HMS Valkyrie
Richard Testrake
This book dedicated to my wife Peggy, my daughter Lisa and my son Charles.
v.1.25.16
Table of Contents:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Additional works available
Chapter One
Commander Charles Mullins came on deck as the sun rose above the horizon. It was a clear morning in late August and the sloop-of-war, HMS Aphrodite, was on the starboard tack, beating against a stiff breeze from the southwest, on her way to join the blockade of Brest.
Mullin’s ship, much battered by enemy fire, had been sent to the dockyard for badly needed repairs, but she was as whole now as the yard could make her and was on her way to do harm to her enemies. There had been a period, a few weeks ago, when the captain had decided the chances of his taking the ship back to sea were slim, at best.
Apparently, a coterie of London politicians, enemies of Mullin’s father, who was a prominent member of the House of Lords, had decided to punish their political foe, by damaging the son’s career.
No actual damaging evidence of incompetence could be found against the young officer, but rumors were easily spread, and a few words in the right ears were enough to persuade an admiralty official to put Mullins on the beach. Another officer was found, more politically acceptable, to take command of Aphrodite, and the deed was done.
Unfortunately, for them however, Aphrodite’s captain had some powerful friends himself. When the officer intended to replace Mullins proved to be involved in some petty peculations, he was forced to resign and Mullins regained his command.
Restored to his command, and handed his orders, Mullins was instructed to sail as soon as wind and tide permitted for the Brest blockade. Given the urgency of these orders, he had not the time to give his new crew the training they so badly needed.
When Aphrodite originally entered the dockyards for her repairs, most of her crew were removed and sent to other ships. Just days before receiving sailing orders, she was furnished a draft of men from the receiving ship. These were men of all sorts, there were even a few seamen among them. Most however, must be rated landsmen, having never served at sea. Many in fact, were released prisoners, turned from their gaol cells to serve in the Royal Navy.
At this very moment, Lieutenant Andrews had both watches on deck practicing sail drill. Mister Lassiter, his sailing master, shook his head glumly at their antics. How these farmers would be able to cope in a bad Channel storm this autumn, he had not the slightest idea.
Mister Jones, the warrant gunner, was even more pessimistic. Normally, Captain Mullins purchased a supply of powder and shot with his own funds before sailing. Since the Admiralty frowned upon officers who expended the King’s ammunition on practice firing, careful captains with the necessary funds provided their own.
This time however, there had not been opportunity to locate a privately owned supply. Sailing as soon as the wind served obliged them to make do with the official ration of ammunition. Since many of the men had never before seen a great gun, let alone fired one, it was doubtful they could make any great impression on an enemy ship.
However, Captain Mullins had his crew practicing their skills at every waking moment. The guns were run out and then in again in ‘dumb show’. It was boring, mind numbing work, and Mullins was dubious of its effectiveness, but this was the only form of gunnery training he had available then.
At nearly eight bells in the morning watch, the masthead lookout reported a sail off the port bow. Ship-rigged, it was initially thought to be a frigate, but as she closed Aphrodite, it became known to the entire deck crew that this was HMS Rapid, Captain Forsythe. The ship was an elderly sloop of war from the last war.
Her captain was senior and required Mullins to report on board. The boat crew had not been well drilled this early in the commission and the sea was rough. An uncomfortable amount of water came on board the boat before reaching Rapid, thoroughly soaking the captain. Mullins soon found what news was exchanged, could just as well been signaled by flag.
He suspected Forsythe was bored with his own company and was glad to order another commander, junior to him, over to talk.
At any rate, Forsythe was able to fill him in on his probable duties and inform him he should report to Commodore Sir John Warren, flying his flag in HMS Canada somewhere off Brest. Rumor had it Warren was soon to be sent to watch the coast of Ireland to look for any sign of French incursion in that troubled country.
Continuing toward the Brittany coast, the next sails sighted were those of the blockading fleet.
After Valkyrie hung up her number, a third rate replied, informing everyone she was HMS Canada, and ordered Aphrodite to come under her lee and her captain to report aboard. The commodore was leading the fleet through a complex series of evolutions and it was some hours before the sloop could attain her desired station.
Mullins left the complex maneuvering in the hands of Lieutenant Andrews and Mister Lassiter, both of whom were sweating profusely by the time they neared Canada. Seaman Janders, the captain’s cox’n, had been able to drill his crew when the deficiencies became evident after the excursion to Rapid, and his gig’s approach to the big third rate was not unseemly.
Canada’s first officer met Mullins at the entry port and he was led immediately to the great cabin.
Sir John was gracious to the new officer, commenting favorably upon Aphrodite’s handling. He went on to explain what they were about.
“The French have a substantial fleet bottled up here in Brest’s harbor and we mean to keep them there. Your sloop should be able to get up right close to the coast and get advance warning of future activity by their fleet. This will be your task. You will spy out what the French are up to and report back to me. You must take a certain amount of risk with your ship, but you will not be foolhardy. Vice-Admiral Bridport has tasked me with these duties and I am passing them to you. Are there any questions?”
Receiving no reply, the commodore continued, “It is my intent to send HMS Rapid, another sloop-of-war in my stable back home to re-provision and refit. When she returns, she will relieve you and we will find other uses for your ship. I must tell you to avoid becoming too comfortable with these duties. We may be moving to other pastures very soon.”
Mullins was serves wine and biscuits, then Sir John excused himself. Realizing he had taken up enough of the commodore’s time, he left.
Back in Aphrodite, Mullins called the sailing master and first lieutenant to his quarters and went over the information he had gained from the Commodore. Lassiter was concerned over the state of his charts, commenting the coast was liberally punctuated with shallows and rocks.
Mullins remarked their sojourn on the enemy coast would give Lassiter and their midshipmen ample opportunity to correct their charts. “At the end of our cruise, Aphrodite will have the best charts of this coast in existence. I am sure Admiralty will recognize your efforts.”
Aphrodite spent t
he next weeks patrolling the Brittany coastline, navigating among the rocks and shoals. Nothing worthwhile was seen during the early days, but their time was not wasted.
Lassiter and some intelligent mids spent hours in hidden coves in the launch while Aphrodite laid at anchor nearby. They used the boat to make accurate soundings, marking their positions with painstaking bearings to various landmarks.
Eventually, a gaff-rigged coaster appeared, creeping along the shore. Upon spotting Andromeda, she tried to make for a coastal shore battery protecting a small cove, but Lassiter, now well versed on the bottom in this area, was able to con the ship into a position where she could cut the craft off. With no other option, the coaster let fly her sheets and wallowed to a halt.
She was laden with a battery of military field guns and their equipment. This included a supply of ammunition. Gunner Jones was happy to take possession of a supply of powder cartridges for these guns. He could use this powder to make up cartridges to fit their own guns, allowing the gun crews to get a little practice, without using their own limited supply. Given a small crew, she sailed to rendezvous with the offshore fleet.
They had been blessed with fine weather up until now, but the day came when the glass in the great cabin began to drop, signifying some foul weather might soon be upon them. Accordingly, the ship sent up her storm canvas and set course to get out to sea. That evening, the gale struck and the ship, close-hauled, strained to make her offing. Aphrodite labored all night, with little chance for the watch below to snatch a little rest or even to dry their sodden clothing.
Near the end of the mid-watch, the worst of the storm was over, although the sea state was still high. Then, just before first light, a deck lookout spotted something alongside and gave a panicked warning.
Mullins, sleeping in his quarters, woke instantly and put on a pair of seaman’s slop trousers he kept there to avoid soaking his good breeches in the wet weather. He made it out on deck to see a monstrous hull close aboard. Shouts in French from that hull warned him Aphrodite had been seen and he gave the quartermaster instructions to veer away from the enemy ship.
As they started their turn, a gun from the ship fired, its flash revealing some unpleasant information. The ship firing at them was a French third rate, a 74-gun line-of-battle ship which they could not hope to withstand. Perhaps they could hide in the darkness.
This was a false hope though, since the very first hints of sunrise were now evident in the east. The liner fired again, a whole section of lower deck guns, probably 32-pounders. If that were not enough trouble, another ship ahead began firing. From the gun flashes, Mullins took her to be a 40-gun frigate. Whatever she was, her fire was deadly accurate and her heavy balls began smashing into the sloop’s fragile bow area. These balls could travel the length of the ship, tearing and rending.
It took only moments for Aphrodite’s gun crews to man their weapons, but by then many of the guns had already been put out of action. Men were falling in scores and now the third rate had the range, pumping her massive balls into her. First the foremast fell, then the main. The helm was destroyed early on and both Mister Lassiter and the first officer were cut down. With so many things happening at once, Mullins had just time to order a terrified midshipman to go into his cabin and dispose of all of the ship’s papers, when he too was struck down.
A musket ball grazed the side of his head, rendering him unconscious. When the mid emerged on deck, his arms full of weighted pouches, he dropped them over the side, realizing as he did so, he was the only one alive on the quarterdeck.
Another broadside came from the battleship on their beam and the midshipman realized Aphrodite had only a short time remaining. She was sinking, her starboard beam beaten in and her bow area a wreck. Midshipman Holsworth, finished now with his brief command of a warship, slashed the halyard to the colors with his dirk, then grabbed his captain’s heels and dragged him to the ship’s side. A whole section of rail had been shot away, and the rapidly settling ship now had her upper deck very close to the water.
A few members of the crew, still doing their duty, were dropping items into the sea to serve to support those that could not swim. Holsworth dropped his captain’s unconscious body into the sea close to a floating hatch cover. Dropping in himself, he vainly attempted to get Mullins onto the hatch.
Now, others were dropping into the sea and some began helping the lad. It was a lengthy period before the victors of the battle began to assist the survivors, during which time many perished from drowning or shock.
A few others in the water did survive. The jolly boat had been towing behind the Aphrodite. During the action, the boat came adrift and settled as she took on water from a grape-shot hole in her side. A few of the men floundering in the water made it to her and hid behind the boat. The crew of the French battle-ship had other matters to attend to than inspecting a sinking boat, so it was left behind, unmolested.
Hours later, after the enemy had departed, one of the survivors, Mister Midshipman Raynor, took charge and had his few men pull the boat over to a tangle of wreckage in the water. Mullin’s man Edward, one of the survivors, saw a familiar face clinging to the wreckage, Bill was alive but chilled to the bone through the long hours in the cold water.
Neither Edward or Bill could be called a seaman. They were employees on the estate owned by Mullin’s father and had been sent by him to watch over his son. On a previous ship, Mullins had been uncertain over the loyalty of some of his men. These powerful men provided a certain amout of trustworthy protection in those circumstances. Now though, they were as helpless as any of the others.
The survivors were able to stop up the shot hole and rig a mast and sail, salvaged from the wreckage. Raynor took the helm and sailed back out to sea, where two days later she met with a British fishing boat out of St. Peter-Port. Six men made it back to relate the loss of Aphrodite.
Mullins awoke the next day in the third-rate’s wardroom, which had been transformed into an operating theater. The French surgeon had not considered his head wound to be serious and after his scalp was sewn together, he was left on the deck while the more serious patients were dealt with. As his intellects recovered, he realized his captors did not realize he was the former commander of the ship they had just defeated. He was clad only in a torn pair of seaman’s slop trousers, and was probably regarded as a common seaman.
Deciding it would be best if he made a pretense of being badly injured, he kept up that façade for the next few days. By then, the liner had come to harbor and was riding at anchor. Most of the seriously wounded patients had died and the more lightly wounded had recovered sufficiently to be sent to other quarters. One of the sick berth attendants, disgusted by the torn state of Mullins slop trousers, found him a better garment, taken from a dead French seaman.
The surgeon, having more time to spend on individual patients now, had begun to suspect Mullins was faking his injuries. When a French petty officer came down to the wardroom, asking the doctor if he had any hands healthy enough to load provisions, the surgeon pointed to Mullins, along with several other men, these being French.
All of the other English prisoners had been landed previously and Mullins was the only one remaining on the liner. Had he spoken, his nationality would have immediately been apparent, but by remaining mute, his inability to speak or understand what others were saying was thought to be the result of his head wound. His clothing seemingly identified him as a French seaman.
When the petty officer began shouting at him, one of the other French seamen grabbed his arm and led him off as one might a mentally defective patient. Provisions loaded on board from a lighter were passed from one hand to another to their storage in the hold.
Weak from loss of blood, Mullins had a difficult time performing the work, so the petty officer, relenting, ordered him sent down into the lighter to help clean up. When this work was accomplished, the crew on the liner began lowering casks of condemned preserved meat by tackle from the mainyard down into th
e lighter.
It became Mullin’s task to guide the heavy casks into position. Desperately weak now, another seaman took pity on him and pointed to a space between casks and told him to conceal himself there until the work was finished. Understanding the gesture, if not the spoken words, he crouched in the cramped space. In due course, he fell asleep and did not waken until the lighter was at the quay.
A shore crew came aboard to unload the casks. Mullins, refreshed now, emerged from his hiding place and joined in the work. Some of the hands might have wondered at this blood-stained shirtless man helping with their labor but nothing was said immediately. When men were called out of the lighter to assist on shore, Mullins followed. Unobserved, he slipped away and hid between some buildings until the work was done.
Now the task was to try to get away from the harbor area to find a refuge. His mind was still cloudy or he might have just given himself up then and there. That evening, when it began to grow cold, Mullins decided it was time to find a better place to hide.
At this time, most of the local inhabitants were home eating supper, so there were few to notice this strange man wandering through their town. Some might have thought him to be a drunk, wandering home after a fight of some kind. When a pair of French gendarmes began following him, he thought it might soon be all over.
It was then he noticed a shabby, run-down church off the street. He walked to it and opened the door as though he had every right. It was very dim inside, with only a single oil lamp to moderate the darkness. There were a few benches and a table up front that apparently served as a lectern and perhaps an altar. Sitting on one of the back benches, he bowed his head as if in prayer.
A door opened in the opposite end of the building and a woman stepped through. In the dim light, she appeared to be a stout woman of middle age, one who had perhaps seen her share of misfortune. Mullins did not acknowledge her presence and she walked to him, addressing him in French.
Richard Testrake - (Sea Command 2) Page 1
