by Seth Hunter
He was not in the best of moods. They had made a hash of raising the anchor, and it was only Tully’s fierce and persistent reproaches that had prevented them from running upon the guard ship at the end of the mole. He thanked God they were not flying the blue ensign and under the Admiral’s orders, or he’d have been for the high jump himself. He had caught a jeering verse of ‘Yankee Doodle’ as they passed the guard ship, and someone on the forecastle had thrown them a biscuit. Which was a little unfair, for there could not have been more than a dozen Americans aboard the ship, for all their Stars and Stripes. The rest were Russian, Portuguese, Genoese and diverse subjects of King George – a term which, as anyone in the Navy knew, covered a multitude of sins.
The original ship’s complement – the men who had sailed down from Portugal with Tully – had been increased in quantity, if not in quality, by a trawl of the Governor’s prison and the bars along the Gibraltar waterfront; and the Admiral had sent them a draft of ‘volunteers’ from the fleet – which seemed to consist of every troublemaker and awkward cuss the fleet wished to be rid of. This had brought their number up to a little below 100, but they were of very mixed ability. Perhaps above half of them could be classed as seamen, in that they could hand, reef and steer. The rest were the usual flotsam swept out to sea on a tide of misfortune and misdemeanour. Nothing unusual about that – the King’s Navy could scarcely have mustered a squadron without them – but on a King’s ship their propensity for mischief was for the most part subdued by the Articles of War, the rope, the lash and a contingent of Marines. The Swallow, lacking any of these conveniences, was afflicted with a general spirit of rebellion.
Nathan had never known such an assemblage of sea lawyers, each with an egotistical notion of his own importance and eager to argue his own case, often in an impenetrable tongue. The rest, either through lack of vocabulary or wit, had perfected their own form of protest which Nathan and Tully characterised as ‘dumb insolence’. This was the most difficult to check, for with men who had only the smallest grasp of English, it was hard to know if they genuinely did not understand an order or were wilfully resolved to defy it. Both officers were inclined to suspect the latter, but as yet they had come up with no coherent plan to deal with it. It was not easy to impose their authority on such a mixed bunch, each with his own complicated loyalties.
The Americans were Imlay’s men. They had previously formed the crew of the Pride of New Orleans, an armed brig taken off Ushant by one of the King’s cruisers on suspicion of running the British blockade. Imlay had told Nathan the story with frank enjoyment, for he was an old blockade-runner himself. Her papers – and a cursory inspection – had showed her to be carrying a cargo of rice, but on further enquiry this was found to contain a quantity of saltpetre, more familiar to the makers of gunpowder than of puddings. With ship and cargo rightly condemned as contraband, her crew had been kicking their heels in Plymouth when Imlay had snapped them up at the start of his voyage to Gibraltar. He could probably be taken at his word for once, for they were indeed prime seamen. The problem was, they had a great disinclination to take orders from anyone wearing the King’s uniform. A good boatswain could probably have knocked them into shape, with the support of his mates and a few lengths of rope’s end. Lacking such a creature, Nathan did the next best thing and appointed the biggest and toughest of them as boatswain and permitted him to pick his own mates. He was aware that this could lead to the worst kind of tyranny on the lower deck, but it was the best he could do in the circumstances.
The Russians were a law unto themselves. They had the look of good seamen and certainly knew what they were about, but they had their own particular way of going about it, and appeared impervious to correction or criticism. Of course, they neither spoke nor understood more than a few words of English, or at least maintained that pretence, and a pretty effective pretence it was. Tully put them to working and messing together under the instruction of their own petty officer who answered directly to Lieutenant Belli.
Then there were the Genoese. They had been with the Jean-Bart when she was under French command and had readily agreed to continue serving under the British flag when Nathan took her off Corfu. Somehow Tully had managed to keep them from being poached by other ships during the refit, but they were perfectly happy to change their allegiance yet again and serve the Americans, or anyone else for that matter, provided it did not inconvenience them. They were a competent, if arrogant bunch, very much aware of their own abilities and their superiority to all other forms of marine life. Tully put them in the tops, under their own captains, where they formed a kind of aerial tribe, swinging 100 feet above the deck, peering down at the lower orders from their lofty perches and calling to each other in their own strident dialect. They had a tendency to wear colourful neckerchiefs. Nathan and Tully privately called them ‘the parrots’.
The Portuguese were also experienced seamen and a few of them even knew enough English to understand what they were being told to do. The problem was that they gave a very strong impression that they thought it was the wrong thing to do. Tully could not look at them without a nerve twitching in his cheek. This was unusual in him. He blamed himself for taking them on in the first place when the ship was in Lisbon, but without them he would scarcely have had enough crew to sail her down to Gibraltar. On a British ship-of-war, he would have found a way of dealing with them. As it was, they were an endless source of torment to him. For the time being he had distributed them among the forecastle men and the afterguard. In his smuggling days, he told Nathan nostalgically, he would have picked the biggest of them and beaten him to a pulp – and that would have been an end to it. He was not normally a violent man.
The true-born British subjects were the worst. Those who were not criminally inclined were fit only for Bedlam. Tully distributed the least incompetent among the Portuguese in the hope that their mutual disrespect would distract them from disrespecting their officers. The rest he stuck in the waist where they would do least damage to themselves and the ship. They were, indeed, waisters to a man.
Nathan was better served by the officers. There was Tully, of course, on whom he could rely completely. And Mr Lamb, who had been so eager to serve as a volunteer it had brought a lump to Nathan’s throat. Lamb had been with the Unicorn when Nathan had taken her over in the Havana in the spring of ’95 – a lad of twelve and the youngest of her midshipmen. Now he was fifteen and seemed to have grown a foot taller in the last year. Nathan looked at him sometimes and wondered where the little boy had gone; then Lamb would give a sudden grin and there he was, as if he had been playing hide-and-seek and poked his head out from behind a tree.
They had been accustomed to playing chess together on the Unicorn, for Lamb was the only one of the young gentlemen who had the patience for it. Nathan had been irritated at times by his recklessness. There was none of that now. He played a very dogged game indeed, and Nathan was frequently obliged to seek means of distraction.
‘So, Mr Lamb, what do you want to do when you grow up?’ he asked him, on one such occasion, when he was in danger of losing a rook.
Lamb looked up at him in frank astonishment. ‘Sir?’
‘When you grow up, Mr Lamb. How do you see yourself, sir? What profession would you assume?’
‘I – Oh, you mean if there is peace, sir, and they do not keep me on.’ Mr Lamb frowned at this dreadful prospect.
‘Well, there is that, but I was thinking more of your own inclination. What would you make of yourself, sir, had you any choice in the matter? Does the Law interest you at all, or the Church?’
Mr Lamb’s frown grew more pronounced.
‘Well, I – I should like very much to stay in the service, sir, and advance as far as I am able.’
‘And how far would that be, sir?’
Mr Lamb blushed but clearly did not want to be thought lacking in ambition. ‘I should very much like to rise to a position of command, sir, like yourself.’
‘I mean when you grow
up, Mr Lamb,’ insisted Nathan, feigning irritation.
The midshipman was now thoroughly confused. ‘I am sorry, sir, I do not know what you mean.’
‘Well, to be honest, sir, I was thinking of making you up to acting lieutenant for the duration of the voyage, but I was afraid you would take it ill in me, having your heart set on a chaplaincy.’
‘Oh sir! You do not mean it!’
‘I did mean it, Mr Lamb, but if I have insulted you I will take it back.’
‘Oh no, sir, no, not at … That is, it would be an honour, sir, a great honour.’
‘You mean you accept?’ Astonished.
‘Yes, sir. And I promise I will not let you down, sir.’
‘I am sure you will not, sir.’ Nathan nodded at the board. ‘Your move, I believe.’
Mr Lamb advanced a pawn meaninglessly, and Nathan, with a secret smile, moved his rook out of harm’s way.
He was less successful in his dealings with Kapitanleytnant Belli. Though the Russian could speak very little English, they conversed well enough in French, and for all the peculiarities of his dress and manner, he appeared to be a gentleman. He was an experienced seaman, too, and was worshipped by his men; almost literally, for he was as a god to them – Batiushska they called him, which Imlay translated as ‘Little Father’. The problem was that, like many of his kind, he enjoyed his drink, on and off duty. Vodka normally, but virtually anything alcoholic would do. When he drank, his eyes disappeared into the vastness of his face, which glowed as red as a coachman – which creature he much resembled. Otherwise, it seemed to have no injurious effect. He was no roaring drunk; he did not fall over or carouse or threaten violence; there was no violence in him – if anything, he became more genial – but it would have been unwise to entrust him with the running of the ship, which was a serious disadvantage in an officer.
Nathan was beginning to appreciate why Tully had looked so uncharacteristically careworn on their reunion. The trip down from Lisbon with only one other officer he could rely upon, and that a fifteen-year-old midshipman, must have been taxing in the extreme.
Fortunately, they had taken on another lieutenant at Gibraltar. Mr O’Driscoll was a gentleman from Dublin, in his early thirties, whose last Captain had taken against him, according to the Governor, for the circumstance of his being Irish. This was a not uncommon prejudice in the King’s Navy. The loyalty of the Irish – Catholic or Protestant – was held by many officers to be suspect.
‘Which is a great nonsense,’ O’Hara had declared emphatically. ‘That attitude would never be tolerated for an instant in the Army. My goodness, where would we be without an Irishman in the ranks?’
Nonetheless, O’Driscoll had been put ashore at Gibraltar, where he had been kicking his heels for several months in hopes of finding another ship with a more tolerant Commander. Nathan, being half-American and exposed to a similar prejudice, was inclined to be sympathetic. He took him aboard on a trial basis and could find no fault with him during their somewhat limited exercises in Gibraltar Bay. The Dubliner was modest, unassuming, hardworking and efficient, if a little lacking in self-esteem, which was understandable in the circumstances. More importantly, he would enable them to run to three watches, so far as the officers were concerned, giving them the benefit of an eight-hour sleep.
They were pitifully short of warrant officers, but those they did have were as good, or at least as well-qualified, as any Nathan had known on a proper King’s ship, with the possible exception of the acting surgeon Mr Kite. Kite had been a loblolly boy on the flagship and had been sent by the Admiral either because he was completely useless or had contrived some other reason to give offence. Fortunately, no one had yet fallen sick. Were they to do so, doubtless Mr Kite would despatch them with at least as much efficiency as most surgeons.
Nathan was more fortunate in his sailing master, Mr Cribb. A laconic young man in his mid-twenties, he was the former mate of the Pride of New Orleans and was an excellent navigator, according to Tully, who had tested him out on the voyage down from Lisbon.
The gunner, Mr Wallace, was unusual in that he was not a seaman at all but an employee of the Carron Company. He had been sent down from their foundry in Falkirk to help with the installing of the guns and Imlay had apparently bribed him to remain for the duration of their voyage. His accent was almost as impenetrable as that of the Russians, but he seemed to know what he was doing so far as the guns were concerned – inasmuch as Nathan could tell without seeing him in action. However, it was impossible for him not to miss Mr Clyde, the gunner of the Unicorn, who had died in an engagement with privateers off Leghorn, and George Banjo, the giant African who had been set to succeed him until he struck an officer and was obliged to jump ship. In their absence he gave Mr Wallace the benefit of the doubt; a confidence he was not yet prepared to extend to the guns themselves.
The carpenter was also a Scot – Mr Cameron, another old hand from the Unicorn who had shifted to the Jean-Bart as part of her prize crew and stayed with her for the refit. He was entered on the muster book as a volunteer and was presumably very happy with the £6.12s a month Imlay was paying him, which was almost three times what he had been getting from King George.
The only other officer of warrant rank was the purser, who had been taken on by Tully in Lisbon – a Mr Harvey, half-English, half-Portuguese – the youngest son of a family said to be big in the port-wine trade. On their scant acquaintance, Nathan had formed very little opinion of his character, but unless the man was an out-and-out scoundrel he was prepared to overlook any failings in that quarter, having a great deal more to worry about than the character of the ship’s purser.
Mr Harvey appeared to have made a reasonable job of stocking up on supplies, at least on paper and as far as the basics were concerned. According to the ship’s books, before leaving Lisbon he had shipped twenty barrels of salt beef, ten each of salt pork, oatmeal, pease and biscuits, and five each of butter and cheese. There was a shortage of fresh lemons and oranges, but he had taken the precaution of shipping a quantity of onions and raisins, which spoke well in his favour.
Nathan had meticulously counted the barrels, though he had no means of knowing what was actually in them. Past experience suggested that at least a fifth of the meat would be rotten, but even so, he calculated that they had sufficient supplies of food for a two-month cruise and it should not be too difficult to obtain fresh supplies during their voyage. The provision of drink was more of a problem. On a King’s ship, according to regulations, each seaman was entitled to eight pints of beer a day, or a pint of wine, or half a pint of spirits, and the same would be expected of men serving on a privateer. Beer was out of the question in the Mediterranean and in any case did not keep for more than a couple of weeks. Instead, Mr Harvey had secured ten 30-gallon casks of wine and five of rum which would keep a crew of a hundred going for just thirty-six days – but both he and Imlay seemed confident of securing more supplies on the Barbary Coast, despite the Moslem proscription on alcohol.
All in all, Nathan had a great many causes for complaint. But at least he was more or less satisfied with the ship herself. In fact, the only fault he could find in her was her weaponry, and he put this down to his own prejudice and kept it between himself and Tully; certainly it would have been a mistake to mention it to Mr Wallace.
Nathan had made a thorough inspection of the ship with Tully and the carpenter when he first took command. In dimensions, she was not much smaller than the Unicorn, being 135 feet long, 32 feet broad, and 14 feet in draught. Considering the corvette to be a dandified French notion, the Navy had first called her a sloop and then re-gunned her and re-classed her as a sixth-rate frigate. Fully crewed, she would have carried just over 200 officers and men; with fewer than half that, her lower deck felt positively commodious, and of course there were no Marines clumping about in their own separate quarters. The gunroom was the only disappointment – certainly for the officers who had to dine there. It was more of a passageway than a room
, gloomy and narrow, with the foot of the mizzenmast through the middle, and the rest of the space taken up by a long table, with the doors of the officers’ cabins opening on to the tiny gap on either side.
The Captain’s quarters were luxurious by comparison, with three separate cabins and almost enough headroom for Nathan to stand upright in all of them. The day cabin took up the whole width of the stern, with light pouring in not only from the stern windows but through the gunports when they were open. The deck was carpeted with chequered canvas, and the entire space positively gleamed with polished brass and oak. The only problem from Nathan’s point of view was that he had to share it with Imlay. The sleeping cabin had been divided in two by a wood and canvas partition and they each slept in cots on either side of it.
They also shared the same servant – the elderly Qualtrough – and a Portuguese cook called Balsemao with two young boys as his assistants. This was by no means an indulgence. Nathan had known frigate Captains who had no fewer than eight servants – and when he was on the Unicorn he had never had less than three, headed by the formidable Gilbert Gabriel.
Nathan had never missed his old crew quite so much as when the Swallow headed out into Gibraltar Bay. They had been so well-drilled, and worked together for so long, he had been able to take the smooth running of the ship very much for granted. This was far from being the case with the Swallow. With every man stood to quarters it was alarmingly apparent how short-handed they were. The wind was from the north-west so it was necessary to sail straight out across the bay, almost directly towards Algeciras, before coming about with enough sea room to clear Europa Point – a dangerous manoeuvre at the best of times. Nathan would have liked to have every gun run out and fully crewed – at least on the starboard side – in case they ran into any of the enemy gunboats, but this was impossible with the few men at his disposal. Most of the crew were standing by to brace the yards when they came about, and he could spare no more than a dozen for the guns – barely enough to fight four carronades.
