Gunboat Number 14

by Jens Kuhn

  “The crew...?”

  “Normally there are no survivors.”

  “Oh.” Anna turned to look away, feeling unsteady.

  There was no big sea battle that day. The Russian gunboats, upon sighting the Swedish line, did only advance very cautiously, deploying themselves slowly during the rest of the day. Thus, both Swedish and Russian crews had to spend the night aboard their gunboats, in great discomfort and not little fright, due to the close proximity of the enemy. This deteriorated further, as the night not only brought darkness, but also a moist fog that made men shudder and threatened to render gunpowder wet and useless.

  For Lieutenant Kuhlin, however, the fog brought salvation. Still practically behind enemy lines, Gunboat Number 14 used the night to move outside the islands that defined the battlefield to be, pulling very slowly and quietly, feeling its way along the contours of the islands, barely visible in the fog. By midnight, he had placed his boat off the Swedish fleet’s northern flank, protected by a small island from the view of both sides. He knew that he could not join the Swedish line until morning, the risk to be taken for a Russian scouting party was far too great in this visibility – and both side’s boats did look very similar anyway. So he ordered food to be handed out, cold food of course, and just a little light beer with it, and then rest, waiting for the arrival of dawn.

  At five in the morning the fog lifted, and the Russians advanced. One hour later they were in range of the Swedish great guns and swivels and the battle began. Having ordered to wait until the last moment in order to be able to use his guns to the best effect, the Swedish commander had gambled high, but he had gambled right. The Russians, despite being almost twice as much in numbers, did retreat and the first part of the battle was a Swedish victory.

  Lieutenant Kuhlin was standing on top of the island that sheltered his boat and watched the Russian lines. There being a lull in the battle right now, he could take his boat and join his countrymen now, but something made him hesitate. There was a movement in the Russian lines, on their northern flank, that worried him. The very fact that he had been able to take his boat here, and stay here unmolested during the better part of the morning, actually meant that the northern flank of the Swedish line wasn’t very well protected. And the Russians might just have guessed as much.

  Then the Russians moved, this time to the north, trying to outflank their enemy. This was exactly what Kuhlin had been expecting.

  “Tapper,” he called. “You will take Miss Anna into the fishing smack and sail away to the northwest.”

  “Aye aye, Sir.”

  Kuhlin had half expected Anna to refuse, but apparently she still remembered what happened to Gran’s boat the day before and followed the bosun willingly. Only the worried glance towards af Klint showed her real feelings. Then they were off, and Gunboat Number 14 prepared for action.

  The Russians came in force, and there was, of course, no way for Kuhlin to stop them. Instead he ordered af Klint to open fire very early, hoping for a round shot to find its mark by accident. When firing at long range, the gunboat’s cannonballs did bounce of the water like a pebble thrown from a beach. It was not unknown for round shots to bounce three or four times, every time increasing the range. Accuracy was a different matter though. But against a great mass of boats, chances were actually quite good of hitting something, better, in fact, than the Russian’s who only had a very small target.

  Soon enough, Russian round shots were landing all around them, and Kuhlin ordered the oarsmen to back away the boat slowly while still firing at the Russians. By now, the Swedish line had realized the danger they were in and had started to strengthen its northern flank. This, however wasn’t to any great avail. The Russians were far too many and by nine in the morning the whole Swedish line, Gunboat Number 14 now included, started to retreat into open water on the other side of the sound. There, another stand was made in order to prevent the Russians from leaving the sound. This succeeded temporarily, but eventually even this position had to be given up and the Swedish gunboats retreated into the protection of another group of islands, Grönvikssund, further to the west.

  Here, the Russians did not immediately follow. By next morning, the weather had worsened and severe gales from the southwest made crossing the stretch of open water between the groups of islands impossible the three following days. In fact, Grönvikssund became the inshore fleet’s stronghold for the rest of the season, which, in any case, did only last a few more weeks. At least for the Russians. Their gunboats retreated to Turku for the winter in the first week of October. The Swedish boats, however were a very long way from home still and the winter did come early in 1808.

  Chapter 22 – Storms

  Charlotte Kuhlin stood at the window of her home, looking over the harbor. It was blowing a northerly gale and cold rain with some snow in it slashed at the glass. She shuddered as an icy gust penetrated the leaky wooden frame of the window and chilled her body. She crossed her arms in front of her to hold her dressing gown closer together. Tried not to think of how the weather was out at sea right now. The fighting was over, so much she had read in the newspapers, but the inshore fleet was still out there, kept by bad weather from returning to its home port.

  From her husband she had not heard very much. The occasional letter had come, of course, but mostly in the beginning of the war. Lately there were few ships returning and most of them carried wounded soldiers. There was a knock on the door, and Charlotte turned and walked to answer it. Opening the door, she looked at Eleonora’s face and knew that there had been bad news.

  When Eleonora first had come to Stockholm, with a letter from her husband explaining her situation, she had done what she could to help her. She had helped her find sub-lieutenant Gran’s parents who had welcomed her, but as they lived very crowded as it was, Eleonora had wanted to find some work and set up her own place. Not having had much work experience before, it had not been easy, but finally she had found a place as a governess.

  Eleonora’s face was all wet and streaming, mostly from the rain, but her red eyes told that there was something more.

  “Come in, please, dear,” Charlotte took her hand and led her into the room, closing the door behind her. Turning towards Eleonora she looked into the young woman’s eyes, which were again streaming with tears.

  “He is dead!,” Eleonora yelped. Charlotte reached out to her, steadying her, then taking her in her arms. A hot ball of fire was suddenly in her stomach.

  “Who?, she asked hastily, hoping that it would not be her husband, at the same time feeling bad for wishing it’d rather be Eleonora’s beloved sub-lieutenant.

  “My darling....oh...what do I do...?”

  Charlotte, feeling a little relieved, albeit still ashamed, led the wretched girl towards the sofa and placed her there. Sitting down next to her, she held her hand.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. How do you know? What happened?”

  Eleonora wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I got this letter...,” she searched the folds of her dress, finally producing a wrinkled sheet of paper.

  “Here...it’s from the high command of the inshore fleet...,” she began to read “We deeply regret...,” then her voice faltered. Charlotte took the paper from her and read it herself.

  “Oh...lost with all hands?”

  Eleonora gulped. “Blown up...he told med it could happen...but was very rare...Oh, why had it to be him? What am I to do?”

  During the last weeks the waters between Finland and Sweden had become gray and cold. Strong winds produced white capped waves that made the gunboats with their low gunwales very uncomfortable indeed. Frequently, spray came over the bows, drenching the crew to the bone. Many were sick by now, mostly because of the cold and wet weather, combined with lack of fresh food and insufficient clothing – most crewmen were still in the same clothes they had on them when they joined the squadron in the spring. The promised new uniforms had never come. In fact, the situation was so bad that most boats had lost half
their crews sick and quite a few dead.

  Apart from being the humanitarian catastrophe it was, this also meant that maneuvering the boats had become awkward and slow. Yet, the fleet had managed to sail from Grönvikssund back to Sottungarna and then to the South coast of the Åland islands themselves. There, however, they had become stuck for several weeks. An attempt had been made to cross the Åland sea, but the boats had encountered strong headwinds and were forced to turn back from about half way over.

  Lieutenant Kuhlin’s little command, now only his own gunboat Number 14 and Dahlberg’s captured Russian boat, were holed up together with their support vessel, the schooner Amelia, in a small cove, waiting for better weather. Mostly, the officers stayed aboard the Amelia, together with the sick and Miss Anna, who yet again had become many a sick man’s only reason to stay alive. Those of the crew who still were fit for duty lived in their tents ashore, trying to keep warm by burning driftwood and the few bushes and trees on the island.

  In the cabin, Kuhlin, af Klint and Dahlberg were discussing the situation.

  “Anna thinks we should send the Amelia ahead with the sick,” af Klint said. “And I think, she is right. They will surely die very soon if they don’t get ashore.”

  Kuhlin sighed. “Yes, but if we let them go, we might as well die the rest of us. The Amelia is the only way to get out of the weather and prepare some warm food at least. And more people will probably get sick. We cannot have them just lying on their thwarts, can we?”

  Eric af Klint nodded reluctantly.

  “What about a tow?” sub-lieutenant Dahlberg offered.

  Kuhlin looked at his sub-lieutenant questioningly.

  “Well, Sir. Could not the Amelia tow the boats over the sea? With minimal crew in the boats to steer and most of the men below and dry?”

  Kuhlin considered it for a moment. “It might work. We’d need a few men to bail if the sea is rough, but we could relieve them every few hours. Yes, I’ll go over to the flagship in the fishing smack and ask for permission to proceed independently.” He left the cabin, calling for Tapper.

  The next morning there was still snow in the air, but the wind was a little weaker, and had veered into the northwest. A sea forward of the beam promised a wet ride for the gunboats, but for a real sailing vessel like the Amelia it was a piece of cake. Bosun Tapper had prepared two towing hawsers of a hundred yards length each, one to connect Gunboat Number 14 to the schooner and the other between Number 14 and the Russian prize. The fishing smack they decided to leave behind this time.

  Tapper, who had volunteered to stay aboard Number 14 for the first watch together with four men waved to Kuhlin, standing on Amelia’s poop, to indicate that the tow was all properly set up.

  “You may proceed, skipper,” Kuhlin told the commander of the supply vessel. The skipper was not a military man himself, but merely a hired merchant, who in peacetime used to transport timber from the Northern parts of Sweden to the capital. The man nodded and ordered his crew to halyards and sheets.

  “Hoist mainsail and inner jib!”

  The crew started to haul at the ropes and slowly the big mainsail climbed up the mast. The jib followed more quickly. With the wind filling the sails, Amelia leaned slightly over to leeward, gathering speed. The towing hawser creaked, its bight lifting out of the water. A sudden jerk could be felt when the tow started to move.

  “It seems to be holding,” the skipper commented.

  “Aye.” Kuhlin was relieved. With just a little luck they could be under the protection of the Swedish islands by late evening.

  Charlotte Kuhlin heard the news when she went out for a walk. The rain had stopped for the time being, and the sky was reasonably clear. As soon as she reached the waterfront, she heard everybody talking about the gunboats finally being on their way home. Most were already on the Swedish side, but holed up on the coast of Roslagen in order to wait for the slower galleys. But some where on their way and the first ones had already passed Vaxholm Castle.

  Charlotte walked down the quay, looking towards the harbor entrance, feeling an unexplainable sting of excitement in her stomach. The air was still cold, even though the wind was much less now and there was even a glimpse of the sun. Then she saw the boats. First was a schooner under full sails, moving gracefully, almost hiding the two small gunboats that followed her, sweeps moving steadily. They looked a little like giant water spiders, Charlotte thought. Of course, she did not know that it was her husband standing in the sternsheets of the forward boat, it was still too far away. But she could not tear her eyes from the view nonetheless.

  Suddenly she realized that the boats would not come here at all, but turn right to the galley wharf. Now she was in a hurry to find a boat that would take her over to the wharf. Yes, it was probably foolish, but she just had to be there when the boats arrived, just in case. She sat in the boat, her heart beating wildly, watching the gunboats come closer. Then she saw him. Her heart almost bursting she stood up in the boat, waving frantically.

  “Johan. Oh! Johan!” she cried, tears now in her eyes, rocking the boat dangerously in the process, upsetting the old woman who operated the oars.

  “Now, Mistress, please sit down or you’ll drown like a dog in plain view of him!”

  Lieutenant Kuhlin did not see her at all. He was terribly occupied with piloting the boat in these confined waters, giving orders that were carried out sluggishly by the weak and tired crew. Still, finally he had Gunboat Number 14 against the dock, stern lines fast to mooring piles and gave his last order.

  “Stow sweeps. Crew muster to be dismissed.” He was too tired for any speeches, just told Tapper to take care of the rest and climbed up to the dock, more or less directly into the arms of his wife, who he at last realized had been standing there all along.

  Eric af Klint was feeling bewildered. He was watching the boat from the Amelia moving towards the shore. Anna was sitting in the sternsheets, a big scarf wrapped around her head, protecting her hair and covering parts of her face against the cold air. When the boat touched the dock he stepped forward. Then she was standing in front of him, with a severe expression on her face. Her eyes were very light blue in the winter sun, almost translucent.

  “What will you do now?” Eric hesitated. “You know, we could...eh...”

  Anna smiled at him. “Eric darling. I am not really your kind of woman.”

  “I don’t really care...”

  She put her hand to his face touching him gently.

  “I know you don’t. I’m just not sure if I could live like that...”

  “But you won’t have to...”

  “I think I would want to, Eric.”

  “You could try? There’s is not much spying to be done during the winter, anyway...” He offered her his arm. Anna hesitated only for a second. Then she took his arm and lay her head against his shoulder.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I hope, it will be a long and cold winter.”

  Afterword

  This tale is of course fiction in the sense that it’s not a true story. However, it has been composed of fragments that more or less did really happen. Most of these fragments come from a wonderful little book, published in Swedish with the title “Dessa oändeligt förbannade sluparna” (“Those eternally damned gunboats”). The book contains a collection of letters and diaries from actual people serving on those boats in 1808 and 1809. And the characters of lieutenant Kuhlin and his men are very much inspired by those men, and a certain woman.

  This woman, Miss Anna, deserves a special comment. There was indeed a priest’s daughter who was observed participating in certain sexual activities with members of the inshore fleet. And while there is no proof that she was involved in the intelligence business in any way, I chose to use her to not only spice up my novel, but also make a certain point about women not only being of second hand importance for the effort of the war. There were quite a few women involved in this particular war, some disguised as men, but some openly accompanying their spouses
and working on supply ships. One of them is very rewardingly depicted in Björn Holm’s “Affairen vid Ratan”, a novel about the last battle of this war, in 1809.

  As for the action itself, it’s mostly fiction. Some cornerstones of the plot, however, are true. HMS Tartar was in the Baltic at the time, and her captain’s name was Baker.

  There was indeed a chance for the Swedes to capture the complete Russian high command, but unlike Kuhlin they never tried.

  The final battle, where Gran’s gunboat gets blown to pieces, took place at Palva Sund on September 18th, 1808. The tactics of this battle are accurately described, but the Russians did in fact come from the south, not the northeast and I have boldly moved the place itself a few miles further to the southwest. This little geographic alteration was necessary in order to help poor Gran find his destiny more easily.

  The political background is also quite accurate. It is always difficult to describe people’s feelings during a completely different period of time, but historians do quite agree that the Finnish War was fought half-heartedly at best. On land, the Swedish army was conducting some sort of fighting retreat most of the time. Many people did not like the king, as well in Finland as in Sweden. Especially in Finland, many thought they’d at least not be worse off with the czar.

  On the water, the war did go a little better. The navy had the Russians blocked in with British help and the inshore fleet fought well. It had, however, depended very heavily on the sea forts, especially the one at Svensksund, which was treacherously given up early in the war, together with a squadron of the most modern gunboats. This did definitely have an enormous impact on how the remaining inshore fleet could act. Considering this, they did very well. And in 1809, at Ratan, the very gunboats saved the army from complete defeat. But that’s another story.