Beautiful Star & Other Stories

by A D Swanston

  The fireship did no damage that we could see, but our cannon did sink several French vessels. We need not have wasted the powder and shot because, before our eyes, the French set about scuppering their own ships. Within two days, fourteen of them lay with only their upper deck above the water. We stood and watched and bellowed insults which were carried away on the wind.

  On Association, this was a time when petty squabbles, often fuelled by drink, arose to fill the empty hours of inactivity and the frustration of seeing our prize money going up in smoke or down to a watery grave. Tempers flared, false accusations were made, fights broke out and three men were tied to the grating and put to the lash for drunken brawling. At sea or in battle, a warship is like a nest of ants – scurrying, carrying, pulling, pushing – always busy and with a purpose. At anchor with its guns silent it is more like an idle, ill-tempered bulldog. And the mood was made worse by our failure to take Toulon. A victory of sorts possibly, the French having scuppered their own ships, but no prize money for us. Punishments became harsher and more frequent – rations cut, the rope knotted, the gauntlet run.

  Plank the carpenter told us that it was too late in the year to attempt another action and that we would be home before winter storms made the voyage perilous. From that we took some comfort.

  The cloud hanging over us was not lifted, however, until we hauled anchor and set sail for Gibraltar. There we left thirteen of our fleet for the winter, the remaining twenty-one vessels (one fireship having been used at Toulon) included Royal Ann, flagship of Sir George Byng, and Torbay, flagship of Sir John Norris. I recall wishing that winter in that island at the mouth of the Mediterranean had appealed to Sir Cloudesley Shovell and that Association had been among the ships left there. From Gibraltar, a man might quite easily have made his escape. Of course no such thing was possible, the admiral bearing the responsibility of bringing the fleet safely home, not to mention the prospect of his receiving yet more glory for the destruction of the French ships and, in early October, we left the calm waters of the Mediterranean and turned north into the stormy Atlantic.

  If I have dealt too briefly with life on board Association and with our bombardment of Toulon, it is because my purpose is not to recount those matters in detail but rather to tell the story of our fateful voyage home. There are many others better placed than I to describe what occurred to this point but none, I think, more able to recount what befell us thereafter.

  * * *

  Entering Biscay we were met almost at once by the first of the autumn storms for which that long stretch of water is known and feared by all who have sailed it. With the storms came a great change in our lives. No longer becalmed by inactivity, we were occupied day and night in trimming our sails to keep her on a steady course and securing anything that moved with double lengths of rope. It was hard labour and no time to do other than sleep, eat and carry out our orders. This we did with a will, fearful of the consequences if we did not.

  On our passage Captain Loades and Admiral Shovell were to be seen more often on the poop deck or the quarter deck, although without the little greyhound. Too stormy for dogs it was, yet not too stormy for us to be sent aloft to cast off the topsails, haul down the mizzen sail, bring down the yards or a dozen other things that must be done in rough weather. Even I, a novice at such work – and dangerous work it was with the ship tacking and being buffeted by wind and waves – had to take my turn on the lines high above the deck with little to hold on to and yards as wet and slippery as eels. This was, for me, more frightening by far than any French cannon.

  For several days – I cannot recall quite how many – we were tossed about by the storms before there came a lull. Somehow, the fleet had kept together and we were able to count all twenty-one vessels. On Association we were put to replacing torn canvas, securing our guns and pumping out the hold and lower decks.

  Our spirits at this time had been battered as the ship had been battered and the more our spirits fell, the more frequent were the punishments. Clumsiness, slowness, simple mistakes – none went unremarked and unpunished, the sharp-faced Midshipman Alexander, most especially, being ever watchful. And the more the punishments we suffered, the lower our spirits fell. There was talk of the admiral and his officers having very little notion of where we were and of our having been blown far out into the Atlantic. Older voices cautioned discretion lest these doubts be taken as evidence of insurrection among us, while Plank took pleasure in exciting the cabin boys with tales of huge sea monsters lying in wait in the deep ocean for ships that had lost their way. I knew only that I would be happy when I saw land again.

  After two days the storms returned and the daily wheel turned again. We trimmed the sails, worked the pumps and the capstans and made fast that which moved. If the admiral had known where we were before, he surely did not then. The wind rose and fell, shifted one way and then the next, and threw up waves that crashed over our main deck and through the ports on the gun decks. It was all we could do to keep her afloat. Two men we lost overboard, both pressed like me, and a dozen others too badly injured from falling from the rigging to do more than lie idle in their hammocks.

  It was not until the twenty-first day of October that the admiral was able to make an observation, and the following day we took soundings at ninety fathoms. At about noon that day we brought to and lay by and he summoned the sailing masters of the other ships to Association to confer on the fleet’s position. Until this time, I had kept my counsel, but I was as sure as I could be that we were not far distant from Scilly. I could not explain my certainty but put it down to the instinct of a fisherman for his own waters. These were not French waters, they were the waters in which I was brought up. My father called it ‘the fisherman’s nose’.

  By this time I had become friendly with Plank and it was to him I turned. But when I told him what I knew he cautioned me to hold my tongue. ‘Wait and see what the masters decide,’ he advised. ‘If they agree with you, there’s no harm done. If not, well, we’ll catch that wind if it gets up.’ Plank’s advice was, I suppose, sound enough, although I wish now that I had ignored it and found a way to speak to the admiral or to Captain Loades before the meeting of the masters.

  The masters came on board Association that afternoon, arriving by their ships’ barges and disappearing with their charts into the admiral’s quarters under the poop deck. We were kept occupied keeping the ship steady and minding the ropes that held the visiting boats fast to our sides. We exchanged few words with their crews, just the odd jest about being nearby the American colonies or the coast of China. It was not the time for me to voice my doubts so I kept quiet.

  The captain’s steward, Lurch, was on good terms with Plank – this was not their first voyage together – and it was he who passed on word of the masters’ meeting. He said that they had pored over their charts, taken more observations, to-ed and fro-ed and dithered and dathered and in the end all agreed that we were not far from Ushant, the island that marks the southernmost point of entry to the channel. All, that is, but one, the master of the Lenox, who disagreed. He thought we were nearer Scilly. And I was certain he was right.

  ‘Right or wrong, lad,’ said Plank, ‘there’s little to be done but pray.’ I protested that he had spoken of catching that wind if it got up, and, to my mind, lowly pressed man or not, it had got up. I was reluctant to stand by and accept our fate as if we had no choice. Plank merely shrugged and wished me luck. ‘It may be that twenty sailing masters are wrong and you are right, but I doubt it,’ he said.

  And not only twenty sailing masters but, from what I overheard among the crew, the ship’s company as well. I could not find one to agree with me, or, at least, not one who admitted he did.

  By the evening of the day of the masters’ meeting, when they had boarded their barges and returned to their ships, I had made up my mind. Better dead at the yardarm than on the rocks or at the bottom of the sea. I approached Midshipman Alexander.

  At first he looked down his long nose
at me as if I were a rat which had come up from the hold and lost its way on deck. He did not appreciate being spoken to, unbidden, by a pressed man, and made his opinion of me plain. But I perservered and told him just as plain that I knew these waters and that we were much closer to the rocks of Scilly than to Ushant. When the toad scoffed, I could have struck him for his high and mighty manner, but that would have been the yardarm for sure, so I clenched my fists and tried again.

  From his look it was clear that I was wasting my breath until, when I pressed on about speaking to the admiral, his eyes narrowed and a sly smile touched the corners of his mean mouth. ‘Very well, Jones,’ he said, ‘I shall inquire of the captain if he or Admiral Shovell will do you the honour of listening to your twaddle. Be assured, however, that neither will take kindly to being contradicted by a pressed fisherman. If that is your wish, however, so be it and I shall look forward to seeing you at the grating or, better still, swinging at a yardarm.’

  ‘I will take my chances,’ I replied, ‘and trust to God.’ Although in truth I did not expect either Captain Loades or Admiral Shovell to agree to listen to me, so my efforts would doubtless prove to be in vain.

  I was wrong. I do not know what Alexander said or how he said it, but somehow he convinced the admiral and the captain to hear me out. I was summoned to the quarter deck and there stood before them. Behind and a little to one side, were two lieutenants and Midshipman Alexander. Under his arm, the admiral held the little greyhound. He looked at me not unkindly and said, ‘Mr Alexander has asked us to listen to what you have to say, Jones.’ He turned to Alexander. ‘It is Jones, is it not?’

  ‘Daniel Jones, Admiral,’ I replied before Alexander could.

  ‘Well, Jones, what is it that brings you to my quarter deck?’ His tone was calm, kindly even, and I recalled Plank saying that among the admiral’s qualities was a willingness to deal fairly with any man, whatever his station. I daresay it came from his being a tarpaulin.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Before being pressed, I was a fisherman from Falmouth, sir,’ I began, ‘and I know these waters like I know my own face.’

  ‘Rather the waters than the face,’ snorted one of the lieutenants. The admiral signalled to the man to keep quiet and I continued.

  ‘We are near the Scilly rocks. I can smell them.’

  At this, the admiral’s eyebrows rose. ‘Can you now? Yet I for one cannot. How do you account for that, Jones?’

  ‘I cannot, sir,’ I spluttered, trying to hold his gaze. ‘I know only that we are nearer Scilly than Ushant and if we continue on our present course, we shall come upon the islands.’

  ‘And your opinion is based on smell, Jones? Do I understand you correctly?’

  ‘Instinct, sir, I should rather say,’ I replied, knowing how foolish I must look and sound to the officers assembled, the looks on their faces saying more than any words.

  But the admiral did not immediately dismiss my instinct as worthless. Rather he gave the impression of considering it carefully. He said something to Captain Loades which I could not hear and nodded at the captain’s reply. I was beginning to wonder if it would indeed be the grating for me when he spoke again.

  ‘I admire your honesty and your nerve in coming forward, Jones, and I like to think that I would have done the same in your place. However, twenty sailing masters disagree with you and I cannot ignore their opinions and heed yours. Did you expect otherwise?’

  The sailing masters were wrong and that was an end to it as far as I was concerned. ‘I expected nothing, sir, and only wished to inform you of the fact.’

  When the admiral stroked the greyhound’s head, a shaft of light caught his emerald ring. ‘Fact? Opinion, I should rather say, would you not agree, gentlemen?’ The officers grinned and nodded dutifully. When the admiral spoke again his voice had taken on a harsher tone. ‘Another man might have you lashed, Jones, for your impertinence, or even worse. But that is not my way and I am told that you did not shirk your duties at Toulon. I have already given orders for three of our fleet to make for Falmouth and the remainder will continue on our present course.’ A tiny smile played around his mouth and eyes. ‘And I advise you not to make a habit of contradicting Her Majesty’s officers. Some there are who would not take kindly to such impertinence. Now be about your duties.’ With that, he turned his back, leaving me to return to the main deck. As I climbed down the ladder, I heard laughter, but did not look back.

  It was not long before Alexander appeared below. ‘You are fortunate, Jones,’ he said. ‘A lashing is the least you deserve and if I were captain of Association that is what you would get.’ I stared at him and understood the truth of it. The toad had persuaded the admiral to hear what I had to say only because he hoped to see me suffer.

  The wind picked up again that night and continued strong through the following day. The light frigates having been despatched to Falmouth, Association was in the van of the fleet. It was with a heavy foreboding that I went about my duties, expecting at any time to hear the crash of breakers on rocks or the blast of a warning cannon.

  Alexander made sure that the crew knew of my impertinence and I was forced to endure their taunts. I was called ‘admiral’ and ‘master’ and asked my opinion on all manner of matters from the trim of the sails to the nature of the men of Scilly and their reputation for killing and eating shipwrecked sailors. Half of me longed to be proved right, the other half hoped that they were right and I was wrong and that we would not be dashed to pieces on the rocks that surround the islands.

  By nightfall, the wind was stronger still and heavy rain lashed the deck. Only fleetingly did we see the lights of the other vessels just as they would have caught only glimpses of our own. In such a storm, in a ship large or small, a man can do little but offer up a prayer and resign himself to his fate.

  I cannot say exactly at what time we first heard the waves breaking on rocks but the watch had not long changed and, by the grace of God, I was among those on deck. The marines and half our crew – the starboard watch – were below, although few would have been asleep.

  With a little more time we might have been able to change our course and avoid disaster. All but four of the fleet did so. But Association was in the van, and was doomed. Within minutes we struck rocks, our hull was holed and we were sinking. Those below were trapped and drowned first. On deck we were hurled about, most into the sea, the rest hanging in vain on to a mast or a timber, as if that might save them. Other than that I can say little of the moments between our ship striking the rocks and its breaking apart and sinking, because the events are disordered in my mind. Only a man who has suffered for himself a shipwreck as violent as was that of Association can truly know the terror and confusion of the experience and no man will be able to recall it exactly.

  How I was thrown into the sea I do not know, only that I found myself, dazed but unhurt, at the mercy of the waves breaking over the rocks. Around me others struggled and screamed for help. Of course no help could come and few of them would have been able to swim as I could, their feeble efforts soon dragging them down to the depths.

  With one stroke of my arm, my hand hit a piece of debris, which I found was a small anker, probably from the ship’s kitchen, and to which I was able to cling. For some time I was swept back and forth with the anker as the waves struck the rocks before being washed back out to sea again. I do not know whether I expected to be dashed against the rocks myself or swept away into the darkness but I held fast, knowing that as long as I did so I was at least alive.

  Whether by a shift in the wind or the current, still clinging to the anker, I was suddenly borne forward as if on a mill race, and dumped like a sack of corn on to land. It was too dark to know where I was but I was lying on sand while the waves continued either side of me to thunder against rocks. I lay trying to catch my breath until I was able to heave myself forward and beyond the reach of the waves, until I could do no more, and there I lay, sodden, frozen to the bones and exhausted while the storm rag
ed on.

  I must have lost consciousness because I remember next the first glimmers of dawn and the screech of gulls. The wind was still strong although the storm had abated. And the rain had ceased. I raised my head and tried to focus my eyes. At first I saw only shapes lying on the sand or moving about. Gradually I made out bodies and a number of women moving from one to another. It had not taken long for the islanders to come in search of booty.

  Making my presence known to the scavengers would risk one of them sticking a knife under my ribs or smashing my head against a rock but I was shivering and as likely to die of cold. I struggled to my feet, called out so as not to alarm them by coming too close, and watched for their reaction. I counted six of them, all carrying sacks and wrapped up against the cold. They stared as if I were a ghost or some evil creature from the sea until one of them approached me. She spoke in the strange manner of the Scilly islanders but I could just about understand her. She asked if I had been on board one of the wrecked ships and if I knew of other survivors. I said that I had but knew of no others. She seemed to accept that and, pulling off her shawl, held it out to me. I took it gratefully.

  We were on a small, sandy cove between outcrops of rocks. At one end the admiral’s barge lay on its side and on the sand the bodies of marines and crewmen. Among them were the jackets of officers and midshipmen. One, larger than the rest, I knew at once to be Admiral Shovell. I stumbled over to it. Beside the admiral was the little greyhound, quite dead, and the admiral lay with arms outstretched as if asking God’s mercy. I noticed that both his rings, one gold, the other an emerald, had gone. The scavengers had found treasure.