HMS DREADNAUGHT: A John Phillips Novel

by Richard Testrake

  A few days out of English Harbor, the convoy became involved with the fringes of an early season hurricane. Most of the convoy vanished from sight in the storm, but for the first day, Dreadnaught kept in sight a heavily laden brigantine which was riding out the heavy weather like a duck.

  Not so the liner. It seemed some of her canvas had spent too much time below in the heat and damp of the sail locker, slowly rotting with mildew.

  In the storm, her deteriorating sails began tearing out with distressing frequency. As he watched, a new main topsail was being hoisted during the height of the storm, at the extreme risk of life and limb.

  When they finally escaped the battering winds, they were still in company with the brigantine. Two days later, they met up with another member of the convoy, then finally they met Panther. Much beaten about, she was in company with the remainder of the convoy, as well as a schooner, also much the worse for wear. This last was supposedly a French privateer, but more likely the word pirate might be more apt.

  Thinking it had found easy pickings and mistaking the brig for another merchantman, the schooner had set upon one of the convoy’s merchants. Panther’s captain took exception and tore into the schooner. The privateer was crammed with people, and there might have been a little difficulty boarding the vessel.

  HMS Panther however, had a pair of twenty four pounder carronades in her bow, and two more aft. Plenty of canister at close range soon whittled down the disparity of people.

  One expert shot at close range eliminated the enemy quarterdeck party, and with no one left to take command, someone just hauled down the flag.

  Phillips examined the damage on both ships, and expressed his fervent admiration to Lieutenant Billings, the commander of HMS Panther. He assured him he could not promise anything, but said he would bring the matter of his skill and seamanship to the attention of the Admiralty.

  Asked about the whereabouts of HMS Henriette, Billings said he had not seen the sloop since they encountered the storm.

  The convoy entered Portsmouth with all except the missing sloop, but with the prize schooner bringing up the rear.

  Phillips and Billings were closely questioned by the port admiral, Sir Roger Curtis. Neither had anything to add concerning the missing sloop.

  Asking Lieutenant Billings to step into the waiting room, Admiral Curtis questioned Phillips about the lieutenant. Phillips expressed admiration for the man as a complete seaman. He expressed his dismay the man was still a lieutenant after holding a commission for nearly thirty years.

  Curtis shuffled some paper on his desk, and located what he was looking for. “Yes, damned shame. He has been recommended numerous times for promotion, but there was always some other man with more interest who got the nod. Like young Everett on Henriette. I had that young fool on my staff here for a few months.”

  “His relatives were always after me to promote him and give him a command. He was no more capable of command than my best setter, but he finally did get what his people wanted. His family managed to kill him! Perhaps we can help make amends, though.”

  “Simmons”, he roared. “Bring your quill.”

  The clerk came into the office and set to work with quill and ink, writing to the admiral’s dictation. Phillips had gone to the stern gallery to admire the trash floating on the water and deliberately tried to block out the Admiral’s voice.

  He did hear, “Phillips come here!”

  The Marine sentry was ushering in Billings. Admiral Curtis addressed the lieutenant. “Mister Billings, I realize the navy has always projected the image of an uncaring monolith. Occasionally though, even the RN can rise above itself once in a while.”

  “Captain Billings, your brig has been beaten about badly, and I doubt the yard will find it worthwhile to make repairs. Therefore, I am placing you in command of another vessel. She is a former corvette, like the missing Henriette. Normally she would be rated as an eighteen gun sloop. I think however, we will find room for an extra pair of guns and commission her as a twenty gun post ship. As soon as you can find the time to read yourself in, Captain, you will begin earning your pay of £255 per annum as a post captain.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Having received her orders, HMS Dreadnaught departed Portsmouth for the Mediterranean Fleet. After an uneventful voyage, she found the fleet’s flagship, HMS Ocean off Cadiz, Spain.

  Making his ship’s number, Dreadnaught’s captain received a signal to report on board the flag.

  A strong westerly had built up the seas, and Phillips had a wet trip in his launch to the flagship. The huge second rate line of battle ship herself was almost immobile, but the same could not be said of the launch.

  With his boat cloak around him, and his sword pushed around in back, he stood up, ready to grasp the liner’s man ropes. With the launch up against the side of the huge ship, as the launch rose up on a wave, Phillips seized the man ropes, and the launch dropped under him as the sea fell away. His feet kicked about until one found a batten fixed into the ship’s side. With both feet now placed, he was able to begin the long climb to the entry port.

  When the ship had last been painted, sand had been applied to the wet paint on the battens, and the ascent was now easier than it might have been.

  Side boys were holding the man ropes away from the ship so that he was able to have a better grip. His hand removed his hat in salute as he got to the entry port.

  A party of Royal Marines rendered honors, and Vice Admiral Collingwood’s flag captain was there to greet him.

  Captain Thomas advised him that Admiral Collingwood would be seeing him as soon as he finished with his present appointment.

  The admiral looked to be a tired man, one perhaps not well, but he exhibited the utmost courtesy to Phillips.

  “Captain Phillips, I do not know how much you have been informed of concerning the situation in Spain here today.”

  “Sir, having been at sea much of the past few months, I think it advisable to consider my ignorance absolute!”

  “Your candor is refreshing, captain. Many of your peers find it necessary to exaggerate their knowledge. Here is the drill.”

  “Our friend Napoleon Bonaparte decided he wants his brother Joseph on the throne of Spain. To that end, he forced the abdication of King Charles and his son Ferdinand, and removed both to France. The Spanish populace was outraged and revolted.”

  “French troops reacted as they normally do in such circumstance, and are now visiting cruel retribution on the Spanish people.”

  “We in the Mediterranean Fleet are attempting to give as much aid as possible to the remains of the Spanish forces in the field.”

  “Recently, a Spanish fishing vessel sailed into Gibraltar, carrying a somewhat battered Spanish Army officer. The remains of his uniform indicated he was a ‘Comandante’ according to my clerk, a knowledgeable man concerning these things. I am told that equates to the rank of Major in our service.”

  “After going ashore, he apparently negotiated a letter of credit, and when he next appeared aboard ship, was clad in a most splendid uniform of a ‘Coronel’, or colonel as we would say.”

  “Coronel Mendez appears to be a most dangerous man, and I would refrain from making any untoward comments concerning his rank or his uniform.”

  “At any rate, he has some ideas concerning the discomfiture of the French forces in the vicinity of Cadiz. He will accompany you back to Dreadnaught, and with the assistance of your Marine officers, I wish you and Mendez would explore the possibility of doing harm to the French. I have leased the fishing vessel he arrived in from its owner, and you may keep it in company and possibly use it for raids on the shore. Have you any questions?”

  “Not at this time, Sir.”

  Collingwood addressed his clerk. “Henry, would you ask the sentry to fetch Colonel Mendez? We have some business to discuss.”

  A few minutes later, the Royal Marine sentry thumped his musket butt on the deck, and announced, “Colonel Mendez, Sir!”
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br />   A short statured, but lean and wiry man in his mid-thirties stepped into the cabin. Phillips could understand why the Admiral had classified him as a dangerous looking man. He had a wicked rapier on his side, and the look of a hungry hawk.

  He stepped in and bowed first to the Admiral and then to Phillips. The clerk immediately began explaining to the officer what was going on, in rapid fire Spanish.

  Mendez looked at Phillips, gave another bow, and said in careful English, that he would be happy to come aboard his ship. Bottles were opened, toasts were proposed, and then it was time to leave.

  The sea had not moderated since Phillips had arrived, and he wondered how the colonel was going to manage the descent into the boat. A midshipman led the way down, to show the officer how it was done. Phillips had assured the mid of the terrible consequences that would ensue should anyone in the boat try any little tricks on the colonel.

  The mid went down slowly and carefully, and the colonel followed. It was Phillips that made a miss-step coming off the batten into the boat. Even though an oarsman tried to catch him, he did manage to skin a leg and ruin a stocking.

  After gaining his seat, Phillips wondered if that was a secret smile on the Spanish officer’s face.

  Once aboard Dreadnaught, it was necessary to change from their wet clothing. It seemed the Spanish Army did not deem it necessary to have extra clothing, but Lieutenant Wilson of the Marines was able to step into the breach.

  He was about the same size as the colonel, and Mendez apparently did not find it demeaning to don the dry uniform of a Royal Marine lieutenant.

  That afternoon, the winds and seas had calmed. Mendez approached Phillips on the quarterdeck, and asked for a council of war. At Phillip’s request earlier, the master had taken the ship inshore as far as he felt safe, and the ship was slowly cruising along the coast.

  Mendez pointed out a sturdy looking stone tower on shore, and assured him it was manned by French troops. There were reported to be two twenty-four pound long guns in the tower, and a pair of batteries of smaller guns outside.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The purpose of the miniature fortress was to provide protection to French units and supplies traveling along the coast road. There was a small fishing village a half mile further on, and the French had earlier proved their willingness to inflict terrible suffering upon villagers suspected of aiding attackers.

  Mendez informed Phillips most of the village’s men of military age had already been executed, and the French now promised retribution upon women and children should anyone be so foolish as to cause trouble with the fortress’ garrison.

  Phillips was aghast! How did one combat such people?

  Mendez had a question himself. Was it possible for the ship to furnish a few barrels of salt meat and some ship’s bread to help feed the villagers?

  After being assured that this could indeed be done, Mendez said an abandoned village existed back in the country, well away from the coast road. Mendez proposed moving the entire population of the village to that new locality. Since there would not be enough time for the people to plant new crops at their new home, it would be necessary to feed them with what could be carried to them.

  As far as causing grief to the French garrison, Mendez said he had some irregular forces, but needed more weapons and ammunition. After the local populace was removed to safer environs, he proposed to cause some mischief himself.

  *****

  The ship sailed down the coast, then came about and returned. In the dark. Mendez boarded his fishing boat and set out for shore. The plan called for HMS Dreadnaught to open fire upon the stone fortress and the batteries emplaced outside the stone tower. Hopefully, the fire from the line of battle ship would overcome that from the shore.

  After the enemy strongpoint had been knocked about by the ships fire, partisans on shore would attempt an assault, aided, if necessary, by Royal Marines from HMS Dreadnaught.

  Mendez had carried ashore with him a few dozen muskets with ammunition, taken from Dreadnaught’s stores. He also had some signaling fireworks.

  Hopefully his men would meet up with him when he left his fishing boat. If he had enough men to make a plausible attack on the fortress, he would burn a blue light when he wanted the ship’s guns silenced. He would launch a red rocket if or when he wanted the Marines landed.

  The ship ghosted up to her firing position using a lead line to find the correct position in the dark. Two lights ashore from the battery’s watch fires showed the approximate positions of the enemy. A cable was passed through a stern gun port and led forward to be connected to the bower anchor cable. It was necessary to take a turn on the capstan to pull the bow around so the port broadside was facing the enemy fortress.

  Captain Phillips spoke to the ship’s officers, as well as the midshipmen commanding gun sections. “I want all guns aimed and on target before the lanyard is pulled. We will fire from forward to aft, lower deck first. Wait until you hear the gun forward of you fire before you shoot. I want deliberate fire hitting the targets continually. By the time the guns aft have fired, the guns forward should be loaded.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The men at the guns strained their eyes, staring at the shore to the east, trying to make out the targets. Gradually, the eastern sky began to lighten. Then, the stone tower became visible. Phillips sent midshipman runners, including his son Timothy, around to the guns, to remind the gunners the tower was the primary target. They should fire at that until no more fire came from it.

  When that fire was suppressed, fire would shift to the smaller guns in the secondary batteries outside.

  With the tower now plainly in view, Phillips ordered Mister Watkins to begin the bombardment.

  The forward gun of the lower gun deck, port side, fired. Almost immediately, the next went off. The gunfire became constant, and the guns began to heat. At that point, Watkins informed Phillips he wanted to fire the upper deck guns. The lower deck guns ceased fire, and the smaller upper deck artillery opened. There was not a five second delay in the firing.

  Early in the bombardment, twin muzzle flashes of guns in the tower blossomed, as well as many from the secondary batteries. Soon, one of the tower guns stopped firing, then after some minutes, the second stopped. Some of the early rounds fired from shore came close, but now the smaller secondary guns that were firing seemed to be at extreme range. Few shot were now coming near the ship.

  With the secondary batteries on shore still firing, Phillips decided to increase his firepower. He ordered both decks to fire at the batteries. Through his glass, Captain Phillips was able to see the stonework being shattered around the enemy gun positions.

  He knew there must be stone chips constantly flying around the embrasures, and thought that would not be a healthy place to be.

  At this point, he say a tiny blue light take hold. Soon it was burning brightly in the overcast dawn. He gave the cease fire order, and watched tiny figures emerge from the rocks behind the fortress. Then he saw a red rocket soar erratically into the air.

  The ship’s boats were led forward from where they had been trailing aft, and the ship’s Royal Marines descended into the boats. The seamen manning the oars set to, and the boats pulled for the shore.

  The fighting seemed to be over by the time they arrived, and the Marine captain commanding was rowed back. He was badly shaken by what he had seen. The enemy gunners had surrendered, but the locals executed all prisoners where they stood. Some hacked to death by civilians wielding farm implements.

  The colonel’s troops confiscated all French weapons and accoutrements, and parceled them out to those of either gender of the villagers who wished to accompany them to fight more Frenchmen.

  In due course, as the local militia, or Miguelettes, as they were calling themselves, finished gleaning their spoils of war, Colonel Mendez climbed into a boat and was rowed back to the ship. He asked the promised casks of beef be loaded into his fishing boat, then; the lading underway, announced one of th
e captives had said before he died, that a column of troops was marching along the coast road from the north.

  Phillips asked, “How many troops? How far away?”

  “He didn’t say. The man died before we could get more out of him.”

  Frustrated, Captain Phillips wondered, “Wouldn’t it be better to keep these prisoners alive so we can extract information from them?”

  Mendez shrugged. “These people have watched the French torture and kill their relatives. They want to see blood!”

  “What would you like me to do about these troops, Colonel?”

  “There might well be no troops. Perhaps the man was mistaken. Maybe he was lying. However, I know of a place along this road where if I had a few kegs of gunpowder, I could bring down the hillside onto the road. This would stop all traffic on it until the French made repairs, and perhaps we could kill some of them.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  After Phillips and the colonel finished their wine, the colonel retired to his cabin, while Phillips summoned the gunner. After explaining his needs to the gunner, Mister Fletcher said, “Yes, he did have some old, recycled gunpowder he did not trust for accurate work in his guns. Just what was needed for blowing up cliffs.”

  Next morning they pulled up anchor and set sail along the coast toward the north. A few hours sailing brought them to a desolate area, where the road ran along a steep rise. A cut there revealed layered rock with large boulders on the surface. The launches pulled ashore bearing the Marine captain, the gunner, and plenty of sailors for the necessary digging. A couple of hours work in the hard pack had holes dug into the face of the cut beside the road.