A Press of Canvas: Volume One in the War of 1812 Trilogy

by William H. White

  Of course, many of Biggs’s shipmates were pressed, but most had adapted to the Navy and felt that aside from the ever-present danger, it was as good a way as any to make a living. For several, duty in the Royal Navy came in a different form; their service began as “tops’l bail”, and like the men gathered by press gangs, they had little choice in service but were equally “Royal Navy.” They were indistinguishable from any other tar. They all knew that if things got too bad, desertion was an option, and many took that road, but frequently wound up caught, tried, flogged, and back at sea. The punishment did not seem to be a deterrent, and whenever there was a chance of getting some liberty, even for a few days, the subject came up.

  Biggs did not join the conversation and foolery brought about by the landfall. He was thinking about his friend Tyler, and that frightful day some months past. He recalled the shock that went through the entire crew when Tyler had jumped, rather than face the cat. Flogging was a way of life in the British navy and most sailors took the punishment as ordinary routine fare. It was most irregular to have a sailor question the practice, and unheard of for a sailor to jump to a certain death when sentenced to a flogging. The American sailors did not feel the same way; flogging was less frequent in their Navy, and rare indeed on most merchant vessels. The crews of both were volunteers, not conscripts, and there were other ways of punishing a man when out of line.

  The ship had lain hove to for nearly two hours. Captain Winston eventually had calmed down, and called for the cutter to return. Since they hadn’t found Tyler, or any trace of him, it was probably safe to assume he had in fact drowned. The boat was hoisted back aboard and the ship again made sail. Biggs, in the off-watch section, came down from the maintop and with the master at arms, made his way forward to the berthing area where he and Tyler had swung their hammocks for the past four months. Picking up Tyler’s scant belongings and his seabag, the master at arms had offered them to Biggs.

  “You want any of this stuff? You were his mate and it’s only right you should get first pick.”

  “Not on your life. He had nothing I need. Give it back to the purser for the slop chest. He can charge it against the pay of the next soul what gets pressed…” Isaac voice was hard; his eyes, fixed on the master at arms, flashed like flint in a firing pan. He balled his fists and began to form more words filled the vitriol that had suddenly bubbled up.

  A look from the master at arms had silenced his youthful and angry tirade. Isaac’s features relaxed quickly as he realized how close he had come to being seized up to the grating and given a taste of the cat for his outburst. He would miss Tyler; he knew that their being pressed had caused his death just as surely as though he had been shot on Anne by one of the Royal Marines. His resentment mounted, and he still had difficulty containing it. Before he got himself even closer to a flogging, Isaac walked away without a word, but he silently promised himself that somehow, some way…

  Scrubbing his holystone harder with each stroke, he focused now on the lieutenants Burns and Fitzgerald; he owed it to his drowned shipmate to even the score, and, while he had no idea how an ordinary seaman could, he figured that an opportunity might present itself He wondered what he could do. He saw the futility of trying to settle things with either Burns or Fitzgerald, but they were the problem, and he would wait for an opportunity. He forced his mind back to the present, and the darkness from his face.

  “You think we’ll get ashore, Wallace?” Biggs’ mate on the maintop had become a good friend and advisor, frequently keeping Biggs from crossing a line which would have earned him more than a few stripes across his bare back.

  “Maybe, and I surely am hopin’ so. We got us a chance, anyway, bein’s ‘ow this ’ere island’s so full of Royal Navy as to be Portsmouth with palm trees. Not much chance of a cove runnin’ ’ere – ‘ceptin’ into the arms of one o’ the local lovelies. Antigua’s a right lively spot and the natives ‘ave always been friendly. No need for a place like Mother Carey’s, though they’re there. “Patience and ‘olly’s” is a fine place to lay up out o’ the weather. One o’ the quartermasters what’s friendly with Cook told me we’ll be takin’ on water and stores, so it’s likely ‘at some of the men’ll be gettin’ ashore, if only to jackass casks and barrels to the boats. Mebe Cap’n Winston might put the ship ‘out of discipline’ if they ain’t gonna be no one gettin’ ashore.” Wallace stopped when he saw the blank look on Isaac’s face.

  “What’s that you said ‘bout discipline, Wallace? Ain’t we got enough o’ that what with the regular floggin’ and cut grog rations an’ all?”

  Wallace laughed. “Not like that ‘t’all, Biggs. ‘Out of discipline’ means at the ship is open to visitors from ashore. Cap’n’s done it afore ‘ere. We can get the ladies to come to us, ‘stead o’ the other way ‘round. Things can git ‘a bit rowdy aboard’ ‘corrdin’ to some o’ the officers.” This last he said in a fair imitation of an aristocratic English accent. The others laughed, recalling some of the occasions of which Wallace spoke.

  Wallace had stopped his holystoning to contemplate on and then answer Biggs’ question; he received a stroke with the bosun’s starter across his stern-end as a none to gentle reminder to “get on with it”.

  “How ‘bout it, Bosun Tice. We gonna get ashore here?” Biggs did not make the mistake of stopping his work, and didn’t look up.

  “I know what yer thinkin’, Biggs. Lemme tell you; Antigua’s not a real good place to run off. It’s the homeport of the fleet in the Leewards, and there’s more Marines here than ever you seen. Why they’d grab you up quick as kiss my hand, and Admiral LaFory ain’t got a sense of humor ‘bout sailors what desert. I’ve heard of deserters bein’ flogged ‘round the fleet. Been involved in one of them my own self. Damnedest thing too; man was dead when they brought him aboard. He’d already been given nigh onto a hundred strokes on four ships, but the sentence called for him to get a dozen an’ more of the Bosun’s finest on each an’ every ship in the harbor. We was in Plymouth at the time and there was prob’ly ‘half a dozen fifth and sixth rates and three seventy-fours in. We strung ‘im up to the grate and I give him a dozen me own self. I was a bosun’s mate then, back in the year four it was. When we cut ‘im down, they put ‘im back in the boat an’ strung ‘im up on Alert. Did it right ‘round the fleet, they did. No, this ain’t the place to think about jumpin’, Biggs. You neither, Wallace.”

  The story had mesmerized the men, and the work had pretty well stopped. Tice started a few and growled at a few others and the scrape of the holystones was heard again. The men had already been told that the great guns would not be exercised today while they were sailing into Antigua; this meant that when the decks were finished, they might rest until the watch changed at midday. For some, this meant sleeping or just sitting around on the weather deck or gundeck telling stories; for others, it meant an opportunity to mend clothes or make a new shirt from material tucked away waiting for the right moment.

  As Orpheus closed on the island, in addition to land and green vegetation being visible from deck, the masts of a host of ships came into view. Captain Winston was on the quarterdeck, in his number two uniform as was his custom when entering port. He fully expected to be called to the flag ship, but even if he was not summarily summoned, he was obligated to pay a courtesy visit on Admiral Lafory and he planned to change prior to embarking on that mission.

  The quarterdeck had become a hive of activity; there were no less than three midshipmen, sailing master Smosky, First Lieutenant Burns, and Lieutenant Hardy who still had the watch. Of course, as was the norm, two quartermaster’s mates were at the ships huge wheel taking direction from Mr. Smosky, and the Bosun hovered nearby.

  “Mr. Tice, a leadsman in the chains, if you please.” The captain, who had arrived on the quarterdeck moments before, turned to the watch officer and added, under his breath, “Or were you planning to devine the depth, Mr. Hardy?”

  Captain Winston always used a leadsman when coming onto a harbor,
even one marked with buoys as the cut into English Harbour had been for quite a few years now.

  The calls of the leadsman were relayed back to the quarterdeck as the ship moved closer to the harbor. Adjustments were made in the course to remain in the unmarked outer channel based on the depth reported, and Orpheus moved at a stately pace past the headland and into the twisting, but given the prevailing winds, easily followed entrance to the main harbor.

  “You may hand the courses, now, if you please, Mr. Smosky. Leave tops’ls, jibs, and stays’ls flying. Mr. Tice, you may prepare the best bower.” The captain’s orders created a flurry of activity; men were sent aloft to brail up the big courses while others hauled on braces and clewlines to assist the topmen with the heavy sails. T’gallants had been furled the previous night in keeping with Captain Winston’s usual habit, and since they would be entering harbor this morning, had not been reset at dawn. As the courses were clewed up, the frigate slowed perceptibly as she moved forward under just her stays’ls and tops’ls. The chant from the forechains continued showing the ship with plenty of water under her keel. Other men removed the lashings from the big bower anchor catted to the starboard bulwark, and would stand by awaiting the order to let it hang free, and ultimately, to let go.

  A ship entering a port where the fleet is at anchor is always under the closest scrutiny; seamanship, smartness, and a smooth working crew make for an impressive entrance. The lack of any one of them will tell, and not only the captain, but any member of the ship’s company will be subject to comments and ridicule from everyone from the Admiral to pub keeps. Needless to say, Captain Winston was acutely aware as he brought Orpheus around the headland that every eye was on them, and even if Admiral Lafory was not personally on deck, someone from his staff was and would report in detail to him.

  “Mr. Hardy, make our numbers now, if you please. And our colors.” For once, Hardy was ahead of the captain, and the quartermaster had the flags already on a halyard ready to fly. Almost before the captain finished speaking, the flags were snapping in the warm breeze. He looked for and found with his glass the flag ship. She had responded to his numbers and was flying the signal “captain repair on board” with Orpheus’ numbers from her mizzen crossjack yard.

  Wonder what that’s all about. Winston allowed only a part of his mind to ponder the summons from his boss. The rest he kept squarely on the matter at hand. Orpheus was moving through the anchorage now; the men aloft standing taut and ready for the commands that would bring the ship more or less close-hauled and then, safely to anchor. The sailing master and bosun were close at hand, waiting for the orders from him, and anticipating the timing by watching the progress the ship made through the anchored ships.

  “Bring up her two points. Mr. Smosky, haul your braces and bowlines.” Winston had picked his spot to anchor and was heading toward it. The chant from the leadsman in the chains continued, showing ample water.

  “Back the fore tops’l, Mr. Smosky, if you please.” The order was relayed forward and Winston could see the yard coming around as the waisters hauled the braces. Suddenly the tops’l shivered and then, with a crack, filled backwards. It blossomed out around the topmast and again the ship slowed.

  “Gunner, a salute to the flag as we pass, on my command.” This was not only appropriate, it was essential. Deference to the senior officer with all the trappings of Naval etiquette required six guns in salute. Generally, the Flag Ship answered the salute with her own guns, and Winston could see men standing by her larboard guns in readiness.

  “Stand by…fire.” The starboard forward-most gun erupted in flame and smoke, roaring out the appropriate salute. It was followed immediately by the next gun in line, then the next, and so on until six powder-only loads had been expended. The salute was answered as expected with four crashing booms from the flagship’s thirty-two pounders.

  “Take in the stays’ls, Mr. Smosky. Quick as ever you please. Mr. Tice, stand by for’ard. Quartermaster, bring her up a point, if you please.” The ship responded to the course change and the further reduction of sail by heading closer to the wind and slowing even more. Now headway was almost nil, the fore tops’l backed and the main tops’l and spanker barely drawing.

  “Hand the main tops’l, smartly now.” Smosky was attending and had the order relayed to the men in the waist and on the maintop as the captain said the words. The backed fore tops’l had been braced around to maintain its braking effect as the ship approached the spot where they would anchor. The men forward were standing by stops on the now hanging anchor with an ax awaiting the order to let go.

  Captain Winston was watching the water from the leeward side of the quarterdeck. It was barely moving past the ship’s side. Satisfied with heir speed, he glanced around the ship, ensuring he was in fact where he wanted to be. He called to the bosun.

  “You may let go the bower, now, Mr. Tice.” The bosun raised his arm and waved. Forward, the ax swung, the preventer holding the anchor was cut, and with a mighty splash, Orpheus’ best bower sped to the sandy bottom of English Harbour, Antigua. The frigate stopped her forward movement and swung around as the anchor took a strain, bringing her bow into the wind.

  “Carry on, Mr. Hardy. Mr. Burns, I’ll see you in my cabin, if you please.”

  The captain strode off the quarterdeck and through the hatch to the gundeck and his cabin. Behind him, the cutter and longboat were being readied for the water; the spanker and tops’ls were disappearing as the topmen and waisters furled them, and men not involved in those activities were gazing about the harbor, looking for old shipmates on the nearby vessels, and hoping they would get the opportunity to get ashore. Biggs, still at the maintop, had never been in Antigua and was astounded at the bustle and ebullient atmosphere of the place. He had also never seen so many British men o’ war in one place before, and the two line of battle ships, both old seventy-fours, but none-the-less impressive. He had never seen so large a ship, and here were two, HMS Worcester and HMS Gloucester. The latter carried the blue ensign and command flag of Admiral Sir Francis Lafory, commander of the Leeward Island Station.

  His work furling sails and putting harbor gaskets on the t’gallants, tops’ls, and courses was done, but Biggs stayed aloft to enjoy the view and observe the activity both on Orpheus and the other ships nearby. He saw the cutter swung out from its chocks amidships and lowered to the water on the starboard side. The crew clambered down the side of the ship and he noticed they were in matching jackets and hats. Their pigtails were neatly plaited and tarred. They made a Bristol appearance. The longboat likewise was lifted and swung out. That boat was secured to a warp and boom off the larboard side, but was not manned. He wondered about that.

  Shortly, the captain appeared on deck; he was resplendent in his uniform; the epaulettes on his shoulders signifying his rank as Post Captain with over three years seniority, fairly glowed in the brilliance of the morning. His blue jacket with the gold braid was spotless, and showed well the effort Cochrane had expended in brushing it. His white breeches and ceremonial sword reflected the sun light and dazzled the eyes. He was followed by Mr. Burns, Biggs observed, who was still was in his sea-going rig. Paisley Cochrane brought up the rear of the small entourage carrying the captain’s dress hat. He fussed with the cockade, uttering unintelligible sounds as he did, gave the hat a final, and totally unnecessary brushing, and placed it firmly on Captain Winston’s head, fore and aft, as was becoming increasingly popular, rather than the old fashioned ‘athwartships’ style used by Admiral Lord Nelson. The captain adjusted the hat, spoke a few words to Cochrane who stalked away, with a glare at his master. Biggs could see the man’s lips move, but from the maintop, was unable to hear the words. He was sure, though, that they weren’t “By yer leave, sir.”

  The topman watched as Burns escorted his captain to the rail on the starboard side. A brief exchange followed, and Winston fairly leapt onto the rail and dropped down to the channel for the main shrouds and thence into the waiting cutter. No sooner
was he settled in the stern sheets than the boat pushed off and the coxswain called the oarsmen to their duty. The boat, Biggs thought to himself, made an impressive sight as it stroked across the water towards HMS Gloucester and the waiting admiral.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A Change of Plans

  Shortly after six bells of the afternoon watch, the harbor lookout spotted the cutter returning to Orpheus with the captain in the stern sheets. The lookout hailed the quarterdeck, giving the midshipman stationed there sufficient warning to prepare the necessary reception for Winston’s return, thus avoiding a potentially painful breach of naval etiquette.

  Hearing the bustle and preparations for their captain, Biggs and Wallace left the group on the fo’c’sle with whom they had been discussing the pleasures of shore leave in Antigua, not to put too fine a point on it, and headed up to the maintop where they would be able to see and hear most of what transpired. The primary question in their minds was getting ashore, followed closely in priority by the issue of fresh provisions. They assumed that Captain Winston would tell at least Lieutenant Burns what he had learned on the flagship, and having overheard the conversation, Biggs and Wallace would be in a position to break the good news to their mates.

  The quarterdeck hailed the small boat as it drew closer, and received the response “Orpheus” from the coxswain, indicating that indeed the captain of that ship was on board and intending to come alongside. Sideboys, a Marine drummer, bosun mates with pipes, and the first lieutenant would be required, and the midshipman sent one of the ship’s boys to find Lieutenant Burns, passing the word for sideboys and the bosun mates himself.