This reminded him that he needed to inform his son of his mother’s letter. He asked the sentry to pass the word for Midshipman Phillips. He heard the cry, “Passing the word for Midshipman Phillips. Report to the Captain.” One cry from up forward announced, “You’re in trouble now, Timmy my boy!”
A moment later, Lieutenant Watkins was announced by the sentry. With a worried look on his face he said, “Sir, Andrews took your boy with him to the Philomena. He said he had your permission.”
With a grimace, Phillips answered. “I suppose he did. I told him to select a mid to go to the tender with him. I just didn’t realize he would take Tim.”
Watkins asked, “Would you like me to signal the tender to send the boy back?”
“No, better leave him where he is. He can learn a lot on a small vessel like that. What you can do though, is signal the tender to pass within hail. Then tell Andrews he is invited for dinner tomorrow. Tell him to bring Tim along, as there is mail aboard for him.”
Timothy was animated when he came aboard the next day. He informed his father he was to all intents and purposes the second officer of the Philomena. He wondered if they could get more guns aboard her. The boy felt the four little guns they had taken aboard were insignificant.
Phillips smiled to himself, merely telling the lad there was a limit to how much weight could be placed on the deck of their brigantine.
The pair sailed through the Gut without incident and followed the coast. They flushed a number of merchant ships along the way, but these were able to duck into convenient ports. Phillips thought he could probably have seized a couple of them by going in after them, but he judged it not worth the possible damage to his ship, and the potential combat losses.
Off Almeria the lookout spotted a tartane at dawn. The tender drew ahead and blocked the vessel from making port. The tartane was low in the water and was unable to pull ahead. Finally, as Dreadnaught ranged up on her beam, she let fly her sheets and came to a stop.
A party went over to her in the launch. Mister Horton returned and reported. “She is loaded with shoes, saltpeter and salt beef in barrels.”
Of course the shoes were probably destined for Napoleon’s army, as was the beef. The saltpeter would go to make gunpowder for the same service. He thought about sending the prize home, where the supplies could be put to use against their former owners.
He hated to send away more men to man the prize though, and decided the only really important material on the ship was the saltpeter. Britain had tons of the substance coming in every month from India, so in the end, he decided to take off the beef, which they could use themselves, and destroy the ship.
The ships hove to while they swayed the big barrels of beef from the hold of the tartane and transferred it to the Dreadnaught and her tender.
When that hold was empty, one of the ancient six pounder guns with which the vessel was armed was rolled over to the hatch and pushed over. The nearly half ton gun fell with a crash, and sprung some of the hull sheathing.
As water poured into the wound in her bottom, the men beat a hasty retreat.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Dreadnaught and her tender reached the Catalan coast, the seas were empty. With no other option, the pair prowled the coast, with Philomena inshore of Dreadnaught. As they passed a fishing port, a small lugger set sail.
Dreadnaught backed her topsail as Philomena went in to meet her. After speaking her, she escorted the lugger out to Dreadnaught. An elderly, grey haired gentleman struggled up to the entry port, followed by a young, thin man wearing what had once been a glorious military uniform. Now, it appeared ready for the rag bin, but the enormous hat was still spectacular.
The chaplain, hurried aft from his constitutional, broke into the voluminous flow of seemingly unintelligible words the pair were generating, and after a space was able to make sense of it.
“Sir”, he said. “These gentlemen are Catalans, and I am having difficulty with their accent.”
“It seems there is a village up ahead whose name I cannot quite understand. French troops have installed a battery on the cliff behind the village, and fire upon anyone that attempts to come into port. Even the village’s own fishing fleet.”
“The French are behaving with unspeakable outrages against the villagers, especially the women. They wonder if your ships can punish these infidels.”
Phillips temporized a moment to get his thoughts in order. After passing the word for the Royal Marine captain, he asked the chaplain. Exactly who are these people, Reverend?”
After a muttered apology, the chaplain questioned the pair. He reported, “I think they already introduced themselves, but my understanding was not perfect. The elderly gentleman is the Alcalde, a local dignitary, perhaps the town mayor. The young man is Commandante Alvarez y Montoya, 113th Line Infantry Regiment, His regiment was defeated at Rosas, and Alvarez escaped and is now helping the Militia - the Miguelettes.
I think he wants us to help his Miguelettes capture the battery above the village, and block the coast road to prevent troops from entering the village.
Captain Wallace commanding the Royal Marines aboard Dreadnaught reported to Captain Phillips on the quarterdeck. In a whispered aside, he said he been relaxing in his comfortable slops, but thought it necessary to don his uniform for these visitors.
Wallace immediately entered the conversation with the two Catalans and the Chaplain. He did have some experience with the Spanish language, and had gained a little with Catalan, having had discussions on military matters with members of that population.
Completely at a loss, Phillips left the men to their devices, and went to the rail. The tender was still alongside, and his son was on deck. Using their speaking trumpets, the pair discussed the news from home they had gleaned from the latest letters. An important item to consider was the litter of pups Timothy’s setter bitch had whelped.
After a pleasant quarter of an hour, Captain Wallace approached and reported a consensus had been reached. Wallace and his Catalan counterpart had agreed it would be practical for Dreadnaught to approach the battery and bombard it with her guns. At the same time, the Catalan militia would descend the cliffs behind the battery and, at a signal for the ship to cease fire, would attack the enemy fortification from the rear, where defenses were not strong.
Phillips wondered, “Do you think there is a good likelihood of the Catalans overcoming the French troops guarding the battery?”
“That I can’t say, Sir, having no firsthand knowledge of the merits of either the Catalans or their adversaries. I felt that with the minimum investment the Dreadnaught would make, the risk would be worth it.”
“Do we know what caliber guns we will be facing?”
“No Sir, but the Commandante tells me these are Army pieces. They would have had no way of getting heavy naval guns up that cliff.” Naval guns, being carried on ships, could be of most any size needed. Army artillery was limited in size by such factors as the condition of the roads, and the draft animals available.
“Tell me Captain, if you were to lead a party up that cliff, do you think you could get me some good intelligence of their capabilities?”
“Sir, I discussed that same scenario with the Commandante. He has not scouted closely himself since he feels there is too much chance of being discovered by the French. He thinks they feel safe now, and are not fully alert.
“Very well, I intend on sailing away at dusk. This should make them feel even more secure. Providing we can find a good landing point along the coast not too far along, I want to land your Marines, as well as a strong party of seamen. You will make your way back to the vicinity of the battery, where I hope you will meet up with the Miguelettes. I suspect these people will be familiar with climbing down cliffs, so be prepared to take advice from them if necessary.
When you are in position and have located a good spot to come down upon the enemy, you will burn a blue light just before first light.
As soon as we can s
ee our target, the Dreadnaught will commence fire. When you fire a red rocket, we will stop. Now, before our friends leave, perhaps you will bring them up to date.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was nearly the end of the middle watch when the last of the boats filled with armed sailors and Marines shoved off. A representative of the Miguelettes aboard assured Captain Phillips there was plenty of time for the men to climb the path to the top of the cliff, and make their way to the vicinity of the French battery before dawn.
One of the young partisans left running to inform the Catalan assault party of their estimated arrival time. Using the night glass, Phillips could just make out the Dreadnaught’s launch as she delivered her cargo of men and weapons to the beach.
There had once been a tiny fishing village here. The site was empty now, after a French foraging party had come down the path and taken the village. A few of the more appealing girls and women were taken, the rest of the villagers slaughtered. A pair of fishermen in a boat witnessed the atrocity and reported it to the local militia leader.
The only evidence now of human habitation were the stone shells of the burned out homes, and the path leading to the cliff top.
With her boats now towing behind, the Dreadnaught turned back toward the enemy battery. The wind had shifted during the night, and the big ship had to sail close hauled to make good her course, making long tacks out to sea, with short ones toward land. As arranged previously, the partisans had lit a small fire on the cliff top directly over the battery below.
In this area, there were two levels of terrain. A steep rise from the beach of about twenty feet led to a sort of shelf in the rocks. This was where the enemy had the battery. Behind them, another steep rise went nearly straight up another ten feet to the top. In better days, shepherds had grazed their sheep and goats on the shelf, and there was a narrow path down the cliff face to the shelf.
From the shelf to the beach was no kind of path, although ambitious youths had been known to clamber up and down the cliff face to impress themselves and the young ladies.
Reaching her destination at dawn, the ship dropped two anchors. The best bower from her bow, while her kedge at her stern kept her from drifting with the wind or current.
As the eastern sky brightened, all on deck could see the blue light ignite on the cliff top. The men had been piped to action stations earlier, but Phillips waited until he could free the anchoring party as well as the sail handlers back to the guns. When all was correct, and the broadside guns manned, he ordered the forecastle nine pounder to fire at the battery.
The sound of the gun and ball smashing at the cliff face a few feet below one of the gun positions was the first notice the French had of their new adversary. The garrison knew well how they were regarded by the local populace, and feared a strong party of Miguelettes might come swarming down the cliff face at any time. All of their attention was focused on that area.
The French had two pickets up above, but nothing had been heard of them for hours now. In reality, both were stretched out dead, gaping slashes in their throats.
The crash of the nine pound iron ball into the rocks beneath them at nearly a thousand feet per second woke them to the new danger.
“Aux Armes!” the officer in command shouted. As the men scrambled to their posts, a hurricane of iron smashed into the position. Two gun teams managed to fire their weapons, but to no effect. Before they could reload, another broadside came their way. One gun was hit on the muzzle as it was shoved forward through the embrasure. Hurled back, the spinning remnants of the piece maimed two members of the gun crew.
Another gun’s carriage was smashed, again seriously injuring crew members. Fearful of exposing themselves, the remaining artillerymen crowded back against the cliff, wondering who would dare to lower the tricolor from its pole. After all, it should not be too bad to surrender to the British Navy! No one paid attention to the young lieutenant screaming orders.
While the enemy debated, the landing party above, after consulting with the Miguelette commander, fired off the red rocket. In a moment the fire from Dreadnaught ceased, and the partisans swarmed over the cliff face. The younger men and boys just slid down the rock, risking a sprained ankle or broken leg. Their elders, still spry enough, took the goat path.
In either case, once started, it was impossible to stop, so partisan and seaman alike just dropped on their foes in an avalanche like assault. The enemy troops attempted to surrender to the Marines and seamen, but to no avail. The locals slaughtered them where they stood, whether fighting or with the hands in the air.
There was one survivor. An already wounded French corporal had implored Captain Wallace, commanding the Marines, to accept his surrender. Wallace ordered the man to lay down, then sat on him. With a sword in one hand, and a pistol in another he guarded his captive. In short order, he organized a party of seamen to get a line around the prisoner and lower him over the cliff face.
Meanwhile a clamoring group of partisans were crowding around the officer, furious at losing their quarry. A bosun’s mate with a party of cutlass wielding sailors broke through and surrounded him. The Marines then formed up with fixed bayonets, and the physical danger was over.
There was plenty of verbal exchanges in Catalan and English though, with a little Gaelic thrown in. In a huff, the Catalan irregulars left, while the Britons disabled the battery.
Wallace had located the armorer with the steel pikes meant to be driven into the gun’s touch holes. Unfortunately, that man was seriously wounded, so Wallace delegated that task to a young midshipman and his party.
The mid asked the Marine if they could take some of the guns on board the Philomena.
Captain Wallace wondered just how this could be done with the time and tools available. After listening to the lad’s explanation, the Marine said, “Very well Mister, we will give it a try.”
By now, the Catalans had left. Midshipman Phillips had a discussion with a bosun’s mate while the men retrieved the line they had brought from the ship. It had been thought it would be needed to descend the cliffs. Now, the seamen were securing lengths to three of the four guns. The fourth had been struck on the muzzle by a shot from Dreadnaught, and the consensus was the gun was now useless. Part of the muzzle was broken off, and a split in the cast iron extended down the barrel. A brittle steel spike was driven into the touch hole and broken off.
Using pry bars from the French battery’s tool kit, the barrel was rolled over the edge, and it fell down the cliff face with a clatter and puffs of rock dust. The water in that spot was less than a fathom deep. It would be possible to salvage the gun, but it would probably not be worth the effort.
A sort of harness had been knotted together for each gun. The French artillery crews had left coils of heavy cable behind, presumably used to lower the guns from above. Floats of scrap wood were tied to the ends of cables attached to these ropes.
When the bosun’s mate pronounced everything ready, the remainder of the guns were served like the first. The trunnion caps were removed, and each gun, now unattached to its carriage, crashed down the cliff to the seafloor below. The locations were marked by the floating wood scraps.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Captain Phillips was waiting, when the boats came alongside. Soon after the attack on the battery had started, he had been informed his son was among the raiders.
In an effort to determine how his son had made his way ashore, he had gone to Philomena in the jolly boat, the only one remaining, and questioned the master’s mate commanding. Mister Andrews was nervous and apprehensive when Phillips came aboard. He had a fair idea of the nature of this visit, and had prepared himself as best he could.
When Phillips asked why his son was included in the raiding party, Andrews answered.
“Sir, may I show you the orders I received before the tasking?” He held out a single sheet of paper, with a few lines of script, and Phillips signature at the bottom.
“As you see Sir, I was to send h
alf my seamen and a midshipman or master’s mate on the raid. Since I have ten seamen assigned, I sent off five. I wanted to go myself, but judged both Midshipman Hollister and Midshipman Phillips too young and inexperienced to command the tender by themselves, so decided I needed to stay.”
“Since I had been warned by Lieutenant Watkins earlier to regard Midshipman Phillips exactly as I would any other mid the same age, with the same experience, I decided to send him. I thought he had the most to learn from the mission. If I am mistaken then, I am very sorry.”
Phillips sat there and thought a bit. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Mister Andrews. Looking objectively, I will say; as a father, I am outraged. As a naval commander; I must say you did a fine job. You are wise beyond your years, Mister Andrews, and deserving of promotion. I will do what I can to secure it for you.”
By the time the raiding party came aboard Dreadnaught, Phillips had his thoughts in order. He invited Captain Wallace and his Timothy below, and interviewed both.
“Wallace reported, “There were four 12 pounders in the battery. One had been struck full on in the muzzle, and I judged it destroyed. Since our armorer was wounded, I detailed Mister Phillips here to insure it could not be used against us in the future. He secured the hardened steel spikes from the injured armorer and drove a spike home in the gun’s touchhole.”
“He then had a party roll it over the cliff face into the sea. It would be a difficult salvage effort for the French to get the gun back, and then it would still be a ruined weapon with a spike up its vent. The other three guns, I believe I will let Mister Phillips report. I must tell you that I agree with his reasoning.”
The lad stood and addressed his father. “Sir, it would have been easy enough to throw down the other three guns into the water, but I feared the French might be able to recover them. My intention was to salvage them and bring them away with us. The bosun’s mate, Mister Henkle, told me we could make a sort of rope cradle around each of the three gun barrels and attach to each some cable the French had left. At the end of each cable, we attached a wood float.”
HMS DREADNAUGHT: A John Phillips Novel Page 6
