Thunder On the Sea: A Tim Phillips novel (War at Sea Book 11)
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Going out on deck, he overlooked the peaceful harbor. Calling over his signal officer, he ordered him to request permission to depart. The first officer, half shaven, appeared then on deck wiping soap from his face.
“Ah, Mister Daniels. It is my intention to put out to sea. I understand the Spanish wish to speak with me. Are we ready in all respects?”
“Aye that we are, Captain. Shall I call the men to man the capstan?”
“Well, maybe we can after we get the signal from shore. When you see the signal from the mast on shore I think you may begin your preparations to leave.”
The anticipation of the expected combat had vanished weeks later with no sign of the Spanish ships supposedly hunting them. The frigate resumed her search for illegal slavers and had captured two of them. Manned with small parties of seamen and young midshipmen, there was much dismay among those leaving their berths on Hera as it was felt they would be avoiding the combat that might bring them notice.
The ship was lazing along in the blue waters when the hail came from overhead. “Sail off the starboard bow. Hull down.”
As the ship turned a few points to starboard, the hail came again. “That’s two sails off the starboard bow.”
Mister Daniels had the t’gallants set and soon the lookout reported the sightings were ship rigged and coming toward them. Minutes later, Daniels, now in the maintops with his glass, reported the sightings were, in fact, Spanish frigates flying their national colors and commission pennants.
With combat at least possible, if not likely, Phillips ordered the ship cleared for action. After a beehive of activity, the deck was clear from stem to stern. Every man was in his place with his proper tools or weapons. Jack Black, as the crew had labelled the new hand rescued from the slaver, with no other skills, was pronounced to be a boarder, and issued a cutlass to carry on the deck of the enemy ship. When the armorer had brought his grinding wheel on deck to sharpen blades, Black got the idea and soon had a wicked edge on his weapon.
The three ships were closing rapidly, and it appeared there would be no preliminaries. Closing now, Philips judged the Spanish ships to be just in range. He was now in a quandary. He did not feel he could fire first, since that could mean he was the person starting this war.
Making his decision, he turned to port, turning slightly away. At that, the closest ship fired her broadside which was just coming to bear. Shot splashed harmlessly about the Hera, but several balls snipped lines overhead, and there was a solid ‘Thunk’ as a twelve pound shot imbedded itself in a forward bulwark. Ordering his midshipman messenger to retrieve that ball and secure it below, he turned to Mister Daniels and asked, “Well sir, would you say we are at war, yet?”
Receiving a grinning acknowledgement, he ordered, “Let us start the proceedings, Mister Daniels.”
Hera’s captain felt the Spanish had miscalculated with their preparations for battle. As indicated by the twelve-pound ball that had been retrieved, the closest Spanish ship was armed with the long-range weapons. If all of her broadside guns were twelve-pounders, she was at a disadvantage facing Hera’s eighteen-pounders. If only he could cripple this opponent before her consort came up, he felt the battle would be more than half won.
A second later, there was a staccato crash as Hera’s starboard broadside erupted. The rounds, unlike those from the Spanish ship, were deadly accurate. While a few splashed around her, most of the eighteen-pound balls crashed into the Spaniard’s hull. Phillips had his glass on the opponent when he saw her foremast twitch then lean slightly to leeward. He thought it had probably been severely weakened by the ball’s impact and was now being held up mainly by her shrouds and stays. If his guns could sever those, the mast might well come down. Making a mental note to have some of the gun captains load with dismantling shot for this very purpose, he was brought back to reality with another exchange of broadsides!
The ships were closer this time and the Spanish guns scored better, creating anxiety among some when the starboard main shrouds were nearly shot through. The bosun led his mates up to make temporary repairs, while the Hera’s gunners looked on with approval at their own work.
The eighteen-pounder long guns were deadly effective at this short range and had done terrible damage to the enemy hull.
Now the other frigate was coming around the other’s stern, in an attempt to save her consort from the destructive broadsides. This was the one with the carronade broadside, apparently the Proserpina. He had no intention to allow this one to get close to him. Her heavy carronades could devastate his ship if he allowed her to gain a firing position within range of Hera. His long guns could outrange the short barreled carronades and pound the enemy to bits, as long as they remained at arm’s length.
Ordering his sailing master to keep well away, Phillips watched his gun crews do their work. The deadly eighteen-pound balls were wreaking havoc upon the new warship’s hull, as she tried to get into position. She was still too close for Phillips liking, but her gunnery practice was no better than her associate’s had been, especially as she was at the maximum range of her weapons. A single ball from a carronade came aboard, smashing through the ship’s hull amidships, wounding men with the deadly splinters that were generated. Little other important damage was imposed upon Hera, and she continued to range slowly forward of her foe. Once ahead of her adversary, now free of the Spanish frigate’s deadly carronades, Hera turned across Proserpina’s bow, unleashing a full broadside. These shots struck the enemy frigate on the bows and ranged aft with the power and intensity of long, eighteen-pounder guns. The heavy iron shot destroyed everything they encountered from bow to stern. When her foremast fell, her flag came down.
With this ship out of the fray, Hera turned back to the other. This one, apparently the Fama, had been drifting, her crew at work repairing damage. She was in no position to object when Hera sailed up and came to, right off her bow. Possibly a few of her forward guns might bear, but sixteen of Hera’s eighteen-pounders glared right down her throat. Her captain had seen the destruction rained upon the Proserpina and could see no way from escaping the same medicine for his own ship. After some hesitation, Fama’s flag came down also.
Now, the problem was what to do with the vanquished ships. From Phillips’ vantage point, these ships were worthless. Britain, after the war, had dozens of frigates in better condition that she was selling or scrapping to avoid maintenance costs. If these frigates were taken off to a British port under British flags, this episode might remain a possible cause for war for years to come.
If he merely sailed away, as he had done the previous year, the Spaniards might decide to explain away the damage as caused by a storm. One of his midshipmen had already confessed to speaking Spanish. Handing the lad the speaking trumpet, he quickly gave the mid a list of the points he wanted to convey to the Spanish captain. He was sure neither the British government nor that of Spain wished warfare, which was certain to erupt should this nonsense continue.
Calling for his clerk, Phillips dictated a message he wished to give to the senior Spanish officer. In the message he emphasized that he had not initiated this latest conflict but had prosecuted it fully after it was forced upon himself.
He reminded them he was sailing away and was leaving the Spanish frigates to there own devices. He hoped their future actions would not make him regret the charity. Finally, he was willing to give such aid as might be necessary to save life. Had the Spanish ships any urgent needs?
When he was sure his midshipman understood the written message, he stood by while it was pulled over to the Fama in the jolly boat. Its captain had no needs he wished to express to his enemy and Hera set her course for English Harbor.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Not wishing to rush back to English Harbor, Captain Phillips kept Hera at sea, repairing what battle damage he could. Continuing his anti-slavery patrol, he encountered a suspicious brig flying the grid-iron flag of the United States. It was shortly after sunrise, and the fellow was clos
e ahead, without the slightest chance of escaping.
Bold as brass, the brig’s master sailed right up to Hera and bid her watch officer a cheery ‘good-day’. That officer replied with a courteous request concerning the brig’s cargo.
The American politely told Mister Wainwright what he could do with his request. “T’aint none of your mind what we are carryin’.” We fought you once for putting your noses where they didn’t belong, and I guess we could do it again if we had to.”
Phillips went out on deck after hearing this exchange. Upon first glance, the vessel seemed an unlikely vehicle to bring two countries to war, but tensions were still high after the conclusion of the last one. She was definitely down-at-the-heels, her sails mainly rags held together by patches.
As the two vessels lay near each other, Phillips thought he heard a chorus of wails aboard the brig. When asked his opinion, Mister Wainwright asserted he was sure this brig had slaves aboard. That seemed a reasonable deduction, now the question was, were they legal or not.
While Phillips regarded slavery as a most nefarious practice, there was no question as to its legality in local areas, including neighboring British islands. He had no business as a serving naval officer to interfere in such.
Of course, it had been ruled illegal by both British and American authority to transport new slaves from Africa to the New World. He felt he had the right and duty to determine whether there were any slaves of the illegal variety aboard the brig.
After a brief consultation between captain and watch officer, Mister Daniels picked up the speaking trumpet and informed the brig’s master he was about to be boarded to ascertain whether or not she was carrying illicit cargo.
At that, some crewmen aboard the brig whipped off the sailcloth cover over a four-pounder gun and began to prepare it for action.
Phillips snatched the speaking trumpet from Daniels hand and shouted.
“Mister, if you fire that thing, you and your crew will be hung as pirates. Now, stand away from the gun!”
The boarding party quickly determined the twenty slaves chained below, were in fact new arrivals, brought over on a Spanish slaver and sold to a Georgia plantation owner. The slaves had been delivered to Cuba, then after purchase by the American, loaded aboard the brig for delivery to his plantation.
Many of Hera’s African Blacks had by now learned a little English, at least the Royal Navy sort. Several of them found they knew enough of the newly-freed captive’s language to translate a message to them from their captain.
Having suffered some losses in battle, Phillips wished to recruit more people. He actually had enough trained seamen, men who could go aloft in a howling hurricane and take in canvas. What he could use however, were strong men who could learn to use their bodies at the braces, pulling and hauling.
He began by assuring the newly free captives those who wished would be delivered to the British colony of Sierra Leone in Africa, where they would be free.
Others could be entered on the ship’s books as landsmen where they would learn the trade of seaman. He asked any that wished, to discuss the matter with one of the present Blacks now aboard. At length, after much discussion, six of the freed captives so volunteered and were entered as such in the ship’s books.
Months later, Hera sailed into Portsmouth to pay off. He was unsure of what might be waiting for him at home. There had been a most stressful parting the last time he saw his wife and who knew what might have elapsed in the meantime.
After the long coach ride up to London, he went to the Admiralty and made his report before going on to the town house. He had expected to be raked over the coals for some of his decisions, especially the seizing of the American slave brig, but there was no mention of that. He was complimented on his action with the Spanish frigates, and was told the Spaniards were no longer demanding his arrest, but it would perhaps be prudent if he kept away from Spanish territory for the time being.
At his town house much of the staff was gone. Mary and the children had gone back to Essex. The only servants left were the ancient housekeeper and the young woman who actually did most of the work.
With no horses in the stable, he walked to a nearby livery the next morning and engaged a private coach to take him on home. The long ride was almost unendurable, but eventually they arrived. He sat for minutes in the coach trying to forecast the welcome he would receive. He almost ordered the driver to take him to the inn, but was just too tired to make the effort.
Finally, getting his nerve together he stepped out and made his way to the door. It was a strange servant who opened it. The man barred the entrance with his body until a familiar voice came from inside.
Mary asked, “Well, who is it, Jason. Invite them in!”
Phillips stood motionless. An irritated Mary came over to see what was wrong. She opened her arms in delight and asked, “Timothy, are you here for good?”
Words now able to escape from his mouth, he said, “I hope so darling, I hope so.”
Additional works available
Other books by this author:
War at Sea Series in Kindle e-book format
On The King’s Sea Service; print version also available
For the Honor of the Flag; print version also available
Trafalgar and Beyond
Frigates of War
HMS Dreadnaught
HMS Resolve
His Majesty’s Brig Alert; print version available
Sails Across the Sea; print version available
Across to America; print version available
Ships of Oak, Men of Iron; print version available