Frigates of War: A John Phillips Novel

by Richard Testrake

  On his next trip to London, Phillips stopped by the warehouse, and paid to have the storage contract for the swivels extended another year. He thought by that time, he should have another ship. He thought the weapons too useful to just let them go.

  As days turned into weeks, it was necessary to find something for the boys to do. Sarah was not thrilled to have two teen aged boys in her house, so a feed storage room in the barn was converted to quarters for the lads. Already built tight, to slow the entrance of rodents, the boys pronounced it perfect. In lieu of beds, both slung hammocks. Since he rated as a junior petty officer on board ship, Phillips put Thomas under the head overseer, riding around the estate under that worthy’s instruction, and assisted in instructing the workers what to do. Phillips was the first to admit that neither he, nor Sarah knew anything of how to run a large farm. However, the overseer did, and Phillips advised her that it would be to their benefit to keep the man happy so he would stay with them. A problem arose with Thomas. He had found Cook’s daughter most attractive, and the two were overheard talking about a wedding. Paul was put to work in the barn, helping the hostler keep it neat. He assured Phillips there was no need to worry about him marrying any girl here.

  Sarah saw nothing wrong with the idea of Thomas marrying, saying weddings were a part of life, and the couple was more fortunate than most, since it was well within their means to build a small house for the happy couple, and even gift them some land.

  Phillips was not so sure about this. “Sarah, the lad is a midshipman in the Royal Navy. He could become an admiral some day. But, as a midshipman, there is no way he can support a wife, let alone children. He can do as he likes, but I will not encourage him in this matter.”

  It was only a month after retiring to the estate that the Admiralty letter came, requiring him to report to Secretary Nepean. The early effects of the letter initiated a re-opening of hostilities between Sarah and John. Much screaming and throwing of fragile objects ensued. Phillips found it impossible to oversee the packing of his sea chest, and the maid-of-all-work refused, saying it was more than her job was worth. By dint of a large gratuity, the butler, a one-legged former Sergeant Major with the Forces agreed to do the deed, with the assistance of the pot boy.

  Avoiding the systematic eruptions from the house, Phillips rode into town with the boys, and after posting a letter accepting the commission, hired a carriage and team to transport his kit to London. A London solicitor had managed to locate the former head housekeeper of the London house, and by remitting her the full back pay since she had been let go in the previous year, she had returned to her duty. A promise to do the same with other former employees had brought back several, so when the carriage arrived in front of the house, it looked much the same as it had before.

  Making his required visit to Secretary Nepean, he learned his prospective duty.

  “Captain Phillips, until recently General Napoleon, who has been commanding the prospective French invasion forces camped near Boulogne along their coast, has remained with his troops, attending to their morale, and ensuring they received the supplies they needed. This is no longer the case. We have reports he has arrived in Paris, and rumors have reached us that he considers an invasion now in the face of the British fleet to be impossible.”

  “Further reports indicate he has left Paris for Toulon, and is now enroute. We have no idea of what he intends to do there, only that a large army and naval fleet are at his disposal in that port. Ever since the Treaty of San Ildefonso in 1796, and the entry of the Spanish fleet into service alongside that of the French, we have only minimal naval forces present in the Mediterranean. The allied fleet can go almost anywhere and do anything it wants to. With no British fleet in the Med, and Irish unrest ready to boil over, General Napoleon now apparently feels he has a free hand to do what he wills. With a big fleet, and a huge army, he has a good reason to believe so. We would wish to convince him otherwise.”

  “Our biggest need now is intelligence. We assume he has plans for the troops and ships at Toulon. The question is what does he intend to do with these assets. Vice-Admiral Jervis has the Mediterranean Fleet at the mouth of the Tagus in Portugal. I understand Rear Admiral Nelson, who has been recovering from the loss of his arm, will soon join Admiral Jervis. It will be strange if the pair of these men, between them, cannot give General Bonaparte a severe case of dyspepsia. My intention now is to find a ship to carry you to the Tagus, where we will see whether your services to gather intelligence may be utilized. Have you any thoughts, Captain?”

  “First of all sir, we will need a good crew. One not ready to enter the throes of mutiny. A fast ship would be useful.”

  “Very well, Captain Phillips. Perhaps you will leave your address with my clerk, then you may begin preparing yourself. By tomorrow, I hope to have a ship for you.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  HMS Greyhound made a beautiful picture at the Nore anchorage. Her crew had obviously spent a great deal of effort in titivating the ship. She was a thirty two gun frigate, armed with twelve pounders. She was obviously not going to terrorize too many first rates, but she could certainly out-sail them. A messenger had delivered the commission the day before, along with the location of the ship. In the time available, he had not been able to locate any officers known to him, so he decided to rely on the ship’s officers on board. His only familiars were Midshipmen Thomas Lynch, and Paul Onsley, who would be joining the mid’s berth aboard Greyhound. Phillips had attempted to reach the boy’s mother, but she was reported to be travelling in Ireland with her purported intended. At the challenge, Phillips stood in the boat and displayed the epaulette on his right shoulder, while the cox’n yelled ‘Greyhound’, and held four fingers aloft.

  He went aboard to the twitter of the bosun’s pipes and the stamp and clash of the Marines.

  The first lieutenant introduced himself. “Lieutenant Fessler, Sir.”

  “Mister Fessler, would you call the hands aft, please.”

  Phillips pulled out his commission, and read off the contents to the ship’s crew.

  “Mister Fessler, I wish to speak to you and the sailing master in my cabin now. Who do you have in charge of the deck now?”

  “Master’s Mate Granger, Sir.”

  “Very well. Perhaps you would invite the other commission officers to join us also. The Marine officer, too.”

  A few minutes later, after the crew had been released to duty, the trio entered the cabin. The other officers came in individually. The stamp of the Marine guard preceded them. Once everyone was in the stripped cabin, Phillips said, “Sailing Master, pardon me, but I didn’t get your name. Could you refresh my memory?”

  “My name is Marner, Sir.”

  “Thank you Mister Marner. Gentlemen, I will get to know the rest of you soon. In the meantime, our destination is the mouth of the Tagus River in Portugal, where I am told we will meet the Mediterranean Fleet. Would you have the necessary charts, Mister Marner?”

  “I do, Captain Phillips. In my cabin, not on my person.”

  “My purpose in calling this meeting, gentlemen, is to explain to you something of our mission. As you are aware, our friend General Bonaparte has been threatening our coast with a massive build-up of men, materiel, and boats on the coast of France around Boulogne. The sheer numbers of his forces would make it difficult for our forces to defeat an invasion. Unfortunately for the General, he has not been able to find a way to bring his landing forces into contact with our troops. With our Navy in the way, he simply cannot get to our shores.”

  “As you may guess, it is a very difficult and expensive proposition to keep all these men and supplies in position, ready to invade indefinitely. And, with the limited prospects of success, what of other plans; plans that might have a better chance?”

  “General Bonaparte has not seen fit to keep us updated on his plans, but we think he may have come up with a different idea. We have reports that he has left his Boulogne headquarters, and journeyed to Paris. From
there, he has reportedly left for Toulon. It happens Toulon hosts there a large concentration of troops, as well as a powerful naval fleet. There is suspicion in the Admiralty that our General may have a nefarious plot up his sleeve.”

  “Since leaving the Med, our Mediterranean Fleet had been doing its best to keep an eye on French intentions from its base at the mouth of the Tagus River. At the request of Lord Spencer, Admiral Earl St. Vincent, the former Sir John Jervis, has asked Rear Admiral Nelson to take a squadron of ships to make a reconnaissance of the Toulon area. We have not had a British presence in the Med for a year, and have no idea of what the good general may be up to. We, in HMS Greyhound, have been ordered to proceed to Portugal and join Admiral Nelson’s squadron. He has few frigates, so our presence could prove crucial.”

  “Now, are we ready to sail, gentlemen? Any people ashore, serious deficiencies?”

  “No Sir” was replied from both Marner and Mister Fessler.

  “Gentlemen, you would oblige me by getting our anchor onboard, and making good a course to the mouth of the Tagus. Any questions?”

  “One last thought, Gentlemen. It is my practice to set the men to constant training after we put out to sea. Sail and gunnery drill come to mind. However, I ask each and every one of you to help me come up with drill that will improve our efficiency. When one of you comes up with an idea, I would be pleased if you would bring it up to Lieutenant Fessler. I will do the same myself.”

  By the time ‘Greyhound’ had reached Portugal, he had managed to call everyone by the right name. Most of the time that is. Just earlier today he had managed to call the sailing master ‘Johnson‘ instead of Marner. Lest he appear to be losing his mind, he explained to those nearby that had heard him, that ‘Johnson’ was the name of the master aboard his last ship.

  Reaching the mouth of the Tagus, the only ship in sight was a lone frigate of the Mediterranean fleet. From her he learned that Admiral Jervis, now Earl St. Vincent had given Rear Admiral Nelson command of a squadron to reconnoiter Toulon and try to determine what the French were up to. Rumor was that some of the other brass hats were not happy with the selection of Nelson, because of his inferior seniority. One, in particular, Sir John Orde, had challenged St. Vincent over the slight. King George III, mindful of the critical importance of the Earl in the war, absolutely forbade St. Vincent from fighting Orde. Orde was sent home shortly afterward. At any rate, Nelson was reported to need frigates for scouting purposes badly, and Phillips was advised to search out Nelson. Phillips learned that Nelson’s immediate destination was Gibraltar, where he hoped to obtain more ships for his squadron. Sailing for that port on 5 May, the Greyhound reached Gibraltar a week later. There he found Nelson had picked up a couple of liners, some frigates and a sloop for scouting purposes, and departed for Toulon.

  Greyhound left Gibraltar the next day and passed into the Mediterranean. En route, they ran into bad weather on the 21st. With reefed sails, the frigate rode out the storm like a duck in a pond. Sailing on toward Toulon, Greyhound captured a small brigantine. With the absence of the Royal Navy for the past year, shipping in the Med had become emboldened, and many examples were sailing up and down the coast. This craft was flying the Tricolour and had a French captain, but her crew was otherwise Italian. The captain indignantly refused to offer any news or intelligence, but the rest of the crew was not so pragmatic.

  These men had chosen to sail on a French flagged ship to avoid conscription in the French forces. When offered the choice of service in the Royal Navy, or the prison hulks, all volunteered for the Navy. Phillips had to argue with himself over the disposition of the prize. Its cargo was oil in casks, and bulk grain, valuable commodities, but not worth delaying the search for Admiral Nelson or the French fleet. Probably, the best thing to do was burn the prize. However, he was able to convince himself that Gibraltar needed to know of his so far unsuccessful search for Nelson. Interviewing the Italian sailors produced valuable news that many French liners had sailed a ‘few days’ before from Toulon, along with ‘hundreds’ of transport ships. Placing two of the more intelligent newly recruited sailors back in the prize, to be re-interviewed back in Gibraltar, he sent the brigantine on its way. Command of the prize was given to a master’s mate recommended by his first officer, Mister Fessler. The mate, in turn, selected half a dozen more crewmen to sail the brigantine, and she left for Gibraltar.

  HMS Greyhound rounded Cape Sicie and looked into Toulon. The crew of the brigantine had reported the truth. The French fleet was gone. Phillips spent a week cruising about the coast to find evidence of that fleet, coming up with nothing. None of the local French fishermen they encountered would have anything to say. The Greyhound ran down two more merchantmen, but these had no information. Burning the craft, he released their crews into their own boats. Cruising past Sardinia and Corsica produced no evidence. Finally, down past Sicily, near the island of Malta, a fishing boat informed them that a huge fleet had come to Malta and the Knights of Saint John, rulers of the island for centuries were forced to leave.

  The fishing boat’s crew knew nothing beyond that, and was not sure if the fleet was still there, since they had pulled their nets and fled the scene immediately. Freeing the boat and crew, the frigate sailed past the Grand Port where Phillips noted the fort that fired on them to test the range was flying the Tricolour. Doubting the Knights of St. John would have allowed the fort to fly that flag, and fire upon a visitor if still in control, Phillips decided to search further. The quick glimpse they had had into the Grand Harbor showed no sign of the reported huge fleet, so seeing no point in contesting matters, the Greyhound again departed.

  Phillips was beginning to regret the impulse that had led him to accept this mission. As his wife had forcefully told him many times, he no longer needed the Royal Navy. He had plenty of money still safe, and the trading brig he owned was making money for him on charter to the fleet. Why was he risking his life and reputation here in the middle of the Med?

  The lookouts aboard the frigate had begun to see plenty of shipping, but that generally went in some sort of convoy escorted by a warship or two. Many of those, Phillips was sure he could defeat with no difficulty, but he was a long way from any port of refuge, and the Navy would not look kindly on a captain who had abandoned his scouting mission to go commerce raiding. The next vessel his lookout spotted was different. It was a felluca, a lateen rigged merchant vessel, low in the water from its cargo. And, it was alone.

  There was no hope of escape for the overladen craft, and they did not even attempt to break out their oars. She was flying the ‘Winged Bull’ flag of the Venetian Republic, but that state had been overrun by the French the year before, and now was just part of the Republican French Empire. Mister Fessler boarded her with a large party of armed seamen, plus the usual Marines. Accompanying him was one of the Italian sailors from their previous capture.

  Reporting back aboard, Fessler assured his captain this felucca was a legitimate prize. She was carrying a full cargo of salt beef in barrels to the new French occupiers of Malta. The manifest was in French, which Fessler could read passably. Further, while its captain had nothing to say to his captors, some of the seamen were more voluble. On a previous leg of their voyage, they had seen the huge French convoy after it had left Malta. Its course was dead on for Egypt.

  Again, Phillips asked the felucca’s crew whether they would wish to serve in the Royal Navy, or prefer to be consigned to one of its prison hulks. Nearly all volunteered to be Navy sailors. He did as he had before, putting one of his few remaining master’s mates in command, and crewing her with British seamen, who were replaced on board the Greyhound by the newly inducted Italian seamen.

  Giving the felucca’s new commander a paper with his position clearly printed, he also gave him a weighted canvas bag with a packet of paperwork inside. Paperwork which had cost him many hours of sleep to compose. “Mister Gregor, this bag goes to the captain of any Royal Navy warship you might encounter. You will probably not s
ee one, so your next possible recipient will be the British officer in charge at Gibraltar. This bag’s contents will not be captured by the enemy. Should it look like you will be taken, it must go over the side in deep water. Have you any questions?”

  Again on the search for Napoleon’s fleet, Phillips deliberated. Perhaps, now that he had strong evidence the enemy was sailing to Egypt, the time had come to shape a course to Gibraltar, to impart that intelligence to others. In the end, however he decided to continue toward Egypt, in hopes of gathering intelligence personally, rather than relying on the words of others.

  As they approached the delta of the River Nile, among the many sail of fishing craft, the ships lookout spotted the topsails of a European ship, ultimately a frigate. Phillips had intended to question some of the fishermen, but with the hail of the lookout, altered course to close the stranger. His third officer approached and said. “Sir, I know that ship. She is the Citoyen, 36 guns. She snapped up the gun brig I was serving on when I was a mid.”

  Cleared for action, Greyhound approached, stripped down to fighting sails. As they approached, with Greyhound slightly to starboard, it appeared the two were going to go broadside to broadside at close range. However, Citoyen turned to port at nearly the last minute, in an attempt to bow rake the Greyhound. Phillips was having none of that. Ordering the helm put over, and the yards braced around, she turned with the Citoyen, and the guns began their thunderous drumbeat. The carnage was horrible on both ships, shot and splinters killing and maiming many.