by David O'Neil
The group around the table all nodded in turn.
On deck once more Martin called Carter to assemble the boat crew and select men for the boarding if the opportunity came. The carpenter reported his raft ready, and since the sea was calm, it would be good to get underway as soon as possible.
The Arun ran in close to the reef and on the blind side dropped the raft and boat into the water. Martin took sights on the two bearings he had been given and had the boat brought to the spot chosen. They cleared the reef with room to spare and anchored the raft as instructed.
With the boat moored alongside the raft, they sat and waited. The Frenchman seemed to take ages to reach their location, and despite the small size of the target, aimed the odd shot in their direction.
“Steady, lads.” Martin said as the shots created a restless movement among the men, “You’ll have the chance to get at them in good time. I think the Captain wants to soften them a little first.”
His comment brought chuckles from the older hands, and reassured the younger men. Martin did not really understand how high his reputation was among the crew. His actions in taking the prizes near Sardinia were now a legend below decks. Carter had made sure of that. It meant that there were always volunteers for any action that included Lieutenant Forest-Bowers.
The signal from the ship came as the latest shot from the Frenchman splashed the boat with spray. As the Gunner’s mate lit the fuses, Carter’s voice was heard, “You didn’t expect that did you, Wilson. A bath at the expense of Napoleon. Must be the first on this voyage; eh, lads?”
The shout of laughter at this might have been heard by the French. Wilson was known for his aversion to water in any form, drinking and washing in it was not his pleasure, and all the others knew it. He sat and glowered at his jeering mates, then grinned himself, and looked to his cutlass and the club he was armed with.
The first British guns were fired as L’Orgueil came near to the longboat, which was now pulling away as fast as the men could row.
The long 12 pounders of the port broadside achieved one hit which scattered splinters across the deck of the Frenchman, from the shattered fore-yard. Several of the men were suddenly struck down by the flying wood shards, and the deck reddened with spilt blood.
Then the raft exploded just as the French ship started to come round on the new tack. The shock of the explosion did the ship no real damage, but the helmsman hesitated and the ship was caught in stays. Halfway between the new course, and the old, the sails aback, and the ship drifting, all forward way lost, the tide caught it, the wind quirked and her head came round only just in time to let her draw away from the reef.
In the longboat Martin had the mast erected and hoisted the sail, paralleling the course, albeit slower, than the French frigate.
From their position it was possible to see and hear not only the running out of the guns, but the flame of the broadside as the Arun opened her account. The first shots bit home in the starboard bow of the French frigate, dismounting two of her broadside guns. The other seventeen guns of the enemy’s broadside fired in ragged succession as they came to bear on her opponent.
There were several casualties on the Arun, though no one died immediately. Using his telescope Martin was able to see the rips appear in the sails following the opening shots.
On the rise of a wave he was able to see the deck of the French ship and he was heartened to see the carnage on the deck. His earlier experience gained in the Mediterranean, made him realize that appearances were deceptive. So he was not surprised at the apparent carnage, nor was he deceived into overestimating the damage done to L’Orgueil. She was badly out of position due to the raft explosion. Because she was still inside the confined waters running into the harbor at Pointe de Pitre, her maneuvering abilities were restricted. For the Arun the outgoing tide was in her favor and Captain Bowers was doing all he could to use his advantage to the full.
The ship came about with plenty of sea room, and ran down on the French frigate set to cross her bows, but the L’Orgueil put up her helm and brought her full starboard broadside into play. This caused the Arun to stagger with the impact as most of the shot hit home. Three guns were dismounted and several of the men were killed and wounded.
Watching from the other side of the reef Martin called Carter and the Gunner’s mate, Tom Hughes. To the gunner he asked, “Have you any more explosions in that bag of yours?”
The gunner nodded and reached into the bag and produced a grenade. “I have four of these. My boss says if the fuse fails, throw one of these on the heap and duck.”
“How do you make it go off?”
Hughes pointed to the small fuse projecting from the top of the orange shaped bomb. “I lights this, and pray I’ve got time to get out of the way.”
“Will it cut through the rudder ropes on that frigate?”
“Close up it’ll blow the pintles off.”
“What do you think, Carter? When she comes over the next time, can we get within reach, d’ye think?”
“She is well taken up with the ship, sir. We take the sail down, I reckon she won’t take no notice of us. If we get close enough to hook on, we should be fine.”
“If we get that close I want all the men up into the stern gallery. This boat will not stay afloat in her wake.”
Carter scratched his chin in thought. “You have some distraction in mind, I think.”
“Well. I don’t like watching while my friends run the risks. Do you?” Martin looked Carter in the eye. “Well, do you?”
“No, sir, I don’t. So let us run over to the reef and drop the sail.”
The long-boat sailed over to the reef as the French ship closed from the other side. With the oars out the boat surged forward, crossing the disturbed water of the reef now exposed in places. The distance between boat and ship diminished rapidly as the ship went about, showing her stern to the boat. There was no shout of warning as they grappled the gallery across the stern. All eyes were on the Arun approaching fast across the passage entrance. The men swarmed up the ropes to the gallery, letting the boat trail on a long rope to give it a chance to survive.
The rudder ropes were directly below the gallery running back and forth with the movements of the wheel. The gunner had two grenades joined by a halter of rope so that they could hang over either side of rudder. The rope was long enough to allow the grenades to sit opposite each other either side of the upper rudder pintle.
He had ripped up an oilskin and wrapped the explosives to stop the fuses being extinguished by the spray. When he was ready he told the others to get inside the cabin and lie down. When they were all through the windows he lit the fuses and leaning over the gallery rail, he dropped the rope halter over the top of the rudder. The bombs hung either side of the rudder blade and as he threw himself through the window of the cabin they went off with a muffled thump. The guns on the main deck fired and the sound covered the rudder explosion. The gunner ran out and hung over the gallery rail, then came back to the others.
“She’ll do.” He said shortly. “Pintles gone, like I said, and rudder is hanging by a thread.”
As he spoke there was a loud crack from below and the ship suddenly fell off the wind.
There were shouts of alarm and men ran at the door to the main cabin where Martin and his men crouched, weapons ready, waiting for the door to be broken in. On the gallery Carter had waited to see what the chances were for getting on deck. A head appeared over the deck rail, an officer. He shouted down at Carter indicating the rudder. Carter looked up and held his arms out and shrugged. The seemed to be enough, for the officer disappeared from view.
Carter took that as a good sign and hauled himself up to the quarterdeck rail. peering over at the scene of panic that came into view. He dropped to the gallery below and called to Martin and the men inside, hauling the longboat in easily now the ship had lost way. “Come out. Quickly now.” As the men came out they dropped down into the longboat once more, stumbling into their places
.
Casting off, the men rowed their hearts out getting away from the stricken ship. The guns of both ships were still firing but the Frenchman was suffering now she could not steer properly. Their efforts to steer using the sails, while they tried to get some sort of rudder mounted, were causing them to suffer serious damage.
In the boat Martin stood with his telescope watching the development of the battle in front of him. During the six months in the West Indies he had filled out. Now he was full six feet tall, tanned and fit, his practice with the sword given him by Charles Bowers had made him a formidable opponent for anyone. As he stood watching he felt he should really be involved in the action that was taking place. He also knew that the men with him also wanted to join the action.
He snapped the telescope shut. “Mast up and set the sail. Set course for the Frenchman.”
The men set to with a will and soon the longboat was sailing briskly back to the reef, now well marked by the breaking waters over the projecting rocks. The French frigate was now drifting with two masts broken and several guns out of action. Her sides were stained with the blood of the dead and wounded that now comprised half her crew. The Captain leaned against the rail with a bandage round his head and another round his right leg. He was professional, an unusual thing in this day and age, and though many of the crew were conscripts, he had enough real seamen to keep the ship in commission and train the conscripts among the crew.
He was desperately unhappy at the loss of his rudder. It had robbed him of his manoeuvrability and made him take damage that he could have avoided. He sighed as the British frigate sailed across the bow with the dreaded roar of the broadside guns as they fired in turn, the shot ripping down the deck of his ship. He turned and swept the horizon looking for some chance of relief for his ship. Below his men were working desperately to repair the broken rudder. Then he saw the longboat shearing in towards the stern of his ship. He turned to call for men to defend the men working below. He found he could not make a sound and looked astonished at the long wood splinter that projected from his chest. He died without a sound.
Martin’s men took the workers on the rudder prisoner. Keeping them secure in the cabin, tied and gagged, he cautiously looked through the broken door. There was no one immediately outside the cabin. The stair to the main deck was unguarded. He crept to the top of the stairs and peered at the scene before him. He was in time to see the loom of the Arun
As she came alongside with her men poised to board the French ship, he called to Carter to bring the men up but keep them close.
The screams of the boarding party as they crossed to the other ship were answered by the cries of the defenders, now urged on by the First Lieutenant. As the two parties met Martin watched for a few minutes to see how the battle went. Then, calling on his men to follow, he ran out to tackle the officer urging his men forward. The twenty men with him streamed out after him, lashing and hacking at the backs of the men in front of them.
The battle was bloody with little quarter offered or given, but the result was inevitable Peters shinned up the remaining mast and tore the Tricolor down, replacing it with the Union flag from the longboat. The sight of the small flag fluttering at the masthead took the spirit out of the French men and the fight ended, as they started throwing down their weapons in the face of the boarders.
Martin called his men back. Three had lost their lives in the fight and another two were wounded though not mortally. For Martin himself, there was another tear in his coat and a thin bloody line where a sword tip had marked his forearm.
The Arun took L’Orgueil in tow, bringing her to anchor in a bay at the Island of Marie Galante. The island of Guadeloupe was visible just over 25 miles away. The small population on the island, though under French rule, were not a problem. The threat of the guns from the ships was sufficient for them to leave the intruders alone, and they paid for the fresh food they took.
Martin took a working party ashore to find timber for repairs, carefully paying for everything as instructed. He had been warned not to upset the people unnecessarily.
For four days the work on the ships was carried out. The wounded from the Frenchman were put ashore for treatment by the local doctor. The fit were pressed into assisting in the repair of the two ships. The captured schooner was despatched to find the other ships of Captain Bower’s command. And, while the repairs were carried out, and the wounded treated, Martin was sent to practice his French and survey the island.
He found the work camp on the second day. The forest was not particularly dense, but areas had been cleared to make plantations for the planting of sugar and coffee. He came across the camp at midday on the second day of his survey. Carter, who was uncomfortably seated on the back of a mule, reported that he had heard English voices from the people working in the woodland off the road. When they investigated they came across a clearing where a large group of men was seated on the ground eating and drinking. There were six men in uniform with muskets and long bayonets lounging at a table eating their own meal. The muskets stacked beside the table.
Martin, in uniform and his party of twelve travelling in a wagon, rolled into the clearing.
The guards in uniform seeing Martin’s dress rose to their feet and the sergeant-in-charge came over casually to meet them. “What is this more prisoners?” The sergeant asked.
Martin looked at him, then in his best French said, “Attention! I am an officer. Stand properly when you talk to me.”
He dismounted while the sergeant was still taking this in. Martin drew his sword and pricked the sergeant in his throat. “Tell your men to stand at attention for inspection. Leave their muskets.”
The sergeant snapped out the order and the men lined up for inspection. Martin’s men dismounted from the wagon and collected the muskets, then took the bayonets and ammunition pouches from the dumbstruck men.
Martin turned to the group of men eating but beginning to take an interest in what was happening. “Who is English here?”
One of the seated men got to his feet. “All of us except the two maroons there, and they have been sailing with us for three years now. Who are you?”
Martin smiled. “You are prisoners?”
“Yes!”
“I am Lieutenant Martin Forest-Bowers from HMS Arun anchored at Grand Bourg. What is your name?”
“I am Walter Harvey, shipmaster from Jamaica.”
“Right, Mr. Harvey. I will take you and your men back with me to the ship. You will be a welcome addition to the prize crew for the captured French frigate, L’Orgueil.”
“She was the ship that took my schooner three months ago.” He turned to the other men still seated. Looks as if we’ve been rescued, lads. Let’s get the wagon.”
“Where were you kept? Do you have any things to collect?” Martin asked.
“We were locked up in the grounds of the Governor’s house, here on his plantation. The slaves here had an epidemic of some coughing and we were brought in to do their work.”
“Well, we will just call in and see the Governor to thank him for looking after you so well.”
Following the directions given by Harvey, Martin led his group to the house of the Governor of the island. The title was honorary, in view of the size and importance of the settlement.
The house itself was big and sprawling and the design reeked money. The Palladian pillars that ranged along the front gave the house an ancient Greek look.
Martin drew up his horse at the front step and studied the man who had appeared at their approach. He was short and had a small, pointed beard and a slim moustache. His eyes darted from Martin’s face to his uniform, and then back to his face.
He spoke in a sharp high voice. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Martin took time to reply. “Are you the so-called Governor of this island?”
“I am the Governor. Don’t waste my time. I am a busy man. Now, what do you want?” Martin threw the reins to Carter and stepped up onto the veranda of t
he house. He stood and looked down on the small man in front of him, who was looking more annoyed by the minute.
“I am Lieutenant Martin Forest-Bowers of His Majesty’s Ship Arun, currently lying at Grand Bourg. I have just encountered a party of prisoners-of-war who have been made to do work on your plantation in place of slaves who, I am told, are sick. Can you confirm this?”
“Of course. But that is no concern of yours.”
“The men are not slaves. They are prisoners-of-war and should be treated as such. Therefore any work they carry out should be paid for. I have come to collect their pay for the past three months.”
“How dare you address me in this way. I will have you disciplined for this.”
“First the payment, 30 guineas should cover it.”
“Guards, guards. To me now.” He was purple with rage by now, and his words brought four soldiers running to his aid.
As they approached the clicking of musket locks could be heard. The noise and the sight of twelve muskets at the ready stopped the soldiers in their tracks. Harvey and three of his men disarmed the soldiers and stood by.
Martin said, “The money, please.”
The Governor turned and stamped into the house with Martin on his heels. The lady in the dressing gown was swept aside as he entered one of the ground floor rooms, obviously an office. He knelt and opened the big safe behind the desk, and counted thirty gold coins from a bag of coins on the shelf of the safe.
He thrust them at Martin. “30 Guineas.” He said ungraciously.
Martin saw to his surprise that they were English Guineas. He turned to Peters who had followed him in. “Call Mr. Harvey, please.”
