HMS Monarch, a ponderous seventy-four, would be the convoy’s flagship. Amphion, Boston, Bonetta, and Lutine waited for their assignments. Ships’ boats crawled like ants across the harbor, ferrying sailors ship-visiting, or going to shore on leave, or fetching last-minute supplies. Pilot and guard-boats were always about.
A week later, the Monarch’s ‘Blue Peter’, Governor Wallace’s order to prepare, was raised. He would soon be moving aboard.
With only a week remaining to gather enough men to fight his ship, and having no volunteers come forward in response to the handbills they had posted the earlier, Troubridge had no choice but to send a press gang ashore.
“We are scheduled to leave in two days,” Lt. Froste told Tripp and Lawry. “The captain tells me that it is thought best we take in one single large press gang and get it done all at once. We haven’t much time, anyway, so the two of you take Mr. Colson and sixteen others you can trust. Row ashore this evening and gather up any fishermen or seamen you find idling about. Follow the rules. No muskets,” he admonished. “Bring back a big group, and we’ll sort them out tomorrow before we sail.”
“I hate that press-gang duty, Daniel,” said Neville later. “Nobody on shore wants to see you coming, and it don’t seem fair to me anyway that we can just grab a man off the street and take him away. I’ll carry a cudgel just to protect myself, I think. It’s maybe not so bad here if they’re just footloose fishing servants but, if they’ve got family, it’s not a good thing we do, despite I know why. Colson’s pretty good at it.
“Clean out the pubs, Mr. Colson,” joked Watson as Colson strapped on his dirk.
Shortly after dark, a great noise arose at the main chains. The cutter, laden with twenty ‘volunteers’, thunked clumsily against the frigate’s hull. Castors swarmed up the side, knocking against the rigging and rails with their cudgels and cutlasses. Chains rattled for awhile, and voices were raised. Marines escorted the prisoners to the brig. “Step lively, there. Save your bilge for later.” Then all went quiet in only a few minutes.
“It looks a success, Lieutenant Tripp. No trouble ashore, I presume. Any proper seamen in that lot?”
“No trouble at all, Sir. A few cod-fishermen, I think, though some may be fish-packers or simple stevedores. Most are from the ‘Rose and Thornes’, Sir. We got a few from ‘The Ship’, and two were stumbling about the street.”
“Fasten them below, and we’ll see if anyone comes to claim them in the morning.”
“It’s a fine morning, ain’t it, Mr. G?” Mr. Graesson said to Mr. Goode who was drinking his cup of steaming coffee on the poop.
“Beautiful, sure, Mr. G. Not a cloud in the sky, and not that damned fog we usually see when there’s no wind. Brilliant. Look, here they come. There will be strong words in the captain’s cabin soon, I’ll wager.”
Despite the number of ships in the harbor, it was obvious from the start that the two shore boats were pulling toward Castor.
“It seems we’ll not be keeping all twenty, then,” Graesson said, starting below to inform the captain of the arriving merchant delegation.
“Wait, Mr. Graesson. Look there to the Monarch.”
“You’ve a keen eye, Mr. Goode. Governor’s signaling for the convoy to form up for tomorrow. Not much time left us. I’ll let him know about that, too. He may want to come up and see it himself.”
Two hours later, only eight volunteers remained aboard. All the others had been claimed by their masters and taken ashore.
“Enter their names in the muster book, Lieutenant Froste, and give them their bounty - £5 for the two able seamen, one ordinary seamen – £2.1.0 for Johannsen, best I can understand him, and give those five landsmen £1.1.0. Not the best we had hoped for, but we can promote some of our landsmen who now have a bit of experience to ordinary.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
“And send Lieutenant Lawry in with those who need to go for their clothes and fishing wages directly after dinner.” It was the practice to escort volunteers ashore to get their personal belongings before shipping out.
“Right, Sir.”
Lt. Lawry and Neville, together with Timmons, Smyth and Shustik, climbed down into the cutter with two of the new recruits who needed their wages and sea chests as the ship’s bell chimed four bells of the afternoon watch.
“Shove off. Make way, all,” ordered Lawry to the oarsmen, commenting to no one in particular. “I will miss the fresh beef a week hence. Cook did wonders with that dinner.”
The cutter scrubbed ashore on a hard-stone beach at the upper end of the harbor. Lawry spoke loudly to be heard over the screeching of hundreds of gulls, terns, and the seals that inhabited the place. “All right, where’s Noble’s room?” he asked of his volunteers. The party soon found the stone building where the two new men might receive their wages from their former fish-merchant employer on the lower waterfront road. A large painted sign above the door announced ‘Agent for Pinson and Noble’.
“Nobody about, Sir. Usually, Mr. Payne’s here, but it’s Sat’d’y.”
Let’s collect your chests, then, and come back about the wages after. Where’s your lodgings?”
“This way,” answered one, pointing up the road to higher ground. They climbed up a low grade and began the walk overlooking the waterfront.
“Oi, what’s this?” queried Shustik. A large and noisy crowd was forming up ahead of them. Some appeared behind also, coming out around buildings and fish stores and up from a lower road ahead.
“This don’t look good. They don’t look friendly at all,” added Timmons. “They’ve got us surrounded, too!”
“Let go of ‘em, Navy,” growled a large man in the group.
“They’ve volunteered – took the King’s shilling,” Lawry yelled back.
“Sure they did. All their idea, I’m sure. Come over, you two. You’ll be fishing next year, not firing cannons,” someone in the crowd yelled.
At this, the two ‘volunteers’ darted into the crowd. The townsmen immediately fell on Lawry with their sticks and bludgeons. He was so surprised at the speed of their attack that his dirk was not even out before he went down with a blow to his head.
Neville stepped back and drew his blade, though it looked almost silly compared to the enemy’s clubs. He saw Timmons take a blow across the chest that knocked him down, but he got up and sprinted for the beach. Shustik was not down, but blood ran from his scalp above the right eye, and three dark men looked to be about to set on him again. Smythe was down on one knee, also with a bleeding head. Neville parried a stick with his short sword, responding by stabbing the man in the arm. His screams added to the considerable yelling and thumping of clubs, but seemed to slow their enthusiasm a bit. The crowd was still beating Lawry, even though he hadn’t gotten up, and his last recollection, before everything went black, was that both Shustik and Smythe were prostrate as well.
Dim light was the first thing he was aware of, and the dank smell of the ship. He was lying on a cot in his usual mess area. His head hurt terribly and, in trying to open his eyes, he found that the left one would not cooperate. He was not surprised that he found a cracked lip and loose tooth; his right arm hurt when he tried to flex it.
“Ah, Mr. Burton, you are with us again,” rasped the doctor in a voice that seemed far too cheerful for the situation. “You have a terrible lump on your forehead, and a badly swelled eye. I’ve put two very small stiches above. Let’s put some ice wrapped with this poldavy on it. I don’t find any bones broken, though, and I think no internal hemorrhaging. I’ll leave you this white willowbark here. Have your mates make you a tea. I think you’ll find it takes the worst off the headache you’ll soon have.”
Neville was quiet a moment, and then asked, “What of the others?”
Mills gave him the news straight up. “Not good, I’m afraid. Lt. Lawry is most likely murdered, though he lives yet. Smythe and Shustik were beat in such a severe manner that their lives are despaired of. Mr. Timmons was your savior. He ran
for it and came for the captain after he gained the boat and alerted the guard. Men from here and the guard chased away the remaining crowd and carried you three, and the lifeless Lt. Lawry, here. The governor went furious, they say, and sent a cutter from the Monarch.”
“I think I’ll sleep now,” mumbled Neville.
When he awoke again, he could hear church in progress above.
Daniel appeared soon. “Hello, Neville. How are you feeling today? You look awful.”
“Swell, Daniel; thanks. Everything hurts, and I haven’t even tried to stand yet,” he said, taking that opportunity to attempt it.
“Stay down, Mr. Burton,” ordered Captain Troubridge. He and Lt. Froste entered. Watson stepped aside. “I am pleased to tell you that the other two will survive. I am sorry for this interruption of your recovery, but the governor is most anxious to have some information. Can you tell us how many attacked you?”
“I cannot with certainty, Sir. Maybe fifteen ahead and seven behind. It was quite sudden.”
“Do you think you could identify those who struck Lieutenant Lawry?”
“I doubt it, Sir. I’m sorry. They hit us all at the same time almost.”
“Thank you, Mr. Burton. We look forward to seeing you up and about,” said Lt. Froste. The two senior officers exited the cockpit.
“I’d say you have the limelight, Neville,” said Daniel, stepping back in. “There’s to be a great manhunt, I’m sure. Governor Wallace went ashore this morning in a tremendous steam, as we were supposed to have left already.”
“Shustik and Smythe will be fine after their wounds heal, Mr. Burton, but Lawry’s just died,” said Mills. “I’ll go tell captain.”
Neville was feeling well enough to sit up by evening. He heard the bells ring four in – some watch – and a thundering of boots on the deck began. Neville guessed marines, by the clattering of muskets he could also hear. Then a boat was clunking against the side again. This time of night?, he wondered. Watson walked in with the news: “It’s a manhunt, sure. Monarch signaled the squadron to man our boats with marines and row ashore directly.”
“Why, good morrow,” said Dr. Mills. Neville was working his way slowly up the main companion on Monday to take dinner in a normal fashion. His messmates would have brought it down, but he wanted to see daylight after two days below.
He could hear the sounds of the carpenters making Lawry a coffin.
“Mr. Burton, good to see you about,” said Lt. Froste. “Feeling better?”
“Aye, Sir, much better, and I would be keen to hear the news. I didn’t get to know Lieutenant Lawry all that well in a few days, but he seemed nice enough.”
“He did, I agree. Damned shame. Justice is proceeding very swiftly, though. Governor Wallace keenly wants this convoy put to sea before the fogs of spring, but he must have the matter settled before he leaves. If he finds the culprits and they are convicted of murder, St. John’s can’t hang ‘em without him being here. That means they’d sit in jail here until he comes back next summer, and there might be escape attempts or another uprising – or even an attack on the prison after the navy puts to sea with this convoy. This fort is not very strong without the navy in the harbor. He interviewed his suspects aboard the Monarch and requested Troubridge’s written statement about Lawry’s actions on your press gang; I think he’s found two that he’ll hang soon. Will you be going to Lawry’s funeral?”
“Yes, I will go. I feel as if I should have done something better to help.”
“There goes his casket down, now,” O’Hanlan said. They looked to the wooden box being swayed out over the cutter – the same cutter Lawry and Neville took in with the press gang.
There were other cutters waiting abaft the ship – from Monarch, Amphion, Bonetta, Pluto, and Lutine. Every one was full of officers; their crews were in their best.
“Is every officer in the fleet here?” wondered Neville aloud. He was beginning to be able to see a bit out of his bruised eye, though his thrashing was still apparent.
“They’re supposed to be,” answered Colson. “Command performance, it is. The Governor wants everyone to know who’s in charge here.” The boats were rowed slowly in line around the harbor to make a show, ending at King’s Wharf. Castor’s cutter, with Lawry’s casket aboard, was last. When it landed, the casket was carried through formations of sailors, marines and local militia to the Church of England cemetery.
Following some strong words from Governor Wallace, Lt. Lawry’s sword, hat, and dirk were placed on top of the coffin. Handfuls of soil were thrown in, and Monarch’s chaplain ended the service with his customary benediction.
In the next two days, they received only spotty reports from shore because nobody from the Castor was involved with the Supreme Court trial of the two suspects, Garrett Farrell and Richard Power. A third suspect, William Burrows, had not been found.
On Thursday, the two men were found guilty by a local jury and sentenced to death by Chief Justice Coke. Farrell and Power were led to the gallows in a procession between marines, who acted as a barrier between the civilian crowd and the scaffold, and hung at 11:00 a.m.
9 - “Capture”
“These are the new muster bills,” said Lt. Froste. “Captain’s had me write ‘Discharged dead, murdered at St. John’s’. so that’s the end of it. That leaves us back at the business of sailing Castor to defend this convoy to England. We have moved a few of the landsmen into the watches, and we’ll need to train the new lubbers as fast as we can. The biggest revision is that we have to move Midshipman Colson into Lawry’s duties, as we have no other officer. Lieutenant Tripp takes on second, as you would expect. Acting Lieutenant Colson, you will take Lieutenant Ratcliffe’s place on larboard; O’Hanlan is your midshipman. Mr. Burton, you will assume signals and will remain at the mainmast. Keep a sharp eye to the flagship. I expect we will see the signal to form up soon, possibly even today. That’s all for now; you are dismissed.”
A light snow flurry was in progress early the next morning. “Your eye looks much better today, Neville,” said Aiden quietly where they met on the poopdeck. Fluffy flakes drifted silently downward in the windless air. Not enough to cover the decks yet, but promising a cold day ahead. Neville’s eye was a great bulging, reddish-purple plum of a thing, and Aiden probably didn’t think it looked much better at all, but he likely thought it might help his friend to say so.
“Aye, ‘tis. It almost feels normal – if nothing touches it.
“I must say that I hadn’t thought at all that one of us mids would be promoted, even if it is just to ‘acting’. This sort of thing happens to others, but not to us, does it?”
“There’s been no need before,” said Aiden. “We don’t expect it, do we? We are merely midshipmen on our first cruise. Colson’s thought on it, though, I’m sure, because it’s not his first. It’s not yet worth my time even to daydream about being a lieutenant.”
“What about captain? Ever think you’ll get there?”
“Poof. Might as well think I could saddle a pig and fly to the moon.”
“Well, we’re on the right path, yeah? We’ve joined the navy as midshipmen. We’re learning our lessons. We’re putting in our time at sea to learn the navy’s customs and duties. Someday we’ll sit for lieutenant. That’s the way it goes, even for you, Aiden. There’s no reason to think otherwise. Just don’t get killed by cannon fire, and watch your toes around Colson.”
Aiden went off to report for duty. Daniel walked up. Neville had not stopped thinking about the idea of promotion. “It’s just not settled upon my mind, Daniel, before I saw it firsthand. Your mate gets killed while about his duties, and you get promoted.”
“I know what you mean. It’s in the news or the rumors all the time, but you never see the blood. It all sounds logical. You stay in the service, and somehow your rank goes up. I know I certainly don’t expect to be promoted because a friend of mine is clubbed or shot to death. It could just be disease or an accident, for that matter.”
“No, I don’t suppose. Maybe Colson will change a bit and not be so hard on him. Oh, lookee, there,” he added,” pointing to the flagship. “Signal to form up. I’d better announce it to Lieutenant Froste.”
Towing boats were already being swayed out from several of the merchantmen, even as Neville went to report. He approached Lt. Froste, who had just come up the companion carrying his pot of steaming coffee. “Good morning, Sir. There’s a signal from the flagship to form up, Sir.”
“So I see, Mr. Burton. Thank you. Pass word for Mr. Tillman, if you please.”
“That’s Cape Spear there, Neville,” said Lt. Tripp at three bells in the afternoon watch, “the easternmost point in North America.” Cape Spear was a dull purple smudge on the western horizon and partially obscured by a long, low cloud of sail. An osprey soared low above, investigating to see if they were a fishing convoy, but quickly decided they were worthless. The bird wheeled away for shore and gave its wings a few long flaps as if to bid them Godspeed.
“Land will be gone when the sun comes up in the morning, leaving us a month of open ocean ahead of us for scenery.”
“Aye. I was surprised that we could tow forty-three ships out of St. John’s harbor by noon.”
“Not bad; just be happy there is a little wind out here.”
“And, it’s fair for England, with no sea.” Only a long, rolling swell disturbed the otherwise flat face of the sea.
A dark ball rose from the bulk that was Monarch, from which a signal burst when it reached the peak. “Monarch signals, Sir. Take station to wind’rd,” Neville announced.
“Acknowledge,” was all Captain Troubridge responded.
“Pipe the hands to witness punishment, Mr. Tillman,” ordered Troubridge, for it could not be let go longer and would have been yesterday, had it not been a Sunday. Yesterday, the day they sailed, church had been little more than a quick gathering to take muster and inspect the divisions and a short prayer amidst the shouting of towing and sail-handling orders. A third of the company had been swarming about the rigging like a troop of monkeys, and another two dozen had been in the boats.
The Glorious First Of June (Neville Burton: Worlds Apart Book 1) Page 13