CHAPTER THREE
Matters were more complex than the captain had related to Lord Forsythe. He had not had occasion to obtain his usual private stock of powder and shot for training his gun crews. Many of the ranking officials in the hierarchy of the Royal Navy believed it was not necessary to practice live fire. After all, all that needed done was to place your ship up against the enemy, fire a couple of broadsides into her at close pistol shot range and board her in the smoke.
With senior officials of the Admiralty regarding actual firing of the guns in practice to be almost pointless, there were strict limits to the use of the ammunition. Only a small fraction of the issue charges were allowed to be expended in the first six months of the voyage, unless fired into a legitimate military or naval target.
At any rate, most of the gunnery practice of the ship’s crew had been just the daily practice of running the guns up to the ports, simulating firing, then hauling them back to simulate loading. Phillips had ordered his officers to question members of the crew to find any long-service hands who may have had training from another captain in the past.
A dozen men turned up claiming to have served under men whom Phillips knew believed in proper training at firing guns accurately from a distance. These men were stationed at the two forward guns on the ship. Since there were insufficient gun crew to serve the guns of both sides at the same time, the crewmen of a particular gun would also serve the corresponding gun on the opposite side of the ship in case there was need.
While the ship approached the convoy, the gunner went around the ship with the captain, explaining to the gun crews, what was about to happen. The crew was not entirely ignorant of their expected duties. They had all spent at least an hour every day, sometimes much more, practicing simulated gun drill. But, Phillips knew, it would not be until the men heard the great guns crashing and men screaming from their horrible wounds that they could hope to understand what they would be facing
With all guns loaded and the tompions that prevented spray from entering the gun’s bores removed, the midshipmen went down the row of guns, inspecting the gun locks for sharp flints and dry priming powder.
Approaching the convoy, Phillips had time to examine the current situation. HMS Stately, a perfectly respectable line-of-battle ship, was up forward on the windward van. Many of the merchants had clustered around her. The frigate was also to windward, but farther back the convoy was steadily shredding, with individual masters going in their own way.
The escort brig, Ferret, was in the rear attempting to protect a pair of merchants that had run aboard each other in panic and were now trying to extricate themselves.
The privateer brig, about the same size as her opponent, was closing in on the escort, perhaps in bluff, possibly with the view of swarming her with boarders, while giving the schooner free access to others ahead who might not be reached in time by the other two escorts.
Leaving the escort brig to her own devices for now, Phillips bulled ahead through the flock of merchants to the area where the schooner seemed to be headed. Judging he had a few minutes before the engagement commenced, he went forward to the pair of forward starboard guns he had staffed with his best people. He informed the crews he would be engaging to starboard for now, but the men must be prepared to rush across the deck to the opposite guns in case of need. He asked if any had questions or concerns.
A grizzled man with a pigtail down his back shifted his quid and answered. “Sir, if you please, we know some of the other gun crews are lubbers, that couldn’t hit the Victory if she was lashed to our side, but we can do the job. Just tell us what you want from us.”
The man’s name came then to Phillips. The seaman had served with him on a previous voyage to the Baltic.
“Fletcher, I need to disable one or the other of those privateers, preferably both. I will tell you this now, the first crew to knock away an important spar will have a monumental drunk from me. The winner would take over my quarters and I will see you have all the grog you can handle.”
“In addition, we need another gunner’s mate. The captain of the gun that knocks away that spar will instantly be promoted to gunner’s mate. Now, if either of you gun captains see a clear shot that may result in a good hit, you have my permission to fire. Are we understood?”
There was a buzz among the men as he went back aft. The enemy schooner was closing on a pair of ship rigged traders. She was apparently trying to persuade them to scatter, but Phillips was thinking she might have left it too late. Realizing her danger from the British warship, the schooner fired her port broadside into one of the merchants, perhaps trying to cripple her. With only two guns on that side, the attempt failed and the schooner turned to flee.
Mister Harding, handling the ship while Phillips kept his eye on the situation, turned with her. As Andromeda wheeled around, for a moment her broadside was trained on the enemy. Phillips had raised his arm and was readying himself to drop it as a signal, when he saw Fletcher behind his gun, sighting down the barrel and urging men with crows to lever it around a bit more. Phillips dropped his arm, and all of the other guns fired, except for Fletcher’s. Phillips saw several balls smash into the lightly built hull of the enemy but nothing vital was carried away.
It was then Fletcher pulled the lanyard of his gun. A second after the gun recoiled savagely to the rear, Phillips saw the schooner’s foremast lean a bit. Through his glass, Phillips could see the splintered notch on the mast and a split beginning to travel up it. As the schooner continued its turn, the split travelled further up the mast then suddenly the whole foremast came crashing down in a tangled mess of sailcloth and rigging.
As Andromeda passed her, she fired the few guns that had been reloaded into the schooner without effect, then coming around to the assistance of the escort brig, which was locked in combat with the other privateer.
Closing, a mass of humanity was struggling aboard Ferret, with boarders from the enemy outnumbering Ferret’s crew.
Stately was bulling her way through the convoy with signal flags streaming, turning aside for no one, while HMS Alceste was acting as a sheep dog, attempting to get the flock back together again. As Andromeda closed on the combatants, the privateer’s boarders were seen deserting Ferret’s decks to scramble back aboard their own.
To no avail; Andromeda surged up to the small brig and fired her broadside into her from close pistol shot range. Most shots hit, but the privateer cut herself away from the trailing wreckage and tried sailing away. All guns were now ordered re-loaded with grape, and this load was fired into the enemy at long musket range.
Dozens of the swarming boarding crew were smashed to the deck, with gallons of blood spilling out of the scuppers, and then Stately was there. She proceeded to show the nippers how it was done. The privateer had managed to get away from Ferret, but Stately, with a good amount of way on her, came right up alongside and fired her full broadside into the little brig.
Afterward, everyone said that privateer captain was a fool for not hauling down his flag when he saw Stately approach. After Stately’s massive discharge at close range, closely following Andromeda’s broadside, the enemy ceased being an armed, sea-going vessel and instead was transformed into a mass of floating firewood.
Ship’s boats and surgeons were kept busy the rest of the day. The boats searching out the few survivors of the smashed brig and ferrying the injured to whatever ships in the convoy with surgeons aboard. Half of Ferret’s crew were dead or wounded, including her captain and the single first officer.
CHAPTER FOUR
A pair of officers and some seamen from Stately were brought aboard Ferret to re-inforce her crew. Phillips suspected some of Stately’s midshipmen were about to be appointed acting lieutenants in lieu of the transferred officers. There were some wry looks among his own mids at the lost opportunity, but Phillips well knew some of these would have their chance before long.
Now it became the convoy’s turn to furnish men to the warships. Officers with b
oarding crews went onto every ship in the convoy and determined whether any of the merchantmen could spare any people.
Of course many ships had aboard only the barest minimum of crew needed to make sail, but a few ships did have an adequate crew and these were the ones penalized. Naval crews were sent to the ships damaged in the action to assist in repairs. Besides the needs of Ferret, men were needed to man the crippled schooner which was snapped up by Alceste after the action.
She would furnish the only prize money available for the action since the destruction of the enemy brig eliminated any profit from her. There were some harsh words spoken about Stately’s treatment of the privateer brig. Some felt Andromeda could have easily finished the task herself with the bonus of having an intact hull to sell afterward.
Captain Phillips saw some wondering looks from the men and was perplexed until he recalled his promise to the gun crews. With hands swarming around the ship, each bent on his own mission, he called over a carpenter’s mate. Finding the first officer had assigned the petty officer and his crew the task of replacing a section of splintered deck an enemy shot had plowed up, Phillips judged this repair to be mainly cosmetic and not immediately necessary. Speaking first to Mister Gould, he ordered the petty officer to put a crew of men to work putting his quarters, along with that of the envoy’s back together again. Before the action, all partitions had been knocked down and struck below to allow free access to the guns and to minimize injuries from flying splinters.
Now the envoy’s gear was being brought up from below. Phillips ordered Mister Gould to belay the furnishing of his own quarters until later, but added he would like it if a five gallon cask of his own personal spirits were brought up. These spirits were the remnants of a supply purchased in Cape Colony in Southern Africa on a previous voyage. At the time, Phillips had thought the ship might run out of rum if she stayed out much longer so had purchased a supply of locally distilled spirits.
In the end, the liquor was not needed and Phillips had taking to using the potent liquor himself on occasion. When necessary work on the ship showed signs of completion, he spoke to the Royal Marine lieutenant assigned to the ship.
“Mister Watkins, who would you expect to be your steadiest Royal Marine, one who perhaps is not overly tempted by drink?”
Watkins though a moment. “You may be thinking of Private Larson. While he does take his ration of grog every day, I have never seen him incapacitated.”
“Well sir, would you pass the word for Private Larson? While you are at it, you might do the same for Seaman Fletcher.”
Larson and Fletcher both came at the run, Fletcher with a fair idea of what was involved. Phillips gave both the plan. ”My sleeping quarters are now put together, but are still empty of furnishings. Private Larson, I promised the gun crews I would reward the gun crew that crippled the enemy schooner with a good drunk. I saw Seaman Fletcher here bring down her foremast and his gun crew wins the prize. I also believe the neighboring gun assisted, so these men will also share.”
“I am allowing these men the use of my quarters tonight where they will have as much spirits as they can handle. Private Larson, you have been reported to me by your officer as a steady man. You will be provided a ladle with which to issue the liquor into each man’s piggin.”
“Every man may have as much spirits as he can handle, but he must not drink too rapidly. Every time the ship’s bell is struck, at the end of every glass at the ship’s binnacle, each man may receive one ladle of drink, then must wait until the next glass. You will not drink, Private Larson. Instead, you will be paid five shillings for this task and receive an extra tot of grog tomorrow.
Seaman Fletcher, you are this moment rated as Gunner’s Mate. As such you will keep control of your men and prevent them from harming each other or the ship. One of Private Larson’s mates will remain outside the closed door in case you need any assistance. If we are clear Petty Officer Fletcher, you may leave now to bring your mates aft, and the party will begin. It will end when I say it will.”
The grim faced Lieutenant Gould was plainly dis-approving when he learned of the party. He sourly wondered aloud what their envoy was going to think of a drunken orgy being held next to his own quarters.
“That is a very good question Mister Gould. However, Lord Forsythe will not mind sleeping elsewhere this night. Would you locate Mister Goodrich now and both of you see me when he is located?”
In due course, Gould and Goodrich reported to their captain on the quarterdeck. “I assume Mister Gould has informed you of the entertainment I am giving my gun crews tonight in my quarters, Mister Goodrich. I will be spending the night on deck as I often do, but there is the problem of Lord Forsythe. He may dislike spending the night next to a party of drunken sailors. I wonder if I could implore you to offer him the hospitality of your berth tonight. Would you be willing to spend the evening in the gunroom?”
Mister Goodrich, a midshipman himself until very recently and well familiar with gunrooms, was fatalistic and accepted the suggestion without demur. Mister Gould was another matter. Having held his commission nearly twenty years, he was well aware of his rights. One of those rights was his charge over the wardroom, where the officers ate and lived. It would have been more diplomatic had Phillips asked him first.
Phillips, having dealt with recalcitrant first lieutenants before, had made up his mind he would not defer to this officer. He was the captain of the ship and the other officers would just need to adapt.
CHAPTER FIVE
With matters settled, he next approached Lord Forsythe, now ensconced in Phillips own deck chair on the quarterdeck. The ship had travelled south enough to begin getting some pleasant temperatures, pleasant enough that is, if one was wearing a decent cloak.
He explained the situation with his gun crews and the party he was giving them for knocking down that schooner’s mast. He said, “I fear they will become boisterous as the evening wears on and may become tiresome. I wonder if I can beg you to spend the night in a spare cabin in the wardroom. It is tiny, but I am sure it will be more comfortable than your present quarters with an orgy going on next door.”
Forsythe assured him not to have any concerns. “Turnabout is fair play, Captain. I am told it is many a night you have slept on deck to escape my vile retching. This is the very least I can do.”
The prize schooner had been left behind, with men and materials necessary to rig a jury foremast. Captain Moore in Stately, with more men under his command, assigned crew from his own ship to man her. There was grumbling aboard Andromeda, some of the newer men having a dim understanding of prize procedures, imagining Stately was trying to ‘steal’ the prize, while their own efforts had caused her capture.
Overhearing some bitter debate from a nearby work party, Phillips called over the watch officer and asked him to bring a delegation of these men to the quarterdeck. Lieutenant Darby spoke with Midshipman Otis who was supervising the work party, and soon the apprehensive seamen were standing before their captain on the quarterdeck.
“Men, you and the others in the crew have made me proud today. Your efforts have caused the enemy to surrender a fine schooner to us. When she is sold, all of us will share in the money she brings. Are there any questions?”
A rugged-looking man stepped forward. He was one of a group of ‘Quota Men’ that had been originally sent to the ship from their home county as men regarded by the county officials as people that could well be done without.
Often free with his fists, Landsman Willis was one hand with whom Phillips thought he might have to amend his own rule about punishment. Several of his officers felt Willis would be the better if he were triced up and given a dozen lashes now and again.
Willis knuckled his forehead, then ruined the effect by sneering, “Sir, we took the ship, now Stately takes it away from us. What about that, then?”
“Willis, Stately did not take her away from us. Captain Moore as senior officer decided his ship, with its larger crew, was better
prepared to man and repair her. After making port, she will enter prize court proceedings, and will be sold with the money divided up between the crews of all King’s ships in sight of the action. That is the rule.”
Phillips walked away from the group, not wishing to debate this lout any longer. Approaching Otis, he asked if the mid had had much trouble with Willis. The mid answered, “He always has that sneer on his face, and often ignores me when I speak to him. Yesterday he told me his old granny was a better officer than I would ever be.”
Phillips nodded. “Mister Otis, if that hand gives you or any other petty officer disrespect again, you will write his name down for captain’s mast and give it to Lieutenant Gould. I have tried to be easy with the hands, but I see that some are getting the wrong ideas. Things will change.”
Next morning, the first officer approached Phillips on the quarterdeck and lifted his hat in salute. “Sir, I have a man on report for punishment. Midshipman Otis tells me you had asked him to write him up.”
“Yes, I did, Mister Gould. I believe the man in question is Landsman Willis?”
“Sir!”
“Very well. I spoke to Willis yesterday. I regarded his demeanor as lacking in respect. Mister Otis tells me he is frequently insolent with him. I ordered him to put the man on report on the next occasion. Now, what are we to hear about Landsman Willis?”
“Sir, Bosun’s Mate Anderson, in the hearing of Midshipman Otis, ordered Landsman Willis to coil down the main topmast staysail halyard. Willis advised Anderson to get stuffed. When Otis then ordered Willis to do what he was told, Willis informed the mid he was nothing but a boil on the captain’s ass, begging your pardon, sir. He refused to obey and Otis called Mister Darby who had the watch. Willis, who was probably under the influence of his evening grog ration, was insolent to Darby, and the man placed in restraints and put below.”
Across to America: A Tim Phillips Novel (War at Sea Book 9) Page 2