The young man still conscious grudgingly explained the situation. Several junior militia officers had become indignant when Captain Phillips maimed their messmate in a duel. When they had learned he had returned, they decided to challenge him individually. Should Phillips survive the first duel then the next man would challenge him.
A problem arose when headquarters learned of the plan and dismissed those officers. They were required to give up their commissions. Now civilians, they were even more angry and determined on their course. No longer being subject to military authority, the men had thrown dice to determine who would be the first challengers, and these two had posted up to do their duty. Should they somehow fail, others would replace them.
Phillips was wondering about the idiocy of these men and trying to decide what to do about the matter. Of course, he could not allow these fools to force him into another duel, but how was he to handle this?
Peabody had driven up in the carriage and was standing there beside him with his mates. Apparently, he had heard what was needed and offered a suggestion.
“Sir, we have a way of getting these people out of your hair. HMS Lively is anchored at the Nore, about to sail foreign, I hear. My old mates here are on recruiting duty, beating the bushes for hands for the ship. He says they have almost enough, but could use a couple more to keep their captain happy. We can give these two enough rum to keep them both out for a bit and get them to the ship before they sober up. Once aboard, they will belong to the Navy and it will be a cold day in Hell before they get back ashore.”
“You can’t press these men, Peabody. They are officers!”
“I heard that one, sir. He said they had sold their commissions. They are just civilians now. If you have some old ragged clothes here, we can dress them up as farm laborers. Nobody will believe them aboard the ship.”
It was a strange wagonload of men that started on the road to the landing. There were a half dozen willing recruits who had signed on voluntarily, not really understanding what they were getting into. The two former officers had been plied with rum, supposedly to cure their hangover, until both were incoherent. Before loading them into the wagon, they were dressed in some rags the hostler wore when he was mucking out the stables.
Although the other recruits had also received their share of rum to keep them happy until boarding the ship, the stench from the two men was enough to keep them as far away from the pair as possible as possible. Phillips and his party accompanied the wagon to the landing. A ship’s launch with a midshipman in the sternsheets was patrolling a cable’s length offshore, probably to keep its crew from deserting.
When the recruiting party signaled, the boat came in, its mid saluting Phillips when he saw his uniform. The garrulous midshipman exclaiming to Captain Phillips how happy his captain would be to see these men. He confided his captain had not expected to gain any men and here were eight.
Peabody’s mates had gone on board Lively with their charges. The rest of the party adjourned to the inn where they celebrated Captain Phillip’s riddance of his enemies.
The dance had gone off without Phillips’ presence and he received no more letters from Miss Hamilton. He did receive a note from the captain of Lively, posted just before departing Plymouth, who said he had just learned of Captain Phillips’ assistance in collecting some of the pressed men that had come aboard at the Nore. He mentioned how some of them had been necessarily hosed down with the wash-deck pump on the foredeck, because of their stench. He said one of them actually had the gall to insist he was a gentleman and not subject to the press, but he was told to tell that to the Marines.
The month’s leave that Phillips expected was not over yet when the post brought a letter with the Admiralty seal. He was ordered to report back to Portsmouth immediately to take HMS Active to sea, her wounds having been repaired.
He was of two minds about this. He had enjoyed most of his rest ashore, but the possibility of further trouble with the troublesome woman, Miss Hamilton existed, and there were other disgruntled former officers who might wish to make trouble, especially if they heard of the circumstances of their friend’s disappearance. He was indeed ready to go to sea. Of course, getting a crew would be a problem. He well knew his old crew would have been drafted to other ships as soon as they were put ashore, and even his officers might have been reassigned. These days, it was almost impossible to find a good crew for a ship commissioning. Had he known of this commission he might well have pressed those former officers himself.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Phillips’ hostler drove him to London where he decided to check into the Admiralty in case they had any information he might need to know concerning his next commission. Lord Melville himself called him in to thank him for his good service thus far and explain a bit about his next service.
“You will be joining Admiral Pellew in the Mediterranean Fleet. The French are causing no end of trouble, especially in the Aegean area and portions of Italy. You will receive more up-to-date information when you join with the fleet there, but I am satisfied that you will do as we all expect. You should make the best of your way there. I am told frigates are desperately needed, and haste is urgent.”
“Sir, I may have difficulty finding a crew. These days, seamen are a rare commodity, and we must be satisfied with dregs.”
“You may be surprised, Captain. I have given orders that you be supplied with the very best hands available. You will retain most of your old officers from your last cruise as well. I doubt there will be problems with crew on your frigate this voyage.”
Phillips was not quite sure about this information. What Lord Melville believed would occur was not necessarily what would actually happen. Immediately after leaving Admiralty, he was whisked aboard a government coach with a pair of other captains and they were off. It was very early the next morning when the coach arrived in Portsmouth, but upon alighting, Phillips was met by an elderly lieutenant and handed his orders.
He was told a launch was awaiting him at the landing and he should report aboard his ship immediately. The lieutenant quietly informed him he was expected to sail at the turn of the tide, but the naval outfitter near the landing had been notified of the imminent departure and had men there in case he needed to purchase cabin stores in a hurry.
This was indeed the case. Active had been emptied out before she had gone into the dockyard, and as far as he knew, he had not so much as a box of biscuit to sustain himself on the voyage. Accordingly, as he stepped aboard the launch, he told the cox’n to take him over to the outfitter’s wharf.
The cox’n had been ordered to take the captain directly to his ship, but if the captain wanted to go to the outfitter first, it was fine with him.
The proprietor and a clerk were indeed waiting for him at the door. Phillips was an old customer and the proprietor was well aware of Phillips’ financial standing. When he told the man what was needed, there was a flurry of activity as items were hurried out to the wharf. The boat crew was set to work stowing the material. He had only the single uniform coat and hat he was wearing, having expected to purchase additional wear before sailing. Seeing some coats and hats on display, he hurriedly bought what appeared might be close to a fit. The proprietor protested, saying his tailor was not in the building and the clothing must be altered to fit.
Phillips informed him he must sail immediately and had not the time for alterations. Perhaps the sailmaker or one of his mates could do the honors. The well-laden boat was pulled up to the entry port where the dozing watchman almost missed hailing the boat. At the last minute, the man heard the oars and challenged the launch. At the cox’n’s answer, ‘Active’, everyone on the ship knew the captain was coming aboard. A strange lieutenant met him at the port. He had almost expected to see Mister Reynolds, but remembered at the last minute Reynolds was now commanding the Lutine.
This man introduced himself as Jervis, with a service date well before any of his other officers. He introduced himself to his first lieut
enant and asked about the crew. “Sir, we have a full complement. I have never seen the like. We have hardly any landsmen, and most of the seamen are rated ‘Able’. HMS Hannibal came in last week and we got the best draft of her men.”
“What about stores?”
“We have our beef and water. I took the ship out into the harbor two days ago to load our powder. We are ready to sail.”
“Lieutenant Jervis, I have learned one is never ready to sail. There is always something that has been overlooked. While the hands are bringing my cabin store aboard, rouse the other officers, and we will make a quick tour of the ship, making sure we are not forgetting something.”
The tide had turned when they had finished their inspection. The wind was fair, and the signal tower was ordering Active to expedite so Phillips told Jervis to take her out. The capstan was manned and swifted, and the anchor cable nipped to the messenger cable. The mooring cable at the stern was slipped, and the ship’s fiddler began sawing away on his instrument. The ship was pulled up to the anchor by human muscle power. As the anchor cable assumed a vertical position, the master’s mate up forward shouted ‘Up and down.’
The first lieutenant informed the crew quietly, ‘Set sail.’
The topmen loosed the canvas and the sail trimmers set the sails to catch the offshore breeze. The anchor broke free from the bottom and suddenly the ship was free. Mister Fitzwilliam was standing by the helm, and Phillips was perfectly happy to see the ship in his hands. He told him to plan a course for the ‘Gut’, and told Mister Jervis they would exercise the hands at sail drill once out of the harbor, and perhaps some gunnery drill later in the day.
With the ship in good hands, Phillips made his first visit to his quarters to see what he had to work with. He found it much as he had left it, weeks ago. A strange servant was busily stowing away the purchases he had just made ashore. The new coats and hats had been hung up safely.
He asked the servant what his name might be.
“Jenkins, sir. I was servant to Captain Harris on Hannibal.”
“Well Jenkins, I bought two coats in a hurry this morning and they do not fit. How are you at tailoring?”
All the man could offer was a dubious “Well sir…”
“Would you know of a hand on the ship that might be skilled?”
“Sir, Jason Whelan on sailmaker’s crew was a tailor before the press got him.”
Phillips raised his voice calling the sentry outside his door. “Sentry, please pass the word for Seaman Whelan, sailmaker’s crew to report.”
A wizened little man appeared in the door, knuckling his brow, Phillips handed him the coats and asked him if he could alter them to fit. Assuring his captain that he could indeed, the man started by measuring his body. When Whelan left with the coats, Phillips wondered aloud how such a diminutive man had been pressed for a seaman.
Jenkins knew the story and told the captain. “Sir, seems like Whelan lived in a room by the waterfront. Sometimes he passed the evenings in an inn close by. One night he had too much to drink and was asleep at the bar when the press came in.”
“Course, they are only supposed to take seamen and a blind man could see Whelan is not and never was a seaman, but they were short and they took him anyway. When he woke up and tried to tell them, they coshed him on the head and he was at sea before he woke up again to tell anybody.”
“Captain Harris was a good man. He put Whelan in the sailmaker’s crew where he would not have to tear his guts pulling and hauling. I think he would have sent him ashore if he could, but we were out to sea by the time the captain found out about the problem.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The ship did indeed have as good a crew as her captain had yet seen at the beginning of her commission, but much work still needed to be done. Most of the crew had been handed over from Hannibal, and although well trained, it was in the manner of that ship’s captain. Phillips preferred the men trained in his own manner.
In addition, there were the new Quota men brought to the ship just before sailing. Over complement now for one of the few times in his experience, he left it in the hands of his first officer to find space where these extra men were to swing their hammocks.
Unusually, there were more than a fair share of youths and young men. A quick glance at records that came aboard with them showed that most had been convicted of such crimes as purse snatching and larceny of small items. Crimes, to be sure, that could well have sent them to the gallows. Phillips was not quite sure that it was necessary to be quite so severe to a young lad who had made a first mistake.
As he watched the new hands clumsily trying to obey the demands of their superiors, he became aware of a senior midshipman viciously berating one of the new hands brought on board.
The mid appeared to be in his late twenties, rather old for his rate.
The victim was a lad of perhaps sixteen, halfway out on the footrope of the starboard side of the main yardarm. Frightened by the height, and distracted by the constant shouting of the petty officer, one foot slipped when the midshipman struck him with a knotted rope’s end. Frantically trying to get his foot back on the footrope, he clutched the mainyard desperately with both arms, all the while receiving repeated blows and shouts from the midshipman.
The captain of the maintop was far above the pair and Phillips decided he was best equipped himself to handle the situation.
Shouting at the midshipman to throw that rope-end into the sea, he leaped into the main shrouds and began the climb to the maintop. By the time he had reached the scene, Mister Withers, the midshipman, had realized he was in trouble. Amos Larson, captain of the maintop had descended to the top and was trying to convince the mid to remove himself. Phillips took over and ordered Withers to get to the quarterdeck and report to him there.
By this time, the lad hanging from the spar had managed to lose his foothold with his remaining foot, and was hanging with a death-grip onto the mainyard.
Larson, an old hand experienced with these sorts of difficulties, with a “By your leave, sir”, edged past him and got a line about the boy. More topmen had arrived and the area was becoming congested. Phillips left the experts to take care of the lad while he himself descended to the quarterdeck.
Mister Jervis was awaiting him, with a worried Mister Withers standing behind. Phillips addressed his first officer. Mister Jervis, I would be glad for any suggestions you may have as to what hand up forward may make a good midshipman. The man must be a good seaman, but should know his letters and do his sums. You may wish to consult with others. Withers here, I am dis-rating at this moment.
This was another hard task for the hard-pressed first officer. The mess deck was already overcrowded with hands and now here was another.
He could expect some difficulty here. Withers had been a vile petty officer and would find few friends in his new situation.
The men at least knew how to distinguish the muzzle of a great gun from the breach. In previous missions he had experienced supposedly well-trained gun crews who were experienced in their duty. All too often however, ship commanders believed they had done their duty by having the gun crews practice in dumb–show only, by merely running their guns in and out without actually firing them or being judged by their accuracy.
Of late though, in light of some of the reverses the Royal Navy had suffered in the new war with the Americans, the Admiralty was coming around to the idea that gunnery practice was a good plan. In any event, the frigate had been allowed extra ammunition for training purposes and Phillips took full advantage of it. On the run down to Gibraltar, hardly a day went by without the thunder of the guns disturbing some of the transports she was escorting.
These transports were mainly hired vessels carrying supplies to Wellington’s troops now fighting in Spain. At this stage of the war it was felt there was little danger from enemy predators, since the sea had been nearly swept clean of both National warships and privateers. There was still the possibility of a stray or two escaping
their blockaded port and causing mischief, so it was felt a single frigate could supply sufficient deterrent to any adventurers putting out from the continent with plunder in mind.
A few sails were sighted on the way, but they remained well clear of the convoy and Active did not leave her charges to investigate. The convoy was met off the mouth of the Tagus by a sloop which would take the convoy into the harbor while the frigate went on her way. Phillips had orders to report to Admiral Pellew. Not knowing where the flagship might be at the moment, Phillips intended to make an investigatory cruise up the Mediterranean coasts of Spain and France, perhaps causing a little mischief on his way.
Active did not bother intercepting the many small craft off the Spanish coast. The Spanish Regency was allied with Britain now in its war with Napoleon, but who knew how many of these craft were delivering supplies to French forces under compulsion. Not wishing to spend time separating the wheat from the chaff, Phillips sailed on.
Up into French waters, matters were different, and they began flushing some small coasters, which usually scurried straight into the nearest port. One brig however was caught by surprise as she emerged from a squall into the arms of HMS Active. Both the frigate and the brig were secured for heavy weather, but a gunner’s mate with a double gun crew got one gun ready to fire, and managed to fire a single gun into the sea ahead of the brig. Almost immediately, she had pulled down her flag, but it was some hours later before she could be boarded.
Ships of Oak, Men of Iron: A Tim Phillips Novel (War at Sea Book 10) Page 12