Inside, were a half dozen new muskets, fresh from Ste. Etienne, slimy with the grease in which they had been packed. The spokesperson addressed the parson again. He told Phillips, “The man wants to know sir, if there is ammunition for these arms.”
Phillips led the way to the after hatch and pointed below. Case after case of musket cartridges were there, each holding a thousand rounds.
After discussing matters, the fishermen asked how many of the weapons could they have?
Phillips assured them they could have as many as they could put to good use, killing Frenchmen.
After some negotiation, it was decided that one hundred muskets would be sufficient, with perhaps fifty thousand cartridges. On second thought, perhaps they would accept harness for a dozen draft horses. While they did not have that many horses themselves, with the muskets, they could arm a strong party of villagers, and take horses and wagons from the French.
The crew was put to work pulling cargo from the holds. In with the ammunition, was found several boxes of flints, for the musket’s firing mechanism. It was a satisfied boatload of fishermen who left in the early morning. There was not enough room in the fishermen’s two boats for all their gear, so Phillips allowed them to take one of the two boats on the prize. The big net was stowed in that boat, and towed behind the large fishing vessel.
The liner and her consort cruised slowly along the coast for the next few days, then turned and came back. As they neared the place where the fishermen had gone ashore, a boat was seen coming out. Since it appeared to be heading for them, Phillips ordered the main topsail backed, and the ship slowed to a crawl, while the boat caught up to them.
There were new people on the boat, two men and a woman he had never met. He invited them aboard and had them into his dining cabin, where he had his steward open the wine cabinet. The parson arrived in haste and was put to work translating the speech of three excited people.
It seems they had heard of the windfall the fishermen had brought to shore. They wondered if there might be more available.
Phillips wondered if the previous weapons had been used yet. The woman present, a person who looked as if she was made from rawhide, spoke up for the first time. Her cousin Miguel was with the party with those weapons. They had gone across the hills, and had set the country there aflame with revolt. Every place there was a French sentry, a dozen partisans, some armed with the muskets, others with hoes and spades, could be expected to attack that sentry and kill him.
His weapon and accoutrements would be taken and used to arm another person. The French commander there was beside himself. No supplies could get into the area, and when he sent out a foraging party, it would be attacked by a band several times the party’s size. He could not even get word of his difficulty to the next unit down the road.
Phillips told the people they could have as many weapons as they could actually use. He assured the group any weapons they could not put into use, he would take down the coast and give to another band.
After examining the hold, the partisans thought they could issue half the muskets aboard to fighters in the local area. They said after a few days, as they killed French troops, more recruits would come in, but they could be armed from the weapons secured from French casualties.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In a few days, the brigantine was empty. She fell into trail behind Dreadnaught as that ship sailed along the coast looking for ways to injure Napoleon’s troops. By now, Dreadnaught was a familiar sight to the partisans along the coast. Frequently, several people in a band would make their way out in a small boat to deliver some intelligence. One day a most disreputable looking man told about some artillery on a small island. There was a strong Infantry unit that had taken over a village nearby. This unit, besides its normal weapons, had four small cannon, which had been removed from a captured British privateer earlier in the war.
The village had been attacked multiple times by several groups. The main attractions were the horse drawn, four pounder guns on the small island just offshore, and the infantry troops were not about to give them up.
The French had emplaced them well. Whenever attacked, the troops ashore would crouch in their trenches, and the guns would fire over their heads at the attackers. It would be difficult to disable or capture the weapons. The soldiers onshore could give all the cover needed.
Told that Dreadnaught would examine the situation, the man left the ship and reported to his band.
Phillips called the master to his cabins with his charts for the area. Right away, they both noticed a problem. The water for a mile or more seaward was shoal. Granted, there were winding channels of deeper water that meandered, but the master refused to consider taking the ship close ashore. He assured Phillips these charts were decades old, and who knows how much the bottom had changed. A local pilot could possibly be recruited, but he must necessarily be accustomed to the local, shallow draft boats; not this behemoth of a line of battle ship.
Watkins was present and wondered if they could get boats near the shore. Boats armed with carronades?
Mister Jenson, the master, thought that would indeed be practical. It was decided the boats, so armed, would proceed at night with a man in each boat’s bow, equipped with a sounding pole. When within range, an illuminating rocket would be fired, followed by charges of canister or grape, depending on the range.
It was hoped accurate fire upon the guns would prevent return fire. Coming up from behind would be boats crammed with Royal Marines and armed seamen, who would charge ashore when and if practical.
The guns, if still in firing order after being captured would be turned on the troops ashore. If possible, after the action, the guns would be taken aboard ship, otherwise they would have to be disabled.
A dark night was needed for the boats to approach the island unseen. The coming night had clear skies, and a quarter moon. Accordingly, Dreadnaught left and resumed her vigil up and down the coast, looking for enemy ship traffic. Two nights later however, was perfect. The sky was heavily overcast, and a slight rain was falling. The sentries ashore would find it difficult to see boats approaching the island. Probably most would be under what cover that was available, with a few unfortunate sentries to suffer the damp.
Phillips suspected many soldiers would have damp cartridges for their muskets. He wondered if half their muskets would fire. The liner crept as close to the island as the master dared. He had a good idea of the topography of the bottom, but needed to be wary of an occasional sunken wreck or a sand bar that had changed its location.
The ship anchored two miles off shore in seven fathoms of water. The launches left first, each armed with a nine pounder carronade. Following on behind, the remaining ships boats carried the landing party.
Each man carried forty rounds of ball cartridge for his musket in a waterproof pouch. Besides the charges for the boat guns, the gunner had made up charges for the four pounder guns on shore they hoped to capture. Intelligence they had gleaned from locals indicated the French had captured these guns from a British privateer that had run aground nearby, so there should be no problems with differing calibers.
Leaving a protesting Mister Watkins in command on the ship, Captain Phillips went in the first boat of the assault party. As they neared the island, they could see only the gun boats ahead of them.
There was some confusion when their boat touched on a sand bar. A few men jumped out to push the boat off. The pair waded ahead of the boat, keeping it on course. Phillips could hear muffled cursing as other boats had similar difficulties.
Evidently the cursing was not muffled enough as someone on shore sounded a quavering challenge.
“Qui va là?”
Timothy, sitting beside his father whispered a translation, “Who goes there?” The parson on the ship had been instructing the younger mids in the French language. Phillips doubted his son would have the language skills yet to carry on a believable conversation with the sentry in French, so he bade him to keep silent
.
Apparently, they were closer than he realized, since he plainly heard the metallic click as the sentry cocked his weapon, then another as the flint fell harmlessly on the frizzen of the sentry’s weapon. The sentry had either a wet lock, or damp powder. Or both!
There was the muted gobble of voices speaking French, as presumably the sergeant of the guard questioned the sentry. Finally someone, presumably the sergeant with a dry weapon, was able to fire a shot. This served to wake everyone up.
A sudden report up ahead as a carronade sent its deadly package of musket balls on shore. Seconds later, the second carronade fired. This apparently connected, since there were now shouts of pain, and loud cursing.
Just then, the boat Phillips was in grounded again. One of the men in the water came aft and reported he thought this was as far as they could go.
“Everybody out” he ordered. The frigid water was hip deep when he got out, but rapidly became shallower. Suddenly, another gun fired, although this one was on shore, and was directed at them. They could see the flash of the gun in the mist and rain. Phillips heard no signs of injuries among his men.
A boat gun fired again, probably aimed at the flash of the shore gun. This time there were more shouts of pain and anger. Now, his feet told him they had arrived at the shore. He climbed a slightly sloping beach, then he was on dry land.
Off to his left he heard his Marine captain shout, “To me Marines. Rally on me.”
Another boatload of armed seamen arrived. They hurried up on shore beside the people from Phillip’s boat. With little disorder or confusion, the people sorted themselves out. By previous agreement, the Marine officer took command of the attack on dry land.
He heard the officer order his men to prime their weapons, then to cock and present their pieces. Finally he gave the order to fire! There was a thunderous racket as most of sixty odd muskets discharged more or less at once.
Phillips was amazed that so many firelocks could discharge after the wet passage from ship to shore. The officer ordered his men to fix bayonets and charge. The Marines swept right over the gun positions and into the few tents behind.
A few files remained on the island to secure the guns and prisoners. The rest waded through the shallow water to the mainland, the carronades on the boats giving covering fire. As they entered the enemy compound, their opponents fled from the back.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A half dozen men were on the ground, dead or wounded. Another half dozen surrendered. More could be heard making their way through the hillside brush.
By now, dawn was at hand, and a little light was leaking through the rain clouds.
Sharing a biscuit and cheese breakfast with the Marine officer, Phillips wondered how his men had kept their muskets dry in the rain.
“Not too hard, actually sir. The last time the wardroom had chicken for dinner, my servant collected a supply of feathers. We issued them out to the privates. After loading each weapon, the pan was left unprimed. The quill of a feather was pressed into the musket’s vent. A well-greased wad was rammed down the barrel on top of the ball. This kept moisture from entering the musket by either the muzzle, or the vent.”
“Musket cartridges were issued in a waterproof pouch. When the men were ordered to prepare to fire, the quill was removed from the vent, and dry powder was added to the pan. If the pan and frizzen were wet, they could be given a quick wipe from a dry rag stored in their ammunition pouch. As long as the rain and spray wasn’t too bad, most of the weapons would fire.”
After the sun rose, and the rain clouds cleared, the local partisan chief, in a small boat approached and came to their fire. He reported scouts had encountered cavalry. They were approaching cautiously for now, receiving fire from partisans in the heights, but there was the chance of a larger troop reinforcing them.
Infantry too was a possibility, but they were not concerned about them. By the time foot troops could arrive, the British forces and their Spanish allies would be gone.
The Marine officer ventured, “Perhaps your people should allow the cavalry to advance. I am sure we together can give them a proper welcome, when they arrive.”
The Marines set an ambush with thirty men on either side of the road hidden among the rocks. The guerrillas also positioned themselves among the rocks, but farther up the slope. The four pounder guns captured on the island were loaded with canister and directed at a spot on the road the horsemen must pass before being engaged by the Marines.
Soon the popping of muskets that marked where the Spaniards were firing on the horsemen grew nearer, then stopped. A few moments later, the cavalry clattered up. Half a dozen horses were carrying wounded soldiers across their back. The horses appeared nervous and exhausted.
As they approached the former strongpoint, Phillips signaled the guns to fire. Horses and men went down. Then, Marines rose from their hiding points in the rocks and fired their volley. Before they could reload, the partisans came forward, firing their muskets, or brandishing their hoes and spades.
None of the cavalry survived. Phillips met with the partisan leader afterward. He was satisfied with the morning’s work, and now was planning to take his men back to the hills. Asked if he wanted the cannons, he shook his head. They would be too hard to transport in the rocks, and would probably just be re-captured again by the French. He asked Phillips to take them away on his ship.
Although originally naval type guns, now they were on French Army carriages, unsuitable for shipboard use. They were wheeled through the shallows with British seamen and Spanish guerillas hauling on the drag ropes to the village quay, where the fishing boats were unloaded. The tackle there would lift a gun barrel from its carriage and deposit it into the launch. This was pulled out to the tender, and the gun swayed aboard. The remaining three guns were served likewise. The army carriages and limbers were emptied, then set afire.
The carpenter would have a project for the next few days fabricating naval type gun carriages for the weapons. Granted, compared to the big thirty two pounder guns on Dreadnaught’ lower gun deck, these weapons were tiny indeed. But, a four pound iron ball travelling at a thousand feet in a second could be a troublesome thing to face.
Having made a nuisance of herself on the shore, she and her consort went out to sea. The brigantine, with its unpronounceable name, which the men had renamed ‘Philomena’ was the first to spot their next prey.
The polacre was hull down when Philomena spotted her. She signaled Dreadnaught, and the pair began tracking her. She was heavily laden and it soon became evident she had no chance. As Dreadnaught ranged up beside her, she dropped her tricolor, and submitted to boarding. This vessel was crammed with sawn timber, much of it compass timber used in shipbuilding. Such wood was used for those parts requiring complex curves. It was scarce and expensive since it had grown to shape in a tree over the course of a century or more.
There would be no burning of this vessel. Her cargo was badly needed back home. Accordingly, Mister Watkins told off a dozen hands and a master’s mate and midshipman to take her to Gibraltar. Three of the crew proved to be Italian, and these volunteered to serve in the Navy, rather than go to the prison hulks.
Continuing on up the coast, near Alicante they flushed another brigantine between ports. She tried to make a fishing port protected with a battery of a few guns, but was unable to make it. Philomena came up alongside and made the capture. This vessel was crammed with artillery and the necessary tools. The cargo was part of the artillery train for an army.
Again, Phillips felt it necessary to man the vessel and get it to a British port. By now, his people were starting to become a little thin on the ground, so he decided to return to Gibraltar
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
There was a new man in charge. Dalrymple was gone, and James Drummond was now acting governor. There was no trouble this time in getting supplies. His prizes, as they came in, had been sent on to Britain, and he lost the prize crews, but a 74 gun third rate ship of the line recentl
y arriving from the Orient, had developed such a bad case of rot in her timbers, it was thought inadvisable to send her home until she had been surveyed. Accordingly, Phillips was able to draft fifty men from her crew, which brought him up to normal manning requirements.
Among the seamen of varying abilities, he received a few experienced young men he could rate as mids and a master’s mate that had become separated from his ship. This came at a good time, since Mister Andrews, the master’s mate he had commanding the Philomena had been asking at every chance for an extra petty officer.
It seems he had been standing watch and watch with the midshipman assisting him. This was neither wise nor healthy, so given the influx of people, he told Andrews to pick out another mid from the gunroom. While he was at it, he could also have two more seamen.
That afternoon, as they were about to resume their patrol, the mail packet came in. There was a large bag for Dreadnaught. With plenty of work on board a ship preparing to set sail for his present midshipmen, he delegated the mail sorting to a trio of the newly arrived mids, and his junior lieutenant to oversee them.
He had ordered his personal mail should be brought to him only when everyone else on the ship had received theirs. Consequently the ship was at sea, and about to proceed through the Gut when the Marine sentry announced, “Mister Fletcher, Sir.”
Fletcher was one of the mail sorters, and had a few letters for him. One was a recent one from his wife, which he eagerly opened. There had been some discord when he left home, but this had apparently passed, and she had written a warm, chatty, and loving letter. She mentioned their son, and how proud she was of both of them as they fought the King’s enemies. She had enclosed a letter for Timothy.
HMS DREADNAUGHT: A John Phillips Novel Page 5