by M. C. Muir
Satisfied with his efforts to lessen the weight on the injured hull and heel it over slightly, Oliver considered there was little more he could do in a short time. Looking aft, he recognised anger and frustration in the faces of the French sailors facing the loaded barrels of the marines’ muskets. ‘Push those Frenchies as far aft as possible,’ he ordered the sergeant of marines. ‘Let them sit on the deck and be silent. They will add weight to the stern.’
Looking forward, he could see the prostrate bodies of two of his carpenters on the deck. Lying flat on their bellies, they were chipping away with chisel and hammer at the splintered gunnels. He could hear similar sounds rising from the deck below where Mr Crosby and the other wrights were also working on the hull.
‘I trust these small measures will bring her head up sufficiently,’ Oliver said to his lieutenant, before addressing the French commander.
‘With the help of my carpenter and his crew, it is possible the hole can be plugged and Flambeau will be saved.’
Moncousu threw his head back and laughed. ‘It is not possible,’ he replied sharply.
‘Nothing is possible unless we try,’ Oliver answered, refraining from saying more. ‘Captain Moncousu, do you have men working the pumps?’
‘Naturellement, my men are on the pumps this moment.’
Without the familiar rhythmic clanking associated with men working hand-pumps, Oliver was not convinced. ‘I trust they have not deserted their posts,’ he said cynically. With no reply, he inhaled deeply, the air hissing through his teeth. ‘Mr Tully, kindly check the pumps. Make sure the men are not shirking their duty and have them rotated regularly. Capitaine, do you have more than one pump.’
‘No. Flambeau has one pump only.’
‘Mr Hanson, send word for a hand-pump to be ferried over from Perpetual.’
‘Aye aye, Captain,’ the midshipman replied and hurried away.
Though the French captain’s eyes were flashing about from one place to another, he appeared unwilling or unable to offer any useful suggestions.
‘Captain, I want two dozen of your men to go below with buckets, open the hatches to the hold and start bailing water. You will need a further two dozen men to hoist up the buckets and empty the water over the side.’ He leaned forward and glared at the Frenchman. ‘You do have buckets, I presume?’
‘You cannot empty a ship’s hold with buckets,’ the French captain argued.
‘Then what is your proposal, sir? Shall we stand here twiddling our thumbs and wait for the ship to sink?’
Without responding, Captain Moncousu turned his back and hurried away to instruct one of his men to organise the bailing.
Over the next few hours, Oliver Quintrell checked regularly on the progress Mr Crosby and his men were making replacing the smashed timbers on the ship’s hull. With the starboard bow raised slightly and only an occasional wave splashing over, he monitored the level of water in the hold. Apart from praying, there was little else that could be done.
Despite near exhaustion from constant labour, few on board slept well that night. The repetitive clanking of the pumps was constant as was the sound of hammering from the team of carpenters. The companionways creaked under the comings and goings of the bailing teams and the jolting and jarring of the damaged rudder was unnerving. Throughout the night, the complaints of the Frenchmen continued, though they were no longer consumed with the fear of drowning but of being overworked. Some slept on the warm deck content in the knowledge their ship was not going to sink.
Apart from other concerns, Oliver was eager to rejoin the 74 as early as possible. If he delayed too long, he feared Captain Liversedge would proceed north without him under the impression Perpetual had been sunk during another encounter with Flambeau or was continuing to chase the French ship south towards the Horn. It was imperative to return to the rendezvous as quickly as possible before any change in the weather added to their problems.
After dozing for an hour, Oliver was woken with the news the worst of the frigate’s wounds had been sealed. Having successfully removed the damaged timbers and replaced them, Mr Crosby was confident no more water would enter the ship.
With the level in the hold reduced considerably, the French seamen were reluctantly forced below and a grating secured above them. The accommodation was far from ideal, even to keep prisoners in, but as they were only two weeks from Jamaica and it was the only area large enough to confine the mob of eighty French sailors, it would have to suffice.
The following morning, with the pumping and bailing continuing non-stop, preparations were made for the two frigates to sail. A heavy hawser was brought up from Flambeau’s cable tiers and secured to her bow. A boat was lowered and the cable was hauled across to Perpetual and attached to her stern.
Fortunately the wind was in their favour and only small wave tips ruffled the otherwise smooth surface. The ocean swell rolled lazily in long slow heaving troughs typical of the Atlantic. With the point where the engagement had taken place having been charted at the time, conditions were favourable to meet up with the 74.
Now that the prize’s hull was sound and the ship seaworthy enough to sail under tow, all that remained was for Perpetual to take up the cable and proceed slowly in a north-westerly direction. Sailing north in this manner promised to be both slow and tedious.
With Mr Parry in command of Flambeau, Captain Quintrell returned to Perpetual with Captain Moncousu. For the present, the Frenchman was placed in a cabin below deck. It was Oliver’s intention to transfer him to the 74 when they reunited with the third rate.
Having headed south for six hours chasing the French ship, Oliver estimated the return voyage, with the foreign frigate in tow, would take twelve hours or more. This estimation proved fairly accurate, no thanks to the wind or the sailing skills of his men, but to the ocean current flowing along that section of the South American coast.
Unfortunately, that same gulf of water had carried the third rate one hundred and fifty from the position Mr Mundy had charted, so when the man-of-war was not sighted where it was expected to be, the sailing master insisted Captain Liversedge had not waited for them and had headed north alone. Oliver was not convinced and argued that the third rate had merely drifted. A few hours later, when the lookout reported a sail on the horizon, his opinion was confirmed.
Seeing Stalwart off the larboard bow brought a round of huzzas from the British sailors. The rendezvous offered relief to Captain Quintrell. He intended to relinquish the task of towing the damaged frigate. Being far larger and stronger, it was logical that Stalwart would assume that duty.
But the atmosphere aboard Flambeau was not as positive. Of the British sailors and shipwrights who had been put aboard the prize and had agreed to remain there to sail her north, there were mumblings of discontent. Most of the hands had eaten little over the past three days, Apart from that, they had laboured non-stop and many had caught little sleep over the past seventy-two hours.
There was only a minimal number of hands to work the French ship and despite the ship being under tow, the men were kept busy with constant sail handling. As predicted, the helmsmen’s job was a struggle. With the damaged rudder hanging loose from the stern post, the ship had a will of its own. But the captain had not been prepared to wait for a new rudder to be constructed before getting underway. He was optimistic the shipwrights could replace it once they were re-united with the third rate.
CHAPTER 9
Reunited
The return of the British frigate and its French prize was welcomed with the firing of an 18-pound gun from the deck of the 74. Perpetual acknowledged the signal with a shot from one of its 12-pounders. With his ship heaved to, Captain Liversedge and his officers were on deck awaiting the reunion.
With Oliver Quintrell eager to share his reports, the frigate was brought alongside the 74 so a message could be conveyed across. Apart from wanting to present details of the events of the past three days, he was anxious to learn what had transpired aboard the t
hird rate since they last spoke. What of the survivors from the corvette? How many were there? What damage had Stalwart suffered in the encounter? But the hour was late and darkness was almost upon them. The last few days had been draining, both physically and mentally, and as the captain climbed the companion steps from the waist, he was conscious of a great weariness in his legs. On the quarterdeck he listened to a message being delivered through the trumpet to the 74 advising Captain Liversedge that he would visit him in the morning.
At dawn the next day, despite a restless sleep, Oliver felt fresh and alert when his boat conveyed him to the third rate. After an official welcome, William Liversedge was quick to congratulate his friend and invite him to his cabin for refreshments.
‘Well done, Oliver. A nice prize,’ he said.
‘We caught her just in time. Another few hours and she would have been lost.’
‘A fine effort. But what of Perpetual? You look largely unscathed. Did you suffer any serious damage during the encounter?’
‘Nothing significant. But what of you?’
‘Surprisingly little. The hull is thick. The encounter was very short and soon after you departed, the carpenter and his mates commenced their repair work to the planking that was damaged. The sailmaker assures me the canvas can easily be patched and the bosun’s mates have finished splicing lines and re-reeving the blocks. Thankfully, there was no major damage. And your special barrels are safe.’
‘I had forgotten about the barrels!’ Oliver said.
William Liversedge smiled and continued. ‘I trust there is nothing to prevent us from proceeding to Jamaica.’ Then his expression changed. ‘I was sorry to see the corvette go down. It was a pretty craft. It never sits well on one’s conscience knowing one is responsible for the deaths of many innocent men who were merely following orders.’
‘I carry as much blame as you. In war many things happen which we prefer not to dwell on.’
‘That is easier said than done.’
‘I agree,’ Oliver said, ‘but in this case, the French pair made the foolish decision to attack. You had no alternative but to defend yourself.’ He paused. ‘Were there many survivors?’
‘Some. As you saw, the corvette went down very quickly. Many were trapped beneath her fallen canvas and unable to make the deck. Of those thrown into the water, most could not swim. By the time the boats were lowered there was nothing but flotsam and floating bodies to collect. My men plucked twenty-five survivors from the water. They are now secured under guard. Regrettably a large number were killed in the action or drowned, including the corvette’s captain.’
The pair sat in silence for a moment. The cold lantern suspended from the centre beam swayed gently. Through the window, a vast dome of pale blue sky rested on the sea. Within the cabin, the fine furnishings reminded Oliver of a reception room at the Admiralty – a far cry from a captain’s quarters aboard a fighting ship just after a battle.
‘How are the conditions for your prisoners?’ Oliver asked. ‘I enquire because I have the eighty French sailors from Flambeau locked in their own hold. While the majority of the water has been pumped out, the area is exceedingly damp and unhealthy. For these and other reasons, the men cannot remain confined there for long. It also concerns me that between us we are carrying a considerable number of French prisoners.’
‘Fortunately my hold is dry and Stalwart has adequate provisions to see us through to Jamaica. Presently, I have a group of marines guarding the prisoners. I agree this situation would not do to continue but I intend to offload all the prisoners in Port Royal. It would be impossible to carry them back to England.’
‘That is good to hear,’ Oliver said.
‘As to your prize, I am sure the agent in Kingston will award a good price for the French frigate. It is the second prize you have delivered into that harbour in the last two years, is it not?’
‘Indeed,’ Oliver said. ‘And from the chatter I hear bandied about by the men, I believe they are already planning how they will spend their share.’
‘Is the French ship seaworthy?’ William asked.
‘After much pumping and patching, the carpenter assures me she will not leak and will make it to England if necessary. However, I would be grateful if you would take her in tow to the Caribbean.’
Captain Liversedge was happy to oblige but when asked if any injuries were suffered by his men during the action, his expression changed. ‘My surgeon has his hands full. The cockpit is full with men suffering mortal wounds. Grapeshot is lethal on an open deck.’ He took a long sighing breath. ‘Also, at the time, I lost a dozen good sailors and a boy and sadly, a very promising young midshipman. The surgeon did all he could to save him but his wounds were too great. I was informed this morning he had died during the night. He was a young gentleman from a notable family. A midshipman in whom I saw a lot of potential.’
‘I feel for your loss,’ Oliver said. ‘What was his name?’
‘Algernon Biggleswade Smythe. Though he preferred to be known on board as Mr Smith.’
The news shook Captain Quintrell. ‘Algy,’ he muttered. ‘He was certainly a fine young man and, I agree, he had the essential qualities to make a good officer in the King’s Navy. Kindly add my condolences when you write to his father. I shall forward my own letter of sympathy in due course.’
‘I am sorry, Oliver,’ William said. ‘I had quite forgotten that he served under you aboard Elusive.’
‘Yes, when he first entered the service. It was at the same time Lieutenant Hazzlewood joined my ship also serving as a midshipman.’
‘Thank you for telling me.’
‘What happened?’ Oliver enquired. ‘Was he cut down on the quarterdeck?’
The third rate’s captain shook his head. ‘No. It was not enemy fire. Number four gun burst. The gun captain realised it was overheating and yelled a warning. Those nearby were able to take cover but, with the thunderous noise all around them, few heard the call. It claimed the life of every man in the gun crew, including the gun captain, and a powder monkey who was passing by. His head was blown clean off.
‘Even on the quarterdeck, the explosion was deafening. It shook the ship and blew a hole in the deck directly beneath it. It was a wonder the gun didn’t drop through to the deck below. Pieces of metal and splinters of wood shot the length of the gundeck and impaled themselves in the bulwarks at the far end. Unfortunately, Mr Smith was standing nearby and was blown across the deck. The crew of that gun was part of his division.’
Oliver shook his head. ‘An inglorious end for a young man with a promising career ahead of him.’
‘The service he gave to his country will be acknowledged,’ Captain Liversedge said. ‘He was loyal and never questioned his orders or flinched at the duties he was given and, though he was killed by one of his own guns, he died during a battle. That makes him a hero in my eyes and his service will be remembered as such. Time will tell if the other men injured on that day will survive. Presently, they are in the hands of the ship’s surgeon and the Almighty.’ William reached for his pocket watch. ‘I will be conducting the burial service at ten o’clock. Would you care to stay aboard and pay your respects?’
‘Without question,’ Oliver said.
Casting off the gloom, Captain Liversedge’s tone changed again when he turned his attention to a more pressing matter. ‘I see no point in dilly-dallying here. If you are in agreement, I propose we make sail in the afternoon. The sooner we reach Kingston the better.’
‘Perpetual is ready. However, taking the prize has caused me a minor problem. I have placed twenty-five of my men aboard Flambeau to sail her, along with a lieutenant and a middie. Apart from those men, my carpenter and some of his mates have agreed to remain with her and continue the repair work during the onward voyage. Unfortunately this has left me very shorthanded.’
‘I understand,’ William said.
‘If you are in a position to replace my men with some of yours, I would be beholden to you.’
William Liversedge was happy to oblige and said he would also arrange for a squad of his marines to guard the French prisoners. Finally, in accordance with Captain Quintrell’s earlier request, the towing cable presently attached to Perpetual would be transferred to the man-of-war.
‘Your men will be shipped back to you as soon as I can arrange for a new crew to replace them.’
‘I am much obliged,’ Oliver said. The pair further agreed that when they arrived in Jamaica, the prize would be returned to Captain Quintrell to arrange its delivery to the agent after the French prisoners had been removed from the hold and handed over to the authorities in Kingston.
An hour later, Captain Moncousu and his only surviving lieutenant were ferried across to the 74. They were immediately conducted to a small cabin below deck and a guard placed outside the door. Oliver insisted the French captain should receive no special treatment.
‘How many prisoners are there aboard the prize?’ Captain Liversedge asked.
‘About eighty men,’ Oliver said. ‘A similar number were lost during the action.’
‘An expensive butcher’s bill.’
Oliver agreed. ‘Unfortunately, the surviving Frogs are far from happy. You can probably hear the hullabaloo they are making from here. Having inspected their accommodation in Flambeau’s hold, it comes as no surprise. Although the pumps are manned continuously day and night, the well still measures a foot of water. Despite that being a vast improvement on what is was, the air below deck is stale. Even the walls weep. The sooner we can bring up our destination in the Caribbean the better.’
