Iron Ships, Iron Men

by Christopher Nicole

  Table of Contents

  Iron Ships, Iron Men

  Table of Contents

  Iron Ships, Iron Men

  Chapter One: The Caribbean — 1858

  Chapter Two: New England — 1858

  Chapter Three: The Mississippi — 1858

  Chapter Four: New Orleans -1859

  Chapter Five: New Orleans and Long Island — I860

  Chapter Six: New Orleans and New England — 1860-61

  Chapter Seven: The Atlantic — 1861

  Chapter Eight: Hampton Roads — 1862

  Chapter Nine:New Orleans — 1862

  Chapter Ten: England and the Oceans — 1862-63

  Chapter Eleven: The English Channel — 1864

  Chapter Twelve: Mobile — 1864

  Chapter Thirteen: Mobile — 1864

  Chapter Fourteen: Mobile Bay and after — 1864-65

  Iron Ships, Iron Men

  Chapter One: The Caribbean — 1858

  ‘I THINK we have Delmorde in sight, Mr Bascom,’ remarked Second Lieutenant Purves, standing in the doorway of the wardroom of Her Majesty’s Steam Sloop of War,Splendid, head slightly bowed to avoid the low deck beams, voice an odd mixture of excitement and apprehension.

  First Lieutenant, Acting Commander, Rodney Bascom looked up from the chart he was studying, the worry lines on his forehead clearing away. Only twenty-five years old, Rod Bascom had been finding the responsibility of being thrust into the position of captain of the sloop, owing to the illness of Commander Harris, trying, especially in such waters, and with such a quarry to hunt down. But if the quarry was in sight ...

  Not a big man, with a round face and strong rather than handsome features, curly brown hair and a tensely powerful body, Rod exuded energy, when he was sure of a direction in which it could be applied. As now. He crammed his cap on his head and led his junior out of the cabin, and up the ladder to the deck.

  It was a lowering afternoon in May, 1858; officially too early, in the Caribbean Sea, for a hurricane, but nevertheless promising bad weather in the immediate future, with heavy black clouds scudding up from the southeast, and to the north and east the serrated coastline of the island of Cuba sharply etched by the still bright afternoon sun. These were pirate waters, as the huge expanse of the Gulf of Guacayanabo, with its extensive reefs and shoals, and the Islands of the Garden of the Queen to the north, made a perfect hiding place, from which the desperadoes, who defied their Spanish masters equally with the navies of the world, could rush out upon ships bound to or from Jamaica, or the Antilles further to the south. Thus it was certainly the place to seek Captain Delmorde, the most vicious of the current crop of sea robbers, whose latest exploit in assaulting a Jamaica-bound vessel and murdering most of her passengers and crew had forced both the Lieutenant Governor and the local Senior Naval Officer, into action.

  ‘We cannot wait for Commander Harris to recover,’ Captain Renwick had said. ‘Malaria can take a long time. TakeSplendid to sea, Mr Bascom, and find that scoundrel Delmorde. I want to see him hang. Bring him back here in chains, and your career won’t suffer, I can promise you that.’

  Hence this tedious, and sometimes dangerous, patrolling up and down the reef-studded Cuban coast, for it was here that Delmorde was known to return with his loot, whenever his hold became full.

  The idea that the waiting could actually be over was exhilarating.

  ‘Where is the rascal?’ Rod asked, bringing up his telescope.

  Lieutenant Purves pointed to the northward, and Rod levelled the glass. ‘Red hull, white bulwarks, brigantine rig, that’s the description we were given of his vessel,’ Purves said.

  Rod nodded, his own excitement growing.

  ‘Although it’s hard to say whether he’s making for the shelter of the islands, or to cut that other fellow off,’ Purves went on. ‘Either way, they’ll both be in shoal water before we can close them.’

  For all his tension, Purves was a pessimist, Rod thought, staring at the brigantine, long and low, square-rigged on the foremast and fore-and-aft rigged on the main, undoubtedly shallow-drafted and fast. But fast enough to escape steam? For theSplendid, although built of wood like all the Navy ships — even if there was continuing rumour of an inclination amongst their lord-ships of the Admiralty to dabble in iron hulls — had a smoke-stack amidships, between her two masts, and a boiler below decks, to drive the two paddle wheels which gave her tremendous propulsion — over short periods. The steam power, both unreliable and limited because of the small amount of coal that could be carried, was strictly auxiliary to the sails, but was intended for bringing the ship into action when the wind was not strong enough. As now — for the breeze was no more than light. Only eighty feet long, and lightly armed — because of the paddle wheels which prohibited a broadside and restricted her to two twelve pounders forward and two aft —Splendid was yet sufficiently powerful to deal with any pirate, and she too was shallow-drafted, especially designed to chase smugglers and pirates into the shallows if necessary — supposing her captain knew where the rocks all were. Which he did not. Cuba was a Spanish colony, and the Dons were jealously possessive of their three mile limit, and the vast, slave-supported sugar industry that lay within it, a concept of life now altogether abhorrent to any Britisher, with slavery in the Empire abolished a generation in the past. Thus no permission had ever been granted to any foreign survey vessel to chart the shallows within the Islands of the Garden of the Queen.

  He switched his glass to the other ship, somewhat to the north of the pirate, and certainly sailing on a converging course. She did not look like a helpless merchantman to him. In fact ...’That’s a warship, Ned,’ he remarked. If he was acting captain of theSplendid, the difference in seniority between himself and his lieutenant was a matter of months rather than years, and he found it difficult to maintain the social barrier between them which would have been required had he actually held the superior rank.

  ‘I wondered about that,’ Purves agreed. ‘No funnel, though.’

  ‘A sailing vessel. She’s not one of ours.’

  ‘Spanish?’

  ‘Maybe. But ... she’s after Delmorde, not him after her, that’s for certain. And I’ve heard it said the Spanishgarda costas mostly accept bribes from the pirates to keep out of their way.’

  Purves was also studying the two ships. ‘Well, whatever nationality she is, I don’t think she’ll catch Delmorde. He’s making for the islands, all right.’

  Rod chewed his lip for a moment. The distance betweenSplendid and the pirate was perhaps five miles, and between Delmorde and the islands considerably less than that, he estimated — although it was difficult to be certain from so far. But the wind was still light, and none of the three ships was making all that much speed under canvas alone. Whereas he had the alternative power to hand. ‘We’ll start the engine, Mr Purves,’ he said officially. ‘We may just be able to head him off.’

  Purves looked doubtful, as he always did when a positive decision had to be taken. ‘And that?’ Now he was pointing the other way, at the dark clouds behind them, growing in intensity all the time, the edges hardened and torn by the obvious wind that was contained in the squall. In the West Indies, one expected a rain squall in the heat of the day, but this was rather later, and rather larger, than any they had recently encountered, and indicated the proximity of a genuine storm.

  ‘We were sent out to catch Delmorde, Ned,’ Rod said quietly. ‘And there he is, practically under our guns. We’ll not let him escape now.’

  Purves hesitated a moment longer, then stood to attention. ‘Aye-aye, captain,’ he acknowledged, and hurried forward, to lean through the hatch to the engine room and tell the petty officer engineer to stoke up his boiler; steam was a
lways kept available in case of an emergency, like this one indeed, because it would take several hours to raise it from cold. But most of the time the fires were banked right down to conserve fuel.

  Rod continued to watch the two ships in front of him. The furthest vessel, which, if not a great deal larger than his own, he estimated, was now clearly to be identified as a warship because of the gun ports which dotted her topsides, was schooner-rigged, that is, fore-and-aft on both main and foremasts, and was closing the shore just as keenly as the pirate, wishing to cut him off from his refuge in the islands. She was gaining on her quarry all the time, not only because she possessed the more efficient windward rig, but because she had a cleaner bottom, Rod decided. She would be out of Key West or Savannah; he could make out the fluttering stars and stripes at her stern. An American, also out after Cuban pirates, who were as great a nuisance to the trade of the Gulf of Mexico as to that of the rest of the Caribbean. He wished he was sure of the correct procedure to follow. He had not been advised of the possibility of this situation arising, nor had he encountered any American warship during the year he had been on this station. But they were both after the same objective — not with any intention of gaining fame or fortune, surely, but simply to rid the seas of a pest. There was no reason for them to do anything else than co-operate, however much the Yankees and the Limeys might still quarrel over various boundary settlements in Canada, or remember the two bitter wars they had fought against each other during the past century. The most recent of those had been forty-three years ago, long before he had been born.

  Smoke belched from the funnel of theSplendid, and the deck trembled as the paddle wheels began to turn, throwing spray into the air.

  ‘Hand your sails, Mr Armitage,’ Rod told the boatswain, who coo-eed on his whistle to send men aloft to furl the canvas as the ship began to gather speed through the water. Purves was back beside him now, peering at their quarry, who was definitely coming closer. But so too were the islands and reefs off the Cuban coast.

  ‘Have we a detailed chart of those shoals?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Rod told him. ‘But where that fellow goes, so can we, surely.’

  ‘It’ll mean hazarding the ship,’ Purves grumbled.

  Sometimes he could be quite irritating. ‘My responsibility, Mr Purves,’ Rod said, wishing he did have a few extra years of seniority. ‘You’ll load the guns, if you please, and you’d also best issue cutlasses and rifles; we may have to take him by boarding.’

  ‘He’ll carry a big crew,’ Purves pointed out.

  ‘Without discipline, Mr Purves. Carry out my order, please.’

  ‘Aye-aye,’ Purves said, and looked at the pirate again. ‘Maybe the American will get him first,’ he remarked, before going forward again.

  The American schooner was certainly carrying all the canvas she could cram on to her masts, and although she was beating, as was the pirate, into the light breeze, she was steadily overhauling her quarry. Certainly she had no fears, it seemed, of the shallowing water. And Rod Bascom had no intention of being outsailed by a damned Yankee.

  Nor did he have any fears of a close quarters encounter with the Cuban pirate. TheSplendid did not carry a large crew, but one of the main advantages of possessing steam power was that, in action, the men normally required to attend the sails were released for fighting duties, thus in effect every able seaman was fulfilling a dual role. He called down the companion hatch for his own sword and revolver, and had them buckled round his waist by his steward, Kidder. Then he went forward himself, to the engine room hatch.

  ‘All the steam you can work up, Mr Hope,’ he called, watching the stokers, stripped to the waist and pouring sweat, shovelling their coal into the boiler, thankful that was a task he would never have to undertake.

  ‘Aye-aye, captain,’ came the response, and the paddle wheels increased their revolutions, while a steady cloud streamed over the stern and the wake of the warship. Rod continued on his way, right up into the bows, where several armed seamen were gathered to watch the scene in front of them. For the pirate, now only three miles distant, was about to reach what he would regard as safety — by a very short head. Indeed at that moment smoke rose above the American schooner; the sound of the guns travelled upwind only very slowly, but the Englishmen could see several splashes from around the pirate, while from the activity on the corsair’s deck it seemed evident at least one of the balls had struck home.

  But a few moments later the brigantine was lost to sight behind the cluster of coconut trees — themselves resembling the masts of an anchored ship — as he sailed between two of the cays fringing the reef. Rod turned his telescope to see what the American would do, but she showed no sign of shortening sail as she boldly plunged into the same obvious gap in the reef. Clearly her commanding officer was using the same reasoning as himself: where the corsair could venture, so could he.

  Something stung the back of his neck, and at the same time the sun disappeared behind the clouds. Within seconds the entire afternoon had turned grey as the rain teemed down. The islands in front of them and the mainland beyond disappeared, as did the two ships they had been following. Water pounded the decks of theSplendid with such force that the drops bounded several inches back into the air, while the surface of the sea, calmed by the tremendous force beating upon it while the breeze dropped right away, became pitted as if with bullet holes.

  Purves, soaked to the skin, as was everyone else on deck, arrived beside him. ‘Well, that’s it,’ he said. ‘We cannot possibly follow them now.’ He was obviously greatly relieved.

  But he was also absolutely right, Rod knew. To attempt to take his ship into the shallows when he could only see fifty feet beyond the bow would be the height of irresponsibility. ‘Tell Mr Hope to reduce speed, Mr Purves,’ he said. ‘Mr Armitage, commence heaving the lead. We’ll maintain our course for the time being. This squall is unlikely to last very long.’

  He returned aft. The paddle wheels were already slowing, and theSplendid began to lose way. Kidder was waiting for him with an oilskin coat, but he waved the steward away; water was already pouring off his cap and down the neck of his jacket, while his stockinged feet squelched inside his shoes. To don an oilskin now would be like shutting the stable door after the horse had bolted, while the rain was so warm he did not even feel any inclination to change his clothes — supposing he could possibly leave the deck at a time like this.

  ‘No bottom,’ came the call from forward.

  He peered into the rain, trying to remember how far off the land they had been when the storm had arrived, estimated it at two miles, which indicated a quickly shelving sea bed, if they were not yet in soundings.

  ‘Listen.’ Purves was beside him again. And now Rod heard the gunshots himself, several in rapid succession.

  ‘He’s caught up with the rascal,’ he muttered. ‘It must be clear in there.’

  ‘By the deep nineteen,’ came the call from forward.

  Purves and Rod looked at each other. They had entered soundings, just; nineteen fathoms, even approximately as the leadsman had indicated, was one hundred and fourteen feet of water. The lead line was marked at nine different depths, from two to twenty fathoms; these were the marks. At any other depths inside twenty, between two of the marks, the leadsman was required to estimate the distance from the closest mark and give a reading; these were the ‘deeps’.

  The gunfire had ceased from in front of them. ‘It’s either all over, or the pirate has got away,’ Purves observed, with gloomy satisfaction. ‘With respect, Mr Bascom, I think we should stand off until this weather clears.’

  ‘By the mark seventeen,’ came the call from forward.

  One hundred and two feet. Still ample water for the sloop. Rod chewed his lip, and listened to another explosion from in front of him.

  Even Purves’ head jerked. ‘That was a signal cannon,’ he said.

  Rod nodded. ‘Calling for assistance.’

  ‘By the deep fourteen,’ ca
me the call.

  Eighty-four feet; the bottom was now shoaling very quickly.

  ‘Take her out, Rod,’ Purves said urgently. ‘We’ll hit something before we can even see it.’

  ‘No, we won’t,’ Rod shouted. ‘Look there.’ The rain was passing away, and the grey curtain slowly faded, to let them see the islands, far greener after the rain than they had appeared before. And beyond the islands, they could see the pirate. The brigantine had lost a mast in the recent exchange of fire, but was still standing in towards the shore under foresail alone; she clearly knew these waters very well. Meanwhile, her crew could be seen working desperately to clear away the mess of fallen spars and cordage from the wreckage of the mainmast.

  Closer at hand, and indeed, just inside the reef, was the American schooner, hastily reducing sail; she had put down an anchor, and there was water streaming over her sides as men were obviously manning the pumps.

  ‘She’s holed,’ Rod said.

  ‘And there’s trouble coming,’ Purves commented.

  Rod turned to look to the south-east. The wind had freshened with the rain squall’s departure, and was now blowing a brisk twenty knots, which was the lower end of Force Five on the Beaufort Scale, an evaluation of differing wind, and thus sea, conditions recently devised by a British admiral. Force Five was merely a very good sailing wind, but it was obviously going to increase, for the entire sky to the south was black, and there were vivid flashes of lightning away in the distance, with occasional peals of thunder, coming closer. ‘We’re going to have a full gale within an hour,’ Purves warned. ‘We don’t want to be caught inshore, and in uncharted waters. Stand out, Rod, for God’s sake.’

  The American signal gun boomed again. Her people could see the British sloop, and were again calling for assistance.

  ‘We must help her,’ Rod decided.

  ‘By the mark ten.’

  Sixty feet. The islands were very close.

  ‘That schooner has to draw more than us,’ Rod remarked, half to himself. ‘Therefore there has to be a deep water passage between those islands. Starboard half a point, cox.’