  “I do not see that an old dispute need stand in the way of my duty, sir. If Mister Barclay is prepared to leave the past aside, then I have no misgivings on that matter.”

  “Well said,” replied Captain Blackwood. “Then I think we can make the necessary transfer through the port admiral.”

  He paused for a moment then asked, “You brought a man with you to this ship, did you not? Will he wish to transfer with you?”

  “Ferghal? I cannot speak for him entirely, but he has said on many occasions that he would wish to stay on the same ship as myself, sir.”

  “Does he have a name other than just Ferghal?”

  “Aye, sir, it is O’Connor.”

  Captain Blackwood sat back and fixed his eyes on Harry, his face impassive. “I guessed as much. Is he your father’s groom’s son by any chance?”

  “Aye, sir, we have grown up together, and Ferghal was my companion in the school room at Scrabo.”

  “Very well, but you’d best tell him of Mister Barclay’s position. Warn him that I will not tolerate insubordination no matter the provocation. Is that clear?”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  After a few minutes of conversation with Kit Tanner, the pair were dismissed to collect their chests and possessions. “Be at the entry port for the boat at eight bells in the afternoon watch, gentlemen.”

  Hurrying to the gunroom, Kit Tanner said, “Whew, for a minute there I thought you might refuse the offer. What is the dispute between your family and this Barclay?”

  “It is as I told the Captain. It goes back to Cromwell’s Commonwealth and t
he laws enacted to suppress rebellion. The Barclays tried to have our tenants attainted and sold into slavery in the Americas, the fate of many of my countrymen, but my ancestor succeeded in preventing it at no small cost to our family. The Barclays have resented that ever since.”

  “So the feud is over the treatment of some tenants?”

  He raised his chin and looked directly into Kit’s eyes. “We Herons look after our own and fight our own fights, unlike the Barclays who bully when they can and draw in allies when they cannot. You will do well to guard your own back with this one, Kit. If he is true to his nature, he will be quick to seize upon any sign of weakness in us.”

  Almost the same words were being said by Captain Blackwood in the great cabin. “Were it not that I have an obligation to take the wretched fellow, I would as lief have chosen another for this voyage. I have managed to obtain the posting of a lad as the second senior who will ensure Master Barclay does not become too much the bully. You may know him—Thomas Bowles; his father commanded the frigate Ariadne.”

  “Ah, yes, I do know the father. By the sound of it, this Barclay has a somewhat unfortunate reputation,” observed Captain Stewart.

  “It is a family that breeds bad blood, I’m thinking,” agreed Captain Blackwood. “They have not been good landlords, and they are not good neighbours, but are always seeking disputes. The Herons were unfortunate in the matter of the property at Raholp. It was ultimately down to the Barclays having the ear of Cromwell’s commissioner at that time.

  “For the rest, they attempted, so the story goes, to have the Herons’ former tenants sold to the Americas under the law permitting the sale of rebel Irish prisoners as slaves. It was a bad time to be Irish during the Commonwealth, and it has given fuel to much of the discontent since.