HMS RESOLVE: A John Phillips Novel

by Richard Testrake

  They retired to the town house where some service friends had been invited. Thomas Lynch was there. Years before, he had been a servant in this very house. Phillips had taken him aboard his ship and soon elevated him to midshipman. Now a grown man, he was a commissioned lieutenant awaiting a ship. Phillips took his particulars and promised to keep him in mind when he had a vacancy. Lynch spent the evening entertaining the house with tales of Naval exploits.

  Phillips reminded himself how much he had enjoyed the young man’s company in years past and resolved to do what he could to get him aboard Resolve. A wardroom populated with agreeable officer was well worth having.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  John had a savage headache the next morning. The thought of the long drive to Essex did not thrill him, but the ladies were anxious to get their spoils home. The coach Henry had driven down was heavily loaded and Phillips knew the driver would need to go slowly to spare the team.

  He had been concerned about Henry’s ability to keep up with the work at the estate, so he took on a youth working about the town house to assist him. Henry would drive the carriage and the lad would handle the coach. He asked Midshipman Spencer to accompany the new driver, in case any help was needed. Warning the new driver to spare the horses and not try to keep up with the faster carriage, they were off. Abigail was not at all happy that she was separated from her swain, but Sarah whispered to her that once home, she could take Spencer over to the Norris place and show him the pond where her brother Timothy used to fish.

  It was late afternoon and nowhere near their destination when the roadway entered a forest. As they came around a bend, Phillips knew there was a problem. There, in the road, was a tangle of tree limbs. Two good sized trees had been dropped across the road, so their tops angled in the direction of their on-coming carriage. It would be impossible for any wheeled vehicle to pass without some strenuous work with an axe or saw.

  Phillips knew exactly what was happening. Years before, he had stopped a French military carriage on a shore road by this very tactic. He cursed himself for not bringing along his double barreled fowling piece. He had meant to, but in the flurry of getting everything ready, it had been left behind. All was not lost though. He had his two pocket pistols and Henry had a big blunderbuss up on the box.

  Warning his wife and daughter to stay low, he shouted at Henry to stop the team. Henry did, but catching sight of two fellows on either side of the road he fired his blunderbuss in their general direction, hitting neither. At that moment, a third man stepped out in the road with a large horse pistol. He walked up to the carriage and without blinking, fired the pistol’s charge into Henry’s chest.

  The two others approached, one carried a smaller version of Henry’s blunderbuss, the other had a heavy horse pistol in his hand with another in his sash. The cold blooded murder of Henry told Phillips he could not allow these bandits access to his women. His hand in his pocket already, he drew out the first pistol and fired at the man with the blunderbuss, judging it the more deadly of the weapons confronting him. The bandit fell and Phillips tried to draw the pistol from his other pocket. The cock snagged on the fabric and he could not drag it free.

  In desperation, he fired through the coat, but the ball went wide. As a last resort, he drew his sword. The man he was lunging for casually raised up his pistol and fired, the ball catching Phillips upper right arm. The sword fell from his nerveless hand, as his whole arm went numb.

  His mind reeling with shock and pain, he heard two explosions behind him and saw both highwaymen fall. He took that moment to fall himself, gushing blood into the roadway.

  *****

  Sarah had been in a similar situation before. Being held up by highwaymen one day in a carriage with her wounded husband, she had drawn a pistol from a pocket in a side panel of her coach and fired, severely wounding the road agent. She was now in the coach borrowed from Charlotte Norris and remembered Charlotte customarily kept loaded pistols in the vehicle for just such emergencies. Praying the weapons were still present, she felt in one pocket and found a large, beautifully appointed pistol. Sliding over in the seat, she found its mate on the other side.

  She cocked the first weapon just as the highwayman shot her husband. She held the weapon steady at the man’s chest. Her mind was clear and cold as she pulled on the trigger. There was not a trace of tremor in her hand, as the pistol fired. Struck from only a few feet away, the bandit fell like a dropped rock. At the explosion, she dropped that pistol and grabbed the other. The third man, now alone, was fleeing for the trees and the horses tied there. He dropped the empty blunderbuss he had killed Henry with and tried to make it into the trees.

  The mainspring was powerful in Sarah’s gun and she had trouble getting it cocked. The gun, a smoothbore, was not accurate at more than a few paces and the killer was much farther away than that. She fired though and the ball caught the felon in the back of his lower leg, smashing both bones there. The killer dropped to the ground, crying with pain.

  Abigail had dismounted from the coach and retrieved the unfired pistol from the first man her mother had shot. She took it over to the killer lying at the edge of the road and pointed it at the killer.

  Sarah shouted at her not to fire, they wanted to take the man back to hang. Abigail protested, “They killed my father!”

  “He’s not dead Abigail. Watch over that man while I try to stop the bleeding. Sarah climbed to the top of the coach and threw some of their luggage down. She tore open the fastenings and pulled out the first thing she came to, a green silk dress she had just paid a fortune for. She used her husband’s razor sharp sword to slice it into strips of varying widths.

  Seeing that Abigail’s prisoner was not going anywhere, she asked her to come and help with her husband. Between the pair, they had managed to put pads of cloth over the entrance and exit holes and bound them with the silk strips.

  As they finished with their bandaging, they were surprised when a rider rode up on the other side of the tree limb barricade. Sarah was devastated that she had neglected to load some weapons. They only had one pistol ready to fire. But all was well, the stranger lived nearby and had heard the shots and came to investigate.

  “I thought someone was poaching my game”, he said. He carried a long barreled fowling piece and offered to stand guard while one of the ladies took his horse to get help. The village is only a bit over a mile down the lane. Indicating his mare, the man said, “Martha is fresh and you can run her to town. Tell some people what has happened and they will come to help.

  “We don’t have a sawbones in town, but our apothecary is just as good. He will fix your man up good as new.”

  Abigail was up on the mare, flogging it into a run. She brought most of the village back with her.

  By the time the slow wagon had arrived, matters were well in hand. Two men with a crosscut saw were cutting the trees across the road into firewood, while the bandit’s three horses had been led off to the livery in town. Phillips was now awake and his wound was hurting like hell. The apothecary had arrived and after checking the bandages, administered a dose of laudanum.

  The injured highwayman, now whimpering from the pain in his leg, begged for some of it also, but the local magistrate just told him to keep his mouth shut. His pain would go away right after his trial when they hung him from the gallows. “You’re lucky there. You won’t have to wait while we build a new one. The one where we hung Ned Pritcher is still there and ready and waiting for you.”

  Speaking to the family members, the magistrate wondered, “Do you think you ladies could bear witness at this fellow’s trial? I’d like to have it this afternoon if we could. Then we could hang him up in the morning. I do hate to allow these matters to drag on.”

  The women assured the magistrate they could indeed testify and Phillips, gritting his teeth against the ever present pain, said he too could testify to seeing the fellow shoot Henry.

  Midshipman Spencer was furious he had not been there to protect th
e captain and his family, but Abigail breathlessly admitted to him how terrified she was and how much she wished he had been there to protect her. The two stood under the trees at the side of the road with their arms around each other.

  Fully alert now, Phillips wryly wondered how his daughter could be so assured when dealing with killers, but all soft and melting when talking with his midshipman. The sooner he got that lad to sea, the better he thought. After spending a few days in the village, a stretcher was placed fore and aft in the well-sprung carriage and Phillips was laid on it. There was room for Sarah and Abigail inside, but Spencer had to stay up on the box to drive.

  The well-rested horses were hitched and the family was off. None of the townspeople would take any kind of reward, but hearing the local grist mill had burned down last year, Phillips had spoken to the magistrate after the hanging and gave him a note-of hand to cover the repairs.

  The whole populace was grateful, since now they could have their grain ground here rather than transporting it ten miles or more to the next mill. Everyone felt that a good job of work had been done. A band of highwaymen eliminated, a murderer hung and now their grist mill was being brought back to life.

  Phillips was the only person in town that was not in good spirits. His arm was hurting him and the apothecary refused to raise his dosage of laudanum. He assured the captain that heavy usage could turn a patient into an opium eater. Phillips understood about that, since some time ago he had taken command of a frigate whose crew were mostly addicted. He understood the reasons why he could not be pain free, but remained in a savage bad temper, much of the time.

  Everyone was glad when the vehicles pulled into the drive of their Essex house.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  As soon as they arrived, Abigail dragged Spencer off to the barn. Phillips had a very good idea of the trouble a young, unmarried couple could find themselves into in a barn. He expressed his concerns to Sarah.

  “It’s only that hound bitch that showed up on our doorstep a few weeks ago. Abigail says she is about ready to have a litter of pups. That is why she has been coming over here from Charlotte’s so much. She wants to keep them all and have her own pack of hunting hounds, but I don’t want to see her riding to hounds. There are already enough ways for a young woman to be hurt, without her jumping fences at full tilt, chasing some poor fox.

  Phillips had heard the servants talking about a stray dog that had appeared, but he had not taken any notice. The next morning, Phillips, wanting to get his mind away from his pain, decided to go out to the barn to see his daughter. It was difficult to be alone with her when Spencer was present. She followed the lad around like a puppy following his master.

  Midshipman Spencer was now riding his captain’s hunter to the village to see about the mail. Of course, mail was regularly delivered to the house, but the horse got little exercise, especially since Henry was gone and Spencer was glad for any excuse to be astride.

  It was be good for Spencer to get away from the house and the horse away from the barn. He ambled over to the huge barn door and looked in. Inside the door, on the right side was the hay storage. Of course, there were several well thatched hayricks outside, but the inside storage ensured clean, dry hay for the draft animals and the milch cow.

  He saw Abigail bending over a mound of hay at the foot of the haymow and there was an emaciated female hound lying in her nest. Looking over Abigail’s shoulder, he saw three tiny pups nursing. He wondered that a bitch in such poor condition could produce milk for her pups.

  “What are you feeding the mother, Abigail?”

  “I was getting scraps from cook to give her before we went to London, but I don’t think anyone fed her when we were gone.”

  It looked that way to her father, also. Aside from the casual barn rodent the bitch had been able to catch, she had probably had little or nothing since they left two weeks previously.

  “Tell me, Abigail, how are you at milking cows?”

  “Well, Henry showed me how last year, but I haven’t had much practice.”

  “Let us see if we can catch the cow and get some milk from her for the dog.”

  “Father, Cook will be furious with us if we use all the milk.”

  “We won’t use that much. We’ll leave plenty for Cook.”

  They found a wooden bucket and filled it with the oats Henry had used for the horses. Out in the paddock, they saw a brindle cow grazing with a red heifer. When they began walking toward the animals, they ambled away. Abigail said, “Henry always rapped on the bucket with something when he was ready to feed them. They would come in a hurry, then.”

  Phillips went back to the barn and found a pair of wide boards leaning against the side of the barn. He laid them flat on the ground and with the cattle watching, poured oats on the board. Rapping the empty bucket with a stick, he walked backwards away from the grain. The cattle, keeping their eyes on the pair, eased over and began devouring the oats.

  Phillips thought the cattle might be suspicious of him as a stranger, so he handed Abigail a length of line and asked her to see if she could get a lead on the Brindle. The young woman walked right up to the cow and rubbed her withers, before easing the loop over her head. She led her back to the barn and sat on a stool there and began stripping milk from the cow into the wood bucket.

  With a few quarts accumulated, Abigail took it over to the hound and set it down by her head. As soon as she got the scent, the bitch jumped up and began lapping the milk as fast as she could.

  *****

  By spring, the now well-nourished puppies were vigorous young dogs, always finding some reason to get into trouble. Phillips and Abigail had had gone out with the horses and pups on several occasions with the dog’s mother, to see if they could find some sport. The pups though would chase almost anything but the foxes they had been bred to hunt.

  Sensing his daughter did not have any pleasure in the sport, Phillips gave it up. Apparently, the young dogs were just going to be nuisances about the house and barn.

  The animals had already served one purpose though. They took his mind from his injury and by late spring, his arm, while still a bit stiff, was now almost pain free.

  Too, the young stable hand he had brought back from London, was beginning to take Abigail’s mind away from Spencer. In any event, that young man had been frequenting the dances and social events that were prevalent during the winter. There was gossip he was beginning to cut a swath among the girls and young women of the county.

  After encountering several irate fathers, he had felt compelled to limit Spencer’s access to the good horses, so he could not go too far afield. Phillips was concerned an angry father or older brother was bound to confront the lad any week now. While his own domestic life was better than it had been for years, this midshipman was going to find trouble, sooner rather than later.

  Sarah was not thrilled by the change in Abigail’s beaux and decided she would begin taking the girl to some of the local social events after her husband was called back to sea. She thought her daughter could do much better than a servant lad.

  The day finally came when Spencer, on his return from town on the old grey that had been a denizen of the stables forever, came into the house and pressed a missive from Admiralty into Phillips hand.

  Captain Phillips was going over the unfamiliar handwriting, when Spencer, unable to wait, asked eagerly, “Are we going back to sea, Captain?”

  After the interruption, Phillips went back over the formal verbiage to make sure he understood the orders. “Yes, I do think we are, Mister Spencer. This is a warning that HMS Resolve has been repaired and I am to hold myself in readiness to take command.”

  “Sir, do you suppose I should return to the ship now? I could supervise the hands working on the last minute repairs.”

  “Mister Spencer, is there some reason you should depart suddenly?”

  “Well sir, there are two young women I met at dances over the winter. One says she is ill every morning. The o
ther says all of her clothing is now too tight. Both tell me we are to marry very soon.”

  “Mister Spencer, this is what one must expect after playing ‘slap and tickle’ in dark recesses with young ladies. Make sure the carriage and team is prepared. We’ll take young Wilkins with us to bring the vehicle back, in case we do put to sea.”

  Sarah was unhappy but resigned when he showed her the letter. “I knew this was coming, but hoped it would be much farther in the future. I am afraid I am not much of a Navy wife.”

  Phillips made all the proper expressions of regret, but was up with the dawn the next morning, along with Spencer. As they settled in the carriage and got the lap robes positioned, Abigail came up, leading the largest of the hound pups on a line. This one was named Terror, because he fancied himself a chicken dog. No chicken for miles around could feel safe when Terror came visiting.

  Phillips did not really think a warship was the correct place to have a pet, but Abigail was sure someone would shoot the dog on one of his chicken stealing raids and thought her father was the one to keep her animal safe.

  They let the pup run alongside the carriage, until he became winded, then pulled him aboard. After that, the animal sat alert, barking at every animal they passed. Phillips had to admit to himself the dog kept him entertained.

  At the roadside inn where they spent the night, they secured Terror in the barn beside the horse to keep him out of trouble. However, next morning when Spencer went out to get the horse, he found a pile of bloody feathers next to Terrors bed. Despite the line that had secured the dog to the horse’s stall, one of the inn’s chickens had wandered too close to the dog.

  Spencer was all for covering the feathers with hay and leaving, but Phillips gave him some money and told him to give it to the innkeeper. Although the dog came begging when they sat down to breakfast, he got no more food that morning.