“We are in an excellent position to create havoc here, Oliver. Those unlucky enough to cross tacks with us will surely be surprised at finding an American warship right under their noses!” Henry said to me that afternoon in his cabin, while we shared a glass and a cheroot following our dinner.
“Aye, Henry. We are that. But let us not forget that the Royal Navy navigates these waters as well!”
“We shall take them on as well. My orders do not limit us only to merchants, after all. I have every confidence in Argus and our crew! I propose that even a frigate might suffer at our hand. Remember, the Royal Navy has not fared well in previous meetings against our navy!” Allen seemed imbued with the spirit that most likely earned him this command.
“Until last month, that is. You may recall Jim Lawrence fared rather poorly in his contest with Shannon in early June, Henry. And that was supposedly an even match up. Frigate against frigate. I would suggest that prudence might dictate that we avoid contests with those who outgun us.” I offered quietly, not wanting to challenge Henry’s enthusiasm.
“What you say is quite correct, Oliver. And as you say, our victories – Constitution, and our own dear “Old Wagon” – were fought against equals. Your point is well taken; we shall have to see what opportunities present.” He smiled, perhaps a touch of reality tempering his prognostication. His expression quickly changed, and he added, “But, and I am sure you will agree, our purpose here is to hurt the British in any way we might. And, as you well know, the secretary has ordered us to ‘capture and destroy commerce and light cruizers of the enemy.’ ”
I drew on my cigar and thought about what the coming days might offer. Prize money, for sure, but not without risk. Henry went to his desk and unrolled the chart he had been studying earlier.
“Here’s where I propose we…” He didn’t finish.
“Sail! Sail to wind’ard. Off the quarter.” The lookout’s cry carried easily through the open scuttle and we both made for the door, Henry’s bulk – and rank – gave him the advantage.
On deck, we each grabbed up a telescope and focused them where Lieutenant Levy was pointing excitedly. The ship was still hull down, with only its rig visible over the horizon.
“Mister Levy: opportunity knocks! Let us come about!” Henry was on the hunt!
I hope whoever that is it is not fleet or weatherly! We have an upwind slog to make just to get within gun range! Given my recent conversation with the captain, I thought it this might be yet another opportunity to keep my thoughts to myself, well thought out though they might be! Henry ordered more sail, and Argus responded eagerly and shouldered into the easy seas, rapidly gaining ground on our quarry. As we closed, the glass revealed a schooner making her way east, toward the Channel entrance.
“We will go to quarters, now, gentlemen. And lively! Quartermaster see to a British ensign. No point in scaring the poor fellow too soon. He’ll have good reason to be frightened soon enough!” Henry laughed as he contemplated taking our first real – and now, authorized – prize.
“Deck there! Looks like she’s carrying on. She ain’t runnin’ – ” The lookout’s voice floated down, adding to the captain’s glee.
More quickly that I had expected, we were within range of our twelve-pounder chase guns. Henry ordered our proper colors hoisted and for Bill Watson to “put one into her transom, if you please.”
BOOM! The order was no sooner given than carried out. I glanced at the driver gaff overhead to be sure the American ensign was in place and was gratified to see it snapping brightly in the fresh breeze. The quartermaster had been ready, simply awaiting the order.
We focused our glasses on the schooner. Our shot was off, but not by much. A small geyser flew up just off her windward quarter, more than likely surprising whoever was manning her quarterdeck. It was likely that, once he laid eyes on our British ensign, he paid us no more heed.
“One more, if you please, Mister Watson! A bit closer, this time, would answer nicely!” The captain’s voice rang out, cutting through the momentary deafness we all experienced from the cannon blast.
BOOM! The second bow chaser spoke, and this time the shot threw up splinters instead of water. With that, a man on the schooner clambered on to the bulwark and started waving his hat and shouting words we could not make out.
“She’s striking, Cap’n!” Watson’s voice was positively ebullient.
“Aye, that she is!” The captain’s was equally so! “Mister Hudson. Let us heave to, if you please.”
Argus ranged up alongside the schooner – a fine-looking sharp-built one at that – just as she came head to wind, shivering her sails. We backed the foretops’l, clewed up the fore course, and slowed nearly to a stop just ahead and to weather of our prize.
“Mister Baldwin: please go and see what we have caught. You’ll likely want some Marines with you, I think.”
A more startled crew could not be imagined. Here they were, about to enter their own waters in the English Channel, by God! – only to be taken by an American warship right under the noses of the Channel Fleet and barely a day’s sail from the blockading ships off the coast of France!
As my boarding party stepped aboard, a blustery stump of a man pushed through the sailors crowding the entry port.
“What is the meaning of this?” He shouted. “We are a simple trading vessel. We are of no interest to you bloody Yanks. Just returning, I might add, from a disappointing run to South America. Hardly worth your while to take our cargo, I’d warrant. You lot’re nothing but a bunch of thieving pirates, you are!”
“Well, Cap’n – I assume you are in command – I don’t have any idea what’s in your hold, but your vessel is surely worth our while! Second one of these fine schooners we’ve encountered in the past two weeks! American-built, I’d reckon. Burned the last one – ” I took a certain amount of pleasure at his expression upon hearing the fate that befell his predecessor. “May I suggest you collect your papers and accompany me back to Argus. I will introduce you to my cap’n, Lieutenant Henry Allen, United States Navy. I am sure he will be able to illuminate you as to the fate he has in mind for your vessel and the souls aboard.”
The schooner, like the other, was American built, a privateer that had been captured several months back and was now trading in small cargoes with Brazil. Matilda was neatly scribed in her transom, and she was, as her master had announced to me earlier, on her way back from that country, bound for London.
Henry motioned me to the side of the quarterdeck, a huge smile gracing his face. “The British owe us one, Oliver. I had to burn that other schooner on account of having the minister and his party aboard. I know we’re not supposed to be taking prizes, but we’re close enough to France that I think we should send this one in. A small prize crew can get her there with dispatch, and we can afford to lose a few men. Plus, we’ve got the Salamanca crew still. We can use some of them as well if we need to. And I’d guess our lads would welcome some prize shares!”
“Who will you put in charge of her, Cap’n?” Not me, I hope…
“I think our master’s mate Mister Groves and a handful of sailors should be able to manage just fine. It’s scarcely more than a day’s sail to France. Should be able to find an open port and maybe even a prize court there. Agree?”
“Aye, sir. I will send for him and we’ll get started. What do you want to do with her crew?”
“We’ll leave a few aboard if we think they’ll behave themselves, and bring the others back to Argus. Put those two Salamancas in the prize crew and have Midshipman Delphy go along. Be good experience for him.”
I turned to and began to collect the bodies he requested and instruct the Marine corporal serving as master at arms to arrange some accommodations for our new guests. I could still hear Matilda’s master through the hatch expressing his displeasure to Captain Allen.
Our prize sailed in company with us through the night, keeping almost within shouting range as we pressed on toward the mouth of the English C
hannel. In consideration of Graves’s destination in France, we did angle toward that coast a bit but stayed in British waters as we kept a weather eye out for sails or lights.
Just after the watch changed at four the next morning, an alert member of the watch on deck spotted a sail, clearly silhouetted in the early light of the new day. As we were just south of the Scilly Islands, we guessed it was British and hoped it was not a warship. Matilda acknowledged our signal to carry on to France – good luck and Godspeed.
A chase of not quite three hours brought us within gun range. A pair from our bow chasers, despite both shots going wide – brought her to. She turned out to be a good-sized brig named Susannah, indeed English and bound for London from Madeira. We discovered – happily – that she carried a cargo of quality wine, intended for the countess of Shaftesbury. The countess was going to be disappointed! Our men discovered a strong box hidden away in the captain’s cabin, containing some six hundred pounds sterling. We learned it belonged to a Mister Nathaniel Cogswell, a merchant who was sending the money to his wife in London. Another disappointed Britisher! Shipping by sea can be so uncertain.
We transferred to Argus several barrels of the wine – each was about sixty gallons – and all the cash. The remaining barrels got stove in. The Susannah also had passengers aboard, two of whom were women; this presented a complication, as Henry was not about to bring them aboard Argus and he clearly intended to burn the ship, since we could not afford to send another prize crew to shore. The captain pondered for a moment or two, then looked at me as a smile began to play on his mouth.
“Oliver, have Mister Pottenger round up Cap’n Roe and his people from Salamanca and get them on deck.”
“You’re not planning on using them as a prize crew are you, Henry?” I asked, somewhat incredulously. We sat in his cabin while the two ships lay hove to, a bare pistol shot apart.
“Not a bit! I shall declare Susannah a cartel for prisoners and return her to her captain. I think his name is Poratt. We will send her in to England with our prisoners and her own crew, less some of her cargo, of course.” He winked at me, clearly thinking of how welcome the fine Portuguese wine would be in Argus.
“Fine idea, Cap’n. A stroke of genius, I’d warrant!” I stood up to take my leave and begin the process.
And so the hunt began: we plied the waters between Ushant and the Scilly Islands, using the frequently squally weather to our advantage. When we would espy a ship we thought might be more than we could manage to take easily, we slipped away, staying clear. But if one looked promising, it rarely took more than a shot or two to bring them to, blustering and fussing over being taken by a “bloody damn Yank pirate.”
PART TWO
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
HMS PELICAN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
8 July 1813
Cove of Cork, Ireland
“Bloody Irish weather! Can’t see a sodding thing through this…mist. For the bloody life of me, I can’t conceive how anyone even remotely human could exist, let alone live in this constant wet!” Lieutenant William Weiss, second lieutenant in His Britannic Majesty’s Brig Pelican muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
It was his misfortune that the first lieutenant was standing right behind him on the quarterdeck, an Irishman through and through, who let no one speak ill of his homeland.
“Mister Weiss, those who enjoy our beautiful island find our weather most therapeutic. Our women are all lovely with wonderful soft skin, a direct result of the moist air. No dried out, sun-baked old prunes in Ireland. At least you were correct in calling this ‘mist’ – anything that isn’t a downpour is mist…or fog. I will thank you to keep your insulting remarks to yourself!” Thomas Welch spoke evenly, but there was an unmistakable edge to his tone.
“Aye, sir. Sorry, sir. It’s just that I can barely see where the pilot is taking us. And yes, sir. I am sure he’s an Irishman and knows the waters here like the neck of his lady. But I don’t.” Weiss was not entirely sincere in his apology.
So, while the weather was indeed typically Irish that day, His Majesty’s Brig Pelican, of eighteen guns, Post Captain Edward Ballantyne commanding, found her assigned anchorage through the thick fog with the help of a harbor pilot. As she ghosted across the harbor, her crew fired the obligatory fifteen-gun salute to Admiral Thornbrough, whose flag flew in HMS Trent, a sixty-gun third rate anchored nearby. After finding just the right spot in the anchorage, Pelican set her hook in the sandy bottom of the Cove of Cork. With signal flags displaying his ship’s number and ‘captain report aboard’ climbing smartly up the flagship’s mizzen, Ballantyne ordered his jollyboat launched and then had both cutters swung out and lowered. He had fully anticipated the summons and, in any case, planned to call on the admiral, make a leg, and report his return. Visibility was even worse inside the harbor, and only one other vessel besides the flagship was detected; she was a ship-rigged sloop, pierced for twenty-four guns – probably eighteen-pounders.
“Welcome back, Edward. I trust your passage was uneventful?” Vice Admiral Edward Thornbrough, commander of the Irish Station, greeted his former shipmate as he stepped onto the flagship’s deck and made his way through the double row of sideboys appropriate to his rank. “Come. Let us get out of this damnable weather. How the bloody Irish manage it without going quite mad is beyond my ken.” He turned on his heel and led the way aft to the companionway that would take them to the gundeck below.
“Thank you Admiral. It’s a pleasure to be back – away from the horrid, sunny, warmth of the Caribbean with its clear blue skies, easy breezes, and superb drink! I much prefer the damps and cool of our British Isles, especially on days such as this!” The admiral readily appreciated his sarcasm and laughed heartily.
Once settled in comfortable chairs in the flag quarters – the admiral in his favorite rocker and Ballantyne on an upholstered settee – a steward produced a tray holding a carafe and two glasses.
“Give us moment or two, Carlisle, if you please. I think we might manage to pour for ourselves. You are dismissed.” Admiral Thornbrough spoke softly to his steward, but the dismissal of his steward put his guest on guard. Stewards were notoriously privy to all manner of confidential conversations, so Ballantyne was hard pressed to imagine what his host had to say that the man could not hear.
Once the steward closed the door behind him, the admiral motioned to his guest to help himself to the amber spirits in the carafe, smiling in a most disarming manner. Captain Ballantyne poured liberal measures into each glass, offering the admiral a tumbler first, as befitted his rank and position. Once his chore was completed, Ballantyne resumed his seat.
“To a successful cruise, Captain. And to the next!” Thornbrough raised his glass in a toast, which Ballantyne welcomed heartily. He was, in spite of his earlier quip, glad to be back in home waters.
“Hmmm. That sounds a bit suspicious to my ear, Admiral. Uh…do you have a ‘next’ queued up already?” Was this the mysterious message?
“Aye, Ballantyne, that I do; your suspicious nature does you credit. Do you recall those wonderful old days in Hebe? We had some fun then, did we not? You were so eager and so desperately trying to forget having experienced not one, but two, shipwrecks! I know those were trying days for you, but sailing against the bloody Frogs was not without rewards, eh! And now the Americans!” Thornbrough was avoiding the question, instead bringing up the “old days” when he was skipper and Ballantyne his second lieutenant in a sixth-rate frigate. Hebe was Edward’s first ship after the disaster in HMS Convert, which wrecked off Grand Caymanas Island, some twenty years or so ago.
“I was not trying to forget, Admiral! Wrecking twice in three years is not something one might forget! There is rarely a day that passes, even now, that I do not recall one or the other of those dark events. But you must not forget, either, that I was only a subaltern in both Pandora and Convert; it was not I who put them ashore! In fact, I have sailed Pelican several times over the past year into Jamaica, right p
ast that bloody reef in the Caymanas, apparently without mishap! In fact, a few bones of those unfortunates are still quite visible, a reminder to others… assuming they see them!” Ballantyne laughed, perhaps a bit nervously. His long history with Edward Thornbrough gave him a small amount off leeway, something Ballantyne appreciated vastly but dared not press.
“I am not trying to open old wounds, Edward. Simply reminding you of the exciting times we had chasing the French around the Mediterranean, in and out of coves and islands. My reason is sound; I am sending you out straight away to do the same, only this time, the quarry will be the Americans. And it will not be the Mediterranean, but right here in the Channel, the Irish Channel.”
“American? Here, in our home waters?”
“Aye, indeed. I have reports that a couple of American privateers are lurking about to the north of Ireland, raiding along shore as well as disrupting trade. Might be only rumors, but since they are coming from – among other places – the Admiralty, I have little choice but to have a look about – or rather, send you to have a look about!” He chuckled, but there seemed not to be much mirth in it.
“Well! That should prove entertaining, assuming there is any truth the tales!
“I could use some hands, though, if I am to put up a proper fight. I had only one hundred-ten souls when we left Plymouth in January, and I am down a dozen men from some bad luck with accidents and a some runners. Managed to press a handful from several homeward-bound merchants we encountered, but I’m still quite below my complement. Have you any I might purloin for the commission?
“I shall have a word with Somers. He’ll be captain of my flagship and since, to his everlasting consternation, we won’t be sailing any time soon, he might spare you a few.
“You’ll be going out with Helena – you know Montressor? Her captain? – no, well then, it’s no matter. Bit of a stick, he is, but a capable commander. He’ll be over you for this commission, as he’s senior. I want the two of you to cruise the western coast of Ireland, Cape Clear to Tory Island, and see if you might find the pests that are causing trouble. Put in every three weeks at either Killybegs on Donegal, or up in the Lough Swilly. I will see that letters are left for you in the event I need to change your orders or I get further intelligence.” Thornbrough paused, studied Ballantyne’s face to see how the new was being received, but his expression was unchanged.
In Hostile Waters: The Cruise of USS Argus (Oliver Baldwin Novel Book 3) Page 16
