For the Honor of the Flag
Richard Testrake
Copyright © 2013 Richard Testrake
All Rights Reserved
This book is dedicated to my wife Peggy, my daughter Lisa, and my son Charles.
Table of Contents:
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER ONE
PORTSMOUTH HARBOR
After all the rush to get to sea, the wind, blowing half a gale, was still foul for departure from the harbor. Captain John Phillips walked the quarterdeck in frustration, while Mister Ranson, the sailing master, stood stoically on the lee side of the quarterdeck. He was twice the age of Phillips, and knew very well there was nothing anyone could do about the weather. Besides, it was going to rain, and since they were not going anywhere soon, his arthritic bones would prefer he were below in the relative comfort of his cabin.
The boat carrying Sarah Forsythe, the captain’s very good friend, to shore had long since returned to the ship and had been hoisted aboard. As Phillips checked the flagship for any possible signals, he noted a shore boat putting out. As its crew struggled against the wind on its way to the ship, he saw the passenger in the rearmost thwart beside the midshipman in command, was a shabby and tattered looking young fellow, wearing what was probably a third hand lieutenant’s uniform coat, without a boat cloak.
The last time the captain had seen that young man, he had been a master’s mate taking command of a prize captured by Exeter, a former ship commanded by Phillips. Another passenger in the boat was a sober looking, blue coated, grey haired man of mature years. The master’s mate of the watch hailed it, and was answered by an “Aye Aye.” The person Phillips saw in the boat was, without a doubt, young Ackroyd from Exeter, now a lieutenant, if his coat was any indication. Phillips remembered Ackroyd as a fine young master’s mate, and certainly was ready for his commission. Ackroyd had served previously with Phillips on several cruises.
Since two of his officers on the most recent cruise, had never returned to the ship, after being summoned to London on orders, there were now important vacancies. This had been concerning Phillips, since if his two of his deck officers were not going to appear, he was going to have to attempt to replace them.
Probably some official had found other duties for his missing officers and had neglected to send replacements. Burns, of course, was his first officer, and his right hand man, on board of course and ready for duty. Midshipman Mullins, a promising young petty officer, had behaved well in previous service as acting lieutenant, and Phillips meant to again use him acting in the position of second officer if need be. If Ackroyd was joining the ship, of course, he would be the new second officer, while Mullins could take over as third. This would actually be the best option, since he really needed three lieutenants.
The other man in the boat proved to be the ship’s new bosun, Mister Fletcher. He could well be a most important and valuable member of the crew. While Phillips had a few bosun’s’ mates aboard, who had done good work aboard the ship, an experienced bosun was above price.
After introductions, Phillips judged Fletcher to be a competent warrant officer, and was glad to have him aboard. Ackroyd also, apparently, was in need of a ship, and had probably posted down to Portsmouth on the off chance his old captain might have a place for him. From the condition of his clothing and kit, Phillips suspected he had probably spent his last penny on the fare. In fact, he had no orders summoning him to HMS Courageous, but Phillips put the question to him. He asked Ackroyd if he was available to take over as second officer. Without a moment’s thought, Ackroyd accepted the offer.
Phillips was reasonably satisfied now with his staff. A problem that might rear its head in the future lay in the lack of seniority of his junior officers. Ackroyd, of course, could have only a few months service as a commission officer, and Mullins had no commission at all. If Admiral Howe of the Channel Fleet had an officer aboard the flagship, one perhaps with little experience, one that needed a little seasoning aboard a frigate, a problem might arise. Even worse could apply to an officer in the fleet that was unable to get along with his peers or captain. Such a man in either case, of course, would rank Mullins out from his position and send him back to the midshipman’s birth. And, if he proved to be an older officer, perhaps with a commission dating back to the American War, he would doubtless be the ranking lieutenant aboard, and would necessarily take over as first lieutenant, replacing Burns. With no other options, Phillips put the matter from his mind, and gravely examined the commission Ackroyd handed him.
Luckily, he had a good clerk below, and one of his first duties would be to have the man draft a note to the Admiral, stating that he was taking on Mister Ackroyd as second officer, and was further giving Mister Mullins an acting chit as a lieutenant, both appointments in lieu of the missing Haley and Gregor.
Accepting Ackroy’s effusive thanks, he assured him, “You are very welcome aboard, Mister Ackroyd. I would be glad if you would join me for dinner in my quarters. Mister Burns, our first will be there, and I hope Mister Mullins here will also join us.”
Ackroyd nodded his acceptance and handed his new captain a folded and sealed note. “Port admiral sent this, sir.”
Tearing the paper open, Phillips learned the admiral had a draft of men he wanted sent out to the fleet, and he was to make provision to take an additional sixty men on board Courageous. As soon as the weather moderated a bit, they would be sent out by lighter. This was not exactly thrilling news for Phillips. He realized some of the men would be from the assizes, people that no one else wanted; prisoners convicted of various crimes, offered the choice of the navy, prison, or worse. Many or most possibly infested with parasites and disease. However, a few might actually be seamen, men he might be able to replace a few of his crew who themselves were less than satisfactory. Where he would have to stow them, was luckily not his problem, but that of Mister Burns.
At dinner that afternoon, Ackroyd explained that when he had brought the prize ship in the previous year, he had almost immediately been ‘made’; given his lieutenancy and employment as temporary captain of the prize, as well as responsibility for getting her ready for service under the British flag. He had hoped he would be able to sail aboard her, but the new captain, a freshly minted post captain who had never seen action, but who had friends in high places, had other ideas. This gentleman had his own coterie of officers who sailed with him, men he owed favors to. Ackroyd was left on the shore on half pay. Months, and a very cold winter later, he finally received word the Courageous was sailing, and was advised by friends to report to her to see if his services might be required. He took the news of his appointment as second officer with great appreciation, and was gracious to Mullins, a man he remembered as a midshipman aboard the Exeter.
A day later, the weather having moderated, the master reported that in his opinion the wind would veer shortly. Of course, Phillips had orders to
put to sea as soon as the wind and tide served, but he was also required to take aboard the draft of men. For that, he was at the mercy of the shore side people. It was with real relief when he saw an enormous lighter leave the quay, loaded with men packed as tightly as peas in a sack. When the vessel approached, he saw his fears confirmed. Some of the men were obviously newly released from various prisons. Their bodies, hair and clothing would naturally be infested with vermin.
An outraged Mister Burns had them mustered on the foc’s’le, held there by the ship’s Marines. Ignoring the conventions, Burns ordered the men to strip naked, and their clothing piled in a heap near the foremast. When some protested, Burns gave a vehement harangue. He told them he would not allow their vermin to contaminate HIS ship. He assured them any man not submitting voluntarily to delousing would be ‘encouraged’ with a Marine’s bayonet at his arse. The ship’s barber was summoned, and some ‘mates’ deputized. Matted hair soon covered the deck. When all were bald, the wash deck pump was rigged, and the grinning crew started pumping with a will, hosing down the wretched men with the frigid water of the harbor. When all men were soaked, every bucket in the ship was filled with fresh water, freely available at the moment from shore. The victims were issued soap by the purser, who would deduct the price from their miniscule wages. Under the eagle eyes of the bosun’s mates, the men were required to soap themselves all over. Any not meeting the standards of their observers were ‘encouraged’ by a sharply applied rope’s end wielded by a bosun’s mate on a sensitive portion of bare skin. Some of the men might well have just had their first bath since their infancy. After soaping down, the hoses washed the men down again.
CHAPTER TWO
FIRST BLOOD
When all the petty officers were satisfied, the shivering, terrified men were issued clean slop clothing, again issued by the purser, and for which their wages would be also debited. When the flag’s signal was seen, ordering them to proceed, they were off. The new people, now clad in clean slops, were set to work on the capstan, along with more seasoned men to help teach them what they should know. The ship was dragged by human muscle power up to the anchor, when a master’s mate in the bow raised his arm and yelled, “At short stay”, meaning the ship was approaching the anchor on the seabed below, then “Up and down.”, which indicated the anchor was directly under the ship’s bow.
The first officer ordered the topsails loosed, and the yards braced around. As the ship started forward under the wind’s power, the capstan pawls began clicking more rapidly, and the cry “Anchor’s a trip”, came from the bow. The flukes of the anchor had now lost their grip on the bottom, and little was holding the ship in place, in an instant, the weight was no longer on the bottom, and the big ship was free. The anchor being wound in, it was secured to the starboard cat head. Later, the cable itself would be disconnected from the anchor, and struck below. The sailing master, Mister Ranson took over the ship as Captain Phillips said, “We need to find the fleet. Set course for Brest.”
Admiral Lord Howe commanded the Channel Fleet, but Phillips had last seen him in London. The admiral had been working night and day getting ships removed from ordinary, and attempting to man them. After spending much of the winter ashore, it was rumored he was in a fever to get out to sea.
The violent channel weather in winter was hard on ships and men on station, and there was real danger of the ships and men wearing out and breaking down. It was of utmost importance to get replacements to sea. Many of these ships in ordinary had last seen service a decade before, and needed much work before a sane commander would send such to sea. These ships in the nation’s reserve fleet served an invaluable need, but it was not possible to just order a few hundred people aboard such a ship, and expect positive results immediately.
As the ship met the seas building up in the channel, the new people started to spew. These people were forcibly steered to the lee rail, often too late. Mister Burns had those people who were the least bit mobile sent below to the pumps. The ship herself was normally tight and leaked little, but the constant working of the component parts of the frigate in this weather, meant water squirting though the planking, as well as spray coming aboard and settling in the bilge. This water was removed by men laboring, sometimes for hours, at the pumps. Those men prostrate with sickness were tossed on the berth deck and left to their own devices.
The next day, the gale strengthened and few of the new men were able to eat their dinner. Most had had little nourishment since they had entered their prison cells weeks before, and Phillips was becoming concerned. However, the gale did end, and the late winter sun came out, for a few hours at least.
The ship’s beer was fresh and as good as it was ever going to be, and most of the new men lined up to get their two quarts issued before the mid-day meal. Lieutenant Burns decreed than any men able to drink their beer was able to work, so these were put to working on the stained decks and again pumping ship. More men were able to eat at least some of their meal, and were beginning to regain their strength.
As the days wore on, the people became healthier. Phillips and Burns insisted the new men learn something new every day, if only how to learn how to grind the dirt from the deck planks with the sandstone blocks called holystones and bibles. And what ropes to haul on to brace the yards to the wind.
The day finally arrived when he felt comfortable in having the men fire some shots from the guns. The admiralty frowned upon the expenditure of the Crown’s powder and shot in target practice, but he had used a little of his prize money to purchase a few barrels of powder of his own. He had the men exercised in mock drill, simulating loading, then running the guns out the ports, simulating firing, swabbing out the bores, and so on. After an hour of this, each gun was issued a charge of powder and a wad. The guns were charged with this, then the miserable rags the new men had worn when boarding the ship were also stuffed down the barrels, and the guns fired. The satisfying bellows of the guns seemed to most of the men adequate compensation for all the misery they had experienced. Phillips had not purchased any shot, so the men had to be content with firing blanks.
The next few days saw gun and sail drill every day, and the men were starting to become more proficient, if a little jaded. That changed, early one morning. It had been Phillips’ order since leaving port that the ship be cleared for action and the men brought to quarters before daybreak every day. A week after leaving port and close on the French coast, before the sun had come up, the sky was still black with a low, thick overcast. No moon or stars.
The men had knocked down all the partitions, and cleared the ship from stem to stern; in the event an enemy was out there, any shot directed her way would have few obstacles to impact and generate deadly splinters. Lookouts had not yet been sent to the tops, since it was still too dark but men were posted on deck.
In this event, there was indeed an enemy ship out there. The larboard lookout began gesturing and pointing. One of the midshipmen went to see what the problem was, then came running aft. Burns was about to chastise the youth, for unseemly behavior on the quarterdeck, when Phillips stepped in and quietly asked what the problem was.
The boy breathlessly pointed to the left. “Sir, Haynes reports a ship on the port beam. I think I see it too.”
The officers on the quarterdeck looked to the left. In the past few minutes, the night sky had noticeably lightened a tiny bit. Phillips noticed, by straining his eyes, a patch of darkness that was just the tiniest bit darker than the rest. With a wrench, Phillips recalled the youth’s name. “Harkness, without a sound, warn the lee gunners to ready the guns for firing. Notify Lieutenant Mullins we may need to fire. No one is to make a sound.”
Phillips could now see the quarterdeck guns and their crews. The men had already removed the lead covers protecting the vents from spray. He watched the gun captain of the quarterdeck carronade thrust a sharp pin down the vent hole to pierce the flannel of the powder bag inside. A small diameter tube filled with fine gunpowder, called a qui
ll, was thrust down the vent.
The sun had now risen far enough that the ship to larboard was perfectly visible. A ship-rigged French corvette or British sloop. Looking around, he saw he had two midshipmen and a master’s mate beside him. He ordered them to go around the guns, and warn them he wanted the guns run out when he raised his arm.
There were still no signs of alarm from the strange ship. He was almost certain it was not a British warship, but it could be a neutral. The stranger seemed asleep. Suddenly, the clatter of a drum came from the ship. Immediately, Phillips raised his arm. Almost as one, the gun ports of Courageous opened and the guns rumbled out. Gun locks were cocked, and the ship was ready to send its iron balls flying at the word of its captain. A word to the signal midshipman sent the flag aloft. Men were now boiling up on deck of the stranger. A middle aged man Phillips guessed to be the captain ran onto the quarterdeck and stared at him. Phillips, without saying a word, pointed to his leeward guns.
The stranger looked wildly around, then held his hands up facing Phillips. He gobbled some words to another officer who walked to a section of guns on the stranger’s larboard side away from Courageous. The deck of the frigate was higher than the other ship, so most of the crew could see the officer directing the loading of three guns. It took nearly five minutes before the guns were ready to fire. Finally, at a word from the officer, two of the three guns fired. The third remained silent. The Tricolor climbed up the mizzen, then came down. The corvette had apparently surrendered.
Mullins left his guns and came to the quarterdeck, and spoke to the French captain through the speaking horn. After a lengthy conversation, he reported to Phillips, “Sir, the corvette is the French Revolutionary ‘Inconnue’ of sixteen guns. She has surrendered to us. He wants us to understand he would have gladly fought to the death himself, but decided to spare his people unnecessary blood loss. Sir, why do you suppose he went through that nonsense of firing those guns?”
For the Honor of the Flag: A John Phillips Novel (War at Sea Book 2) Page 1
