Midshipman Graham and the Battle of Abukir

by James Boschert

  “Well, now they are not our concern, Sergeant. The batteries should be able to deal with them. I hope they blow them out of the water, and that young bastard with them. We have to get Claude to a surgeon as soon as we can,” Hugo told him.

  Sergeant Émile nodded. “You are right. Come on, men. Merde to those Roast beef, we have other work to do. You two come along with me. I’m taking you to the Chief of Police to make a statement,” he ordered the two disconsolate crewmen.

  *****

  Having disposed of the prisoners Captain Williams looked Duncan over critically.

  “Really can’t have you looking like this when we get to the Tigre, young man. Better get changed into something more um... appropriate. I’ll keep us on course. Between those two forts, I presume?” he chuckled, waving at the distant firing. “Off you go.”

  Duncan needed no further persuasion. With a sharp glance up at the two sails to see if they were tight, he ran the length of the deck, retrieved his bundle where he had dropped it on his arrival, and went below. He almost tripped over the body of the man he had shot, glanced down but then sped on. He located the after-cabin and climbed out of the dress and blouse, kicked off the slippers and threw the wig into a corner with a thankful growl of relief.

  It took only a minute to scramble into his knee length breeches, don his shirt and jacket and put on his shoes. His stockings were torn and useless, so he left them on the floor and belted on his sword and scabbard. He looked around quickly for any other weapons but could only find a cutlass lying on a bench near the after-windows.

  He snatched that up, stuffed it into his belt to give to one of the sailors, and then looked for a mirror. The face he saw resembled something from a nightmare. A mess of smeared lip paint, sweat runnels, and kohl streaked the pale face covered in powder. There was no time to do anything but to rub his face vigorously with a linen napkin and hope for the best. The boat began to rock more than before, which indicated to him that they were approaching the entrance to the harbor. It would not be long before they were under the guns of the fort; he had to hurry.

  His next task was to find some powder and shot. He found a lantern that was still alight and walked along the lower deck, ducking under the low beams as he went, holding his pistol before him just in case. Just about midships he found the tiny powder room and, taking care to leave the lantern just outside the small chamber, he let himself in. A few minutes later he poked his head over the combing of the forward hatch and shouted to the men standing there.

  “Give me a hand here!”

  Men rushed to help him bring up some small canvas bags and some six-pound shot.

  “Load the guns, men,” he commanded.

  “I hope you are not going to do with those guns what I suspect you are, young fella,” Williams said, as Duncan joined him and took over the helm. The boy checked their position carefully and made a small adjustment of their course to take them right down the middle of the harbor opening before answering.

  “If we are to run past the guns of the fort I want to at the very least shoot back, even if it is merely a gesture, Sir.”

  Williams clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “Good man! You seem to be in your element now, Midshipman. By the way, have you looked back recently?” he enquired. “I think we have company. It’s welcome company this time.”

  Duncan glanced over his shoulder to see the huge bulk of HMS Theseus bearing down on them with all sails set. Despite its much larger size the ship could put on much more sail, and this was driving the vessel rapidly down upon their tail.

  “They don’t know who we are!” Duncan cried. “They’re only half a cable away!”

  “Damme. I didn’t think of that,” Williams said in alarm. “They could run us down!”

  The musketeers were standing now and pointing back at the huge vessel as they too saw the danger coming up behind the ketch.

  “Tighten the sails!” Duncan yelled to the crewmen who rushed to comply. He could feel the vessel heel just a little and their speed increased fractionally, but it would not be long before they were not only exposed to the guns from the fort but were right in the path of the behemoth bearing down on them. Just as he was thinking this a gun boomed from the port side fort and a column of water as tall as a house rose from the sea twenty yards off their port bow.

  “Bugger, now we’re for it!” Duncan exclaimed. “First things first. Sir, please get hold of some linen sheets which I saw in the main cabin. There are a couple there. We have to show the white flag to the ship behind us.”

  Seeing the sense in this, Captain Williams rushed off to carry out the request. While he was gone there was another boom of a huge gun as the battery on the starboard side opened up. This time the huge ball smacked through the foresail with such force that it almost tore the sail off the mast. Duncan and all the crew flinched. Things were going to get very bad very soon.

  He decided that he needed to take the initiative. “Come and hold the tiller,” he called to one of the musketeers.

  He then ran along the deck to one of the little guns. “Is it loaded?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sorr,” the men replied. He looked incredulous.”Yer not goin’ ter shoot back, are yer, Sorr?”

  “I damned well am!” the Scot replied. “I’ll no go down without a fight.”

  This declamation, uttered in his Scottish burr, elicited first a chuckle and then laughter from the men around him. “He’s right, lads!” one of them exclaimed. The other scarecrows nodded their agreement.

  Duncan bent over the small cannon and then hammered a wedge under the front, which caused the muzzle to point up at a sharp angle.

  “Stand back!” he yelled, and pulled the lanyard.

  The gun bellowed and a long flame shot out of the muzzle. The little gun leapt back against its restraining ropes. He nodded with satisfaction. “I hope it hits something,” he muttered and ran to the other gun. “Reload that gun!” he shouted, pointing back to the first one. The men laughed and ran to do his bidding.

  Again he hammered a wedge and snapped the lanyard. The satisfying boom of the cannon helped to alleviate some of his own fears. The crew jumped to reload both guns.

  Captain Williams came running back on deck with his arms full of linen. “Don’t they ever wash this stuff?” he exclaimed, wrinkling his nose at the stinking linen.

  Despite everything the fleet could throw at them the batteries were still functional, and the danger of being destroyed by a direct hit was very real. At the same time, they still ran the risk of being being run down or fired upon by the Theseus if they were mistaken for a French ship fleeing the battle. Williams and the crew members tied the sheets to the stern flagpole in the faint hope that someone on the battle ship behind them would notice and take evasive action.

  For long minutes they waited with bated breath, but the French gunners manning the batteries could now see not just one but two vessels attempting to leave the harbor area. This had to be a priceless target for them. They opened up with all their guns, throwing everything they had at the two ships. At this point the English war ship was in the middle of the entrance while the ketch was on its way out, and the distance between them was a mere third of a cable.

  HMS Theseus fired both broadsides at almost the same time. The ripple of flashes followed by the roar of 32-pounders was so unexpected and deafening that Duncan thought his eardrums had been destroyed. His ears ringing, he forced himself to regained his senses and focus on their exit. He was still unsure as to whether the war ship had noticed his little vessel in its path. Then the guns of the forts replied with a salvo of their own.

  The men on the ketch only just heard the approaching ball as it made a rocketing sound through the air, and all they could do was to cringe and hope. The monster ball smashed through the deck cabin, obliterating half of it in a screeching explosion of flying splinters, and passed on out the other side taking a good six feet of transom with it. The vessel shook like a leaf and heeled badly. Duncan ha
d spun away from the lethal splinters, some of them longer than his arm, and grabbed at the tiller bar to hold it steady. He was dizzy with shock. His glance went to the two sailors at his feet to see if they were still there. Hotchkins was still lying where he had been placed, but where the other sailor had once been there was nothing. No evidence was left that he had ever existed.

  Shocked and struggling to retain his composure, Duncan croaked, “Report casualties! Damage?”

  “Davies! ’e’s gone, Sorr,” Hotchkins called from his prone position.

  “Poor bugger. He was so happy to be goin’ home,” someone said in the darkness.

  One of the sailors peered over the side. “It smashed the transom away, Sorr. But no damage that I can tell below the water line.”

  “Hold on, men! We are almost out of danger,” Duncan shouted, trying to sound optimistic.

  “Another blow like that and this vessel will be a mess of driftwood,” commented Williams. His normal calm appeared somewhat shaken as he staggered to Duncan’s side. “At least Theseus is taking some of the heat from us.”

  Indeed, the English battle ship was taking fire but appeared to be delivering as good as it received. Another broadside roared, the bright tongues of flame from the guns seeming to reach out towards the batteries. Then as the ketch moved out of range into the darkness of the open sea Duncan could make out a slight change of course by the vessel behind them. Sure enough, the huge war ship was drawing by and men were leaning over its starboard bows, holding up lanterns and calling down to them.

  “Surrender or we will blow you out of the water!” someone called in really bad French.

  “We most certainly will not! We are British!” Captain Williams bellowed back. “Captain Williams at your service, and Midshipman Graham commanding this vessel.”

  There was a surprised pause. Then a bullhorn called down, “Lieutenant Spaulding here, Sir. On behalf of Captain Miller who is indisposed, wounded, we welcome you back. We had thought you dead.”

  Williams chuckled then shouted back. “No fear of that, Lieutenant. I hope the captain will recover. What orders?”

  “Take up station behind us and er,… do try to keep up, Sir!”

  “Cheeky monkey!” Williams chuckled. “D’you think we can, Graham?”

  Duncan glanced up a the holed sail. the ball had cut an almost perfect sphere in the material half way up the sail. “In a full wind we would probably even have the edge on them, Sir. But there is a storm coming, so I hope we can all get far enough from land to avoid any more problems. We will be fine, but we need help for Master Hotchkins here.”

  “I’ll be all right, Sorr,” the Master replied. “Could do with some water though.”

  “We all could,” Captain Williams stated, “but I did find something else below that might raise our own spirits. I’ll fetch it right away.” He strode off and disappeared below decks, to return with a large jug of water and two bottles of something indeterminate.

  “Water for our patient, but all of us will take a swig of this Eau de Vie. Two bottles; one made, from what I can tell, from cherries, and the other plums! Imagine that! Inventive people, those French.” He laughed and began to dole out cups to the eager men.

  Chapter 30

  A Storm

  They exited the harbor in grand spirits. The crew, having drunk the powerful concoctions without having eaten anything, felt it more than the officers and slowly slid into a half torpor around the base of the mast. Duncan sipped his second mug of Eau de Vie with relish while the captain waved the empty bottle that had contained plum brandy.

  “Pity about that. I was just beginning to enjoy it,” he said, then tossed it overboard. “Go back… go back to the place where they made you! ” he chanted.

  Duncan found that he was having difficulty focussing on the lantern of the great ship ahead of them. For some reason there were more than one, then he fuzzily realized that indeed there were, for the stern windows of the ship were a blaze of light. Even so, the the short bowsprit of the ketch was moving about more than it should be. He hung onto the tiller with all his might. “Goddam, it must be that French stuff,” he muttered, as he staggered over to peer at the dark pit of the on deck compass.

  He was just beginning to make out the North pointing needle by the flame and light of the city behind them when they ran into a force from another quarter.

  A sliver of warm wind flowed over the boat.

  “That’s a sly wind, Sorr,” Hotchkins called, sounding alarmed. “There’s much worse behind it. Might need to get the sails down.”

  Duncan sensed rather than saw the squall on their port side that was bearing down on them, but it was already too late. A gust of hot wind, carrying with it grains of sand picked up from the desert, struck the sails without warning and drove the ketch over so hard that men were tossed into the scuppers, which were momentarily level with the sea. Duncan only prevented himself from being catapulted over the side by throwing himself over the steering bar. He clutched at the pole for dear life and skidded sideways, hanging on desperately while trying not to alter their course.

  His feet landed on something solid and he managed to regain his position with an effort. At that moment Captain Williams lost his hold on the side of the cabin because, weakened by shot, it broke off in his grip, and he tumbled across the deck towards the sea. With an exclamation Duncan shot out a hand and seized the captain by his collar and prevented him from sliding into the dark waters below.

  “Bugger!” he exclaimed, as the full weight of the captain tugged at his arm, almost dislocating his shoulder. He hung on grimly.

  “Goddam!” Captain Williams shouted as he struggled to get back on his feet. ‘It’s all right, Graham, you can let go now, I have a hold. By God, that was close!” His voice was almost lost in the keening wind. “I think you saved my worthless life, Graham. Thank you!”

  Captain Williams edged closer to Graham at the tiller. “I doubt if you would have been able to stop and pick me up if I’d gone over. Well done, lad. I owe you one.”

  Duncan grunted acknowledgement. “We have a bad one coming in, Sir. Take hold of something solid and tie yourself off with a rope. You too, Hotchkins.” The two men complied with alacrity. Williams helped Hotchkins, then gave Duncan a length of rope. “Do the same for yourself, lad,” he advised.

  The ketch heeled and groaned at the violent treatment it was receiving from the wind; the sails were snapping and in one case tearing, while pieces of the shattered cabin window fell inward to crash into the open well of the cabin below. All this had passed within a few moments, but during this time Duncan sobered up very quickly as he realized the peril they were now facing.

  “Get the sails down! Now, now!” he yelled at the tumble of men, who had begun to pick themselves up from lying or kneeling in the water that had come over the side. No one could see very well, but it was vital that the sails come down or they were finished. The boat was now so far over that the deck canted at an angle of more than 45 degrees with the starboard transom under water. At least the water pouring over the side and splashing them cleared their heads enough for them to wake up and deal with this new threat. But if this continued they would be tipped right over.

  Those who could ran to do Duncan’s bidding and struggled desperately with the now heavily flapping sails. The wildly swinging blocks that had broken free could smash a head in, loose ropes whipping about at head height could strike without warning. These hazards were barely visible in the gloom and became a serious menace as the men fought to bring the sails off the mast.

  Abruptly and with an unearthly shriek the squall was upon them, but this time it was cold. Duncan had heard of storms in the Mediterranean which sprang up from almost nowhere; his senses had been telling him it was coming, but he was ill prepared for how violent it became in such a short space of time.

  The rain came in a roar that lashed at the boat and its small crew of struggling men, drenching them from head to foot in seconds. Duncan wa
s soaked and numb with cold to the point where his teeth were chattering. The comforting drink was a thing of the past and he scowled fiercely trying to clear the remaining cobwebs from his mind.

  The lamps of the ship ahead of them swayed up and down for a while, but then were extinguished. It left Duncan feeling very alone and with the uncomfortable thought that they might run into the stern of the massive ship of war, which now presented itself as an obstacle to be avoided at all costs. He was unsure of where the ketch was positioned with respect to the coast but knew he must find a way to keep moving in a northerly direction or they would surely founder on the peninsular of Abukir — one of the last places on earth that he wanted to revisit.

  He looked down at the dark shape of Hotchkins, still lying near the broken cabin structure. “You should get below,” he called to the Master, who shook his sodden head. “No, Sorr, I want to be on deck if we founder.”

  Duncan agreed with him. They didn’t even have a small rowing boat on the ketch. The French crew must have taken it to shore when the ship was in the harbor. He glanced forward and saw that the crew had finally managed to take down the main sail but were still struggling with the after mast. The canvas lay in a untidy bundle at the base of the mast. He felt the tension go out of the steering bar as the boat lost way and began to drift. They urgently needed some kind of means to keep them down wind and not broach to, which would be a disaster. He prayed that his heading was still good, or they would soon be back on the coast of Egypt and either dead or prisoners.

  As if sensing his concern the Master waved at him to attract his attention. “You should try to get a small sail onto the foremast, Sorr,” he called. “That will keep our bows down wind.”

  “I am not sure of our heading!” Duncan peered at the simple compass housing located near to the Master. There was a compass within, but it was too dark to see where the needle pointed. With their corkscrewing action due to the agitated sea it was spinning back and forth. “I think we are headed north enough to avoid the cape. But the storm is coming from the South west and will drive us towards the cape.”