At last, the final butt in the hold had been pumped full of water, and the last bag of biscuit had been brought aboard. The casks of pork, beef, and sauerkraut had been stowed and jammed into immobility. Firkins of butter, casks of dried peas were stowed. The acting purser went ashore and brought bales of slop clothing, quantities of preserved foods, even needles and thread to sell to individual crew members. A final band of cattle had been herded onto the quay, and slaughtered there, to become the last meals of fresh meat the men would eat until the next landfall. The sailing master took one last trip around the frigate’s hull in the jolly boat, to determine how she was riding in the water, then they were ready to sail.
Finally, all the unskilled men were sent to the capstan to insert the capstan bars into their sockets. At the order, the men put their chests to the bars, and began to heave. The wind was coming right down the harbor so the men needed to drag the ship upwind toward the anchor. The ship’s boys, armed with pieces of line called nippers stood beside the messenger, a heavy loop of cable running between the capstan barrel, and a heavy block up forward. The anchor cable on board had been fastened to the messenger cable with lashings of the nippers. As the men turned the capstan, the anchor cable in the water was cranked in through the hawse and the ship pulled forward up toward the anchor. As the cable came aboard, nippers had to be loosened, and new ones lashed on up forward while the freed cable was led down below to the cable tier. Now the bow was approaching the anchor. A master’s mate warned, “At short stay.”
When the bow was over the anchor, and the cable was vertical in the water, that master’s mate yelled, “Up and down.” followed by “Anchors a trip.” Now came a flurry of activity. The anchor was off the bottom, and the ship at the mercy of the wind and tide. As the men on the capstan continued to wind in the anchor, the first officer ordered “Make sail.”
Immediately, the headsails were hoisted and opened to the breeze. Their pull immediately brought the bow around and the ship began moving against the way it had travelled under the impulse of the capstan. The rudder began to bite, as the ship picked up speed, and they were off. With the ship under control, he left it in the hands of the Master and the deck officer, and went below, where he had a long session of instructing Harkins into all of his new duties.
The ship heading down channel, all seemed well, until at four bells in the first watch, when Captain Phillips was sitting at his desk, trying, with the help of the new acting clerk and purser, to bring some order to the ship’s stores.
As they labored, the Marine sentry outside, pounded his musket butt against the deck, and sounded off, “Gunner Wilson, Sir.”
The Gunner entered the cabin, took off his hat, and looked significantly at the acting purser.
“Harkins, why don’t you rest for a bit. Come on back after Mister Wilson and I are through.”
“Now, Wilson, what can I do for you?”
“Sir, we have a problem. While I was looking over my accounts, I found a box of musket ammunition missing. After inspecting the paperwork, I realized the ammunition was getting old, and decided to put it in a different place, where I wouldn’t forget to turn it in at our next home port call.”
“Why would anyone steal a box of musket ammunition?”
“That puzzled me too, Sir. On my way here though, I shoved my stick down the muzzles of some of the swivels I passed. I found two that were loaded. I think someone broke down that musket ammunition and used it to load some of the swivels.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Do you think the touch holes are still blocked?”
“I suspect they still are, although I had no way of checking. I did dunk my handkerchief in the bucket by one of the broadside guns, and dribble a little water into the priming powder.”
“Yes, that will stop that gun from firing.”
Raising his voice, he called for his sentry. “Private Aikens, do you know who has the deck, now?”
“Mister Anderson, Sir.”
“Aikens, I would like you to report quietly to Lieutenant Anderson, give him my compliments, and ask him to come here. I wish this to be done quietly. If he has for some reason gone elsewhere, ask the midshipman of the watch to come here.”
A few minutes later, Anderson’s wondering face looked into the open door.
Phillips quickly filled him in on the suspected threat. He ordered him to send his midshipman to the wardroom and tell the officers there they should report to the captain’s quarters immediately and quietly. They should come armed.
A few minutes later, all the commissioned officers had been apprised of the threat to the ship. The Marine lieutenant sent Private Aikens to wake the Marine Sergeant and get him involved. As the men spilled out on the quarterdeck, six men came out of the forward hatch, gravitating to three nearby swivels. Not a word was said. Two men behind each swivel readied the weapons. One carried a piece of smoldering slow match, which was used to ignite two more. Officers started forward, but before they got more than a few feet, priming powder flared in the first swivel. No report ensued, however. A match thrust into the touch hole of another weapon got not even a spark. The final weapon also emitted a flare of burning powder, but nothing else.
By this time, Marine Sergeant Larson had appeared on the quarterdeck with a dozen men, and their officer ordered, “Mark those men and arrest them, Sergeant.”
In the end, it was necessary to call ‘All Hands’ and bring them to quarters. The last man had escaped below, and had to be rooted out of his hiding place below. Finally, all six were lying on the orlop deck in irons. Asked if he intended to return to Britain to dispose of the prisoners, Phillips answered that he might drop them off in Gibraltar or perhaps take them on to Cape Town.
After leaving Gibraltar, they were off the western coast of Africa when they caught their next sight of land. By now, even most of the lubbers had acquired a grasp of their duties. Thomas Lynch had become a useful midshipman. He could hurl himself around in the tops as though he were some kind of monkey. Phillips had to ask the duty officer to get him to slow down. The other midshipmen thought it a punishment to be exiled to a masthead. Lynch gloried in it. It was Lynch, voluntarily in the maintop, who spotted the pirate. Inattention on the part of a junior lieutenant serving as deck officer brought the frigate within sight of the mainland. As soon as Phillips heard members of the watch nattering about it, he hurried on deck, and put that officer straight. He had had enough of Muslim pirates on another voyage in another ship. These lateen driven pirate craft could dowse their sails and go to oars in the blink of an eye. Being powered by a crew of mostly Christian slaves, it took a heartless officer to fire into them. And, if they could catch you in a calm, they could lay off your quarter and pound you to pieces with the big guns they often carried in their bows. If they thought you could overpower them, they would just row into the teeth of the wind, where the ship could not pursue, and be as safe as if they were still in their mother’s arms.
There was a strong breeze off the parched mainland carrying a plume of dust out to sea. As the wind shifted, the plume sometimes disappeared, only to come back stronger minutes later. It was after one of these wind shifts that the deck officers heard from Lynch, perched on the main masthead. “Deck there, sail off the port bow.” Lynch was far above the officers on deck, so it would be probably minutes before those people on deck could catch sight of the stranger.
“Lynch”, roared Phillips. What do you make of him now?”
“Can’t see him now, Sir. I think he saw us though. He turned this way about the time I spotted him. He’s hidden in the dust, now.”
Phillips did not wish to engage this craft. It would be much more maneuverable than his own ship. Besides, he had an envoy aboard. If that man were to be captured, and put to an oar as a slave, even if Phillips himself were to eventually win his own freedom, he would never hear the end of it. He ordered the ship’s course shifted to starboard a few points. Better to be safe than sorry. The wind changing from off their beam
to their port quarter, the Jason started making knots. The dust had caught up with them, and he could feel the grit in his teeth. Then, the wind began to die. It took a while for the fine dust to fall from the air, but when it did, there was the pirate.
The men cheered when they saw the pirate, not knowing their potential danger. The Master was at the wheel now, ready to lend his assistance to sailing the ship. The wind dropped further as the pirate had shifted around to their stern. She dropped her sails, and deployed her oars. As they dipped into the water, a dull booming sound reached them. They were apparently using a large drum to help the oarsmen to keep their stroke.
Receiving the order to clear for action, the men began knocking down all the temporary partitions on the ship, and stowing anything portable out of the way. It was not desirable, to have unnecessary objects strewn about, where enemy gunfire could reduce said objects into flying splinters. The guns were already loaded, but now was the time to remove the lead covers over the touch holes and fit the flintlocks to the guns. The wind teased the frigate, sometimes increasing enough for the ship to develop a wake, then dying completely. All the time, the pirate came closer, its oars looking at a distance like the wings of a bird. It finally came close enough for the pirates to think they might be in range. One of the guns in its bow blossomed fire and smoke, and the big ball came bouncing along the still water to starboard of the ship, and a little short.
Phillips called Crawford over. “I want to be ready for any chance. Guns are not to fire, unless they are on target. Then they will fire without further orders. When the enemy comes within grapeshot range, guns should be reloaded with that. The same for case shot. Just before the pirate reaches the ship, guns will reload with case. They will try to board. We have to kill as many of them before that we can.”
Crawford asked, “What about the slaves aboard the pirate? Do we want to kill them?”
“If those pirates take this ship, you will be pulling on an oar, Mister Crawford.”
The next shot fired from the pirate hit a corner of the mizzen chain platform, sending some shrouds flying. The bosun led a crew to immediately start making repairs. Then balls started coming aboard. Twenty four pounders, it looked like. One came through the stern counter, the elevation being such that it came through the deck planking, and killed the midshipman standing beside him who had been serving as a messenger.
Phillips observed the pirate was making poor practice with his guns, his loading speed was half what he expected from his own crews. As he looked around, he noticed a patch of water on his starboard quarter that was ruffled by wind. He pointed it out to the Master, who immediately began giving orders to brace the yards around. There were more than a few stupidly idle men, who had fixed their gaze on the pirate, and would not be moved. However at the screams of some bosun’s mates, enough men went to their duty, and brace the yards around to catch the wind when it came.
Phillips thought the pirate’s captain did not know his job well. He could surely see the wind coming as they did themselves. A sensible maneuver on his part would be to swing his craft around and get away before the frigate came under control.
However, that did not happen. The wind reached HMS Jason, and soon water started burbling at her stern. As soon as they had steerage way, the ship turned to put her port broadside facing the oncoming pirate. One by one her big guns were going off. The trained gunners missed very few shots, and most went aboard, killing pirate or slave without distinction. A ball from a carronade smashed into her bow, opening her up like the bud of a flower. The inrush of water started what remained of her bow to submerge, then the guns fell out, one after the other. As the frigate came to the pirate, grapnels were thrown by the pirates, desperately anxious to board the ship and capture her, before their own sank from under their feet. The Marines were at the rail with their muskets murdering pirates by the dozen, first with the massive balls from their muskets, then by the bayonet. Some guns had been reloaded with case shot, which did terrible execution. It was the case shot that decided matters. Case shot consisted of quantities of small shot packed in tin cans. When a projectile left the gun, the can opened and released its contents to pepper the target, like an enormous shotgun. The carronades especially, were awesomely deadly with their hundreds of shot per round. Worried despite himself about the slaves; Phillips yelled, “Away boarders.”
Almost every member of the crew of Jason was over the side onto the deck of the foundering pirate, even, Phillips was amazed to see, the portly figure of their diplomatic envoy, Colonel Hathaway, stabbing away with abandon with his epee. Remembering what happened with the last pirate he had fought, Phillips cut his way to the stern of the waterlogged craft. There a pile of bodies lay, caught in the blast of case shot. He desperately started patting down bodies, yelling, Keys. Keys.
A seaman, seeing the chained slaves fighting to keep their faces above water got the idea and actually found a ring of keys in the mass of blood and gore. The seaman hurriedly worked his way down the benches freeing the chained captives.
Miraculously, some of the enslaved oarsmen had not been seriously wounded, and though suffering from lack of food, overwork, and exposure, most had recovered within a week, and became available for ship’s work. Others, some horribly wounded, were in the care of the new surgeon brought aboard in Plymouth. The rescued slaves were of various origins, even several Britons. One was French. He had been in captivity for years and had not heard of the overthrow of Louis XVI and his subsequent execution. All of the now able bodied former slaves accepted without objection their impressment into the ship’s company. Since many of them had once been crewmembers on merchant ships, they were valuable additions.
They did not bother with the defeated pirates. They had no facilities to guard that many prisoners, and, of course, they would be hung anyway, as soon as the ship reached its destination. The survivors were left to fend for themselves in the waterlogged remains of their shattered craft, with the ubiquitous sharks flitting about the wreckage.
CHAPTER FIVE
HMS Jason appeared off the mouth of Simon’s Bay, and waited for developments. There were no flags ashore indicating the presence of ranking officials. A liner dominated the harbor, along with a ship-sloop and a brig. Several merchant vessels were there also.
Mister Johnson, the sailing master, had a chart of the bay, but it had been copied from an old Dutch chart that he had little trust in. As they signaled for a pilot, a broad pennant appeared on the liner, as well as her number, which showed she was HMS Ruby, of 64 guns. As the pilot boat neared, two prosperous looking men wearing blue coats were evident. One was the pilot, who immediately put his head together with Mister Johnson. The other was the port doctor who asked Phillips to declare there had been no infectious disease aboard the ship during the voyage.
This accomplished, the Jason began entering the bay. With no other authority present to distinguish, he prepared to salute the broad pennant of the Commodore. After salutes had been exchanged, the ship was directed to a mooring point neat the Ruby, and both Phillips and the envoy were rowed over to her. The envoy was immediately whisked in to see the commodore, while Phillips walked the quarterdeck with the ship’s captain. He learned from that source the governor had departed on an expedition to visit an important tribal leader who was threatening conflict with the British.
Finally, the envoy left and was rowed to shore. Before he left, he met with Phillips and told him the colony had had some trouble with a pair of French corvettes suspected to be based on Reunion Island. The ship-sloop HMS Revenge had met one of them and inflicted serious damage, however receiving grievous damage herself. The second corvette, reportedly the Helene, was still presumably active, and it was of the highest importance that that ship be eliminated.
The commodore asked, “Now you have delivered Colonel Hathaway, what are your orders?”
He had already handed his orders to the Commodore’s secretary, but answered, “I was under Admiralty orders to deliver Colonel Hat
haway here. Those orders have been fulfilled, now I believe I am to report to Lord Mccartney for further instructions.”
“Mccartney is off in the hinterland discussing matters of state with some tribal chief. I am in charge here, until he returns. I want you to go out and run this privateer down and take or destroy her. What will you need?”
“Of course Jason should have little trouble dealing with a corvette, but it might be easier to locate her if I had more ships.”
“I realize that, Captain. What you see here is all I have. My ship the Ruby, while fast, has a bad case of rot in her foreword timbers. My objective is to keep her afloat until I am relieved here, and perhaps get her back to Portsmouth. The Revenge was badly damaged during the battle with the other privateer. We are short of the naval stores needed to repair her. There is the fact she lost nearly fifty men dead or wounded, and where we will be able to replace them, I don’t know. The brig ‘HMS Charles II’ is stout enough, but she has recently arrived from India, where members of her crew came down with some ailment our doctors here do not quite understand. She is under quarantine now, and I am told will remain so for the foreseeable future.”
“Very well sir, as soon as I have resupplied with water and firewood I will be off. Would you have any intelligence of where this corvette is operating?”
“Most of her activities of course have been in the Indian Ocean, but a week ago, a boatload of survivors came ashore here and told us they were attacked in the Atlantic, perhaps a hundred miles up the coast. The vessel was a British brig loaded with timber, some of which I had hoped to use to repair my Ruby. They sent the crew into their boats and burned the ship. Apparently, they are short of men to crew prizes, so they are burning anything they do not have an immediate use for.”
Frigates of War: A John Phillips Novel Page 4