Sailing Orders

by David O'Neil

  He tore it open reading the Spanish words easily. His lieutenant looked at him anxiously.

  His Captain’s smile revealed that the problem might be solved. “Two French ships are approaching, so let us dress accordingly, and I will recruit them to keep the escort busy while we raid the convoy.

  The Hirondelle now looked every inch her former self, a clean and tidy French naval craft carrying a senior French officer.

  As the two frigates Agen, 40 guns and Collette 36 guns, came to anchor, their guns were still firing the salute to the French Admiral’s Flag, at the masthead of the corvette at anchor. The Spanish garrison on the island were in no real position to interfere with the French ships. In fact the ships were allowed to re-store and water for the remaining part of their voyage from the West Indies. Provided they paid for their stores, the Spanish could not really afford to turn them away. The guns of the ships were sufficient incentive, so their Admiral informed them, as they all sat enjoying a glass of the local wine.

  Their orders had been to make their way back to join the French fleet at Brest. They had encountered bad weather in the mid-Atlantic, and as a result had been delayed.

  “Gentlemen, this is a fortunate meeting. As we speak the British East India convoy is making its way up the African coast toward us. I would have been happy to have attempted to snap up the odd ship. Now you are here there is a real chance of a coup.”

  He paused and waved for his servant to refill the glasses.

  The Captain of the Collette posed the question. “Sir, with respect, our orders are to sail with all despatch to the French mainland.”

  “Captain Artois, if I may point out, I actually outrank the Admiral who issued those orders. Though in the circumstances, I hardly think there will be any argument raised when you turn up with a couple British East Indiamen loaded with exotic cargo.”

  The second Captain nodded thoughtfully. “Really, Maurice. What difference will two days make? And with such a prize?”

  Captain Artois sat back, still not really happy about the idea, but in the face of the enthusiasm of the Admiral and his colleague, there was little he say or do about it, perhaps only get the job done and out of the way as soon as possible.

  On the way back to their ships he asked his colleague what he knew of Admiral Vanier.

  “I knew of him when he was a Captain. But it is true, that was perhaps seven years ago. As you know there are many of the Admirals we knew, who are now either dead or out of their positions. They all had to be replaced!”

  Artois nodded in understanding unwilling to give up his doubts. But in the face of his companion’s logic there was nothing he could say.

  The two men, once back on board became the complete professionals their jobs demanded. Both individually made their preparations for the diversionary attack they had been ordered to make on the British convoy.

  It had been twelve days since the convoy had taken on fresh water and fresh fruit at Bathhurst in Gambia. The merchantmen had acquired a fairly disciplined manner of operation, and the escort had sharpened its procedure. The Hampshire had volunteered to take a positive part in any convoy defence. The fire-eating former naval officer had offered to carry four guns from the fort at Capetown, promising that they would be delivered to the dockyard on his arrival in England. The 12pounder guns were included in the Hampshire’s broadside. They had been too small for the battery at Capetown, which mounted 18 and 24 pounder guns. He had also offered passage to stranded seamen, of whom many were actually members of the Royal Navy, landed through injury. They included some veterans of the action during which the Cape Colony had been taken from the Dutch.

  It was with some amusement that Martin observed the regular drills undertaken by the gun crews on the Indiaman, as he passed on his patrols about the convoy. It was true that all the East-Indiamen were better armed than average merchantmen. The prevalence of pirates and enemy ships was a hazard they all met. The value of the cargoes they carried compensated them for the weight of the guns and the bulk of the ordinance. Crews were recruited from ex-naval personnel for that reason, and the wages of the crew made it worth their while to serve. The additional benefit was they were exempt from being pressed back into the navy.

  All the escorts were instructed to keep to strategic areas around the convoy, maintaining protection where ships were vulnerable. The Hampshire was placed in what appeared to be a loophole in the defensive screen. HMS Boscombe sailed in the centre of the convoy, which was now capable of sailing, during the day at least, in pretty close order.

  Not surprisingly it was the cutter, Daisy, which reported the strange sail on the horizon.

  The convoy had succumbed to the pressure of the weather and reached out to bypass the Canary Isles to seaward and pass through the gap between the Azores and Madeira. With the option to run into Madeira if weather or enemy action made it necessary.

  The appearance of strange sail from the direction of the Canaries could mean friend or foe, so Martin decided to take no chances. Since he had the time he warned the Hampshire, and ordered the HMS Boscombe to take the lead of the convoy, to allow her to drop down on any attacker on either side of the lines of ships. They were now sailing in three lines of six with Hampshire in the Port line, ship number three. The heaviest armed of the other ships were all in the outer lines of the convoy.

  At the warning from the cutter both sloops had taken positions on the threatened side of the convoy. Martin had placed Diane at the rear where she could go either side of the lines of ships. The convoy was adjusting to the increased sail which always caused a certain amount of backing and filling to accommodate the differences in sailing qualities and sail handling. By the time all was settled down, the strangers were identified and nearly hull-up.

  There were three ships in all, frigates, all with the Tricolor flying. Two were making direct for the convoy, the other was sailing to pass ahead of the nodding lines of ships.

  Signalling the Boscombe to the starboard side of the convoy Martin took the portside and sailed to meet the single frigate which was aiming to round the head of the convoy.

  He heard the crash of the big guns from the Boscombe’s broadside as he reached the head of the portside line of ships. The enemy frigate was now clear in view and through his telescope Martin could distinguish the crowded decks, a surprising number of men for a normal frigate’s crew.

  “Mr. Reed! Run out and load both broadsides if you please.” He paused, “Every second gun grapeshot, and aimed to sweep her decks. I do believe he intends to board and cut out some of our flock.”

  “As you wish, sir. We could give him a real bellyache. Shall it be ball for the carronades?”

  “That will do nicely!” Martin strolled along the deck calling the odd word to the men manning the guns, hands clasped together behind his back as if he was on a Sunday walk in the park.

  Most of the men were by now accustomed to his coolness in the face of action and they appreciated the way his air of assurance made them feel more relaxed.

  Martin was by no means assured. It took a lot of effort to maintain the casual appearance, but he knew it reassured the men, and in the same way it had an effect on him. Once the action started there was no time to feel worried or frightened. There were too many things to keep track of to allow distractions in interfere.

  He looked across toward the other side of the convoy. Clouds of smoke obscured the action between the ships, but he could still see the topmasts of the Boscombe and the crash of the guns was re-assuring.

  His own problem was approaching rapidly. Now with the wind almost directly behind him, he could make out the guns run out on both sides of the ship and guessed that the enemy had not decided which way he would attack.

  “Portside broadside I believe, Mr. Reed. I am going to cross his bow and send him down to Hampshire for a second helping. I will hopefully come about and run through the convoy between the lines. Signal Hampshire to prepare a welcome.”

  Reed grinned as he ac
knowledged his Captain’s order. From the sound of it he had things well in hand. “Steady, lads,” Reed called. “Portside first, boys. We’ll cross his bows and fire as we bear. To the Middy in command of the starboard broadside, he said, “You’ll get your chance as we thread the needle!”

  Confused, the middy nodded in agreement, puzzled. What did threading the needle mean?

  “On my order, quarter wheel to starboard, helmsman.”

  At Martin’s voice the helmsman tensed ready. “Quarter helm to starboard, at your order. Aye, aye, sir!”

  Martin waited. He could now see the men at the guns of the French ship. Odd, there was only one man in uniform on the quarterdeck, an Admiral? Normally, there would be several formally dressed officers present, especially with an Admiral aboard.

  Intrigued but not distracted, he waited until the moment was right.

  His call to the helmsman was immediately answered and the ship heeled to starboard. As the head came round, the port-side guns fired in turn. The balls smashing into the starboard side of the enemy ship, the grape shot sheeting across her decks.

  She staggered and jinked as the Diane’s guns did their work. Only when they were almost clear did the Frenchman’s guns start to answer, and by that time they had little effect.

  Martin felt the strike of the enemy shot as he called. “Stand-bye to come about! Helm a’lee!”

  HMS Diane swung hard to starboard and she completed the turn catching the wind from astern now pointing down between the two lines of her convoy. The bosun could be heard calling his men to haul the yards and trim the sails on the new course. Mr. Reed called out “Starboard broadside run out, and stand by.”

  The port guns were loaded by this time the crew poised waiting for the next bout.

  Doctor Corder appeared at Martin’s side. In a quiet voice he said, “If you would step below a moment, sir. I’ll attend to this.” His finger touched Martin’s side where a sliver of wood had opened the cloth of his uniform and cut a line across his ribs from front to back.

  Made suddenly aware that he must have been injured when the enemy shot had hit. “I did not feel it,” Martin said.

  “It will not take long.” Doctor Corder said. “It’s not serious”, and he set to work. “I have two dead and six injured from the fire from the Frenchman. The wounded will survive. Your cabin has a hole in it, but apart from that no great damage.” He finished strapping Martin’s ribs and helped him with his coat. “That will do for now. I’ll attend to it properly afterwards.”

  Martin returned to the deck carrying the cup of coffee his servant had produced while the Doctor was attending him.

  On deck Martin turned to the man. “How did you get hot coffee? The galley fire is out.”

  “The watter flask wuz knocked down when that cannonball came into your cabin. It fell onto t’doctor’s lantern. I went to pick it up like, and I burns me fingers on t’metal. So I thort if t’outside hot, watter inside will be too. An it wuz. So I thort, coffee for t’Capn’s what I thort.”

  Martin looked at him in amazement. “Thank you, Harris. It’s much appreciated.” And he turned to survey the situation in time to see the cloud of smoke as Hampshire opened fire on the Frenchman. The enemy frigate staggered at the unexpected impact of the fourteen 12 pound cannonballs, all aimed from the deck of the Hampshire firing down into the Frenchman, creating havoc on her decks smashing holes and scattering splinters everywhere.

  Patric Vanier was appalled. The unexpected attack from the Indiaman had created terrible damage to his beautiful ship and the British frigate was overtaking fast down between the ships in the convoy. Enough was enough! He decided this was a mistake. He called for the helmsman to steer west, away from the convoy and abandoned the other two frigates to their fate.

  The Hirondelle flew off to starboard away from the convoy as Diane passed between the merchant ships in pursuit. The crew of the Hampshire were cheering as HMS Diane chased the enemy westward away from the convoy.

  Martin made sure that the raider was well clear before he gave up the chase, unwilling to leave the convoy short of protection.

  HMS Boscombe signalled success, and when they got back to the convoy, Martin saw the two sloops escorting one of the French frigates, which had lost a mast. The other had received one broadside from Boscombe and decided, that was enough and turned away and made all speed toward the African coast, leaving its compatriot to fight alone.

  The French captain was brought aboard Martin’s ship and presented to Martin for questioning. Maurice Artois was very upset about the abandonment by his fellow captains. He described their characters in graphic detail to Martin.

  Eventually, Martin stopped the tirade. Speaking perfect French, he pointed out that he did get the message but, by the way, who was the French Admiral in the other ship.

  “He called himself Admiral Patric Vanier.”

  “His is a new name to me. Where is he based?”

  “I do not know! I only know he was once in the navy. I suspect that he is no longer and the Admiral’s coat was merely window dressing to get our co-operation for this raid.”

  “I see, and your companion?”

  “We sailed from the West Indies, Martinique, in company with orders to report to the fleet at Brest. I met him in Fort de France for the first time. Otherwise I know little of him.”

  “Well, Captain, you will be with us for some time it seems. If you give me your word that you will not try to escape, you may enjoy a certain freedom while we are at sea?”

  Artois nodded, “You have my word, captain, and my thanks.”

  Chapter twenty-two

  The Channel

  1807-8

  Gibraltar was busy. Ships were there from the Mediterranean fleet being refitted. Others were en-route to supply the British troops being landed in Portugal to oppose Napoleon’s troops invading from Spain. The Spanish people were requesting the help of the allies

  Napoleon had placed his brother on the Spanish throne, officially declaring Spain a part of his own domain.

  Russia had signed a treaty with France and ordered Sweden and Denmark to deny their ports to British trade, and to place their fleets at the disposal of the French.

  For Martin there was little time to relax. After visiting the Port Admiral he was soon back on board his ship, with the addition of a second frigate to replace HMS Boscombe. She had been given another captain. Commander Armitage, who had been in temporary command, was given the Collette ,renamed HMS Brimpton, currently refitting in the dockyard and due to sail to Falmouth for orders when the refit was complete.

  HMS Pursuit, the frigate replacing HMS Boscombe, led the convoy out into the Strait to assemble and set off up the coast of Spain.

  At the rear of the convoy, now with the addition of three more ships, Martin and HMS Diane herded the merchantmen into some sort of order. The sloops and HMS Daisy, Lieutenant Hammond’s cutter, dashed about the clutter of ships pushing them into some sort of order for the remainder of the voyage to Falmouth, where the convoy would start to split up and make for their ports of destination.

  The weather was foul for the first part of the voyage and the escorts were continuously preoccupied with keeping the ships together. The problem was that because of actions of French privateers in the channel it had been necessary to maintain the convoy system.

  The weather caused damage to several of the ships so it was of nearly three weeks before the convoy started to split up at Falmouth. There they dropped three ships, a further seven departed at Southampton, three more at Portsmouth. The remainder were destined for the London river. HMS Pluto and Diane were ordered to bring them upriver, with instructions for Martin to report to the Admiralty on his arrival.

  Baby Jane Forrest-Bowers was delighted to be raised up high by her father. When he tossed her into the air and caught her, her delighted chuckles were a joy for Martin to hear. Jennifer stopped him before he got too ambitious. “Please, no more, my love. She will be sick. As it is she will n
ot go to sleep with all the excitement.”

  Reluctantly, Martin handed his daughter over to Jennifer, who in turn passed her to the nurse for her preparation for bed.

  When the nurse had left the room Martin held Jennifer close. Kissing her tenderly he said, “I have missed you both, and this house. I fear I have been too long away from you, I doubt I will be allowed to stay for long. While this war drags on so does our time apart.”

  “Father and Jane are feeling it too, I fear.” Jennifer said. He has to work such long hours at the Admiralty these days. For Jane it is difficult, for there are men in London who would take advantage of her, given the chance.”

  Martin looked at his wife sharply. “What men? Is the Admiral aware of this?”

  “No, of course not. Were he to find out he would be forced to call the men out. I fear the two main offenders are skilled duellists, with sword and pistol. Jane fears for his life. I know one man has threatened to challenge the Admiral if she does not submit to his demands. The man is mad.”

  Martin stood back. “Who are these men? Who has threatened our father?”

  Jennifer looked at Martin cautiously. She had only once seen him look so seriously determined. That was when they first met, and he had stabbed a highwayman through the hand. In a low voice she said. “Sir Paul Rowland and Michael Barrat.”

  “Is Jane at home here?” He indicated the house next door.

  “Yes,” Jennifer said. “She is hoping to see you while you are in London.”

  “Now will be a good time.” Martin said. “This is a serious matter that must be cleared up as quickly as possible.”

  “But Martin…..” Jennifer’s protest was lost as Martin swept out of the door.

  He entered through the private way between the two houses. James, the butler, met him and said, “Her ladyship has a guest.”

  The way he said it stopped Martin in his tracks. “A guest?” He asked.