Prison Ship

by Paul Dowswell

  As we rowed I forgot about the Danish ships and concentrated instead on trying to avoid the ice in the water. The sheer physical exertion of rowing had warmed me a little, and I only began to shiver when we stopped to take a sounding. During these frequent stops I allowed my mind to wander, but my attention was suddenly drawn to the sound of voices coming over the water towards us. Suddenly fearful, I thought it must be an enemy boat come out to attack us. Then I listened harder. This language must be Danish. But the men talking did not sound alarmed. It was more a quiet discussion they were having. There was an occasional laugh or murmur that sounded like disagreement. Amid the babble of this unfamiliar tongue, I’m sure I heard the name ‘Nelson’. I wondered how anxious they were about having to fight our most famous Admiral.

  We had brought no weapons out with us on the jolly-boat. Only Middlewych and Hardy carried their swords and a pistol apiece. I turned to look and was alarmed to see the bow of a great Danish warship looming above us. I had not realised how close we were to the enemy line. The voices we heard must be guards positioned in the bow. I could not believe Hardy and Middlewych’s daring. But surely the enemy could see us? Any second, a volley of musket shots would pepper the boat and kill us all.

  My heart began to beat hard in my chest, and my breathing was loud in the silence. Richard looked over with great concern, and raised his index finger to his lips. I could tell by his eyes he was terrified too.

  Spavens was making another sounding with his lead. He seemed to be taking forever over it. The gentle babble of conversation above our heads continued.

  Spavens finally pulled up the lead and Middlewych signalled for us to head for home. I wondered how he kept his bearings on this inky night, but much to my relief we made it back to the Elephant within half an hour.

  We climbed thankfully back on to the ship and the boat was hauled aboard. Captain Hardy called for the watch Bosun. ‘Extra ration of rum for these fine men,’ he said. ‘Oh, and sixteen ounces of tobacco between them. Put it to my account.’ Then he was gone.

  While Richard went to collect our rum, I was sent down to the Purser’s quarters to buy the tobacco. His cabin was below the waterline, on the after cockpit of the orlop deck. Richard and I didn’t smoke, but the rest of them would be pleased with this bonus. I had spoken to the Purser only once before and didn’t like him. The fact that he was Oliver Pritchard’s father was part of it, and I could see exactly where the boy had picked up his pompous manner.

  Down in the orlop deck just above the hold, only the rats were lively. One scurried close to my feet as I walked through the gloom, trying to remember which cabin door was Pritchard’s. Behind me was the midshipman’s berth, and hammocks were strung up for those not on duty. Pritchard’s cabin was there on the starboard side, close to the mizzenmast, which ran through the ship down to the keel. I wondered if he was asleep and paused to listen before I knocked on the door.

  I could hear two voices, both of them slurred and loud. ‘So, those two topmen, Dutton and Colliver, they liked a smoke you say?’ That was Pritchard. ‘Well, I’ll put them down for sixteen ounces a piece over the last week.’ He gave a cackling, drunken laugh.

  ‘I want a cut of all this, you hear.’ That was Giddes. He sounded different – more like an officer in the way he spoke. But it was him, I was sure. He also sounded irritated. ‘I’m scratching your back, so make sure you see me right.’

  ‘Don’t get too greedy, Mr Giddes. Otherwise a few more of us might find out who you really are,’ taunted Pritchard.

  ‘Don’t get clever with me, you pompous little arse,’ said Giddes. I heard furniture scrape along the floor, and imagined he had lurched forward to grab hold of the Purser. His voice rose in anger. ‘You tell them about me, and I’ll tell them about your tobacco swindle, and the charges for clothes you take from the wages of dead sailors. That’ll go down well with the crew. We can both swing together. Won’t that be cosy?’

  Pritchard sounded desperate. ‘Shut up, you bloody fool. Someone will hear you.’

  They stopped. I froze in my step. I thought it would be best to just creep away and get the tobacco tomorrow. But then the door burst open. Giddes stood there glowering.

  ‘What the devil are you doing here?’ he said, and dragged me inside the cabin, hand around my throat.

  Pritchard was sitting at a small table, one elbow resting by an empty bottle of rum and two glasses. He looked at me with drunken contempt.

  ‘I’ve just come to buy tobacco – orders from Captain Hardy,’ I squeaked out, expecting Giddes to hit me at any moment. He loosened his grip.

  ‘’ow long you been there?’ Giddes was back to his Cockney accent.

  ‘I just got here this second,’ I blurted out. ‘I was just about to knock. I didn’t hear a thing.’

  Pritchard spoke calmly and firmly. ‘Let the boy go, Mr Giddes. Let’s get him his tobacco. How much did the captain order?’

  I stood there shaking while Pritchard bumbled about, looking for the keys to his storeroom. He left the cabin. Giddes glowered.

  Pritchard returned with the tobacco and asked my name. He wrote it down carefully in his ledger. ‘Samuel Witchall, right? Which watch are you? Captain Hardy will check these records, so you’ll be flogged to within an inch of your life if this is a trick.’

  As I ran back upstairs, I felt indignant. When a man died at sea, his wages were eventually returned to his family. Pritchard was charging dead men for tobacco and clothing, safe in the knowledge that they would not be around to query these deductions to their earnings. Giddes was helping him do it. And he was not who he said he was. Had they believed me when I said I had only just arrived outside the door?

  ‘Where’ve you been,’ said Richard when I rejoined my friends. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  We knocked back our rum. It warmed our frozen bodies and steadied my shaking hands. Then we crept to the gun deck to sleep. Tomorrow, almost certainly, we were going to have to fight.

  Chapter 3

  The Battle of Copenhagen

  That night my sleep was constantly disturbed by the sound of ice bumping against the hull of the Elephant. The temperature was so cold that when a man carrying a lantern made his way through the deck you could see his breath curling like smoke from his nose and mouth. Water dripped from the low wooden ceiling and condensation settled like dew, chilling me to the marrow.

  Breakfast burgoo and scotch coffee never tasted better. I wondered why the body craved sweet things when it was cold. James had told me about a dried fruit and brown sugar delicacy the Scots called ‘black bun’, which they fried in batter in a deep pan of oil. It sounded just right for a day like this.

  As we ate I asked Tom what he thought our tactics would be. He paused between mouthfuls then said, ‘We’ve all seen that row of Danish ships. I reckon we’re gonna squeeze up next to them and slug it out. We’ll be so close we won’t be able to miss.’

  I lost my appetite. But James offered me a crumb of comfort.

  ‘We’re used to fighting, whereas the Danes aren’t scrappers. Whatever happens I’ll bet we’ll be firing at least twice as quickly as them. So our 74s’ll be like 148 gun ships to them. And their 74s, if they’ve got any, will be like our frigates. I think we’ll make short work of it.’

  John Giddes looked sceptical and put in a rare word. ‘Most of those Danish ships’ve had their masts taken down. They’re probably grounded in the mud, so there’s no retreat for them. We might ’ave better ships, better guns and better commanders, but we’re still foreigners here. The Danes are fightin’ for their lives and for their city so I don’t think they’re gonna be a walkover.’

  Giddes was acting as though the incident last night had never happened, but he refused to meet my eye. I wanted to talk to Tom and Richard about him, and what I had heard, but so far I hadn’t had the chance.

  * * *

  Talk around the table dried up. As I finished my burgoo and knocked back the dregs of my coffee I won
dered if this was the last meal I would ever eat. After breakfast we were called out on deck so the Reverend Eaves could hold a brief service. I peered through the cold morning light at this short, thickset man in his clerical robes, and strained to hear him speak.

  Almighty and everlasting God, mercifully look upon our infirmities,

  And in all our dangers and necessities,

  Stretch forth thy right hand to help and defend us;

  Through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.

  The words consoled me, although I couldn’t help but wonder whether the Danes were reciting exactly the same prayers too, and whether their infirmities, dangers and necessities would be looked upon any less mercifully by the Almighty.

  The ship was called to quarters and we scattered sand on the decks to soak up the blood that was sure to be spilt. Richard pointed out that much of our fleet were still at their anchor to the North, and wondered why they were not closer. ‘Too many ships, too little space,’ I said. I was glad Richard would be close to me in the battle. I liked to think we would be able to look out for each other. I hoped I would not be called upon to throw him over the side if he were terribly injured.

  We waited in silence by our gun, growing tense and numb. Being out in the open the quarterdeck was much colder than the gun decks, and I longed to be down there under cover. The wind rattled the netting that had been placed above our heads to protect us from any yardarms that might fall when fighting started. It was an uncomfortable reminder of how dangerous it was out here. My experience of battle had taught me first hand that enemy ships always aimed at our masts and rigging to try to cripple us. And here on the quarterdeck we were also easy targets for snipers up in the enemy’s fighting tops – something we had never had to worry about on the gun deck. Worst of all, with all those disadvantages, we were close to the middle of the ship – the spot where the enemy always concentrated his fire. During any battle, I’d heard it said, most of those killed were from the middle of the ship. My eyes began to water in the face of that wind. I hoped no one would think I was crying in fear.

  Just after ten o’clock the rumble of cannon fire rolled across the water. The battle was finally beginning and I would soon be able to forget about the wind and the cold. At once we were called over to the larboard guns and waited for our ship to move into action. The harbour guns were flashing in the middle distance, although their shot was falling short. Gun smoke began to drift across the water towards us and catch in our throats.

  For the first time, I could see what a battle looked like rather than just hear and feel it. On the gun deck of my old ship, the Miranda, we could only tell what was happening by listening to the commands of our officers. Once the firing started, with the roar of the cannons and the ringing in our ears, even that became impossible.

  For now, seeing events unfolding from the quarterdeck was thrilling – like watching a forbidden play or hearing a fascinating conversation not meant for our ears. But I also felt terribly exposed. It was like a dream I sometimes had where I stood naked in the congregation at a christening or wedding.

  We watched our ships slowly move towards the Danish line. HMS Edgar was first to edge forward along a narrow stretch of water in front of the enemy. I did not envy them their task. As soon as she reached the Danes their muzzles flashed in the grey morning light. There was something random and ill-judged about the Danish barrage. Their gunners were obviously not men who had trained every day, as we had.

  In reply the Edgar unleashed a thunderous, ordered broadside. Splinters flew into the air and peppered the sea, as the first ship in the Danish line was ravaged by her cannon fire. But as the Edgar sailed down the enemy line she began to take fire too. Before she dropped anchor in front of the fifth ship in the line, several of the Danish guns had found their target. I could barely bring myself to look as splinters burst from the Edgar’s wooden walls. It was easy to imagine the carnage left in the wake of the shot as it tore through her decks. Two more of our ships followed behind the Edgar to take up their positions opposite Danish vessels.

  As two further 74s followed, disaster struck. On their approach to the narrow channel, they grounded in the shallows. But they carried on firing from where they had halted and their shot was hitting home. Then another of our ships moved forward but she too was caught on the Middle Ground before she could even reach the channel. I wondered if Spavens had taken the wrong soundings on our trip the night before. Now, all of a sudden, the battle was turning against us.

  ‘Let fall’ came the order. Our sails filled and the Elephant edged forward. It was our turn to brave the fire of the Danish line and I struggled to keep my fear at bay. It was time to stop watching and start taking part. We sailed before the wind and I wondered if we too would be grounded. But the Elephant carried on moving forward and we were soon within range of our enemies. Shots from the shore batteries began to scream down around us. They landed fore and aft, throwing up plumes of water or whistling close by the sails and rigging. The fire was fierce but none hit home and we sailed on without damage.

  As we approached the Danish ships I began to feel something close to terror. Standing there in the open, clutching my cartridge box, I expected at any moment to be hit and vanish in a fiery, bloody flash. James could see the fear in my eyes and placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘Hold fast Sam, hold fast.’

  We reached the first enemy ship and the gunnery officer shouted, ‘Fire at will’. Our carronade exploded into life, lurching back on its wooden runner. The 32lb shot made a terrible mess of the quarterdeck of the ship opposite.

  ‘That’s why they call it the smasher,’ yelled James. No sooner had we fired than Tom, James, Vincent and Richard began swabbing out and reloading. I handed over my cartridge, relieved not to be holding something that could blow me into tiny pieces, and then ran for all my worth down the four staircases that led to the after powder room in the hold. Grabbing another cartridge I stuffed it in my box, screwed the lid down tight and was back before Tom and his crew could fire again.

  ‘Well done Sam,’ said Tom. ‘Hold fast now, we’ll be firing any second.’ I could barely hear him over the noise of the guns.

  Each Danish ship passed before us, close enough for me to see their crew. Muskets cracked from their masts, and shots thudded down on to our deck. Close by, one of the marines clutched his shoulder and fell backwards, his musket clattering to the deck and discharging its ball. It buried itself in the wooden rail close by our carronade. I said a silent prayer of thanks. To be shot by one of our own men would have been inglorious.

  I thanked God too that we were wearing our dull sailor’s slops and not the bright red jackets of the marines. Even through the smoke of battle they made an easy target here on our deck, as did the officers in their blue jackets and gold braid.

  Each Danish ship fired its long guns at us as we passed, but the fire was slapdash. Tom was right. The Danes were unskilled in handling their guns. Again our carronade exploded into life. The shot hit home, crashing into the foremast of a Danish 74, causing several men in the fighting top to fall to the deck. Now I could see the work of our gun as it mauled ships and claimed lives with every discharge, I wished again that I was down in the gun deck as I had been on the Miranda. But then a sliver of shot landed right at my foot, missing my cartridge box and my toes by a fraction of an inch. That fired me up. ‘Give the bastards one from me, Tom,’ I said before I ran off to collect more powder.

  We passed a dozen or so of their ships, all firing as the Elephant moved forward. Then came the order to stop. Across the sea from us was the Dannebrog, so close we could see the men on her deck, even through the gun smoke.

  ‘She’s a 64 by the look of her,’ said Tom, ‘and she’s flyin’ the Danish admiral’s flag.’

  Over the top of the gun port I could see she was a handsome man-o’-war, tall in the water and bristling with cannon along her two gun decks and quarterdeck. She was also badly damaged, having suffered the attentions of the British ships which had pa
ssed down their line before us.

  My ears began to ring from the sound of cannon fire. I was glad of it as I could no longer hear the screams of injured men. Immediately to our stern was HMS Glatton, which I had learned was commanded by the notorious Captain Bligh, but I could barely see her through the gun smoke, nor any of the other ships that fought alongside us.

  Our carronade fired constantly and I began to tire of my incessant trips to the powder room. The Danish forces, though formidable, seemed to be doing little damage to the Elephant. Perhaps we’d been lucky for now.

  The battle continued; more of our ships took up position in front of the Danish fleet. Through the smoke I saw a squadron of frigates pass down the line behind us. Although we pounded her steadily, the Dannebrog continued to fire back.

  As we fought, Lord Nelson walked up and down the quarterdeck behind us – excitedly urging us on. He seemed unconcerned for his safety, and his courage gave me heart. When a shot hit the mainmasts and showered us with splinters I heard him say to an officer, ‘It is warm work, and this day may be the last for any of us at a moment.’ Then he laughed and said, ‘Mark you, I would not be elsewhere for thousands!’ I could not agree. I would have given thousands to be elsewhere.

  As a musket shot whistled over my head I heard a midshipman rush up to inform Lord Nelson that Hyde Parker had hoisted a signal ordering him to break off the action. I wondered at first how such a signal could be seen, but perhaps the view was clearer atop our masts? ‘Thank the Lord,’ I thought. ‘Let’s get away from here before we’re all killed.’

  I ran to the magazine hoping fervently this would be the last cartridge I would have to fetch for this battle, and by the time I returned we would be calling off the action. But when I got back, Nelson and Captain Foley had come close to the rail by our cannon and I heard almost all of what they said.