by David O'Neil
When he left home to join his first ship he was a boy, and although he had returned on three occasions since then, it was only now that he was mature enough to enjoy spending time with his father, on a man-to-man basis.
They had sat together in the study and discussed the state of the world, of Napoleon and of life in general.
Squire Graham was a well-informed man and he spoke of Napoleon with gravity “That man may have captured Europe and may possibly spread his influence even further. Whatever happens, win or lose, the world will never be the same because of his influence.”
The words came back to him on several occasions in the years to come, as the effects of the turmoil in Europe reverberated around the globe.
***
The crew of HMS Witch was mainly composed of local men; the master, Sam Callow, lived in the Half Moon inn with his wife, the owner. Located as it was on the hard in Plymouth, the Inn was the meeting place for the responsible members of the crew, just as the Angel was for the officers.
The stay in Plymouth gave occasion for a reunion for Robert with an old friend, Billy Beaufort, Lieutenant the Right Honourable William Beaufort-Robinson; Baron Brimpton; now serving as second lieutenant of the frigate Hotspur.
She had called in at Plymouth to collect despatches, and take on water before departing for the Mediterranean. Billy Beaufort found Robert on board Witch supervising the final array of the rigging with the help of Mr. Callow.
“Robert Graham, as I live and breathe, well met sir, will you come and join me in refreshment?” The arm smacked round Robert’s shoulder, as Billy breezed in. As always his friend seemed to carry all before him.
Robert looked at Mr. Callow for whom he had considerable respect.
Sam Callow looked over at Robert, “Why not, sir? I’ve got this in hand; I’ll be finished soon anyway!”
So the two friends went off to the Angel where they spent the rest of the day getting up to date since their last commission together as midshipmen in the Argonaut 74 five years before.
“Much though I enjoy your company,” Robert observed “Do you not live somewhere in the vicinity?”
“Well remembered, young Graham, of course we joined here in Plymouth as midshipmen, you from the Manor in Greyland, and me from Hartwell Hall over the border in Dorset. Since I didn’t have time to visit home, I decided to visit you. I would have called on you at the Manor but I heard at the dockside that you were here so here I am.” He laughed at this comment. “I am impressed, by the way! I read of your deeds in the Gazette. When you get your command I will expect to be asked to join you as you’re first lieutenant, in fact I am depending on it!”
“Rubbish—you’ll be captain of your own ship by then.”
The two carried on wrangling in the way of old friends until they separated, slightly drunk in the early hours of the following day.
When HMS Hotspur departed the following morning, both had sore heads. Robert, at least, felt every strike of the mallet throughout the day. Despite his discomfort he received scant sympathy from the other members of the crew, who had all at one time or another, been in the same situation.
HMS Witch sailed with the tide on the 14th of May, 1793. They had been ordered to the West Indies with three replacement officers for the West Indies Regiment, and an assortment of despatches. Captain Dawson confided privately to Robert that the underlying reason for the voyage, and their hurried departure, was the worry about the effect of the revolution in France.
The possibility of disaffection within the fleet was considered possible
Events at the Nore had thrown the entire country in turmoil. The unthinkable had happened, the fleet, the nation’s defence, had mutinied. The flag of disaffection hung over several ships anchored off the Nore. Consequently the Admiralty had ordered as many ships as possible to sail in hopes of stopping the disaffection spreading.
The victory at Cape St Vincent in February had given the people a lot to shout about; the incipient mutiny that started in April was a shock to the nation and created something approaching panic in the hierarchy of the Navy. With the possible threat of revolution within the country ever present, some changes were won, but the resultant general mistrust in the air damaged the Navy more than defeat by the French, and it was believed that the repercussions would continue well into the nineteenth century.
For the Witch the voyage across the Atlantic was good for everyone. The weather was kind, and by the time they reached the Azores the crew were settled and everyone on board sported a tan. In most cases men stripped to shirt sleeves, rather than wear a heavy uniform. The guns were exercised daily; the crews were encouraged to compete in both speed and accuracy. The same was true with sail handling, the times for replacing sails, setting, reefing were all studied carefully every day as the voyage progressed, making time pass swiftly and productively. The Master attached a board to the bases of the mast showing a record of the best times for all to see. The crew were largely volunteers and the humour in the ship was good, Captain Dawson was a good captain popular with both officers and men.
For Robert, keeping the promise he made to himself eight years ago, there was daily exercise with fencing swords. He was more than proficient in the discipline and as a result he had been charged by the Captain with the task of taking a daily class in swordsmanship for the officers, this including the Captain himself.
It was a happy ship that anchored in Kingston harbour. The despatches once delivered and the passengers landed Captain Dawson and Robert reported to Government House where the Admiral had a temporary office.
Up until now Dawson had not been given any inkling of what he would be required to do, and it was with a certain apprehension that he and Robert awaited the Admiral’s orders.
“I see, Captain,” said the Admiral, “that you have experience in a wide range of activities gained through your service in the Navy, and it occurs to me that we can use that expertise here in the islands, at least for a period. Our problem locally is that most of the ships that are sent here are of such deep draught that they cannot access the smaller harbours and lagoons. This has allowed the establishment of bases both for the enemy, Spain and France, and more pressingly, pirates.
“There are two tasks I ask of you. First, where opportunity offers, to map and sound every bay or harbour you enter.
“Second take or destroy every pirate or enemy ship or base you come across. The smallest ship of force on this station is a forty gun frigate, HMS Warrior; she will be available to back up any task you may find that needs it. The other craft I have do not have the sort of firepower needed, but I will allocate the Hermione to your command. She is an island schooner, fast and handy but with only six pounder guns, thus inadequate by herself.” The Admiral sat back and studied the two men keenly.
“Written orders will be sent to you when you have victualled and stored ship. There is a Ball tonight, gentlemen; you will be expected to attend with your other officers, the ladies here become starved of company between the visits of ships from England.”
Thus dismissed, the two officers left the shady precincts of Government House and stepped out into the raw heat of the late morning sun. In moments both were perspiring freely, and even the short walk to the town itself was enough to produce uncomfortable rubbing in inconvenient places. “Now I understand why people wear such light clothes wherever possible,” Robert commented grateful for the relief provided by the sunshades of the more modish shops in the main street of town.
“Here,” said his Captain, ducking through the door of the tavern overlooking the waterfront. The two officers sank gratefully onto cane chairs and called for chilled rum punch.
“Well, that was interesting” commented Robert. “Do you think we will get any prizes out of this? From the sound of it there has been little done for some time.”
“Adjusting the charts for the area should be interesting at least,” said Dawson, the burr of the relaxed voice matching the mood of the pair as they sat and sipped,
gratefully at the cool sweet drinks.
“I was looking at the charts of the immediate area, sir, and the number of islands with inlets and harbours seems enormous. Have you been here before?”
Dawson took time replying. “I was here as a midshipman in ’85 on HMS Caister, we were surveying the eastern area of the Caribbean among the Windward Islands. It rather sounds that we shall be there again shortly. Then it will be Barbados and Trinidad and up to the Leeward Island, Antigua, Saint Kitts and so on. It could be amusing, there are an awful lot of islands in the chain and several of them are held by the enemy. Well, let’s wait and see. I wonder how Archer is getting on with the provisioning, our purser seems to be a bit of a broken reed.”
He was referring to the fact that at least three of the barrels of beef had been like solid wood and uneatable. They had been used as bait to catch several sharks and a sailfish on the trip across the ocean, the purser had been advised that his advanced years were all that had saved him from a period in the brig for his sins.
The two men, fast becoming friends, returned to the ship where, tunics off, they got together to provisionally plan the forthcoming voyage and survey.
Lieutenant Archer wandered down the main street in Kingston, gazing at the goods on display, seeking some small memento to give to the young woman who occupied his thoughts at this time. He had spent the entire morning bartering with the local chandlers buying new provisions for the ships stores. The departure of the Purser who had succumbed to an attack of old age, according to the crew, had created problems for Lieutenant Archer. Required to replace a quantity of inferior stores that had been provided by the departed Purser, Archer had at last managed to negotiate a deal for stores and was free to shop for himself.
Midshipman Williams trudged along behind carrying the portfolio of charts collected for the task ahead.
He was looking forward to the Ball that evening because it meant that he would be fed well, a change from the disgusting food he had suffered as a result of the Purser’s perfidy. In a dream, he bumped into the tall figure of Lieutenant Archer who had stopped suddenly having seen something suitable.
“Hold up, young man” Archer wasn’t a bad sort but he did have the irritating habit of calling him young man all the time. He had only become a lieutenant a few months ago and he was not much older than Williams. “I’ll just nip in here for a minute.” He disappeared into the shop leaving Williams standing gazing around the colourful street.
The girl in the white dress with a parasol was descending from a carriage when her foot caught the edge of the step. John Williams saw what was going to happen and throwing the charts through the shop door he dashed forward in time to catch the young woman before she could hit the ground. The parasol fell to the ground but the girl was unhurt and her dress unmarked. They stood unmoving for a moment, the girl looked up into his eyes and smiled, “Why, thank you, sir, you saved me an embarrassing fall. Thanks for catching me, perhaps you can give ‘me’ back, do you think?”
John snapped out of his daze with a start. “Oh of course, are you all right?”
“Thanks to you, perfectly,” she said taking her parasol now proffered by Mr. Archer, who had come from the shop carrying the chart portfolio.
John Williams remembered his manners, “John Williams miss, Midshipman, HMS Witch at your service.” He bowed.
She curtsied “Jennifer Watson, Harray Plantation, Surrey, Jamaica. Will you be attending the Ball tonight?” She smiled sweetly.
“I certainly will.” Midshipman Williams replied happily.
A grunt and nudge from behind him reminded John of his duty. “May I also present Lieutenant Richard Archerm also of HMS Witch sir, Miss Jennifer Watson.”
The young lady smiled and said “Until tonight, gentlemen, thank you once more.” Smiling again at John, she left them, taking John’s heart with her.
The spell was broken for him rudely by the reminder from Lieutenant Archer that he was not a bloody pack pony and having the chart portfolio thrust at him.
“Come on, young Williams, back to the ship and the correction notices for you.” They left walking down to the docks. Through the shop window Miss Jennifer Watson watched the polite young midshipman as he departed thinking how fine he looked in his uniform.
Chapter three
The sparkling blue waters of the Caribbean were painted with brilliant white smears by the leaping porpoises in front of the cutwater. The ship moved easily along the Windward channel between the green-swathed hills of the islands of Cuba and Hispaniola, sometimes called Haiti. The peaceful landscape showed no sign of the ongoing savage revolt of the slaves led by Toussaint L’Ouverture.
Here and there small craft passed along the shore and out to the ship offering to sell fish and fruit and the smoked (boucained) beef from the wild cattle that roamed the hills of Hispaniola. Lieutenant Archer had taken the trouble to inform Midshipman Williams in his loftiest most lordly manner that it was from the process of smoking the beef on a boucain. This was a local wooden grid that had given the name to the Buccaneers, the pirates of the area, so called because they had been drawn from the men stranded on the islands that had boucained the wild beef to survive.
Robert wiped his face with the damp cloth, having just concluded a session of fencing with Lieutenant Archer. Archer was well versed in the art of fencing but inclined to be a little impatient. Still a session with Archer was good exercise and kept him on his toes. He strolled in his shirtsleeves along the quarterdeck enjoying the breeze, thankful for the relaxed dress rule permitted by the Captain. He stopped in the shade of the sail, grateful for the shade it provided; passing his sword over to the wardroom servant standing waiting to take it below. He was thinking about the ball that had preceded the departure of the Witch on her present mission.
The ladies in particular had been interesting, dresses reflecting their taste for more simple material, muslin and tulle in deference to the heavy heat and humidity, made the best of their shape and form, flattering and titillating at the same time. He recalled the pleasure of dancing with the wife of the Deputy Governor, who was absent from the capital on duty. Her manner had definitely contributed to the indiscretions of later that night.
Young Williams seemed to be rather involved with the planter’s daughter Jennifer Watson, whose dress illustrated her obvious claim to maturity beyond her years.
He had noticed the disappearance of the pair and had seen that their absence had not gone unnoticed by her father, though he seemed to be more interested in the attentions of a Spanish-looking lady visiting from St Kitts. Yes, it had been an interesting evening, especially in view of the enforced celibacy of his life since the separation from Marietta. The vigorous attentions of the Deputy Governor’s lady had stretched his endurance almost to the limit. The pleasant tiredness that had followed the next two days of her husband’s absence, had in turn been followed by the rush and bustle of getting under way once more. To be honest, it had been a relief to once again shoulder the responsibilities of his job and escape the pressure of the demands of the lady.
Midshipman Williams was in love, his evening with Miss Watson had opened his eyes to the world of adult romance. As Robert had guessed, the young lady was mature beyond her years and John Williams had been the lucky recipient of that maturity. The introduction to the delights of intimacy between man and woman had been at first humiliating and then incredibly satisfying. Jennifer Watson, having decided to take his education personally under her tuition, ensured that he missed nothing of the benefits of her own education gained through the best efforts of an ageing visiting celebrity of the theatre with a taste for young girls.
The arrival of the Captain on deck disrupted Robert’s pleasant daydreams and he reported the course and heading. As the ship cleared the Windward channel their course took them to the Spanish islands now dead ahead. Great Inagua and Little Inagua were at the beginning of the Witch’s patrol area. The Caicos and Turks islands were beyond the horizon to the east b
ut their course led past the southern shores of the Spanish islands. At dawn the day after leaving the Windward Channel the lookout spotted the schooner in the channel between Great and Little Inagua; she was sailing out across the path of Witch and had no chance of avoiding the sloop, which had cleared for action at the first sighting.
She was flying a Spanish flag, and was pierced for four guns each side but had definitely been caught napping. The bow gun from the sloop spoke, placing a shot across her bow. The schooner obediently backed her topsail and came up to the wind. Captain Dawson called. “Right! Mr. Graham, take the longboat and ten men; let’s see what we have caught?”
As he was rowed across to the schooner Robert could not help noticing the clean lines of these local island ships. Named the Christophe, the schooner had the three raked masts of her kind, though he noticed she had a scruffy unkempt look and an unpleasant smell coming from her.
Robert boarded the schooner and was met by the Captain, a swarthy man with white teeth, presently bared in a smile. Ignoring the man standing ready to greet him, he scanned the deck for threats. Finding none, he turned to the waiting man, who bowed and introduced himself.
“Captain Juarez at your service, senor,” he spoke in heavily accented English. “How may I assist?”
“Mr. Hansen, secure the ship. Your cabin, please, Captain Juarez!”
Below in the Captain’s cabin Robert studied the papers produced by the swarthy man who was still smiling. “I see from your papers that you are carrying only food and wine?”
“Sim, senor, just food and wine for the garrison at Porto Plata, Hispaniola.” There was something about this little man that bothered Robert.
After a few minutes, there was a knock at the cabin door. It was Hansen. “Sir, have I your permission to knock down a door in the hold?”