A stern-faced, Anne Humphries, came on deck and delivered her summation. “The cargo did shift during the blow, but it was not the lemons that did it. There is a cargo of big guns low down in the hold, and over that, cases of muskets in crates. That is what shifted. They had a few tons of lemons on top of the weapons to hide them from casual view.”
Immediately, Phillips went below to inspect for himself. The guns, he was able to examine, each had the Imperial N cast into the breech. The muskets were all of French military issue. He ordered the merchant’s crew to be taken in custody, and he informed the mate in command the ship was now a prize of the Royal Navy.
Phillips attempted to learn from the crew of the merchantman where the cargo had been taken on board. At first, no one would talk, but soon Anne came to him. Before the American crew was arrested, she had worked alongside them. Afterward, she informed Phillips one had come to her with a story.
The fellow claimed to be a former Royal Navy crewman discharged from Indefatigable years ago who then emigrated to America. He had once served as a crewman aboard a hulk in the Thames and did not wish to go back to one as a prisoner of war. He offered to tell all if he were given leniency.
Phillips let the matter ride while they were getting the merchantman seaworthy again. Her hold had to be opened and the cargo hoisted up and later re-stowed. The loose fruit was simply thrown over the side. Once they were able to bring up the crates of muskets, they were then able to get at the guns. Phillips would have liked to drop them over the side also, but they would be evidence. So they were re-stowed, and wedged into place with whatever came to hand. Eventually, some of the musket crates were found to be broken, so individual muskets were used for dunnage.
Fortunately, the weather remained fairly reasonable for that day and the next when the ship was finally riding on an even keel. Some of the old canvas Andromeda had used as a disguise, was sent aboard and sail was got on the ship.
Now was the time to deal with their potential informer. The fellow was brought up from the orlop deck where he had been in chains for the past few days. Considering the fellow to be in the proper frame of mind now, Phillips ordered him brought aft.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bob Laskins was a pitiful looking specimen when he was brought before Phillips. Nearly toothless his hair was long and unkempt, down below his shoulders. Having been in irons, he had been unable to braid his queue. His stench was overpowering. Phillips had ordered Mister Gould to sit there in the cabin with him. One look at Gould’s face might easily influence a man to think he was about to be sent to the Inquisition.
The questioning at first was light. Laskins was not the brightest man on the ship, and his questioners were soon able to determine when he was telling lies, which was most of the time. He claimed to have been discharged from Indefatigable before the present war, but he inadvertently revealed he had served on Niobe since then. It was likely Laskins was a runner.
With all of this out of the way, Phillips asked the man straight out where the merchant had loaded the arms. Laskins wanted Phillips to promise he would be released upon reaching shore, without being sent to a prison hulk.
Phillips turned to Gould, who had already been told what he should tell the man. Phillips thought Gould could do a better job of frightening the man than he could do himself.
Gould glared at the seaman. “Laskins, so far you have told us a parcel of lies. From your own mouth, you have incriminated yourself as a deserter. Spending the next few years in a prison hulk is the least of your worries. What you have to worry about first is whether you will have the flesh flogged from your back as a deserter, or whether you will be merely hung up as serving aboard an enemy ship against your own country.”
Gibbering with fear, Laskins swore he would tell the truth if only his life would be spared. Facing Gould’s glare, finally Laskins surrendered. It seemed after unloading her cargo in Lisbon, the ship had taken aboard a cargo of raw wool supposedly bound for Boston. In view of her service in bringing supplies to Wellington, the ship was granted a license to satisfy any blockading ships that might stop her.
Leaving Lisbon, she had sailed northerly up the Iberian Peninsula then eastward to the French port of Bayonne. She dodged the watchdog frigate there and made her way into the port. There, she sold her wool and purchased the weapons to deliver to the United States. These, were of course, prohibited contraband, and were concealed under a mass of loose lemons. The ship then set out for Boston, sailing in the midst of a blow that drove the blockading ships out to sea.
Gould pounced on him. “You tell us the ship carried a British license to carry raw wool to the States. Where did she get the license saying she was laden with lemons?”
The stricken seaman fearfully stammered that he did not know. “The captain and first mate handled all of that and the crew was never told.”
With a glance at Gould, Phillips iterated that statement was probably true. “I expect the French authorities have someone who can copy our own licenses with a fair degree of accuracy.” With a final glance at Laskins, Phillips assured him he would not go to a prison hulk. Instead he would be allowed to sign on to Andromeda as a crewman, with a warning.
“Should you attempt to desert again, I can promise you a fast court martial and a flogging around the fleet. Govern yourself accordingly.”
The pair sailed westward in company, Darby commanding the prize. Andromeda still was resembling a dowdy merchant with her drab paint. Hoping for yet another privateer, Phillips sailed the line of latitude leading to Halifax. This far along on their voyage, many ships without an accurate chronometer often sailed such a line to port, since it was much easier to determine their latitude than the proper longitude. Therefore, a ship could be sailed right along that line until land was sighted.
Of course, enemy predators also knew this, and it was not unusual for a warship to station herself on that line and wait until a fat prize sailed into her clutches. From a distance, Andromeda and her consort appeared to be just that, a pair of merchantmen who had somehow become separated from their convoy, making for the British port of Halifax by the most direct means.
To the General Washington, an American privateer brig of twelve guns, the only question was whether both ships could be harvested at the same time. Should they separate, it might be difficult. Some caution was evidenced at first, but it was soon decided the pair of plain ships were clearly merchantmen, with no capacity to do the privateer any harm.
To the temporary relief of Captain Ezra Benson of the Washington, they did not separate. He suspected the individual ship captains thought together they could fight him off. He had a well drilled crew and a large number of boarders aboard.
With a fast ship and few British warships abroad yet on blockade duty, he planned to be out for not over a week at a time, allowing him to sail with a large crew aboard without the necessity to concern himself much about provisions. Hopefully, any prospective prize could be taken by swarming aboard a large number of boarders with the objective of capturing the prize with minimal damage.
On board Andromeda, the stranger was immediately identified to be a likely privateer. There were still many miles of separation between the privateer and its intended prey, so Phillips hurriedly scrawled out instructions to the Morris, and asked Anne to jump down into the jolly boat and deliver them to Mister Darby.
Darby was simply instructed to follow in Andromeda’s wake and follow her lead. When Andromeda hoisted her flag, the Morris was to hoist the British ensign over the American. This would indicate she was a prize to the British warship. She must not give that notice however, until so ordered. When Anne returned from her mission, Phillips told her to go below before the expected action commenced. “If you desire to be useful, you can assist the doctor” Phillips suggested.
“Sir”, she replied. “You have few enough officers for the deck. I will admit that I know nothing about gunnery and fighting, but I do know how to sail and command a ship. If you would permit, I
could take the place of Mister Harding, the sailing master. I am sure he could prove useful on your guns.”
Phillips explained to her the savagery of ship-board combat and the blood and the terrible wounds that would be expected. When she refused to withdraw her offer though, Phillips, with some reservations, decided to allow her to perform Mister Harding’s duties with his consent.
Harding himself had his own reservations, but agreed, since he would be commanding a section of the guns he would be on deck and could step into the breach, if she faltered.
On Phillip’s order, Anne had the courses furled, the ship proceeding under her tops’ls. This accomplished two purposes. Getting those big sails that were low to the deck and close to the big guns firing out of the way, eliminated a fire hazard. For another, the speed of Andromeda through the water was reduced, giving her captain more time to make decisions.
The captain of the oncoming brig saw no need to procrastinate. He bore right in toward, what he imagined to be the leading merchantman. The brig was coming toward Andromeda’s starboard beam and obviously planned to run alongside her and use his numerous crew to swarm aboard. As a warning though, the privateer first fired a bowchaser. The six pound ball just nicked the starboard bow, barely penetrating Andromeda’s tough oak.
Phillips decided this was close enough and had Anne bring the ship around. She had the helm put over and flatted the jib to bring her head around. As the ship turned in front of the brig, Phillips ordered the guns run out.
There was no instantaneous discharge of the guns. Each gun captain had been instructed to fire only when he was sure of a hit. Mister Harding walked in the rear of the broadside guns, from bow to stern. He did not actually interfere, but observed the gun captains taking careful aim, perhaps calling for a gun to be shifted from one side or another or ordering the quoin’s position under the breech moved in or out, changing the elevation of the gun. The guns fired in singles and pairs, at a close enough range that no misses were observed.
The brig was in trouble. While a few of her crew had served in warships before, more had not. At the time she fitted out, most of the experienced seamen available who had actually previously fought in an action, had already signed aboard another privateer or had gone aboard one of the ships of the regular US Navy. Many of the crew were either peacetime seamen or casual laborers signed on as boarders who had absolutely no experience with being under fire from big guns.
When the re-loaded guns began vomiting out their deadly charges of those little iron plums, many of these men broke and began running for the hatches, hoping to escape the carnage on deck. The enemy captain roared at his people, attempting to make them return to their duty of bringing the brig around so she might possibly make her escape.
However, the same charge of grape that laid the other quarterdeck officers low, struck the captain. One of those iron plums half severed his neck, putting an end of his shouting.
One of the privateer’s hands slashed a halyard with his knife and the flag came fluttering down.
Phillips now had a dilemma. He had another prize and it was not too badly damaged. What he did not have was a surplus of officers. His only remaining deck officers were the sailing master and Mister Gould, the first officer. To tell the truth, he did not altogether trust that man out of his sight. Gould’s main tools for obtaining obedience were shouts and threats.
Phillips knew he would have to be concerned that Gould, if placed in command of the new prize, might soon find himself tipped overboard one night and the prize sailed off to Boston by a mutinous crew.
He could, of course, put the sailing master in charge of the prize, but he still needed someone he had absolute confidence aboard the post ship to second himself.
Anne would just have to step into the breach again. While the Navy would never countenance putting a woman in command of a prize, there would be no quibble if an experienced petty officer were so placed. Besides, he trusted the woman. Calling Humphries and Lane aft, he explained his thinking.
Lane was aghast that he was being placed in command of a ship, but Anne explained. “The Navy will never let a woman serve as captain, but you can. I will make the decisions, you just see that they are carried out.” With Lane’s fears settled, the pair joined the boarding party on the captive brig and began putting the brig back together.
While there had been many casualties aboard the brig, there were still many healthy men, perfectly capable of rising up some night and taking the brig back. Searching the former privateer, a party located a dozen swivel guns. These were large bore guns, something like a huge shotgun. A pintle was fastened underneath the weapon allowing it to be fired from a steady rest.
With so many prisoners to guard, it was decided to remove anything below deck that could possibly be used as a weapon and just batten the hatches with the prisoners below.
One of the brig’s guns was a little four pounder, and that was mounted right aft, covering the hatch openings. The swivel guns were mounted wherever a spot could be found. Two were placed up in the maintop so as to cover the deck below. There were several charges of case shot aboard, basically thin metal canisters filled with pistol balls. One of those charges was broken open and the swivels loaded with their shot.
The senior officer of the captured brig Phillips thought was too capable to leave aboard the vessel, so this officer came onto Andromeda, and was ensconced in the wardroom, with a Marine standing guard. Several of the privateer petty officers were shown some of the weapons before being locked below to witness what they could expect if they broke free. Before Phillips gave Anne the necessary pages copied from the signal book, he handed her the pair of pistols he had purchased the last time he was ashore in Halifax. He demonstrated the use of the new ignition system and explained the advantages. He insisted Anne keep an eye open for trouble and meet any with a firm hand.
The prize crew of the brig would have to sleep rough on deck for the next few days until they made port. The only people below deck were the captives.
The three vessels were proceeding on course for Halifax. At two bells of the morning watch Chips, standing a deck watch, noted in his log he had heard what sounded like two pistol shots aboard the latest prize, followed closely by the reports of larger guns. The post ship was leading the Washington by a good cable’s length. Chips put the ship about and called for Phillips. Andromeda was shortly hove-to off the bow of the brig with her guns run out. Phillips filled the launch with Marines and accompanied them aboard the Washington.
Anne met them at the entry port. All was peaceful now. Some of the prisoners had found an overlooked gun crow below and used it to pry the patch from a shot hole in the brig’s starboard beam. The watch on deck was alerted by the splash when the material fell into the sea. Anne went to the rail with her pistols and fired at the two men that emerged.
Simultaneously, the prisoners below were using that same crow to pry loose a hatch. It had just been opened enough for a man to scramble through when both swivel guns in the tops fired. With each guns loaded with a dozen half inch pistol balls, fearful execution was done on the people below decks. The small balls penetrated the deck planking and struck whomever was below. Phillips had the hatch removed and ordered the wounded men pulled out. With this done, the hatch was secured again and the wounded sent to Andromeda for treatment. The pair of men Anne had fired upon were never seen again. They had fallen into the sea and were lost.
It was an anti-climactic moment when Andromeda fired off the salute to Admiral Sawyer’s flag and picked up her mooring. The pilot aboard the Washington, took her to the other side of the harbor and that was the last Phillips saw of Anne for the next few days. The Morris also anchored in the commercial anchorage, and early on Mister Darby, replaced by an official from the prize court, was returned to Andromeda.
Mister Gould had previously asked to go ashore on some private business and Phillips was glad to oblige him. In recent days it was becoming ever more difficult to exist on the same ship with
the dour first officer.
After two days, Gould had not returned and then a smartly uniformed midshipman delivered a note from Admiral Sawyer. Phillips was invited to Sawyer’s house ashore for dinner and to bring the admiral up to date of his activities since leaving port earlier in the summer.
As Phillips was led by the admiral’s man past a little anteroom, he saw Lieutenant Gould seated at a little table, a massive pile of paper before him. Gould saw him but spoke not a word. With some misgivings, Phillips went into the Admiral’s working office where a light repast had been laid out on a side board. When Phillips straightened to report, Sawyer waved him off.
“Let us dispense with formality for a while, lad. I just want to hear what you have been up to from your own mouth.”
Phillips had his records and log with him but the Admiral just wanted a vocal report. He spent the next two hours going over the events of the summer since he had left port. When he finished, Sawyer told him he had learned of some of these activities before. A packet from England had arrived the week before with copies of the reports Phillips had sent ashore to Plymouth.
“Let me tell you Captain. The Plymouth port admiral is very displeased with you for not reporting to him when you were just offshore. I will try to cover over the situation just in case you ever happen to serve under the fellow in the future. We were mids together a half century ago, and he was always a touchy sort.’
Across to America: A Tim Phillips Novel (War at Sea Book 9) Page 8