As the messenger was sent forward to round up a prize crew, Welch stopped and returned to where his captain stood on the quarterdeck, his hands on the bulwark, watching his prize roll easily in the swell.
“Who shall I send as a prize captain, Cap’n? We’re a bit short-handed ourselves in the officer corps. Perhaps a midshipman?”
“Good idea, Tom. Send Morland as the captain.” He started to turn back to face the sea, then turned back, smiling as a new thought struck him. “And send Bierbak with him. Might actually do him some good. And I did promise the admiral I would see to his training. Yes, send Mister Bierbak as first.” He turned back to study the prize from across the water, dismissing Welch and smiling in spite of himself.
Yes, it is a fine idea. It will get him off my ship and fulfill my promise to the admiral at the same time. A brilliant undertaking, Ballantyne, brilliant!
By nightfall, Pelican was again underway, now heading back toward Ireland, where they had first encountered the ship that had just become their prize. Ballantyne, buoyed by his confidence that he was getting close to his quarry – that at least he was in the right body of water now – gave the watch officer orders to keep a southwesterly heading, his lookouts alert, and call with any sightings. Of anything: ship, smoke, fire, wreckage…anything. Looking forward to a pleasant supper, that Stokely had likely prepared for him, he retired to his cabin. It was not to be.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
St. George’s Channel
13 August 1813
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
USS Argus
“SAILS! TWO SHIPS AND A BRIG! TO LE’WARD, ’BOUT TWO POINTS FOR’ARD OF THE BEAM! DECK THERE!” The lookout’s cry stirred everyone aboard out of his stupor, no matter if they were below sound asleep or on deck trying to get through another uneventful mid-watch.
The messenger scurried below to fetch Captain Allen and me, but we were already half out of our cots when he arrived at the cabin door. The mist had started to part, lifting its damp blanket that had settled over us, allowing an indistinct view of our surrounds. Over the next hour, the sun burned through the remnants and a breeze filled in from the northeast. We could make out the trio of ships from aloft through a night glass, but not close enough to glean anything else about them. Knowing I would be unable to go back to sleep, I relieved Bill Watson and sent him below. When Hudson relieved me after breakfast, I reminded him to keep a sharp eye out, cautioning that “if we can see them, they likely can see us.” Then I went below.
Had I only been below for thirty minutes? Back on deck, I grabbed up a glass and scrambled up to the maintop. Our sharp-eyed lookout was in the foretop, pointing at the sails he had been watching. Swinging my glass around to le’ward, I focused it on the horizon – and there they were! Clearly, three ships, correctly identified as two ships and a brig. In better visibility, we would normally only be able to see their top hampers when first sighted, but the three ships and Argus had closed to within a couple of leagues of each other in the fog. Studying them through my long glass, it was apparent that they had seen us. They had hoisted English colors – we showed none – and were turning away from us, running off to le’ward. I had hoped that the ochre stripe we painted on our sides several weeks back might, at least for a while, make them think we were a British warship. But I reckoned these fellows had seen through that ruse!
Henry was right! Word has spread ashore about our presence here, and people are warning their ships to run if they sight a brig showing no colors. No other reason for those ships to try and evade us.
When I returned to the deck, Henry had already ordered a course adjustment that would send us after them, but he wanted to hear what I had discovered, perhaps to reinforce his decision to chase. He said nothing – no words were necessary for us at this point in our cruise – merely raised his eyebrows at me as I jumped down from the bulwark.
“Looks like a pair of good-sized ship-rigged vessels, Cap’n, and a brig. Appears they will try to outrun us. If they separate, we might have a bit of a problem, and it looks like the brig might be the faster of them. All showing English colors.”
“We will let the brig run, Mister Baldwin. The other two, from what you say, will offer us the most lucrative target, even if we burn them. I would hazard a guess that they are outbound, rather than coming home. As long as they keep offshore we can catch them up, I think. Could you detect any armament on either of the larger ones? They are not Royal Navy, I presume.”
“They were too far in the offing, Cap’n. They have the usual painted ports like all their merchants wear, but whether they are real or not, I could not tell.”
“We shall assume they are armed, but lighter than were they Navy. When we draw a bit closer, we will put the ship at quarters. No harm in being prepared!”
We closed with them, gradually overtaking the two larger vessels – the brig having made a clean getaway. As he said he would, the captain put the men at quarters, opened the gun ports, and ran out our main battery of twenty-four-pounder carronades as well as the two twelve-pounder long guns in the bow. A shot from the bow chaser from half a mile did little to draw their attention. We now flew American colors, so their captains surely had figured out that we meant them no good! It took another shot from the bow chaser and several from the forward carronades before they accepted they could not outrun us, and heaved to. They opened their very real gunports at the same time; we could plainly hear the rumble of their long guns as they were hauled into battery.
“Bless me! She wants to fight us! Silly man!” Allen was nothing if not confident of our abilities.
It turned out to be a ruse with nary a shot fired by either. The two ships lay hove to, under our guns, as we put the cutter over and sent Bill Watson, a few sailors, and half a dozen Marines to visit first one, and then the other with instructions to bring the two masters back to Argus. We watched his progress through our glasses, expecting he would have no more difficulty than we had experienced with our previous fifteen successful encounters. That said, Henry and I were wary this time and watched the proceedings carefully, as these two ships were armed and had resisted stopping for us.
And right we were! Neither captain would leave his ship! To further compound our consternation, both had got their ships underway, even before Watson was halfway back to Argus! Off they sailed, close to each other likely for their mutual protection, and Bill Waton’s crew in between, pulling at the oars for all they were worth.
“Damn all! That’s just not acceptable behavior! We will teach them a lesson. One would think they might have learned that they are incapable of out-sailing us. Their running off only delays the inevitable!” Captain Allen was angry, more so than I had seen him since the French customs officers had boarded us nearly a month back. I could not recall him swearing even once in the interval.
“Get that boat aboard quickly Mister McLeod!” I shouted at the bosun as the cutter bumped alongside the entry port and Watson’s head popped up above the deck, even before it was secured.
Aloft, the foretops’l yards were already braced around, and the men on deck were sheeting it home as the boat, swinging under the tackle from the main yard, was hauled aboard. Even though the men were performing quickly and correctly, Captain Allen grated at the time we were losing, continually glassing the escaping ships as they fled toward the shore and whatever protection the Skelly Islands might provide them. McLeod had put up every scrap of canvas he could find and it quickly told; we were gaining on our targets – at least on one of them.
A signal passed between them, and one of the pair split off, easing her sails for a more favorable course and clearly hoping to make the shelter of the islands.
“Must be a local skipper, heading like that!” Allen fumed. “We will not chase him into those channels. Don’t know the water there and it is apparent he does. Or he’s taken leave of his senses!”
I could not disagree. Already the fleet ship, a creamy wake streaming out from under her counter, was perilously close to the
shoreline of the nearest island. We could easily make out breakers crashing on the shore and a narrow passage of quieter water, between the nearest and its neighbor to leeward.
“We shall settle for one, Oliver. Let us hope she’s worth our trouble!” Allen watched, even more frustrated, as the ripe plum slipped from his grasp.
I tried to mollify his concern. “We have been doing very well, Cap’n, over the past three weeks and more. I suspect there will be many more opportunities over the next few weeks to wreak more havoc on the Brits. There is no question in my mind we have done them significant harm! And will continue to do so!”
“Hmmph!” Was the only answer he offered. The captain continued to shift his gaze from our own sails – drawing and filling nicely in the fresh breeze – to the chase. The gap between the two ships was not noticeably shrinking. I shared Henry’s frustration and left the quarterdeck to see if I might inspire the men to pull some magic from their hats and will Argus to sail faster. Our little brig, after all, was known for her brilliant sailing abilities. I prayed she would not disappoint now!
We did, in time, overtake our chase and a broadside from our larboard battery had the desired effect; she stopped, her fores’l backed and her main tops’l clewed up. She would not run this time, by God! Just to make sure, as we lay off her weather side, Allen had the men at quarters and the larboard battery still run out, menacingly. The master struck his colors, a clear indication he was done.
“Mister Baldwin. Perhaps you’ll have better luck convincing her master to join us in Argus than did Mister Watson. And take a few more Marines in case the man needs convincing.” Henry was making sure we didn’t let this one escape!
“Fetch your master, sailor. And look lively.” I ordered the first seaman I encountered as I stepped through the entry port on the ship.
I waited, longer than I thought appropriate, when the master finally appeared, angry as a wet hornet, waving his arms and holding a sheaf of papers aloft.
“Ya bloody pirate! What do you mean firing into my ship! One of my men suffered grievously from a splinter thrown up by your reckless behavior. You have no right to stop my ship. We are not a bloody warship, ya damn fool!” The captain had worked himself up so much that his entire head, not just his cheeks, had turned beet-red.
“I assume you have brought your papers, Cap’n?” I stuck out my hand, fully aware that the Marines behind me were in position, their muskets at half-cock.
“Aye, ya damn savage. And welcome to them.” He thrust the handful of documents at me.
“Perhaps, while my men have a look about our prize, you will this time care to accompany me back to the United States brig of war, Argus, to meet my cap’n, Lieutenant Henry Allen, who will explain to you what he has planned for you and your fine ship.”
Detailing half the Marines and all but the oarsmen to remain in Defiance – a most appropriate name – I brought the master, a Mister Angus MacCallan, back to Argus. As it turned out, the ship and her master were Scottish, bound from Greenock to Newfoundland with a mixed cargo in her hold, including a dozen hogsheads of whiskey. She was armed with fourteen nine-pounder long guns. Had MacCallan decided to fight, he might have inflicted some damage, but ultimately his ship would never have survived the encounter.
“Good morning Captain. You gave us a merry chase, indeed! Welcome to USS Argus.” Henry was waiting at the entry port, all smiles and welcoming of his guest – a guest quite unwilling to reciprocate Henry’s bonhomie!
“Some nerve, ya have, lad. Firing into an innocent like a bloody pirate, ya are. I have heard all about your roguish behavior – even in Scotland we knew about ye. Ye’ll get yer due, I’ll warrant, when the Royal Navy catches up to ya!” Captain MacCallan had lost none of his bluster in the short ride from Defiance. I noticed, however, that his eyes missed nothing in Argus, including our people at their guns.
“Cap’n, let us retire to my cabin, while my men have a look about in your fine ship. You’ll be pleased to know I do not plan to put her to the torch.” Without waiting for a response, Captain Allen turned and walked aft, assuming his latest prisoner would follow. For my part, I remained on deck, observing the goings-on aboard Defiance – those that I could see from my vantage point, of course.
Midshipman Snelson, who had accompanied me to the ship, was standing on Defiance’s windward bulwark, a speaking trumpet to his mouth shouting something in our direction. Defiance was to leeward, making it difficult to make out his words. But I got the gist: he wanted a boat to come back.
By the time Henry and his reluctant guest returned to the deck, the boat had completed two round trips, transferring four barrels of Scotch whiskey and a chest of specie worth close to a thousand pounds. Captain MacCallan was fit to be tied, but Henry was all smiles!
“Mister Baldwin. We will putting a prize crew aboard Defiance – small, if you please, as we can ill-afford to lose too many of our men. We still have work to do, after all. Convey Captain MacCallan’s crew to Argus and have them escorted to the orlop deck, where they will be most comfortable, I am sure. Their master with them.
“Do you think Mister Snelson might be able to manage as prize captain?”
“I do Cap’n. Indeed. And, with your permission, I shall send a master’s mate and a bosun’s mate along. Perhaps a petty officer gunner as well, considering that she is nicely armed.”
“Very well then, let us do so and continue our cruise. Now that the fog has lifted, I am sure there are more British vessels, which will require our attention. Tell Snelson to remain in company for now.”
MacCallan bristled visibly at Henry’s remark, clearly designed to provoke.
The two ships sailed together making our course east, back through St. George’s Channel toward the coast of Wales. Just as the last glimmers of daylight gave up their struggle to full dark, we spotted a large brig, apparently one from convoy we had been dogging earlier. She heaved to without us firing a shot, struck her colors, and we took her relatively small crew aboard Argus. Conditions in the orlop were getting crowded. The transfer went quickly and by an hour into the middle watch, we had taken another prize.
“Cap’n, are you keeping track of how many or our men we have put in prizes and how many prisoners we have locked up below? Our prisoners are numerous enough that they, were they to get free, could potentially overwhelm our crew.” I spoke to him very quietly, well away from the watch, once we had made sail once again.
“It is not a condition that will last long, Oliver. I intend to put all the prisoners on the next capture and declare it a cartel. Sadly, we will have to burn these two. Can’t spare the men, as you have pointed out.”
Let us hope the ‘next capture’ is soon. We are barely able to man the guns as it is. My lugubrious thought inspired me to keep the watch particularly attentive and the lookouts aloft, rather than on deck as was our usual nighttime practice. It paid off.
As the middle watch was in its last half hour, the lookout in the foretop cried out that he had espied a sloop, heavily laden, off our weather bow. We immediately hauled our wind and overtook it. Loaded with lumber, the sloop was so low in the water that she was barely maneuverable. Our larboard bow chaser barked, sending an inspirational six-foot tongue of flame out the muzzle right behind a twelve-pound ball. She struck without hesitation.
Good to his word, by the time breakfast was piped, Henry had ordered our prisoners into the sloop, recalled our two prize crews, and set Baltic and Defiance aflame. A melancholy sight it was to see those two fine ships burning. Defiance was particularly impressive; when the flames reached her magazine, the resulting explosion was shocking – even for a navy crew! And off we went, leaving the two to burn and eventually sink, while we took advantage of the unusually favorable weather and again pointed our bow toward the coast of Wales.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
HMS Pelican
“The bottle stands by you, Mister Coniby. Give ‘er a fair wind, if you please.” Welch, seated at the wardroom table with the su
rgeon and ship’s purser William Ingram, had just concluded a tale – second hand to be sure but interesting, nonetheless, to his audience – detailing their captain’s experiences in the Pacific chasing after the HMS Bounty mutineers.
After refilling his glass with the very agreeable sherry the surgeon had passed, he went on to describe the captain under whom Ballantyne had sailed, adding, “He was a whipper, that one was, and we likely have him to thank for the patient demeanor our captain displays. He told me himself that watching the punishments Captain Edwards meted out for very minor infractions turned his stomach, but, as a junior officer, he could say little, save to his messmates. Cap’n Ballantyne told me his own self, he did, that he would never display that same cruelty he witnessed from Edward Edwards.” He raised his glass in a silent toast, either to Edwards or to their captain, and his audience followed suit. They also noticed that his Irish accent become more pronounced with each glass.
“Aye, a good thing, that. I have sailed with masters who always thought first of the cat. A sad way to run a ship, it is, in my opinion.” Richard Coniby shook his head, thinking about the men he had treated after their skin was flayed off their backs. “And the ones what got two dozen and more, they were on the sick list for sometimes three or four days, ‘til their backs healed enough to return to duty.
“I am sure our men, the ones who’ve made their way ‘round the fleet, appreciate Ballantyne’s forbearance. While we have not had much in the way of opportunity for the people to…misbehave, his letting the warrants and petty officers handle small difficulties will likely pay off when we do get into it with this bloody American pirate.” The surgeon was wholly confident in his commander’s ability to find the American and bring him to.
In Hostile Waters: The Cruise of USS Argus (Oliver Baldwin Novel Book 3) Page 23
