Gunboat Number 14

by Jens Kuhn

  About half a mile offshore he ordered the masts to be taken down and the boats made ready for action. The guns were hauled into position and loaded, as were the swivels. Kuhlin ordered the other boats alongside and talked to their commanders.

  “We will split up and enter the islands through these three channels here. There are really not too many places where a brig can be, considering she draws clearly more water than we. We’ll check all the coves deep enough. Then we will meet here. Do not attack the brig on your own if you see her – try to sneak in undetected if you can, but in any case, if there is an attack, we’ll do it together.”

  Gunboat Number 14 slowly felt her way through the shallow channel. The islands on both sides were not very high, mere skerries, but they were covered by trees and bushes which made it impossible to see over them unless from a masthead. But the gunboat’s masts were taken down and stowed. This was usual procedure when the boats were cleared for action, but in this case it filled another purpose as well. Without masts the boats were so low they were hard to spot. In fact, Kuhlin hoped the Russian brig’s high masts would give her away before the boats even had open view of her.

  These outer islands were uninhabited. They may have been used by the occasional fisherman for shelter in sudden change of weather, but now, during wartime, there were no fisherman in these waters. There was quite some wildlife though. Seagulls were screeching away as they told each other were fish was to be found. Cormorants were sitting on the rocks, wings stretched out to dry. And they had seen seals on the barren skerries offshore.

  Gunnery officer af Klint was in the bows, together with his crew. The big gun was loaded as well as the two swivels and now the men were keeping lookout. For many of them this could very well be the first sight of the enemy. Eric af Klint himself had seen them before, during peacetime when he had visited Saint Petersburg together with his father. They had watched Russian artillerymen exercising in a field outside the town. This had been one of the reasons why he had chosen to join the artillery and not the horse guard like his father. Somehow the big guns made him feel important, or so he thought. After all, what would this boat be without them? A rowing barge, nothing more.

  “Hard to larboard,” Kuhlin ordered. Number 14 had passed through the channel and was now in somewhat more open water. To the left of them was another channel, somewhat wider and probably deep enough for a brig. On the other side was some kind of anchorage, according to the chart. Suddenly one of the men in the bows saw a dark shape below the water.

  “Shallow ahead!”

  “Hold water! Back of all,” Kuhlin ordered directly. But it was too late. The gunboat slowly slid her bow up the uncharted underwater obstruction and stopped. Kuhlin went forward where af Klint already was peering down into the bottom of the boat.

  “No water, doesn’t look like there is any damage,” he commented.

  “Shouldn’t think so. We were going slowly enough. Now let’s have a look at that shallow.”

  Kuhlin looked over the bows and examined the underwater skerry they had hit. It was about twenty yards wide and only two feet below the water. Fortunately it was flat and sloping so instead of striking it head on the boat had slid up onto it like onto a beach.

  “Lets try to get her off. Back of altogether,” he ordered. The men pulled with a will, but the boat would not move.

  “Af Klint, take your gunners back into the stern and take the first three rows of men with you.”

  With the weight of the crew shifted aft, he ordered the rest of the crew to pull again. This time the gunboat slowly moved. They were off the shallow. Kuhlin went aft and marked the obstruction on the chart while the crew started to pull slowly ahead, now giving it a wide berth.

  For two hours the boat continued to creep between the islands and skerries, checking possible anchorages. They went aground once more and spotted three more unmarked obstructions.

  “Like doing a survey, Sir,” remarked bosun Tapper. Kuhlin nodded. This was not what he had thought of doing when they started to sail this morning. By now he had imagined them safely tucked up in an anchorage alongside Amelia, eating a good meal.

  “It will be getting dark in a few hours. If we don’t find her soon, we’ll have to break off and explain our delay to someone, I’m afraid.” Kuhlin had an independent command, but there were still orders to follow and at the local base they were probably wondering were he was.

  “Gunshot, Sir,” Tapper said suddenly. Kuhlin had heard it as well. “Sounded like a light gun, but not a swivel. Could be the brig. Were do you think it came from?”

  “Hard to say, Sir.”

  “There is another, it seems to come from the south, maybe from behind that island over there,” Kuhlin pointed. “We’ll take a look. Hold water. Back of larboard, give way starboard, rudder hard to larboard!.”

  With the rudder hard over, oars on one side backing and pulling forward on the other, the gunboat almost turned on the spot. “Give way together. Firm up!” The boat started to move faster. More gunshots where heard but then the firing stopped. Hopefully the reckless gunboat had backed off out of range of the Russians guns.

  When they rounded a headland they suddenly spotted Gunboat Number 34. It was laying stopped right in the middle of a bigger cove. Further in was the Russian brig. Her guns were run out and men were swarming up the rigging to make sail while others were heaving on the capstan to haul up the anchor. Kuhlin smiled. “She won’t get away in this wind. It’s far too little and we have bigger guns.”

  “Af Klint! Open fire when ready!”

  The big 24 pounder roared. They could see the ball bounce off the water and smash right into the Russians decks. Immediately the crew started to reload. Now the other gunboat opened fire as well. Her shot missed by a few yards and threw up a great spout of water.

  The Russian six pounders replied, but all shots fell short. They just did not have the range. In the meantime the gunboats continued to fire, two shots every three minutes. With the brig stationary almost all shots found their targets. Splinters flew from the Russian bulwarks and holes appeared in her hull. Men were screaming. The sails were in disarray and the capstan had stopped clicking. Apparently the crew was not obeying orders, or maybe most of them were dead or wounded.

  “Cease firing,” Kuhlin ordered. The cove fell silent, only the smoke and smell of gunpowder remained. “Give way together,” he ordered, taking his boat nearer the enemy and into the range of her guns. Kuhlin doubted she would, or could use them though. Even the Russian commander must realize that they had no chance.

  “Why won’t he strike his colors?” he wondered.

  “Perhaps he rather wants the ship destroyed then let it fall in our hands?

  “Lay us alongside, Tapper! I will board her with a dozen men. Keep us covered with the swivels.”

  Kuhlin, cutlass in his hand stepped though the brig’s entry port onto her deck, closely followed by his men. But there was no resistance. A few Russians sat on the deck, looking bewildered. Others were tending wounded.

  “Where are your officers?” Kuhlin asked. He got no answer. “Search the ship, and signal number 34 to get here and prepare a tow.” Kuhlin looked around. The brig was not too severely damaged, but there was a lot of broken cordage. He would not dare to set sails until those were repaired. And anyway he doubted he had enough people in his crew who could sail a ship of this size, let alone command a prize crew. Also, there was the English frigate. Better tow her out to open water and leave her to the English, hoping their captain would recognize their effort and give them a share of the prize money.

  “The captain is dead, Sir. She seemed to have been commanded by a lieutenant who died from a splinter wound and two midshipmen. They are down below with the rest of the Russians.”

  “Very well, keep them there. Leave six armed men aboard, the rest goes back to the boat. 34 will tow her until we meet 35. We will keep station on her quarter and cover her with the swivels.”

  It was nearly dark wh
en they reached open water. Both 34 and 35 were towing the brig, while number 14 kept a watchful eye on the procession. As soon as they were visible from seaward, HMS Tartar came tearing down onto them, signals flying. Captain Baker was extremely pleased.

  “Kuhlin, this was very well done. Even if I’m a bit disappointed to have missed out all the action. But I see I wasn’t of any use in there.”

  “Thank you, Sir and yes, this was definitely a gunboat job. That’s what we are best at.”

  “Yes yes. What do you say about staying for dinner? We could celebrate your victory, surely?”

  “I would love to, Sir, but my men have basically not left their thwarts since we departed from Sweden this morning. They need a rest and to be fed. So I think we will go right back to that anchorage, taking our Amelia with us and make a camp.”

  “I see. Very well then, all the best and good luck to you and your boats. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

  Chapter 5 - Orders

  Sottungarna is a group of small islands and skerries, forming a sheltered anchorage to the East of Åland. The anchorage had been used as a stop-over for boats and ships bound for Finland for centuries. During the summer of 1808, Sottungarna was the inshore fleet’s forward base. Dozens of gunboats, several galleys, supply ships and hospital ships crowded the anchorage. On the islands, gunboat crews lived in tents.

  It was midsummer time, and as usual the June solstice caused unstable, windy and wet weather. Lieutenant Kuhlin’s squadron of three gunboats had been here for three weeks now, essentially doing nothing. The crews lived in their tents ashore and had a relatively easy time, except for the occasional patrol, looking for Russian gunboats. There were rumors of a Russian supply convoy trying for Turku, which had been occupied by the Russians earlier. It would have to be stopped of course. There was a relief plan for Turku, but nobody knew when enough troops would be ready. In any case, they would have to be put ashore from ships, and the gunboats would be used to protect them.

  Kuhlin sat in the cabin of the old galley Småland. Slower and more lightly armed than the gunboats, the galleys where mostly used as flagships. They had real cabins aft, something Kuhlin by now had come to envy immensely. After several weeks of sleeping in his coffin like chest or ashore he longed for a real ship with a real galley and a warm cabin.

  “Ah, Kuhlin, here you are!” A captain had entered the cabin. Kuhlin did not remember his name, but he knew a member of the staff when he saw it. The captain looked healthy and well fed.

  “Keep your seat by all means,” he continued.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Now, Kuhlin, I have orders for your little squadron. As you probably have heard we suspect a Russian supply convoy on its way to Turku. We are not really sure, though, which channel it will be coming through, so we have to keep a good lookout.”

  “I see.”

  “The thing is, the Russians have put troops on quite a lot of the islands between here and the main channels. Several of our patrols have come under fire from ashore, without even seeing any Russians. And this is not acceptable. You will take your squadron and rout those Russians out. I want them off those islands.”

  “Aye aye, Sir.” Kuhlin, knew that the task was no easy one. His crew was not exactly trained in land fighting, and the Russians would see them long before he would see the Russians.

  “Sir, do you know if those Russians have any field guns?”

  “Probably not, but you never know. All our ships that have come under fire report only small arms. Which is bad enough for open boats.”

  Kuhlin left the galley with some new charts and a bunch of intelligence reports about islands on which Russians had been seen. However, he suspected the Russians would probably change their positions from time to time. This would not be an easy task at all. He almost hoped the rainy weather would continue, bad visibility was the only advantage he had. Of course he could move at night, but navigation was always a problem in these rock infested waters, and darkness did not make it easier.

  It had started to rain again when Kuhlin came ashore and walked to the tents where his crews were living. During the stay at Sottungarna even the officers lived in tents. Dripping wet, he entered the tent where the commanders of his other two boats were drinking together with their bosuns and gunnery officers. Tapper and af Klint were present as well.

  “Welcome, Sir, you look like you need a drink,” sub-lieutenant Dahlberg, commander of gunboat number 35 filled a mug with the strong spirit that was liberally provided to the officers and men of the inshore fleet.

  Kuhlin accepted the drink and took off his dripping wet coat. “Gentlemen, I just come from the flagship. We have orders to sail tomorrow morning!”

  “Finally,” Tapper said. “We’ve been rotting here far too long. The crew is more drunk than alive most of the time.”

  “I know. Now we will send word to the Amelia to make us the most opulent dinner they can provide. For she won’t be with us on this patrol.”

  The men knew what that meant. They would have to live on the meager provisions the gunboats could carry themselves. Mostly salt herring, hard bread and porridge. Eaten cold more often than warm as the boats did not have any galley. Warm food or coffee for that matter required them to go ashore on some island to make a fire. And as they were moving within Russian occupied territory this wasn’t going to happen very often. Also they might have to be careful with smoke giving their presence away to the enemy.

  “How long is this patrol supposed to last?” Sub-lieutenant Gran of Number 34 wondered.

  “Nothing was said about that. We are to rout out those Russians and I guess we will go back when we have done that, are being recalled or run out of food.”

  “Ten days then, food won’t last longer than that.”

  “Unless we can relieve the Russians of some of their supplies.”

  The men laughed.

  Chapter 6 - The Cottage

  It was still raining lightly when the three gunboats slipped their lines and slowly moved out of the anchorage the next morning, Kuhlin’s boat in the lead, followed by Gran and Dahlberg. The crews were dripping wet and most of them had a heavy head from the night’s liberal use of liqueur. Still, they were pulling with a will, thus at least keeping warm. Kuhlin himself stood in the stern of gunboat 14, shuddering in his boat cloak. He had ordered the swivel guns to be loaded with grape shot to be prepared for any sudden encounters with the Russians. The big guns were hauled up and in place, but not yet loaded. Kuhlin would not trust the powder could be kept dry in this weather and the big guns were a nuisance to worm out and reload in case of a misfire.

  There were hundreds of islands in the Finnish archipelago, but Kuhlin had received reports as of from which Russian troops had been firing on passing vessels. These he would have to check out first, although he was aware that the Russians could have been moved long since. They would need boats to move them though, so there could very well be Russian gunboats in the area. Thus he was quite satisfied with the bad weather. At least the visibility was bad as well. The gunboats, low in the water, would not be seen easily between the islands.

  A light flared up in the bow. That idiot af Klint was lighting his pipe. Kuhlin shrugged. They would either learn to be more careful or be dead soon enough. For now he couldn’t bring himself to reprimand the gunnery officer in front of the crew. It could be bad for morale. Instead, he took another look on the chart which he tried to keep out of the rain by placing it inside his chest. He lifted the lock and compare the small drawn shapes of islands on the chart with what little he saw though the mist.

  “Ease up,” he ordered, slowing the boat down. Then he turned to Tapper. “We’ll turn to starboard after that headland over there. I’ll have number 34 set a party ashore and search the island while the rest will continue slowly enough for them to catch up,” he explained.

  “Aye aye, Sir.” Tapper peered through the mist until he saw the headland, a vague shape about two hundred yards away. “I wonder if
we’ll get any lunch,” he thought.

  Sub-lieutenant Gran hated walking around on damp islands, looking for Russians. This was the third one and he was already wet to the bone. Although it wasn’t raining much his clothes were soaked through and having to make his way through bushes and all kind of wet vegetation, he could of course not wear his boat cloak. He swore when another tree decided to empty a cascade of big wet drops on him.

  Gran was leading six men, armed with muskets and cutlasses, while he himself had two pistols and his sword. Which wasn’t of much help either cutting his way through the vegetation, he’d rather would have had a cutlass himself.

  The first three islands they had searched had proved to be completely devoid of Russians and signs there had been any around lately. In fact, they did not find any evidence of human activity whatsoever. However, this island was somewhat bigger and according to the chart there was supposed to be a cottage on it, perhaps a fisherman’s or some farmer’s who put sheep or goats ashore here during the summer. It was on the other side of the island, near a small cove, and for some reason, lieutenant Kuhlin had ordered him to get there over land, while the other two gunboats would wait out of sight, but ready to enter the cove if required. Kuhlin seemed to expect there would be some Russians this time, alright. But Gran had his doubts. They had not seen any boats around lately and how were the Russians supposed to get here in the first place. In fact, Gran suspected that there hadn’t been any Russians on any islands around here. It could very well all be a rumor, started by some supply ship’s captains to get themselves escorted by gunboats. Those merchant sailors could be a little wary plying front line waters unescorted, not that he couldn’t understand them.

  “Halt!” he ordered his men. They were nearing the other side of the island now and it was time to take at least some precautions. “We continue the approach as silently as possible. No slashing out at branches and keep your ears open!”