Flashman and the Seawolf

by Robert Brightwell

  “The marines? But we haven’t... oh never mind… will you give me a leg up”

  Suddenly I felt resigned to the insanity of the moment. The die was cast there was nothing I could do but attempt to pull down their flag. If I succeeded we had a chance, a slim one in my opinion, but without it three hundred men would surely never willingly surrender to fifty. With Abrantes and death waiting for me if we failed I had nothing to lose.

  The great stern of the Gamo towered over our own quarter deck. The extensive gilding which started at my head level would probably have made it easy to climb even without the alternations that our guns had done as we passed. It would be easy to haul myself up into the great stern cabin through the ornately carved windows, but I could not see how I could get up to the quarter deck which overhung the cabin on all sides. I looked up again and nobody from their deck was paying attention to us. Guthrie put a loop of rope around the wheel spokes and came over. I put my cutlass in my belt with the pistols, to free my hands and he helped me haul myself up. After a moments climbing I was at an opening to the lower deck and risked a look inside. This was the gun deck level and the guns were mostly abandoned by the crews who had joined the fight on the main deck. All those that were left were the dead and dying and there seemed plenty of those. At such a short range even our small calibre guns had made a devastating effect and there were holes and torn planking and splintering everywhere I looked. But I was exposed hanging on to the outside of the ship and I climbed quickly further up to the windows of the great cabin above. A quick look to check the coast was clear and then I pulled myself inside.

  The only occupant was dead and judging from the gold on the uniform he had been the captain and from the luxury of the fittings this was his cabin. The body was lying on a sturdy oak desk, which had the remains of several chairs around it. To illuminate the desk, above it was a broken skylight. Suddenly I was aware of a voice muttering quietly somewhere close by. I crept to the door which was slightly open and saw another outer cabin and there in front of me was a young priest kneeling over three more corpses, all officers by the look of them. Beyond him was another door slightly ajar that led out on to the deck. Well you can’t kill a praying priest, at least not from behind, and so I pulled a pistol from my belt and holding the muzzle hit him hard behind the ear with the butt. He fell over the corpses with a slight groan and was still. I crept forward to the outer door.

  I looked down on a scene I will never forget. The deck was crowded with men, heaving and jostling with each other but with absolutely no order apart from two areas. In the bows a row of black faced men were just still visible fighting a crowd of Spanish sailors in front of them. I had a clearer view of the larger boarding party on the main deck. They had carved out a triangle of deck that they were defending vigorously, while staying together so that they were not overwhelmed. If we had been up against skilled fighters such as French infantry, Mohawk Indians or even Mrs Pargetter’s sewing circle we would not have stood a chance but a second’s glance showed you that Spanish heart was not in the fight. They made no attempt to rush the boarders and seemed content to contain them. When Eriksson burst from the group to make a rush at them they literally fell over themselves to get out of the way. As I watched I saw Cochrane break away from the fight and run back to the rail

  “Now Guthrie, send over the marines.”

  Guthrie ran over to the hatch in the Speedy’s deck and bellowed down it “Now marines, now is your time… yes both companies…go”

  From the deck above my head I heard the voice of a Spanish officer who clearly spoke English translating for his fellow officers “He is shouting about marines, they have marines, they are sending marines across.” The reply was obscured by three sharp blasts on a whistle.

  By Christ I thought this is it and I turned back to the stern cabin. I had seen only one way onto the quarterdeck and the flag and now I had to take it. Getting back to the desk, with a whispered apology, I rolled the captain’s body onto the floor. It hit the deck with a sickening thump but he was beyond pain now. Then I looked amongst the wreckage of the chairs for one that still had four good legs. I put that on the desk and quickly climbed up. Standing on the desk I poked my head up through the skylight. Three officers stood on the quarterdeck. Judging from the braid, one was a senior officer and the other two more junior lieutenants. They were all standing at the quarterdeck rail surveying the fighting below and from what I could hear over the noise of battle, arguing furiously over the possible existence of the marines. I looked around, I could see the rope holding the battle flag just a few feet away. It couldn’t be this easy surely. I stepped up onto the chair and climbed over the broken glass onto the deck. Still I had not been noticed. I moved back drew my sword and quickly cut the halyard that kept the huge silk battle flag in place and putting my cutlass back in my belt started hauling the lowering rope down as fast as I could.

  There was a flaw in Cochrane’s plan. He had been looking at the great flag from down on the main deck and as soon as it showed signs of downward movement he pointed this out to the Spanish about him and demanded their surrender. They might not speak English but they knew what a lowered flag meant and many threw down their weapons. Others looked surprised at their officers on the quarter deck… who in turn stared round in astonishment at the complete stranger brazenly lowering their flag.

  The two younger officers both sprang forward while drawing ornately decorated swords from their scabbards. I let go of the rope and drew my cutlass again, still unsure whether I should grab the flag rope and dive overboard, or defend myself. The nearest officer made up my mind by adopting Position One as taught by my French fencing master. With the memory of Eriksson’s voice in my ears I rushed forward three steps and combined a huge swing with the cutlass to bash away his blade with a colossal kick into his bollocks that lifted him off the ground and put him instantly out of the fight.

  The other attacker was nearly on me but I moved around his fallen comrade, whose body was now between us. The second assailant looked a more competent swordsman, he swished his blade confidently and moved lightly on the balls of his feet as we circled around the groaning body. His eyes were locked on my arms and sword trying to anticipate my moves like a good swordsman but in truth I had no great moves that would serve against a skilled opponent. My foot stumbled over the fallen sword of his comrade, the toe of my right foot was underneath the blade by the hilt. It gave me an idea which would probably not have worked had the senior office not helped me out. “Never mind him get the flag, the flag” shouted the officer still at the quarterdeck rail. We both instinctively glanced at the officer who I saw had now pulled out a pistol that he was pointing at me. My assailant then quickly risked a quick glance round to look at the flag which was now have draped over the stern rail of the ship. It was the distraction I needed.

  Everything happened at once. My right foot flicked the sword lying across my instep into the air and towards the face of my assailant. He glimpsed the metal coming towards him out of the corner of his eye and instinctively his blade swept round to meet it. I pounced forward in a classic lunge, stepping in the fallen assailant as I did so who groaned and moved under my foot. The standing assailant realised that my hand was not attached to the first sword but instead to another cutlass blade that was now lunging forward to his exposed side. I would have got him but the Spanish officer under my foot moved and put me off balance and so instead of a firm hit my cutlass blade just scored a deep cut down his side. But now I was overstretched and the standing assailant grinned in triumph as he started to swing the blade down on my neck and shoulders. Off balance there was no way I could recover in time to block the stroke and not for the first time since I met Cochrane I was convinced I was going to die. Then inexplicably swordsman’s face grimaced and he was falling and dropping his weapon. I looked up and saw that the senior officer’s pistol was smoking and there was a look of horror on his face. Standing on the opposite side of the assailant from my sword cut he must
have assumed I had run his comrade through. He had fired at me and from around eighteen feet away missed and hit the lieutenant instead.

  The lieutenant was now on his hands and knees with my sword cut down his right side and a bullet wound in his left. The senior officer was still staring, frozen at what he had done. I advanced on him with my blood stained sword pointing in his direction. “Tell your men to surrender” I said. With his sword un-drawn at his side, he looked beyond me at his fallen officers and at the flag that was now fully lowered and at risk of falling into the sea but still seemed to hesitate. I was now just six feet away and closer to the rail I could see that while many of the Spaniards had stopped fighting and were staring towards the officer on the quarterdeck, there were still pockets of continued combat with shouts and the ring of steel on steel and the occasional bang of a pistol. We were still massively outnumbered, I remembered Cochrane’s words about keeping them unbalanced and realised I had to bring this to an end quickly. With my left hand I pulled out one of the pistols, cocked it and levelled it at the officer’s head. “Last chance,” I said “tell your men to surrender. As he stared down the black muzzle of the pistol that a slightly trembling hand was pointing in his direction the officer seemed to come to his senses and he turned back over the rail towards his crew and ordered them to drop their weapons. There was a reassuring clatter of metal on wood as weapons fell to the deck and men still fighting were pulled apart by their comrades.

  I stood covering the officer but out of the corner of my eye I could see Cochrane and Eriksson pushing their way through the crowd on deck towards me. They bounded up the ladder to the quarter deck. Cochrane took in my blood stained sword and the two lieutenants now lying prostrate on the ground and pounded me on the back “well done Flashman, well done indeed. He stepped up to the rail and shouted down at the Speedy’s crew “disarm them and get them down into the hold, quickly now.”

  I glanced across at Eriksson who looked like something from a night mare. He was covered from head to toe in spatters of blood and his arms and his great war axe were covered in gore. There was a wild look in his eyes too. He was in a killing rage. You see it sometimes in battle, a man sometimes finds a wild exhilaration in killing and wants to kill, kill, kill without thought for anything else. A man in a killing rage is worth ten men in battle, not that I have ever experienced the feeling, although I did come close once at a debate with some liberals at the Reform Club.

  Eriksson hefted his axe at the remaining Spanish officer still on his feet and snarled at him as though daring him to give some resistance. But the officer was staring at the big Dane in horror and swiftly offered his sword in surrender to Cochrane who took accepted the weapon and did not offer it back. I looked down onto the main deck and the crew of the Speedy were busy pushing the Spanish towards the hatch to the hold none too gently but given the numbers involved it would take a few minutes to get them all below. It turned out that there were 263 unhurt prisoners who were being managed by a fraction of that number.

  Archie and some of the boarding party were busy manhandling one of the big carronade guns around so that it would cover the hatch if there was any sign of trouble. For the most part the Spanish allowed themselves to be herded below, only one group showed any sign of resistance and a shout and wave of the axe from Eriksson at the rail beside me seemed to persuade them to think better of it.

  The Dane was starting to calm down now and he clapped me on the shoulder grinning and gesturing to the bodies on the deck behind us that were now being helped up by two of the crew. “You haff fun here yes? You have Viking blood I think.” He gestured across at Cochrane who was shouting for a crewman to go back to the Speedy to get a spare white ensign to fly on the Gamo to show she had been captured. “He one lucky bastard” said the Dane thoughtfully, which was as succinct and accurate a summary of the Gamo action as I ever heard.

  By a mixture of bravery, trickery, and some would say insanity, on the 6th of May 1801 the tiny brig Speedy had captured the huge Xebec class frigate Gamo. I know it sounds unbelievable, it does to me and I was there but it is a historical fact. The casualty figures bear out my recollections too for our losses in the boarding action were just one man killed and four wounded, including poor Parker who was in a bad way having had a sword through his leg and musket ball in his chest. We had lost two other crew killed during the exchange of broadsides, one due to musket fire from the enemy deck and one killed being hit by some falling rigging block shot away from the mast. Four seamen had been wounded in that part of the battle too, so our total casualties were three seamen killed and one officer and seven seamen wounded. In comparison the Gamo had lost their Captain and boatswain, thirteen seaman killed and forty one wounded.

  It was an astonishing achievement and in the views of many the best single ship action of the war. Only someone with the creativity of Cochrane would ever have thought it was possible but it could only have been achieved against a demoralised crew such as those we had seen on Spanish boats. Cochrane was right about something else too, I never have had to buy myself a drink in a naval town when they knew I had served on the Speedy when she took the Gamo.

  As a curious footnote, my exploits in that battle have just recently been preserved for all time in oils. One of those scrawny young midshipmen, a boy called Rickets, has obviously done well for himself and commissioned an artist called Clarkson Stanfield to paint the battle as he recalled it. I saw the painting recently at the Royal Academy and you can clearly see me on the Spanish deck hauling down the Spanish colours while a Spanish officer comes at me waving a sword. Some old trout also at the viewing told me that the person hauling down the colours was Rickets himself. I put her right as you can clearly see that the person pulling down the colours is a man not a boy.

  Editor’s Note: The central part of this painting has been used as the cover for this book but the original can be viewed at the Victoria and Albert museum or on various websites. The person hauling down the Spanish colours is clearly visible and indeed does appear to be a man rather than a boy.

  ~~~~~~

  Chapter 15

  As it turned out capturing the Gamo brought a whole new set of problems, not least the 263 unhurt prisoners who at any point would realise that they had been tricked and that they vastly outnumbered their captors. Archie got the big carronade covering the hatch and loaded it with grape and until we reached Port Mahon a seaman with a smoking slow match stood next to it to deter any uprising.

  The battle had taken us in clear sight of the Spanish coast and a handful of Spanish gunboats sailed in the vicinity watching what was happening but not attempting to interfere. Had they tried we would have been hard pressed to hold both ships while keeping the prisoners in check. We now had just forty men left to sail both the Speedy and the Gamo away from the Spanish coast. The Speedy’s rigging was shot to pieces and so initially she was put in tow to get both ships away out of sight from land. There was even talk of abandoning her and just returning with the Gamo but Cochrane wanted to sail her home with the Gamo towering over her as his prize. When the horizon was clear the men set to work to repair the rigging on the Speedy and we divided the crew. The wounded and twenty men including the surgeon were left on the Gamo, with Archie taking command. I was on the Gamo too acting as interpreter when required. Cochrane and the remaining crew stayed on the Speedy.

  The senior Spanish officer gave his parole not to help the prisoners retake the ship and was allowed on deck. The officer he had shot seemed to be recovering and he now seemed anxious to please and even asked if he could have a certificate from Cochrane to prove he had done his duty during the action. Cochrane would not hear of it as he held the Spaniard in contempt for his poor defence of the ship, but I promised the officer that he would have his certificate if we all got safely back to Port Mahon. We did too and so I drafted a certificate to say that he had “conducted himself like a true Spaniard,” which Cochrane signed with amusement. The officer seemed delighted with the certification
and years later Cochrane told me that he had discovered that the officer had used the document to help secure further promotion in the Spanish Navy.

  The journey back to Minorca took several days but the weather was kind and despite various scares and alarms we kept the enemy sailors in the hold. Each morning there was funeral service for Spanish wounded that had died, but Guthrie managed to keep most alive. Thoughts began to turn to prize money as we got closer to home and every man there began to calculate what the Gamo would be worth to a prize court. As a warship she would be worth perhaps ten thousand pounds and the damage we had made could easily be prepared. Prize money was allocated in eighths with the Admiral getting one eighth, the captain two eighths, two eighths were divided among the able seaman and the remaining three eighths were divided among the other officers and non commissioned officers in order of seniority. As there were so few of us this would give everyone a very handsome sum. Even an honorary midshipman like me could hope for several hundred pounds. But for Cochrane the bigger reward was that he was likely to be given command of the Gamo and with a bigger more powerful ship he could bring the Spanish coast to a virtual standstill.

  Our entry into Port Mahon was a proud moment with the little Speedy leading the way with her prize looming over her flying the naval ensign above the Spanish flag to show she had been taken. The guns of the fort fired a salute and congratulations were shouted from other naval ships in the anchorage as we passed them.

  However if Cochrane thought that this incredible feat would gain him promotion and recognition within the Navy he under estimated the power of the enemies he had within the service. Cochrane’s senior officer was Captain Manley Dixon, a man who did not get a share of the Speedy’s prize money and who greatly resented the wealth that ‘His Lordship’ was accruing through his actions. Over forty ships of assorted types and sizes had then been taken and mixing with the officers of other ships I heard dark murmurings that Cochrane was more interested in prize money than prosecuting the war. This was just jealousy; officers on larger ships were often on blockade duty without the opportunity to take prizes. But with seamen on the Speedy already earning more than some junior officers on other ships through prize money, the arrival of the Gamo and its potential for further wealth for the Speedy’s crew, soured the sense of congratulation for many.