They all rose and followed the captain up to the deck.
“There, sir. You can just make out her rig against the starlight. Watch for a moment and you’ll see what I mean.” Parker greeted the captain and the officers even before they reached the quarterdeck.
He handed over his night glass, which Ballantyne swung out in the direction indicated by the sailing master. Not a sound, save for the faint keening of the wind and the occasional groan of a strained line or squeak of a block, disturbed the silence, as both Ballantyne and Welch studied the unknown ship, not much more than a darker smudge against a dark horizon, detail visible only when her motion moved her rig across the stars.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
7 August 1813
Cork Harbor
“Yes sir. It was simply another false alarm. I sent a boat – I must say, their watch was quite taken aback by my shot across her bows, but they stopped as instructed – and my first, Lieutenant Welch and a midshipman – Bierbak, it was – went aboard. Papers were right. She was English, returning from North America with molasses and barrel staves.” Ballantyne sat, his long legs comfortably crossed, in Admiral Thornbrough’s grand cabin on board HMS Trent in Cork Harbor.
Pelican had arrived late the previous night, as instructed in the recall letter addressed to Montressor, but fetched and read by Ballantyne. Pelican’s captain half expected to see the ship-sloop swinging to an anchor in the sheltered waters near the flagship, but there was no sign of her. At first light, Ballantyne was summoned straightaway to the admiral’s quarters, once Thornbrough had been informed of Pelican’s late-night arrival.
“So, Edward, it is your considered opinion that the instances I have been hearing of are nothing more than rumors – that the Admiralty is patently wrong?” Thornbrough kept his tone level, but it was apparent that he was less than enthusiastic about passing on that message.
“No sir. Not a bit is it. I am simply reporting that our patrol up the western side of Ireland turned up no American ships, nor any reports of any wreaking their depredations on the shipping or the coastal towns. I would never suggest the Admiralty is wrong.” That would be your job, Admiral! Of course, he refrained from voicing this last bit! The hint of a smile began to form on his lips, but he restrained himself.
Thornbrough had earlier, over coffee, questioned the brig’s commander quite closely on his whereabouts, not happy that his summons had apparently been ignored. But Ballantyne’s explanation of contrary weather, tides, and winds satisfied the admiral that he had not been disregarded. The conversation then turned to an examination of the report Ballantyne had just offered, provoking a disagreeable look from his superior.
Likely the thought of informing the Admiralty of the time wasted chasing unfounded rumors. I would imagine such a report might not be well-received!
A sharp knock on the admiral’s door interrupted their conversation, but did give Thornbrough a reprieve from dwelling on the unpleasant chore ahead.
“Samuels! I distinctly recall telling you no interruptions. What is it?”
The clerk poked his head into the room, his weasel-like nose preceding his sunken cheeks and receding hairline. “There’s a lieutenant here, Admiral. Says you’ll want to hear him out with no delay. Says it’ll be right important, he done.”
“Very well, then. Send him in. Ballantyne, you stay put. Might as well hear what this chap has to offer that’s so bloody important.”
“Sir. Admiral. I am Fricker, from the signal station on Kerry Head. That’ll be on the south side of the Shannon Estuary. Rode here just as fast as ever I might. Thought you should know what’s acting rather sooner than later.” The lieutenant stood ramrod straight, his jacket askew and mud on, not only his boots, but splattered up his white britches as well. He had tucked his hat under his arm and the swab on his shoulder was shiny enough to suggest he had only recently attained his commission. A worried look gave his face a drawn appearance, or perhaps it was that he had ridden through the night with what might be interpreted as bad tidings. Or possibly, this was his first encounter with an admiral and did not know what to expect.
“So? What is it you felt was so important that you left your post and rode most of the night to get here, Lieutenant?” Thornbrough did not welcome the interruption and his tone did little to assuage the nervous lieutenant’s uncertainty.
“Sir. It’s what we saw just yesterday afternoon. Midway through the first dog watch, it were. A brig sails into the estuary on an easy breeze, showin’ British colors at her fore-t’gallant masthead. Had a yellow side, she done, nine ports a side, and a bridle port. Didn’t think nothing about it; it weren’t that much out of the ordinary, sir. She dallied in the estuary for a bit – it’s plenty wide, there, you know…maybe eight miles across it is, so she had sea room aplenty to sail off an’ on, which is what she done.” He paused, collecting his thoughts.
“So far, I have heard nothing to suggest anything resembling an urgency in your report, Lieutenant. If there’s more, I suggest you get to it.” The admiral’s patience was growing thin.
“Sir, yes, sir. Right away, sir. A merchant brig sails down the estuary headin, she were, for sea, an’ this other brig, the first one what got in, sails up close and fires a gun. Then she hauled down the British Union flag, she done, and hoisted up an American flag to the fore-top. Big one, it were, sir, and no mistake.” Again the young man paused, then pressed on when he saw that he now had the undivided attention of both the senior officers in the cabin.
“The merchant brig just hove to, like you’d expect after a shot across yer bows, and while we watched, the American ship – we figured that was what she were, now – sent two boats over and boarded her quick as kiss my hand. The Americans took their own sweet time about it, spending the better part of an hour aboard, then packs the master and, I reckon, the mate into their boat an’ rows right back to the American brig. Folks had come out their houses, they done, to watch this as it was happening, right there in the mouth of the river. Linin’ the shore, they was. Then the damnedest thing…beggin’ your pardon, sir, that just sorta slipped out…anyway, they sent another boat over to the merchant and pretty quick we seen smoke comin’ up from the hatches. The Fowey – that was the name of the merchant brig we found out – was afire and driftin’ before she fetched up on the bar on the northern side, Kilbaha Bay, it were, and burned right to the waterline. The folks watchin’ were all over her, scavenging what they might from the wreck quick as ever the fire was out. And there were men still on board, but the folks there helped ‘em get out. The American ship – we saw her name was Argus – stayed in the area until Fowey went ashore, then sailed out of the river calm as kissin’ my hand.
“As we had been told to keep an eye out for some privateers, we figured this was it an’ you’d want to know quick as possible. But it weren’t a privateer, sir; we think that was a warship, American Navy, sure as my Aunt Euphemia is a crank.”
“And you’re quite sure this brig, the one showing American colors, was what she appeared to be?” He had already sent ships out on rumors and was not inclined to do so again based solely on a wild story from an overwrought youth. Thornbrough had stood up during the lieutenant’s monologue, rapt in the saga he heard. “Ballantyne? What do you think? Is this the ‘privateer’ we have been getting reports of?”
“Sounds like it could well be, Admiral. Whoever is commanding her feels safer than not in doing his evil work right inside our rivers. Maybe I should take Pelican back out for a look, sir. Two days with a fair breeze could see us at the Shannon.”
“Just stand fast a moment, Edward.” Thornbrough studied the breathless young lieutenant, obviously still nervous at what was now clearly his first face-to-face with an admiral.
“Lieutenant. I will assume you watched the brig leave after they burned the merchant ship. In which direction did they sail?”
“Just went straight out, sir. Wind was on her quarter and she didn’t head north toward Galway Bay or south, either
. Just stood out to sea.”
“Very well, Lieutenant…Fricker, was it not? We will assume she is the privateer we have been hearing about and send a ship out to find her and bring her to. I would wager that when we do, she will prove to be just that: a privateer masquerading as a navy ship to throw us off. Not even the Americans would send a warship, alone, to raid shipping in our home waters! It would be clearly a desperate and disastrous commission. Any chance she was French? That might be more credible – flying American colors to put us off, as it were. Whichever, Captain Ballantyne here will find out quick as ever you please, and put an end to the problem.
“You are dismissed. Ask my clerk to get you some vittles and a fresh horse. You may return to your post. Well done.”
At least he doesn’t have to tell the Admiralty they were wrong! Wouldn’t take any pleasure in that!
“Well, Captain Ballantyne, looks like you might have missed our Yankee marauder, if that is indeed what she is, by just a day. I know you just got in, but get your provisions quick as you can and go after this bloody nuisance. He’s beginning to give me a headache!”
“Aye, sir. Shouldn’t take more than a day to restock and make our water. We’ll sail on the first tide tomorrow.” Ballantyne stood, put down the coffee cup he held, and turned to the door.
“Say, Ballantyne! Stand by a moment.” Thornbrough had sat back down, preparing to look at some papers, when a new thought struck him.
“How is my ne’er-do-well nephew doing with your people? I hope he is fitting in nicely.”
I would imagine you would hope that. Less chance of me sending the blighter back into Trent.
“I am sorry to say, Admiral, he seems less useful than I had hoped he might be. And has managed to stir up the cockpit some with his…pedigree?…He seems a bit out of sorts much of the time, I am given to understand by both the master and the senior mid.”
“Take him with you on this commission, Edward, and should he still not measure up, I shall take him back – or rather, I shall insist that Somers take him back. Could you do that? I am given to believe that his mates do not miss him a jot!” The admiral had the grace to smile, well aware that he was imposing on a friendship by using his senior status.
As if I had a bloody choice!
“Of course, sir. We will see if we can improve his outlook. I shall report my readiness to sail, likely by the end of the day.” Ballantyne nodded his acquiescence and stepped through the door.
“Mister Welch. Assemble the men, if you will. And no skylarking. We are sailing again on the tide.” Ballantyne, brushed off the greeting the first lieutenant offered at the boarding port, issuing instructions to him and the master in a flurry of words as he hurried to his cabin.
He would be working and didn’t need to be in his number two uniform, which Stokely had brushed so diligently just this morning. While he waited for his steward to prepare his working uniform – nankeen trousers and an old shirt topped with a jacket decorated with badly tarnished epaulettes, he unrolled the chart he had only just put away. It covered the southwestern coast of Ireland, from Cork to the south, nearly to Galway, halfway up the western side of the island. Balancing his spectacles on the end of his nose, Ballantyne studied the waters around the Shannon Estuary.
“The men are assembled, sir. All proper and correct.” The master-at-arms spoke through the open door, obviously sent by Welch.
“Very well, Mister Parker. I shall be up straightaway. Thank you.”
Ballantyne stepped out of the hatchway to the stomp of both bare feet and shod ones, as Parker shouted, “Cap’n’s on deck!” which brought everyone to attention.
The captain took a position to the fore of his officers who stood stiffly in ranks with the mids and warrants. His eyes roamed over the expectant faces of the sailors, most appeared a trifle haggard; he knew Welch and the other officers had been pushing them to make a quick turnaround so the ship could get back out to sea by morning.
“Men, we are just back from what turned out to be a frustrating wild goose chase, looking for a ship that, for all we could determine, does not exist.” He waited while a ripple of nervous laughter made its way through the ranks. He could distinguish Jameson Bierbak’s voice making rude noises behind him but chose to ignore him, as did the other midshipmen.
“I have just come from hearing a first-hand account of this mysterious raider’s depredations in the mouth of the River Shannon and, not only is the pest real and not simply the stuff of rumors, but she is an American brig, apparently a warship, creating a nuisance in our home waters. We have been ordered out at once to find her and bring her to – ” He stopped again.
A ragged cheer rose up, begun by a few petty officers in the front ranks and quickly spread to the newly energized sailors. They could smell prize shares on the wind!
“It is essential we get our water and stores and sail as quickly as possible, before this enemy vessel can do more damage. It is unseemly – an insult! – that she should be disrupting our trade right in our own backyard.” Another chorus of agreement rippled through the assemblage. “From the reports I have just heard, she will prove no match for Pelican, and all we need do is find her. I have no doubt that Pelican’s fine crew will make short work of her, with prize money for all hands.” This last was designed to inspire, and it had the desired effect, resulting in another cheer, this time with gusto.
Ballantyne stopped, waiting for the men to respond to Parker’s cry of “Silence! Silence fore and aft!” Order was restored quickly and the captain concluded by saying, “I know you’re tired, but this will be what many of you have been hoping for and which we have yet to achieve – action. I know you will not disappoint your officers, or me. Petty officers, dismiss your men.”
As the sailors and petty officers returned to their work, now with a will driven by the thought of enrichment, Ballantyne led his officers, Welch and Weiss, below to discuss the best strategy to catch this Yankee pest, bring him to battle, and take him as a prize.
They were discussing their options when Weiss looked up from the chart where the captain’s finger was marking a spot to the south of the Shannon Estuary and announced, “The wind has changed. Picked up some, as well.”
Welch and the captain, slightly annoyed at the interruption, glanced out the quarter gallery windows. Even through the rippled glass set in the neatly crafted mullions, they could see plainly that, not only had the ship swung around on her anchor but that the waters in the harbor were now were beginning to roil, whitecaps forming on about every third or fourth wavelet as the wind whipped their tops off.
“Bloody hell! That damn wind is blowing directly into the harbor. We’ll not be sailing again until it changes. Let us hope, gentlemen, that this is only temporary.
“Mister Welch, at the risk of offending your sensibilities and your national pride, I can say with quite a clear conscience that the weather in Ireland leaves much to be desired. If it’s not raining, it’s the fog. If it’s not foggy, the wind is blowing from quite the wrong direction – or not at all. Would that we might be chasing this American in the Caribbean!” Ballantyne smiled but his first lieutenant did not, only shrugging, as if to say, “I do not control the wind, sir.”
In the event, whether or not Ballantyne – or the admiral, for that matter – liked or did not like the local weather, the wind continued to build, blowing straight in from the channel and effectively sealing Pelican in the harbor, as well as the three other vessels at port that might have got out to help in the search. The flagship, Trent, of course, would remain firmly anchored to the sandy bottom, per Admiral Thornbrough’s wishes.
While Thornbrough’s ships were harbor-bound in the face of the half gale blowing into the harbor, other ships were able to enter from sea, sheet in and round up quickly in the lee of Haulbowline Island, and drop anchor before blowing ashore. It was on 11 August that a merchant vessel, the schooner Cordelia, flew into the harbor, her sails billowing out on opposite sides of her hull, and lowered a
boat while still coming to anchor. The boat crew hastened to the side of HMS Trent with hugely important and unsettling news for the frustrated Admiral Thornbrough. Cordelia’s boat had as passengers three captains, all victims of the American raider despoiling British waters. The watch saw them all to the admiral’s quarters and, after he had listened to their accounts with growing concern and embarrassment, he called to his clerk.
“Have the watch hoist Pelican’s number and ‘captain repair onboard’ if you please, Samuels. And tell the officer of the deck to fire a gun, half charge, to call attention to it. At once!”
To his guests seated in the admiral’s opulent quarters and nervously crossing and uncrossing their legs, he said, “Gentlemen, I have sent for the captain of the brig of war you passed on your entry. Once he arrives, I would ask you each to repeat the stories you have just shared with me. He will be the one to put out after this American ship, and not a moment to lose!” He spoke the word ‘American’ as though it produced a bad taste on his tongue.
Moments later, the dull thud of a half charge told them the signal had been made and they could expect Captain Ballantyne momentarily. He did not disappoint.
After cursory introductions, the admiral, starting with Captain Sullivan of the brig Alliance, ordered each to repeat the stories they had earlier shared with him.
Their accounts were remarkably similar. Each had been chased by a smart-sailing brig flying, at first, the British flag – subsequently, they hauled it down and sent up an American ensign. When the raider fired a shot or two, the men admitted they had little choice but to round up and heave to. They were then boarded by an American naval officer, a crew of cut-throat looking sailors (aren’t all American seamen the same?), and a handful of Marines. Papers were demanded, produced, and their holds checked. As it happened, Barbadoes and Alliance were engaged in government service, carrying cargoes for Wellington’s troops in Spain; Jason was in ballast, having delivered her cargo and was returning for more. The crews of each vessel were transported to the American brig, which, Captain Sullivan offered, was named Argus and under the command of a lieutenant named Henry Allen.
In Hostile Waters: The Cruise of USS Argus (Oliver Baldwin Novel Book 3) Page 20