Death Hulk

by Matthew Sprange

  This comment, at least, was joined with smiles as each man considered his future after this mission. If it succeeded, their careers were guaranteed for at least a while.

  "What about this Guillot, the Elita's Captain. Do you know the man?" Corbin asked.

  "No. That means he is either new and inexperienced, or he has been away from France for a long time, in which case he might be immensely wise in the ways of the sea." Havelock smiled at his officers. "Take your pick. Of course, it might just be that I do not know of every captain out there flying under the Tricolore!"

  "Well, in the coming fight, I would rather be here, on the Whirlwind, serving under you, Captain, than this Guillot," said Hague.

  "Flattery will only get you so far," said Havelock with a grin. "Still, French captains should have our respect every bit as much as their ships do. You should always go into battle assuming your enemy is at least as smart as you are. The difference between he and I will be marked in our crews. Even though we still use press-gangs, our crews are far more disciplined. Every man knows exactly what to do when the cannon start firing and the wood starts splintering. The same cannot be said for those who serve under a French captain. If you ever find yourself wondering why I have ordered one drill or another, your answer lies there."

  "Captain, how do you intend to fight the Elita? There must be a way to even the odds," said Hague.

  "Well, first we have to find her but that will be a relatively simple matter so long as she continues to hunt merchantmen. As for battle... " Havelock paused, considering. "In a straight duel, she outguns us and probably has heavier guns that can out range ours. We cannot rely on superior manoeuvrability, though in those stakes I would tend to bet on the Whirlwind. We must also avoid any boarding action until the Elita has been pounded into submission, as she also has sheer weight of numbers on her side. No, we must endeavour to close range as quickly as possible, sailing straight into her guns if necessary, then keep her off balance until the job is done."

  "I believe that is what Lord Nelson would do," said Corbin with a smile, causing everyone to raise their glass in salute of the famous admiral.

  "I heard that Nelson said a brawl in the ocean is preferable to a straight line duel," said Rawlinson, drawing more than one incredulous gaze from the assembled officers.

  Havelock smiled. "Well, there is a bit more to it than that, and far be it for me to criticise such a man as Admiral Nelson, but he does have a tendency to simplify things somewhat. If you have made your approach properly and caught your enemy off guard or without the wind, trained your crew to outshoot his, have officers and midshipmen who will keep the men steady, and have not tested Lady Luck too often in the past - then maybe, just maybe, drawing alongside the enemy and hammering constantly at him will carry the day."

  "Is this not a job for two frigates, or even a small fleet?" Second Lieutenant Wynton asked, provoking Corbin to raise his eyebrows at the suggestion being raised out loud. Havelock was quick to counter the thought.

  "The Admiralty clearly wants to keep as many ships at Spithead as possible, in preparation of the French invasion. Anyway," he grinned, "we have many counts in our favour. Remember, our crew are, by far, better trained. The Elita could have the biggest guns in the French fleet, but they will do them no good if they can only be fired once for every two salvoes we let fly. We will likely be in a position to dictate when and how the battle is fought - we will not even consider engaging unless we have the wind. The Elita will have been at sea for many months, while we are fresh. Finally, the Elita is worth a great deal of prize money if she can be captured so do not underestimate the effect of that on the efficiency of our crew!"

  The last comment was met with laughter and not a little avarice, as everyone round the table stood to gain a great deal more than any of the crew. Hague raised his glass to Corbin "Well, that will do us all grand I think, and help some of us out a great deal, eh, Mr Corbin?" He said.

  Corbin winced slightly and glanced at his Captain who deliberately avoided eye contact. He sighed. "It is true, Mr Hague, I am in need of funds. A small matter of accrued debts in the service of Lord Ashby and some very ill-advised investments to counter them."

  "Gambling?" Wynton asked, suddenly sombre.

  "Aye, I must confess Mr Wynton, gambling was the poor route I chose to reverse my fortunes."

  "Has happened to many of us," said Wynton. "Unfortunately, gambling tends to work best when you do not have desperate need of money."

  "Thems that have the money are those who can make the best stakes at cards," said Rawlinson.

  "That's right lad," said Wynton. "And that's a lesson you should remember."

  Hague, fuelled by a growing amount of wine, slapped Corbin on the back. "Never mind, Mr Corbin! We have our mission and the prize money is in sight! We have the best ship, the best crew and the best Captain for the job!"

  "That much is true," said Wynton. He looked seriously at the other two lieutenants and the midshipmen. "Mark my words, all of you. We have a true seaman in our Captain, it is in his blood. You all heard of the Admiral Havelock?"

  The lieutenants all nodded but Rawlinson and his fellow midshipman Buxton looked quizzically at Wynton, wanting to know more but hesitant to voice their ignorance. Wynton picked up on their expressions, and after pouring more wine for everyone, settled back in his seat, shifting to make himself comfortable against the hard wood.

  "Well, the Captain's grandfather was also in the navy - made Admiral, he did. Led a squadron of three frigates against a French fleet off Guadeloupe. Now, he was outnumbered, to be sure, with four Froggie ships matched against his. But two of them were also ships of the line, huge great vessels that dwarfed his frigates."

  The midshipmen looked incredulously at Havelock and then back to Wynton. "How could he have possibly fought against them?" Buxton asked.

  "By all rights, he should have turned tail and ran, right?" said Wynton. "Well lad, that is what makes the difference between the likes of you and me, and a true hero. We might have scuttled off to find a squadron of third-raters and reported the position of the French, letting others do the fighting. But not Admiral Havelock. Oh, no. He approaches them, bold as brass, and they don't know what to make of him. He gets right up behind the two big warships and lets loose, sinking one and detonating the magazine of the other, with his first salvo, I heard. The two French frigates were shocked to inaction and quickly overwhelmed, then boarded. The whole thing took less than an hour and netted all crews a handsome prize."

  Corbin smiled at hearing the story retold and he joined in with the applause of the others at its conclusion. He noted, however, that his Captain seemed distinctly uncomfortable listening to the story of his grandfather. Wynton had stood up, taking Corbin's attention as he proposed a toast.

  "Gentlemen, I give you Admiral Havelock!"

  "Admiral Havelock!" They chimed in, raising their glasses.

  "For my money, a man every equal to Nelson himself!" Wynton said, who then noticed Hague's bemused smile. "I'm telling you, Nelson gets the glory these days - not that he does not deserve it - but there are others in His Majesty's Navy who are every bit as worthy."

  Corbin grabbed the wine bottle and gestured for Wynton's glass. "Come, Mr Wynton," he said. "Let me refill you. Enough of Nelson, let us get back to the matter of the French quarry we will be chasing!"

  Wynton sat down heavily in his seat and offered his glass. Corbin glanced at his Captain from the corner of his eye very briefly and was a little surprised, though gratified, to see Havelock give him an almost imperceptible nod of thanks for having changed the subject. He had not known what gave Havelock any discomfort with regards to his grandfather but Corbin had considered it his duty to ease the Captain's burden, whatever it might have been.

  "What guns will the Elita be carrying?" Hague said, not catching the exchange between Corbin and his Captain. "How will they compare to our twelve-pounders?"

  Havelock coughed, then answered. "Having two deck
s allows you to mount much heavier cannon behind the lower gun ports, as it balances your centre of gravity - you all remember the story of the Mary Rose, right? Classic case of a ship toppling over too far because of the weight of its armament. Still, we could be looking at guns as heavy as thirty-six pounders."

  Wynton whistled. "I've only seen guns that large on a ship of the line."

  "Well, that is the point, really," said Havelock. "That is why they are nicknamed super-frigates. I could tell you that she won't have many thirty-six pounders - but then I would have to admit that she will also mount twenty-four pounders. There may be a few guns, towards the stern or bow, that match ours but only on the upper gun deck. Make no mistake though, she is a powerful vessel."

  "Forgive me, Captain," said Buxton. "But why does everybody here not think that we are beaten before we start? With guns like that, she can start firing long before we can and we should be hit before we even get into range."

  Havelock opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by Hague. Corbin stifled a grin as Havelock smiled and waved Hague on, who was completely unaware that he had interrupted his Captain. "Lad, it is never as simple as that. First off, the French have got to shoot straight to hit you at range, which is never a given." Hague started counting off the points on his fingers. "Then, they have to reload, and the Froggie crews are not noted for their love of hard work. Our men will shoot straighter and quicker than them on any day of the week - it does not matter if you have the biggest cannon in the world, if your enemy is constantly pounding at you. Third, you have to point your guns towards the enemy in order to fire. And I'll lay good money that the Captain here will have a surprise or two for this Elita."

  The evening continued and as the wine began to take its toll on the officers, the muffled singing of the crew elsewhere in the ship prompted them to join in with their own songs, Wynton leading the choruses with undisguised gusto. Finally, Havelock rapped his knuckles on the table to get their attention.

  "My friends," he said. "We have a large task ahead of us, though it is one that I have no doubt we can complete, with the honour and dignity befitting one of His Majesty's Ships. We have escaped a long and drawn out wait here at Spithead, and in return, will demonstrate to the Admiralty just why the Whirlwind is one of the premier ships of the entire fleet!"

  This raised a cheer from all the officers and Havelock had to raise a hand to continue, though he did so with a smile. "Get a good night's sleep, for we have a lot of work ahead of us tomorrow. Mr Corbin, would you be so good as to double-check the watches before you turn in. Whose is it now?"

  "That would be Mr Buxton, Captain," said Corbin.

  "Ah, that is why you were laying low on the wine, Mr Buxton," said Havelock. "Good man. We enjoy our drink in the King's Navy, but duty must always come first. Very well, I bid you all goodnight!"

  As one, the officers all stood and thanked their Captain before leaving. Corbin was the last to reach the door and he hesitated before leaving the great cabin.

  "Something, Mr Corbin?" Havelock asked.

  Corbin opened his mouth to answer then closed it again, thinking better. He paused and noticed his Captain's raised eyebrows. Closing the door, he turned back to Havelock. "Well, Sir," he said.

  "You have doubts?"

  "Yes, Sir. A few."

  "Well, out with it man. I can spare you a few more minutes," Havelock said.

  "Well... I understand that the Admiralty wants to keep as many ships here in readiness for anything the French do. But the Whirlwind is a fifth-rate ship. To put it up against one of these super-frigates, alone, seems folly. Do we really have a chance?"

  "Oh, we have a chance, Mr Corbin," Havelock said quickly. "There is always a chance. However, I do understand and even, to a point, share your concern. The best ship to send against the Elita would be a sprightly third-rater, something that can keep up with her and yet still deliver a knockout blow. Mind you, that is exactly the sort of ship the Admiralty wants in British waters right now."

  "I thought we might have been joined by another frigate, at least."

  "Yes, that would have been preferable. But those are not the cards we have been dealt, Mr Corbin. We have our orders and must believe the Admiralty has its reasons for sending the Whirlwind and no other. It is entirely possible that those orders omitted some interesting piece of information that the Admiralty knows and we do not. Perhaps the Elita is ravaged by plague and has become short-crewed. Perhaps she has already been engaged by a British ship and has had trouble making repairs. Who knows?"

  "Aye, you are right, Captain. If we were to second guess the Admiralty, we might all go mad."

  "Oh, that is certain, Mr Corbin! What goes on in the Mad House, generally, could make anyone doubt their own senses. That said, we can normally trust our orders when it comes to engaging the French. Throughout the long years of war with France, the King's Navy has yet to suffer any truly significant losses." Havelock paused for a few seconds before continuing. "There is, however, something more pressing that concerns me."

  When Havelock did not continue at once, Corbin prompted him. "Sir?"

  "It is this list of ships that have been attacked, sunk or captured by the Elita," said Havelock. "Sixteen in three months? That is incredible good fortune for the French. Either the merchants are lining up to be taken or this Guillot is a very skilled captain. There is, however, one other possibility..."

  It took Corbin just a second to see where his captain was heading. "There is more than one ship doing the raiding."

  "Very good, Mr Corbin," Havelock said. "Yes, we could be sailing into a small French fleet. And if they are all fourth-raters like the Elita, we may be voyaging into a lot of trouble." He noticed Corbin's troubled face and then smiled slightly. "Take heart, Lieutenant. There are plenty of natural harbours along the African coast where the Elita may be re-supplying, allowing it to stay on station for an extended period while intercepting all merchants who must sail in the area. It may turn out that we are not even facing a skilled captain, just a lucky one. If that is the case, I think we can be luckier."

  "I pray that is correct, Sir."

  "You've served on a frigate before, Mr Corbin. You know it takes more than heavy guns and a fair wind to win battles with these ships."

  "Yes, Sir. In that regard, I have few doubts. The Whirlwind is a good ship with a fine crew."

  "And they'll be better by the time we reach our hunting grounds," said Havelock. "Even with the right winds, we will be voyaging for a good six weeks before we will have any chance of sighting the Elita. It is my intention to practice the men during that time. As well as sharpening them for the coming battle, it will also help keep their minds occupied during what will hopefully be an otherwise uneventful journey."

  "As you say, Sir. Captain, there was one other thing... "

  Havelock noticed his Lieutenant's hesitancy and cocked his head. "Yes, Mr Corbin?"

  "You seemed a little perturbed when mention was made of your grandfather."

  If anything, Corbin thought his Captain looked even more uncomfortable now. "A topic for another time, Mr Corbin," he said, a little briskly. "Check the watches, as ordered, then turn in. I want every man above deck at first light tomorrow. We'll announce our orders to them then, before setting sail. We can afford for the rumours to run wild until then."

  "Yes, Captain. Goodnight, Captain," Corbin said, as respectfully as he could muster. Havelock nodded in acknowledgement, prompting Corbin to leave the great cabin and return to the main deck to monitor the changing watch.

  CHAPTER THREE

  As the crew of the Whirlwind gathered on the main deck, the air seemed to crackle with excitement and anticipation. By now every man had heard of the visiting marine sergeant and the letter that had been handed to the Captain, and few believed this could mean anything other than new orders with a good possibility of action against the enemy. Regardless of whether they would actually face the French in battle, every man was grateful that their stay
at Spithead seemed to be over.

  Few secrets could be kept long on board the cramped environment of a warship, but rumours and tall tales could easily subvert the truth when it was spoken. So, though there were men who had witnessed the purser make the final preparations for the long voyage, had even toiled to bring new provisions on board, their calculations or estimations on how long a voyage was expected carried less weight than another sailor who opined that hammering the French in the Mediterranean was their final goal, especially if he said it louder and with more conviction. Not every one was willing to accept what another said at face value, of course, and more than one of the crew bore the marks of a fist-fight as impassioned opinions had spun out of hand during the night.

  Nearly three hundred souls made up the full complement of the Whirlwind, packed into two decks below the reach of sunlight. Now, they filled the main deck and hung from the main mast, standing shoulder-to-shoulder as they waited patiently for their Captain's address. With so many men gathered in one place, new opportunities for rumour mongering and storytelling abounded, and a quiet hubbub rolled with an irregular rhythm over the deck.

  On the quarterdeck, Lieutenants Wynton and Hague stood at attention alongside the midshipmen, overseeing the crew as they too, waited. The Captain and Corbin stood behind them, near the prow of the ship, ostensibly discussing last minute changes and provisions, though it was entirely within Havelock's style to use the time to build up anticipation within his crew. As the muttering of the crew steadily grew in volume, it was clear that any wish to motivate them was working. When Havelock judged the moment right, he shook Corbin's hand and then walked purposefully across the quarterdeck to face his crew. Hands placed in a relaxed manner on the wooden railing before him, Havelock leaned forward slightly as he spoke.

  "Men of the Whirlwind, your time idling here is over! We are about to set sail! Do you have it in your hearts to fight against the French?"