‘You know Foley,’ said Lord Nelson, ‘I have only one eye – I have a right to be blind sometimes.’ Then he put his telescope to his blind eye, turned it towards Hyde Parker’s ship and said, ‘I really do not see the signal.’
I had to bite my tongue. I wanted to scream ‘Don’t be stupid. Do what you have been ordered you to do! What if the Swedish and Russian fleets are coming?’ But I knew such insolence could get me flogged to death or hanged. What had made Hyde Parker make such a signal, though? Whenever I could, I squinted through the smoke to see if there were any more masts on the horizon.
As midday turned to early afternoon the Dannebrog began to burn steadily and acrid smoke drifted towards us. I could also see that several of the Danish ships had surrendered. Some burned fiercely. I wondered if their magazines would explode and cause carnage on the neighbouring ship in the Danish line. Aboard the blazing ships the sailors who had survived our merciless barrage were trying to escape by throwing themselves from the gun ports or over the side of the upper deck. Some of our ships had launched their boats to try to rescue these poor wretches. Many of them were badly injured and struggled pitifully in the freezing water. But even as we tried to rescue their seamen the Danes still fired upon us from their shore batteries.
Then the Dannebrog struck her colours to surrender. All at once I began to breathe a little easier and allowed myself to hope I would come out of this battle alive. We were ordered to stop firing, and I sat down on the carriage of the carronade to drink some water. I realised with a twinge of guilt that Lord Nelson had been right not to withdraw. He had sensed, far earlier than me, that we were winning.
Bosuns’ whistles peeped as some of the Elephant’s boats were lowered to cross over the narrow stretch of water between us and the Dannebrog to help the men who were trying to escape a fiery death. But as they approached they were fired upon with muskets. Lord Nelson, clearly angered, ordered us to start firing again as soon as our boats were out of danger. Vincent Thomas loaded grapeshot into the maw of our carronade and we peppered their deck.
Just after the carronade discharged, while my ears were still ringing, I was thrown to my feet by a violent explosion. When I got up I could see enemy shot had hit the quarterdeck between two guns just down from us and men from the crews were lying dead or dying. They were swiftly picked up by their comrades and thrown over the side. Most of those were beyond caring, but one of them, almost sliced in two by grapeshot, was a young boy who had been powder monkey to the gun next to us. He was clutching at a gaping hole in his belly, trying to stop his insides pouring out, and livid fear danced in his eyes. When they picked him up he started yelling, ‘Mother, help me! God help me! Mother, don’t let them do this to me …’ The marines hesitated, then their sergeant came over and shouted at them: ‘He’s a goner. Let him go over and finish him.’ They swung the boy as they threw him, which must have hurt him terribly and he screamed all the way down to the water.
I had seen many men die horribly in battle, but this was the worst. That could have been me, howling in agony for my mother. A lieutenant on the quarterdeck swiftly reordered the gun crews from whoever was left alive. Richard was told to act as powder monkey for the carronade next to ours. He was handed the leather cartridge box that the dead boy had been using, and flinched when he saw there was blood all over one side of it.
‘I’ll show you the drill,’ I shouted. ‘Whatever happens, keep the lid firmly down. Now follow me.’
We sprinted down the stairwell and ran through the middle of the upper gun deck to the stern. The noise was deafening, the heat unbearable. Then another ladder took us to the lower deck and immediately down to the orlop deck beneath the waterline. From there it was just a few steps to the after powder room. No one else was outside, not even the marine who usually stood guard there. ‘Sometimes you have to wait with several powder boys,’ I said, ‘sometimes not. We’re lucky this time.’ Then I called for a cartridge and a hand appeared through the wet curtains that shielded the men inside from flying sparks. Richard did the same. As I made sure his lid was screwed tight, Oliver Pritchard came running up to us.
‘You two, drop your boxes and follow me now,’ he said. We looked at each other in puzzlement, but an order was an order. He said, ‘Quickly, down the ladder to the hold.’ We did as we were asked. He did not follow. Instead he stood at the top of the ladder and shouted, ‘Macintosh, come here at once.’ Then he turned to us and drew his pistol. A marine, bayonet on the end of his musket, arrived at his shoulder.
‘Caught these two trying to hide in the hold,’ he said to the soldier. ‘Lock them in the bread room and make sure they stay there.’ He tossed the soldier a key and marched off.
‘But we were ordered down here,’ said Richard.
‘And we need to get back to the quarterdeck with our powder,’ I shouted.
The marine waved his bayonet at us. ‘Shut up or I’ll run this through the pair of you.’
We were bundled into the store room and left there in the dark. ‘What will our crews do without us?’ said Richard. He sounded scared. I felt utterly bewildered.
It was bizarre being in the heat of battle one moment, then the next being locked away from it all at the bottom of the ship. My heart was beating fast and I was bursting with energy. I just had to sit there in the dark with the stifling smell of mouldy bread in my nostrils.
There beneath the waterline we could still hear the muffled discharges of the guns, and more clearly, from the orlop deck above us, the screams of men brought down to the ship’s surgeon.
‘What the hell is this all about?’ Richard said angrily. It was too dark to actually see him.
I began to think more clearly and grew suddenly afraid. Of what I was not quite sure, but I knew we were in terrible trouble.
‘I didn’t tell you about last night. We’ve not had time to talk,’ I said. ‘You know I was gone a while fetching that tobacco. I overheard Nathaniel Pritchard and John Giddes arguing. They were both drunk, and were talking about charges for clothes and tobacco they would take from dead men’s wages.
‘And then, when they were quarrelling, Pritchard said something to Giddes about him not being who he says he is.’
‘Well, we all thought that,’ said Richard. ‘So who the hell is he?’
‘I didn’t hear that much –’ Then I understood in an instant what was happening to us.
‘Oh Jesus Christ help us,’ I wailed, crushed by a terrible certainty.
Richard was alarmed. ‘What? What is it?’
‘Last night – Giddes came to the door. Caught me standing there. I said I’d just arrived and didn’t hear a thing. That must have given me away. Now Pritchard has got his son involved, and they’re trying to set us up.’
‘Why me?’ said Richard. His voice seemed angry, even accusatory, as if it was my fault.
Now I felt angry with him. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it was because you were here with me just now, maybe they thought I’d tell you anyway. They’d know we were friends.’
Silence fell between us. The battle above our heads was winding down. Only occasional cannon fire could be heard and no one was screaming on the surgeon’s table. It was so dark in there neither of us could see our hands in front of our faces.
Richard spoke again. ‘So what happens next? We get court-martialled. If we’re lucky, we’ll be flogged, probably severely. If we’re unlucky, we get hanged from the yardarm.’
Chapter 4
Condemned
We listened to the rest of the battle from our lonely prison. The ships’ guns were silent, then they started up. Shot screamed in from ashore, then stopped. We heard shouted commands and clattering against the hull, as the ship’s boats were launched. The Elephant weighed anchor and we began to move. As Richard and I dozed in the stifling fug there was a huge explosion, followed by a scattering of splashing sounds that went on for ten or fifteen seconds.
‘Sounds like a magazine went off,’ said Richard. I wondered which
ship had been blown to pieces, and prayed it was not one of ours.
How long we stayed in the bread room I do not know. No one came with food or water so by the end of the day we were light-headed with hunger and thirst. The lock clicked. The door burst open. A marine sergeant shouted, ‘Witchall and Buckley! Present yourselves.’
Out we came. There was a squad of marines, bayonets fixed to their muskets, the blade points threatening in the dim light. This was just like getting pressed. When we tried to ask what was happening, we were abruptly told to shut our mouths. Up we went, through the levels of the ship, out on to the deck. It was dark, so I supposed it was quite late. It was piercingly cold, especially after our hours in the bread room. We were bundled off the ship and into one of the boats. Twenty minutes later the stern of Hyde Parker’s flagship HMS London loomed above us. Hustled on board with great haste, we were taken to a small store room in the hold.
Waiting for us there was the ship’s blacksmith. I was ordered to sit before him and two black iron hoops linked one to the other by a chain were fastened over my ankles. The hoops were held fast by a bolt swiftly hammered into place. No one spoke a word or would even meet my eye. After the door was locked and we were left to ourselves, Richard and I looked at each other, too bewildered to speak.
In the dim lantern light we could see there were two benches, blankets and a bucket. A small plate with bread and cheese and two mugs of water had been left on the bench. We drank and ate greedily, relieved to finally have some food. ‘I can’t believe what sort of trouble we’re in,’ said Richard. He seemed matter of fact, rather than frightened. I had been feeling stunned, and terrified at the prospect of being brought to trial on a false charge of cowardice. I was seething with anger at being duped by Pritchard. Richard’s manner gave me courage.
‘We just need the chance to explain what’s happened,’ I said, feeling suddenly hopeful. I laid my head on the bench and tried to sleep, but my change of mood didn’t last. Whenever I began to drift off, I could feel the hangman’s rope around my neck and woke with a start.
The next few days were measured by the provision of bread and water to us in our cell by surly guards. We tried to ask them what was happening, but they collected and returned our bucket, plates and mugs without a word. We both lost track of the time of day, and even what day it was. I turned fourteen three days after the Battle of Copenhagen, but I couldn’t tell you exactly when 5th April actually was. I was too miserable to even mention it to Richard.
This dreary routine was interrupted at last by a visit from Lieutenant Middlewych. He was friendly, concerned and matter of fact.
‘It’s not looking good, boys. There’s to be a court martial. The charge is cowardice and that you’re in contravention of Section 12 of the Articles of War.’
It was such a relief to be able to finally talk to someone about what had happened to us. ‘This is absurd, sir,’ I said. ‘Midshipman Pritchard told us to go to the hold. Then he pointed his pistol at us and accused us of scarpering.’ I was so livid I wanted to spit and I could feel my face glowing red with anger when I tried to talk about it.
Middlewych maintained a calm neutrality. ‘That’s precisely your problem, Witchall,’ he said patiently. ‘It sounds absurd. Can you imagine what the court will make of that?’
I blurted out my story about overhearing Nathaniel Pritchard and John Giddes in drunken conversation. Middlewych shook his head wearily. Then he spoke.
‘Oliver Pritchard is an officer of the crown. An officer in training, a very junior one maybe, but no Navy court is going to take the word of two boy sailors over the word of an officer, unless you have witnesses, and especially witnesses who are more senior in rank than Midshipman Pritchard. If you put these extraordinary accusations before the court with no proof to back up your story, they will show you no mercy.’
His tone softened. I could see by the look in his eye that he wanted to do all he could to help us. ‘If you plead for forgiveness and we get several of the crew to speak up on your behalf, you may just be looking at a flogging. I will speak for you. I have a very high regard for you both.’
Hearing someone speak well of us moved me. ‘Thank you, sir,’ I said. ‘Do you know when the trial will be?’
‘Well, that’s some good news at least. Sometimes men wait for months before their court martial, but as the fleet is all assembled, the Vice Admiral has decided to get it over with immediately. You’re to be tried tomorrow morning. Think hard about what I’ve told you. One other thing – don’t start blaming each other. I can’t imagine you will, but that always looks bad.’
I felt indignant he’d even suggested it, but I suppose he meant well. As he prepared to go I asked him about the battle.
‘The Danes are calling for a truce,’ said Middlewych briskly. ‘We got off very lightly on the Elephant. Barely more than twenty men down. All of your gun crew are fine.’ He left us with a sorry smile.
Next day began with a bucket of water, brought along with our breakfast. ‘Get yourself washed and brushed up boys,’ said one of our guards. ‘You’re up before the court at two bells on the forenoon watch.’
We were ushered up from the hold to the London’s great cabin. Inside was all polished oak, plush red furnishings, glistening silver and gold-braided uniforms. Richard and I were sat at a table facing the court, and the proceedings were abruptly explained. Five captains sat before us, assembled to act as a jury. An officer from the London was to act as prosecutor, and another officer known as the deputy judge advocate would advise the court on legal matters.
Having spent the previous few days in the hold, the light from the stern windows was blinding, and we felt like dirty urchins before these grandly dressed officers. This ceremony was no doubt supposed to remind us forcefully of the full majesty of the law. It worked. I felt almost too frightened to speak.
The prosecutor began by reading out Section 12 of the Articles of War:
Every person in the fleet, who through cowardice, negligence, or disaffection, shall in time of action withdraw or keep back, or not come into the fight or engagement, or shall not do his utmost to take or destroy every ship which it shall be his duty to engage, and to assist and relieve all and every of His Majesty’s ships, or those of his allies, which it shall be his duty to assist and relieve, every such person so offending, and being convicted thereof by the sentence of a court martial, shall suffer death.
When he spoke the word ‘death’, a horrible chill ran down my spine. We were on trial for our lives.
The prosecutor began to outline the case against us. ‘I intend to show that the two defendants deserted their posts at the height of battle, leaving not one, but two carronades on the larboard quarterdeck without powder at a critical moment.’
Oliver Pritchard was called first, and told the court with clear confidence how he had seen us running to the hold. ‘The boys had clearly lost their nerve,’ he said. ‘When I challenged them they clung on to each other like two frightened children. I thought then and there to shoot them, but I supposed justice would be best served by this court.’
The marine, Private Macintosh, was called next. He briefly told what he had seen. Then, much to my distress, I heard the prosecutor call Tom Shepherd to come forward to testify against us.
‘Just after the shot hit the quarterdeck and the powder boy from the gun next to us was thrown overboard, they ran off together sir,’ said Tom. ‘We thought they was goin’ for more cartridges, naturally, but that was the last we saw of them.’ He must have caught the look of betrayal on my face, because he turned to me unhappily and said, ‘I’m sorry Sam, but that’s what I saw.’
‘The witness will confine his comments to the court only,’ barked the deputy judge advocate.
Tom shrugged, and I could see he was upset. ‘Please sir,’ he said to the judge, ‘may I be allowed to speak up for the boys too, as well as against them?’
The man nodded curtly. ‘In good time.’
Then the pro
secutor called for his final witness. It was John Giddes.
‘Tell me exactly what you saw,’ said the prosecutor.
‘I was assistin’ the surgeon in the after cockpit when I was sent to fetch fresh water,’ he told the court. ‘I saw Witchall and Buckley collect their cartridges from the after powder room. Then there was a loud explosion above us and the ship shook violently. I saw these two look at each other, drop their cartridges just outside the powder room and run for the hold. Just at that moment Midshipman Pritchard and Private Macintosh returned to their station by the powder room and caught the boys. They were both tremblin’ with fear. It was a clear case of cowardice.’
The deputy judge advocate spoke up again. ‘The witness will confine his comments to the question he is being asked.’
The judge asked us what we had to say for ourselves. This was our big moment, and my heart began to beat hard in my chest. The next few minutes would decide our fate. We had talked about this at length, of course, and had decided that Richard would speak for the two of us. We had reluctantly agreed to follow Middlewych’s advice as we could see that there was no point telling the court what had really happened.
Richard was magnificent. Calmly and clearly he told the court of our record in combat and how we had gone out in the boat with Captain Hardy the night before the battle.
‘Our records clearly show that neither of us has ever shown cowardice in the face of the enemy,’ he went on, ‘and that the incident reported by Midshipman Pritchard is a clear misunderstanding of orders in the heat of battle.’
Then Middlewych himself came forward to speak up for us. We knew he could not directly accuse Pritchard of lying, although in his speech he did give our version of events equal weight. Then he said:
‘Should the court choose to believe these boys are guilty of cowardice, I would ask them to consider this: just prior to the incident, they had witnessed another powder boy horribly mutilated and thrown over the side whilst still alive. This may have contributed to their alleged actions. Indeed the cartridge box carried by Buckley was covered in the blood of this very boy.’
Prison Ship Page 4
