by David O'Neil
***
The two French ships were not so lucky. Some way to the south they were caught in the heart of the storm and suffered damage accordingly. By the time it had passed, both ships were suffering from leaks which meant keeping the pumps at work through all the watches. Whilst there were crew members to spare on both ships, there were also many sick from the motion, as well as from injuries gained from being thrown about by the violent movement of the ships.
Admiral Jean-Luc Pasteur had not been seen for three days. Captain Treville had been grateful for the break. According to the Admiral’s servant, his master had spent most of the time in his berth hugging a bottle of brandy, and praying for mercy from the Almighty.
This news had given Treville a certain amount of amusement. After all, his Admiral was a seaman, a navigator no less and, while the stormy weather had been fairly boisterous, it was not unusually so for the Atlantic.
The weather had caused damage. When the crew of a ship such as this was composed of men who had recently obtained their release from the burden of an autocratic regime, it was necessary to remind them that their very survival depended on doing the routine jobs of maintenance needed to keep the ship afloat.
Captain Treville found the need to keep a restrained attitude to his crew very frustrating. Too often he had to explain why orders were given. It has to be said that, though he supported the revolution in general terms, there were times when he was tempted to use a rope-end on some of the more recalcitrant members of his crew.
Replacing worn and frayed ropes on sail and rigging was vital before the ship was faced with another period of bad weather. He looked across to the L’Empereur, noting that she also needed replacement rigging. Judging from the noise carrying over the calming sea, her hull was leaking rather more than the Lorient. The sound of the pumps from L’Empereur seemed to be continuous. As he watched, Treville saw the crew of the other ship working to lower a patch over the side of the ship. He winced as a man was struck by the massive patch. The man fell into the still rough sea. The scarlet slash of colour from the blood of the unfortunate man’s ragged wound dissipated rapidly in the welter of foam around the damaged hull. He turned back to the activity on his own ship. There was nothing to be done for the man in the water. Neither ship could stop to try to pick him up. Perhaps on a calm summer day he might have survived. As it was, the sea was still too rough and the man was probably unconscious or dead when he hit the water.
He looked aloft at the masthead. There was a figure there hopefully keeping an eye out for signs of sail. He shook his head. He did not have much faith in the qualities of his crew. He just hoped that their own sense of self-preservation would inspire them to make some effort, beyond the minimum which seemed to be the best he could expect up to now.
Despite his comments to the Admiral when last they spoke, Treville was worried that they might encounter British ships en-route to and from Canada and the Americas.
He had no illusions about the effectiveness of the two French ships. Even without the damage, his experience of the efficiency of his own crew was not re-assuring.
***
Conditions for the British squadron were not ideal, and there was still some damage to be put right after the period of bad weather. Mohawk had suffered less than the two other merchant ships in company, both of which had suffered problems with their rigging only now, finally repaired after two days of lessening seas and improving weather.
For Martin the delay, though inevitable, was still irritating. Now he had completed the mission he had been sent to perform, he was anxious to get home to pass on his impression of the attitude and conditions in America. Most importantly, his view on the war which he was now certain was inevitable.
He carried dispatches from the Government officials in Halifax who held the same view. The program of harassment some of the Captains of Royal Naval ships had employed against American shipping, and the attempts to raise the native tribes against the new state, had been enough. The building of the heavy frigates, now well advanced, was probably the deciding factor in the approaching hostilities. The Royal Navy was involved in keeping the French at bay. Having America in opposition as well would not improve matters.
Once more Martin had reason to condemn the idiots who could not see that, once the rebels committed themselves and defeated the troops sent against them, there was no way back, short of peaceful negotiation. And that option had been lost when the harassment began.
The two Commodores sat enjoying a glass of wine together. Antonio Ramos had joined Martin after visiting the damaged ships to see the state of repairs.
“They are now ready to proceed,” he said taking another sip. “This wine is travelling well.”
Martin smiled. “As you well know, this is part of the batch you gave me from your own vineyard in Portugal.”
“Why, so it is. As I commented, it is travelling well.”
The squadron had resumed its mean course. Martin remarked to his Portuguese colleague, “Now, perhaps, we can make progress once more. I think we will need as much time as we can get to prepare for battle on two fronts in future.”
Antonio Ramos smiled grimly. “Please, convince me, friend Martin. Assure me that someone will take notice of our reports.”
Martin shrugged. “All I can do is submit my findings. Some politician will be called upon to direct the response.”
Antonio sighed. “That is what I believe. I am sure that the same politician will expect the Royal Navy to stop the Americans in their tracks, disregarding any suggestion we may make.”
They were both seated in the great cabin on HMS Vixen, the stern windows open to allow the afternoon sun to combine with the breeze and dry out the dank atmosphere which had made the interior of the ship uncomfortable during the storms of the past three days.
Antonio said, “I was going to invite some of the other captains to join me on the Sao Paulo, but I have a feeling that we are not alone, despite the size of this Atlantic Ocean. However silly it may sound, my palm is itching. I expect trouble from somewhere soon. So I believe I will hold off my party to a time when there is less chance of interruption.”
The two men sipped their wine in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then Antonio rose to his feet. “I must get back to my ship. I will not be really comfortable until I see the coast up ahead. Thank you for your company and the wine my friend.” He turned and Martin escorted him to the deck, where he was piped into the boat lying alongside. The Sao Paulo was following astern of Vixen, allowing the boat’s crew an easy return passage.
Martin watched the boat carrying his friend slide alongside, the men ready to attach the falls so that the boat could be raised, complete with crew and their Commodore, and swung into its place on the deck of the frigate.
As he returned to his cabin, Martin reflected on the hunch that Antonio mentioned. He agreed that it would be foolish to think that they would have an easy voyage home with no other problems. Perhaps there was a French presence closing on them even now?
***
For two days the weather eased and the squadron progressed, making good time on their homeward passage. The third day the wind dropped and there was a haze over the sea. Jared Watson, Master, was looking at the growing haze. He lifted his head and studied the sky, sniffing the air.
Martin came on deck. Feeling the change in the air, he turned to the Master and said, “This does not feel good to me. What say you, Master?”
“Fog is what I say, sir. Here, this far from land, it will linger until the wind rises once more. My advice would be to light the lanterns and keep distance between the ships.” He pursed his lips into what could almost be a smile. “Perhaps pray?”
Martin looked at him. After a moment he called Brooks, the first Lieutenant, who had just returned to the quarter-deck. “Mr. Brooks, while the company is still in sight, signal them to light lamps and keep their distance whilst the fog lasts.”
Brooks looked at the present conditions. “Fo
g, sir?”
Martin smiled. “If we wait for this mist to thicken, no signal will be seen?”
“I beg your pardon, sir. I did not mean…” Brooks’ voice trailed off, as the raised hand of Martin stopped him.
“It seems we are in for a foggy spell, so we are better to be prepared, I think.”
Lieutenant Brooks smiled at the comment. “Of course, sir,” He turned to the Midshipman on duty, “Mr. Gibbs, general signal. ‘Light lamps and keep your distance.’”
Gibbs responded, “Aye, aye. Sir.” He dashed over to the signal locker to arrange the signal.
The mist turned to fog as Jared Watson had predicted. It lingered all day. Apart from one near miss, the ships managed to avoid contact and damage.
As night fell the fog showed no sign of dissipating and the extra lookouts on all the ships spent a nervous night, straining their eyes as the ships made small progress in the almost non-existent wind.
***
On Lorient Captain Trouville was concerned. The same fog troubling the British ships was all around the two French men-of-war. As he peered into the fog he could just make out the vague line of the foremast on L’Empereur. As he watched he realised that the frigate was turning toward the Lorient. Trouville gaped in astonishment wondering what his fellow Captain was doing. Only then, as the frigate turned once more to run parallel to Lorient, did he notice that the gun-ports of the frigate were open and that it was not L’Empereur, but, from the flag lifting idly from her mizzen, she was British. He opened his mouth to cry a warning just as the broadside erupted from the guns of the enemy ship, creating havoc on the main deck of the French 74.
Trouville, unhurt, screamed orders to clear for action and man the guns. To the helm he called for the helmsman to turn toward the enemy ship. The panic stricken man at the wheel steered away, presenting the stern of the ship toward the frigate.
***
Martin stood watching the line-of-battle ship swing away, presenting her vulnerable stern to the frigate’s guns.
The calm voice of Lieutenant Cameron sounded from the main deck. “As you bear. ‘Fire’.”
One by one the guns of the starboard broadside fired into the stern of the French ship. The solid shot ripping and tearing the length of the deck creating mayhem in the stern cabin and shattering the partitions, before careering along through the officer’s quarters flinging their possessions all over the place and causing fire to break out in several places. As the carronades fired last, the already open wounds in the stern offered little protection against the 24 pound shot. This smashed the already shattered timbers tumbling the two 18lbs stern chase guns into the waters of the Atlantic. The deck planking on which they stood, was split, no longer able to bear the weight of the heavy guns.
Martin made no attempt to follow the French ship as she disappeared into the fog. He was only too aware that the weight of the broadside from the Frenchman would smash his frigate into matchsticks if it got in one well-aimed opportunity. Also with the fog they would be groping about blindly not knowing friend from foe. “Secure the guns!” he ordered quietly, “Keep a good watch.”
Brooks joined him on the quarter-deck. He smiled, “That was lucky!” He commented.
“Not for the Frenchman.” Martin answered grimly.
Chapter Twenty-six
Return Match
Captain Trouville received the news of the death of his Admiral, Jean-Luc Pasteur, with a grave face. The remains had been more or less collected from the wreckage of his cabin and there would be a formal ceremony later when he, and all the other dead, would be committed to the deep. Meanwhile the repairs to the ship were paramount. The damage to the stern was serious and it seems that the brush with the British ship had made a deep impression on the men. The work was undertaken with an enthusiasm that Trouville had not seen since the ship sailed from Brest.
The fog persisted through the day. Though the sound of other ships in the vicinity was heard, the scant wind made close manoeuvring difficult. In the circumstances Trouville had no way of knowing whether the sounds came from L’Empereur or the frigate which had fired on him. He had the lower deck guns loaded and the ports opened, with the gun crews standing by. The swell was subdued so there was little likelihood of the lower deck being swamped through the opened ports. Thus prepared he encouraged the men carrying out repairs to work as fast as possible and damn the noise. He had two guns mounted in what was once the Admiral’s cabin in the stern of the ship, while the repairs went on around them.
By evening the worst was over and he decided the time had come to commit the dead to the sea.
All work stopped and the eighteen dead were lined up on deck. The crew assembled and Trouville read the service for the dead, thinking to himself, for all their proclaimed lack of religion, these men who had rebelled against King and church, still expected a proper service if they died at sea.
Preceded by the Admiral, one by one the bodies were committed to the deep. When the final body, splashed into the water, the bo’sun called the men to their duties. They went without the usual muttering and murmur of discontent.
***
During the night the fog started to lift. Martin was on deck as the sky cleared and the stars started to appear here and there, through gaps in the scattered clouds. The wind rose tugging at the idly-moving sails, filling them and causing the ship to heel slightly as the ship gained way.
The lookout called softly from the masthead, to the chain of men stationed in the rigging to pass messages quietly in the fog. “Six sail in sight.”
Martin looked up sharply. There was a stranger in their midst. All the squadron ships were still carrying lanterns. The lookout pointed to the extra ship which was showing several lights.
By her shadowy shape, highlighted by the lights she was showing, she was similar in size to the Vixen. After the encounter with the Lorient, the French 74, Martin concluded that it was probably the frigate L’Empereur, supposed to be sailing in company with her.
As they watched the angle of the lights changed. The stranger had caught a vagrant wind and steered away from the British ships, her displayed lights disappearing as she melted into the fog once more. The lantern on the HMS Hera, the ship closest to the stranger, disappeared also as she turned to shadow the departing Frenchman as best she could.
The weather improved as the night passed. By morning the final vestiges of the mist had gone and a fine sunny day lifted the spirits of the British Squadron. There was no sign of the French, though the topsails of HMS Hera could be seen by the lookout, on the southern horizon. Stationing the merchant ships, including the Mohawk, to the north side of his armed ships, Martin sent Sao Paulo and Spartan to close on the distant Hera just in case she needed assistance.
In fact, as the distance narrowed, signals from Hera proved she was in touch with the two French ships. She also reported that they were now appeared to be changing to a course to intercept the British convoy.
Martin recalled Sao Paulo. When she closed the Vixen, he signalled for Antonio to join him to discuss a plan of action.
Settled in the comfortable chair anchored opposite the desk, Antonio sipped the hot coffee with evident enjoyment. “So, my friend,” he said, putting the cup back on the tray. “We are faced with the problem to stay and fight, or to run with the convoy, hoping the French will not catch us?”
Martin nodded slowly. “More or less, though I think it is not really a choice. If we were in a different place where the merchantmen and Mohawk could be assured of shelter, I might advocate running. As it is, we are too far from a safe haven for their safety to be assured. We caught the Lorient by surprise once. I do not envisage that happening again. She is a formidable opponent for two frigates. In addition, L’Empereur will be a problem. She is certainly carrying the same sort of armament as both of our ships. While HMS Lively and Spartan are both well handled, it is asking a lot of them to take on a 40 gun frigate.”
Antonio thought about the matter while he finis
hed his coffee, then, “We do not really have an option. Do we?” He smiled and poured himself more of the coffee. “It is just really a question of how we go about it.”
Martin smiled back at his friend. “As usual you have gone to the heart of the matter. I have been considering our last encounter with the Lorient.”
“In the fog!”
“Exactly! When we opened fire they were caught completely unprepared. We inflicted a lot of damage to her stern. Both chasers were dismounted, and fell into the sea. The stern integrity of the ship would have needed plenty of work to fix. I do not believe there has been time or that they would have had the resources to do more than a temporary repair. I expect they would have replaced the two guns, possibly on the lower deck astern. Especially as the upper deck was pretty much shattered, if I remember correctly.” He paused and drank his own coffee while Antonio waited.
“Since we agree that the stern of the Lorient is probably the most vulnerable part of her hull. It would make sense for you to keep things active at the bow, whilst I concentrate on her stern. If we manage to take out her steering if nothing else, we would be in a position to run. Though I have to admit, given the choice, in those circumstances, I would probably want to finish the job.”
Antonio smiled grimly. “It’s asking a lot of the sloops against the frigate?”
“While we tackle the French, I intend to send Lively with Mohawk and the merchantmen on to Falmouth. Whatever we do in our encounter with the French, I would expect them to be far enough ahead to be beyond the danger of capture from this threat at least.”
