CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CAPTURED
Having an appointment to meet the Secretary, Phillips had not long to wait. An elderly post captain glared at him as he was announced before his seat had become warmed. Nepean was all business and got right to the point.
“I understand your post-ship will be in the dockyard for some time, Captain?”
“Yes sir. She had a bad leak right up forward which I am told may be difficult to repair.”
“I am told one must expect such difficulties when twenty-gun post ships take on thirty two gun frigates”, Nepean wryly noted.
“It was never planned that your commission in Alacrity would be a lengthy one. I do not deem it wise to leave a commander of your abilities on the beach waiting on the dockyard. This morning’s post brought word of the HMS Blanche, 32 gun fifth rate, Captain Daniels. She is now at Gibraltar, where her captain has reported himself disabled. His surgeon has diagnosed Captain Daniels as suffering from dropsy. Daniels has left the ship and the first officer now commands her.”
“For your information, Captain Daniels has recommended his first lieutenant to be promoted and command the ship for the remainder of the commission. There have been questions about this officer’s fitness for command. While Lieutenant Wainwright has certainly enough experience, there have been reports about his perhaps, excessive discipline.”
“On an earlier commission, after being given command of a brig, it was only by the intervention of a nearby liner that mutiny was averted. Three men were hung after that incident. Wainwright was retained, but has never been given command since. Captain Daniels is some kind of cousin of his and perhaps sees something in this officer the rest of the navy does not.”
“Blanche is a well worked-up ship, in good repair that must not remain idle in these times. Therefore, should you accept this commission, you will post down to Falmouth, where you will take passage on the mail packet to Gibraltar. You will read yourself in and await further orders.
Phillips went by the waiting room to see if Crawford was there. He was not but young Lieutenant Baker was. Baker informed him that Crawford had already been sent to a ship. Baker was unsure whether he should return to his uncle or wait here for a few days to see if something might come along.
Against his better judgment, Phillips invited the lad to accompany him. Really, the lad had a long way to go before he could earn his keep, but he was pleasant enough and there just might be an opening for a lieutenant on the Blanche. The mail coach was about ready to leave and Phillips still had to get his travel warrants. Some persuasion induced the Admiralty clerk to furnish Baker with a warrant too, although he thought it was highly irregular he had not received notice of the extra passenger.
The ride to Falmouth was interminably long, on the latter part of the journey it was necessary to share the coach with a mother and her coughing and sneezing child. The mail was being loaded aboard the packet as they arrived, and both were ushered board as soon as they showed their warrants.
The packet, was a brig of about 170 tons burden with a small crew and a few guns. Betsy appeared to be fast and probably was, since her purpose was to deliver the mail and passengers as expeditiously as possible.
Uncharacteristically, Phillips took little notice of the vessel, other than to ask to be shown to his quarters. The long coach journey had exhausted him, and he just wanted to rest. Next morning, when he awoke, they were at sea. The packets were famous for putting to sea in any possible weather and this voyage was no different. From his bed, his senses told him the brig was laboring, beating into a strong headwind, but his mind did not process that information.
He only knew he was ill, violently so. He was not even concerned about his reputation as a naval officer, sick from the first moments of leaving harbor. His tiny cabin was just off a saloon that would have been the wardroom in a warship. He dimly recalled Mister Baker dropping in on him early on, but after that the only person he saw was the steward, who performed the usual sickbed chores.
A few days later, the steward stopped coming. A stout, short woman came by, announcing herself as Mrs. Wilson, wife of Major Wilson of the Royal Engineers. She reported nearly all members of the crew and passengers of the brig were victims of a malady a surgeon passenger called ‘the Grippe’. She said the ship was barely under control because of the lack of healthy seamen. Mrs. Wilson thought she was the only person on the ship that was perfectly healthy. She brought him some ship’s biscuit and a bowl of broth which she had made herself, since the brig’s cook was also sick.
Finding this woman was taking much of the responsibility of caring for the sick on the brig herself, Phillips forced himself out of his bunk and looked for his clothing. His own clothing was missing, but a seaman’s outfit of worn duck trousers and shirt were laid out. With nothing else to wear, he struggled to dress himself. He was no longer nauseous but was weak and could barely stand.
Going on deck, he found the mate, being unable to hold their proper course, had put the wind on the starboard beam and was sailing south toward the Bay of Biscay. For now, they were safe enough, but they soon would have to get farther out to sea. Reporting to the mate, he asked what needed to be done. The mate, in an advanced state of sickness himself, told him to find some hands to brace the tops’l so he could claw his way out to sea a bit. Finding a bosun’s rattan lying in the scuppers, Phillips took it and went below. On the berth deck, most of the seamen were lying in their filthy hammocks, seemingly unable to move.
Some seemed to be conscious though, so Phillips began trying to rouse some of them. Most would not answer or told him to ‘Bugger off!’ but after he began wielding the rattan, he did get a few men on their feet.
Once on deck, out of the fetid atmosphere of the berth deck, some of them became more alert and they set to, trying to get those tops’ls braced around. At this moment, Mrs. Wilson came on deck and wondered what she could do. Phillips put her on the wheel, taking the helmsman to help with the sails. After a little instruction of the course to steer, she was finally able to get the brig on a course that would not run them aground on the Spanish coast.
No lookout had been posted since the sickness started, but one was not needed to spot the corvette coming at them from the morning mist. The packet could possibly out sail the newcomer had the crew been capable but, as it was, there was no hope. Mister Baker left his own sickbed when news of the predator spread. Hardly able to stand, he proposed manning one of the six pounder stern chasers in the stern, but Phillips vetoed that idea.
In the first place, there were not sufficient people on board to run the gun out. If they did manage to fire it, it would only lead to sick passengers and crew being massacred by the return fire expected from the corvette. Phillips went over to the signal locker and found a yellow flag. Bending it to a signal halyard he ran it up to denote sickness aboard then hauled down their colors as the corvette ranged alongside.
The French officer leading the boarding party was at first dismissive of the signal flag, believing it to be a trick to evade capture. The boarding party quickly surrounded the few men on deck while the officer went below.
A few minutes later, the horrified officer returned on deck with his hand holding a handkerchief over his nose. He went to the rail and shouted over to the corvette alongside, explaining the problem. Phillips could not understand a word they were saying, but the orders from the corvette’s captain were not to the boarding officer’s liking. The corvette loaded some supplies into a small boat and threw a line to the Betsy to have it pulled over. Apparently the corvette’s commander did not intend to allow any of the boarding party to return to the ship, fearing the contagion.
As the corvette sheared off and went on its way, members of the prize crew went through the ship searching for any weapons. There were a few muskets and some old cutlasses as well as sidearms of some of the passengers. These were collected, and thrown overboard. Phillips, feeling weak and sick, went below during the confusion. He had planned to retire
to his cabin, but on second thought, realized the prize crew, as soon as they became organized, would probably search the cabins and place the occupants under close arrest. He thought ordinary seaman would have more freedom.
Since he was dressed as a seaman, he found a clean hammock and took it to the berth deck. Most of the men there were sick, some almost to death and the whole berth deck was foul. Nevertheless, he hung his hammock and climbed in.
The French prize crew had their hands getting the packet under way. There were really insufficient people for two watches on the packet, and no one to spell the officer. Apparently no people on the now absent corvette wished to brave whatever disease was infecting the ship. Phillips and the other sick Britons were not bothered that night. Several times, he awakened when a member of the French crew came below with a lantern to inspect. With all the British prisoners either unconscious or severely weakened, the inspector did not tarry but went up the ladder as soon as he could.
Early the next morning, Mrs. Wilson came through with a bucket of broth she had made. Judging Phillips to be ambulatory, she drafted him to follow her to every hammock to try to get at least a few spoonful’s of nourishment into every seamen. When Phillips asked her about Mister Baker, she said he was back in his cabin. A French prize crew member had been posted there as a guard, but she said that worthy was spending much of his time out on deck, being fearful of the contagion.
Wilson said she had already fed the people in the parlor. She said some of these people were beginning to recover, but she had told them to all remain in their cabins and pretend to be deathly ill.
She said Phillips had been the first to show the signs of illness, but the other passengers succumbed next. It was later the crew began falling ill, after the ship was well out to sea. So far, not a person had died, although some seemed to think they were at death’s door.
The French took over the galley that morning and began cooking some provisions that had been sent over from the corvette. The prize crew ate in turns. While the number of men on deck was reduced, Phillips put his head out a hatch to see what heading the ship was on. He had to duck below again when the helmsman glanced his way, but he guessed the ship was headed for a French port. Perhaps one that had a strong blockade.
Hourly, he was beginning to feel better. This disease, whatever it was seemed to have a rapid onset but seemed to also leave quickly. Hopefully, the French crewmen would contract the disease about the time the sickness was leaving the others. By early evening, few of the prize crew were evident. A few men on deck, but the others had taken over a compartment meant for passengers and seemed to be asleep.
Mrs. Wilson came around again with her bucket and told him Mister Baker was asking what they should do. He was confined to his cabin by a French guard but that guard was often absent. Wilson thought Baker was on the road to recovery. A few of the French prize crew were showing signs of sickness now.
With no one else to confide in, Phillips led Mrs. Wilson to a dark corner of the berth deck and began discussing his ideas. “I’d like to take this ship back before too much time goes by. Once we sail into a French port, we will be prisoners and who knows how long it will be before we are exchanged. You are free to go around the ship. What do you think of our chances?”
Wilson thought for a moment. “The prize crew is stretched thin. There weren’t many when they came aboard and now two of them are showing signs of sickness. On the other hand, Mister Baker should be able to do his part, and several crew members are not as sick as they are pretending. The captain is still very ill and the mate is not far off.”
Phillips wondered, “What about weapons? Are there any about the ship the French have not discovered?”
“Not that I know of. But some of the Frenchmen are not carrying weapons. The prize master has taken the muskets and locked them in his cabin. The guards have pistols though. One of the guards in the parlor is often careless. I believe I could get his pistol. There are probably four or five more carried by other members of the prize crew, too.”
“Well, Mrs. Wilson, getting that weapon from the parlor guard would be a good first step. Please do not put yourself in a position of danger though.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RETAKING THE SHIP
Tired of living in the sickening filth of the berth deck, Phillips persuaded a few of the recovering seamen into cleaning up. They had just started making a dent in the squalor when a breathless Mrs. Wilson entered, carrying a bucket of seawater. “The guard in the parlor has nodded off. He has a pistol and also a cutlass. I think if we are quiet, we can get the weapons.
Taking three of the fittest seamen, Phillips followed Wilson, still carrying the bucket, aft. As they reached the hatch opening for the saloon, she held up her hand. “Wait here a moment.” She went through the hatch, then, a moment later, there was first the sound of a dull ‘thud’, then a clatter. As Phillips rushed through the door, he saw Mrs. Phillips standing over the prone body of the guard. He was lying in a puddle of water, his pistol already in Wilson’s hand. Phillips snatched up the cutlass and had his men secure the unconscious prisoner. Apparently, Wilson had struck him with the wooden bucket.
Baker’s cabin door eased open and his cautious head emerged. He appeared wan and disheveled, having just risen from his sick bed. Seeing the situation though, he went back in the cabin and made a quick search through his effects, emerging with an ornate, ivory hilted, midshipman’s dirk. A quick explanation revealed his uncle had given him the weapon upon his entering the Navy and he was not about to allow some French seaman to take it.
After a quick discussion, Mrs. Wilson offered to enter the prize master’s quarters and endeavor to hold him while the other men saw what they could do with the remainder. She explained, “He is used to having me come in and clean every morning. He has the prize crew’s muskets in the room for safekeeping. If we can keep them out of the hands of the others, we may have a better chance.”
The party split, Wilson going to her chore, while Phillips and the three seamen went up on deck.
At first, they were unnoticed. Phillips had his men wait until Wilson had time to do her job. There were only three of the prize crew on deck, one of whom was at the helm. The mail packet was on a northerly course, as far as he could determine from the sun. Another crewman was apparently acting as officer of the deck, standing importantly on the quarterdeck, with a glass under his arm. The third man was taking a pull on a topsail brace, attempting to get it to hold the wind better. No one was in the tops serving as lookout. The only weapon visible was a pistol lying on the binnacle.
At a nod from Phillips, the men rushed toward the helmsman and his weapon. He was quick and grabbed the pistol before they could reach him. The muzzle was pointed at one of the men when the Frenchman tried to fire. Apparently, a bit of spray had dampened the priming charge in the weapon’s pan, since it did not discharge.
Baker had the dirk out and slipped the razor sharp blade into the helmsman’s ribs, then stood back as the fellow sank to the deck. The other two members of the French prize crew stood motionless, as if judging their chances.
One of the packet’s crewmen picked up the fallen weapon and handed it to Phillips. There was a sailcloth bag on the binnacle and it contained a powder flask and a few pre-made charges. Not wanting to take the time to try to extract the charge and reload, he merely opened the frizzen and rapped the weapon on the binnacle to remove the damp priming. A pinch of fresh priming was loaded into the pan and hopefully the weapon was ready to fire.
The two enemy crewmen facing their opponents looked none too healthy to Phillips and did not contest the new administration. Davis used his bloody dirk to cut some lengths of line and the men were bound up and ordered to lie on the deck.
A quick search revealed another pistol inside the binnacle, and this was also found to have a damp priming charge.
With Mister Baker keeping watch, Phillips drew the charges from both guns and replaced them with fresh loads. Nothing
had been heard from the prize master’s cabin or Mrs. Wilson so Phillips led the way there. Phillips cautiously rapped on the door and Wilson answered in a steady voice. When Phillips slowly entered, they saw the French officer seated on his bed while Mrs. Wilson stood against the bulkhead with her pistol out, covering him with the weapon.
Lying on the deck were a half dozen muskets and their accoutrements. The officer, not speaking a word during the proceedings, was lashed to his bed, and everyone helped himself to a musket. One of the hands carried the extra firearms forward, to arm other seamen, as they began to recover.
Leaving the officer unattended for the moment, the party made their way to the warrant officer’s mess where the remainder of the French crew were resting off-watch. Faced by four men and a woman with loaded weapons, these people were secured without protest.
It was now necessary to get enough people on deck to put the packet about and resume their voyage south toward Gibraltar. As hours went by, more of Betsy’s original crew recovered while those members of the French prize crew had their turn with the illness and became disabled.
Mrs. Wilson ate at the common mess with the others and it was there they learned of her part of the action. She had entered the prize-masters quarter’s in her guise as a cleaning woman. The officer seated at the desk waved at her to get about her task. Instead, she removed the pistol from her bucket and trained it upon the officer. When he made an unguarded move to pick up a musket at his feet, she eared back the cock on the pistol. Seeing she had the weapon in an unwavering grip, he wisely gave up on his attempt, and the pair waited to see what might develop on deck.
For the Honor of the Flag: A John Phillips Novel (War at Sea Book 2) Page 12
