John Pearce, the master, Michael O’Hagan and a trio of the strongest men aboard fought to keep the head from falling off, which would expose either beam to the waves, while down below men hauled on ropes, at commands passed down, to work the rudder. Nowhere was dry: Hazard was shipping water with every wave as the following sea lifted the stern and drove down the bow. This allowed the sea to ship masses of water over the foredeck, a great deal of that making its way to the lower decks, to swill around before it seeped through to the bilge.
If conditions on deck were harsh, down below was not much better. The clanking of the pumps could not be heard by the wheel, but they were a permanent noise below as teams of tars and marines, overseen by Moberly, took turns at keeping the right equilibrium between what was coming aboard and what was being discharged, with the carpenter continually checking the level in the well. Oliphant, with no duties to perform, stayed in his cot, which being slung from the deck beams remained fairly static as the ship pitched and bucked like an unbroken steed.
If it was a baptism of chaos for the crew, it was worse for the midshipmen, called to various duties with only the vaguest instruction from Hallowell and Worricker as to how to carry them out. They must ensure various artefacts stayed where they had been stowed, gather a party if called upon to take an injured seaman to the cockpit, there being a constant run of accidents from the slight to the broken bone.
At the same time and no doubt in fear of drowning themselves, they had to look unconcerned as they staggered from place to place, always with one hand clapped tight on to a man rope, checking the trunnions and cannon remained secure, ensuring no rigging had frayed or blocks had parted from their tackle.
Another task, accepted in turns, was to take to the quarterdeck the approximate speed the ship was making, accuracy being impossible, to see relieved the man casting the log into the boiling sea, a duty that could only be maintained for a very short time. It was a task for which no one would volunteer, so they found for the first time the misery of dealing with truly sullen resentment.
Cullen and his assistants, under a swinging lantern, stitched, bandaged and splinted as required, with Mr Livingston required to take to the captain a list of those afflicted: if it was someone he had promoted to a position of some responsibility, they had to be replaced and all Pearce had was a memory of the muster from which to choose.
Not all the marines were engaged in physical toil. A double and regularly changing guard had been placed on the spirit room. If quota men lacked time at sea, they would share with every tar the notion that if you were going to drown, it was best to do so blind drunk. When called on deck, as they had to be from time to time, it must have appeared to the crew as though hell had come from the deep to claim their souls.
‘We must seek to establish our position, Mr Williams.’
For the first time in an age, John Pearce could communicate in something approaching a normal tone. Outside the master’s chart room, into which they had slipped to talk, the screaming of the wind through the rigging meant even a full shout might not be heard. Williams had been recording the supposed speed every time one of the dripping mids reported. He had brought the slate inside and on his desk lay the chart that showed the area he reckoned they had been driven into. Pearce noted they were now past Gravelines, which, on the mainland coast, marked the point where the English Channel gave way to the North Sea.
Pearce could see, without being told, that a slight change of course was required. It could not be certain, the plotting was far from precise, but HMS Hazard appeared to be heading too close to a lee shore for comfort, which meant calling all hands on deck to haul on the sheets and bring round several degrees the scrap of storm canvas, which was all that was driving the sloop forward.
The notion of coming about and sailing head-on into the wind was not possible. It might have been on a ship with a fully worked-up and long-at-sea crew. But to get aloft what was needed to retain motion on the vessel was beyond the men he had under his command. Pearce was tempted to ask Williams for an appreciation as to when the wind might moderate but stopped himself. He would be asking a fellow who had predicted benign sailing conditions before they weighed and the older man might take it as a criticism.
It did ease as the hint of a grey dawn hit the eastern sky. Then, with the kind of suddenness with which it had come upon them, it began to blow itself out, leaving behind it very disturbed water and an exhausted crew, from captain to nipper. A day of cold provision had done nothing for the mood, even if few could have kept much down, so it was a blessing to see smoke coming from the chimney as the cook got his coppers firing.
There was no time for rest: HMS Hazard was a man-o’-war and, as such, had to be ready to engage an enemy at all times. Their position seemed to put them north of Flushing in latitude, which showed just how far they had been driven. This put the ship off the shores of the so-called Batavian Republic, enemy territory. Even if Admiral Duncan’s fleet should be not too far off, guarding the Texel, danger could threaten in a trice.
It was not possible to run out the guns at dawn, the deck was still heaving, but that did not mean avoiding the ship standing to until Pearce was sure he could see a grey goose at a quarter mile, to ensure there was no enemy in sight. Likewise, clearing up both on deck and below had to be undertaken at once, for a vessel all ahoo was in no condition to fight.
His crew grumbled, but John Pearce set a well-practised face against such belly-aching. He had been obliged to impose exacting conditions in previous commands and this would be no exception. So, as the day wore on, with only a minimal break to eat, everything was put back in order. The pumps were kept going until Mr Low was satisfied the well was at the level it should be.
The last task, now that the sea state seemed to be settling, with the wind shifting to an easterly, was to come about under what they had aloft. The storm canvas was exchanged for a lighter weave, once they had got up the topgallants. This required the use of the capstan, combined with complex execution to get them seated and secured. Soon Hazard was heading south again under a proper suit of sails.
‘Michael, I would ask you to oversee the pantry,’ Pearce said. ‘I believe I owe my officers and mids a capital dinner. I doubt the skill exists at present to provide it.’
‘Sure, I’ll grow another pair of hands, John-boy,’ was the acerbic response. But he agreed to oversee the preparation of the food, at which he had, in the past year, become very adept.
Before any dinner, and as the sea calmed, he had to hear, in turn, the reports of his inferiors as to how the men had functioned; who had been attentive to any duty required of them and who had proved less than willing. The name of Teach came up from Jock the Sock when it was his turn, Pearce having to cover a sigh: the man was a nuisance.
‘I ordered him to take a turn on casting the log, sir, and he refused.’
‘Outright?’
‘To begin with, then he claimed to not yet be fit for the duty.’
‘But he went to it in the end, I hope?’
‘He did, when I said I would have no choice but to report his behaviour to you.’
He was impressed with Maclehose. Given his age, it could not have been easy to stand before a grown man and, having given an order, hold his ground in the face of what amounted to rebuff. Pearce wished he could have been a witness to the exchange, to have seen how both parties played out the clash of wills.
‘Your recommendation, Mr Maclehose?’ There the youth of the lad showed itself; he was unsure how to respond. ‘Do you see it as insubordination?’
‘I lack the knowledge to answer, sir.’
‘It comes down to how you rate his actions in terms of possible punishment?’
‘I had not thought on it, sir.’
‘I would request you do so now and please feel free to come to your own decision. I will not think the better or worse of you, whatever it is.’
Maclehose blinked. The uncertainty was palpable. ‘I believe he was afraid, sir, a
s were many of the crew throughout the storm. It was mayhem below and even worse on deck and I cannot find it in myself to condemn a man for hesitation.’
‘I hope you were afraid yourself.’ Several more blinks followed as he sought to take that in. ‘I admire bravery but abhor stupidity. Anyone who was not concerned for their life over these last hours, I would place in the latter category. So, Teach?’
‘Would it be appropriate to stop his grog?’
‘I don’t think you understand, Mr Maclehose. You are required to recommend an action to me.’
‘Then will that suffice, sir?’
‘Only if you’re content.’ Pearce looked him up and down, taking in his working clothes, streaked with dried salt. ‘Now I suggest you return to your berth and spruce up. I do not desire to entertain scruffs to dinner.’
With the private storeroom full from Faversham, Michael was able to cook two brace of duck. Pearce had also acquired some Kent cherries, a pricey fruit in London but an abundant and inexpensive crop locally. The host was determined at this, the first occasion he had invited everyone, to be generous with his store of wine.
It was a cramped affair – he had to borrow chairs from all over the ship – but it soon turned convivial. Even Oliphant was in the right frame of mind and over his mal de mer, no doubt relived to be able to fill his belly without the prospect of subsequent retching.
‘Gentlemen,’ Pearce said, when the ducks were no more than stripped bones, ‘I wish to congratulate you all on how we managed in the recent blow. I must admit to misgiving that we would come out of it so well.’
He went round the table bestowing gratitude individually: the master; Mr Cullen, who had dealt with fourteen casualties with varying injuries: gashes, fractured ribs, any number of cuts and abrasions and one broken leg. Hallowell, Worricker and Moberly were singled out and then he came to the midshipmen, who had been silent, overawed by the occasion and slow to the bottle, fitting given their age.
‘I must praise you, young gentlemen, and I would ask that we, your seniors in age if not wisdom, charge our glasses for a toast to you. You have faced a crisis and come through it with colours flying.’
‘Jesus Christ, John-boy,’ Michael O’Hagan whispered from the pantry, his words covered by the loud agreement at the table. ‘I have employed a trowel in my time, but never with so much shit on it.’
‘Sorry, Mr O’Hagan?’ asked one of the boys who’d served at table
This got a shake of the head and an admonition to, ‘Get those vittels down you, son.’
Given the amount of effort expended, Pearce reckoned it wise to shorten sail overnight. He wanted the crew to rest, so the watches were skeleton – just enough hands to see to what was needed and regularly relieved. But everybody was roused out before dawn and, this time, the guns were run out and ready to take on anything that appeared out of the darkness.
Slowly a set of sails took shape and Pearce ordered the helm put down to close. Full daylight revealed a fully laden merchant vessel lumbering along under the yellow cross on a blue background, the flag of the neutral Kingdom of Sweden. They may be non-belligerent but what were they carrying and who were they supplying?
Pearce kept his telescope to his eye, thinking the sea state did not permit for too close an approach and there was a chance to see how a boat crew would behave in what was a really heavy swell. Having called for the backing of the sails, he gave an order to an expectant premier.
‘Mr Hallowell, prepare to cross and check the Swede for destination and cargo.’
The capstan was manned again and in number, for it was no easy lift to get the cutter off its chocks, swing it over the side and lower it into the water with four of his men in it already. The rest of the rowers, as well as Hallowell and Campbell, joined them and Pearce watched how they performed, for this was boating out in the open sea, which called for precise oar work.
There was a degree of reassurance that all was as it should be; the merchantman was making no attempt to evade inspection and, as Hallowell was brought alongside, the gangway was opened to permit him to board, leaving his boat crew and the midshipmen bobbing in the water. His premier was aboard for some time, more than his captain would have reckoned necessary, but he eventually reappeared and clambered down to be rowed back to Hazard.
When he came back aboard Pearce noticed his rather flushed face, so instead of enquiring on deck he called for the premier to join him in his cabin. Hat off, Hallowell made his report; the vessel was indeed a neutral with a mixed cargo, heading for the Thames Estuary and London. The cargo was timber, high-quality pine for panelling and untreated poles of the same wood suitable for upper masts, turpentine, iron ingots from the northern mines and salted cod in the barrel.
‘I sense our friend also had aboard a quantity of spirit,’ Pearce suggested.
Hallowell went a deeper shade of red. ‘He did indeed, sir. A fairly fiery spirit he claims he distils himself.’
‘Which he invited you to try?’
‘He has a cousin in the American colonies, sir.’
Pearce was about to remind Hallowell they were no longer colonies or possessions of the British crown. This was halted by his feeling the likes of the Hallowell family would scarce accept they were lost for eternity.
‘He was keen to know about the nature of life in Pennsylvania, where his cousin resides.’
‘And how many glasses of fiery spirit did that take?’
‘The captain was a very insistent fellow.’
‘Well, I too am an insistent fellow, Mr Hallowell, and it pleases me that my officers should be sober, which I take leave to point out you are plainly not.’
I’m playing the damned hypocrite again, Pearce thought, as he looked at an abashed Hallowell. What state was I in, when I came back from visiting Byard aboard HMS Bedford? Truly, command obliged a man to be dishonest.
‘I will make no further reference to it now or in the future, Mr Hallowell, but I hope you take note of my displeasure.’
‘Sir.’
‘Now, I would suggest there are duties requiring your attention.’
In what were busy sea lanes they saw, over the course of the morning, several ships, Pearce choosing to ask their business through a speaking trumpet, for none shied away, a sure sign of their being blameless. He was, like the crew, eating his dinner when another sail was sighted, this one well ahead of a course that would cross their bow. It would require to be checked but his informant implied he would have ample time to finish eating. He was consuming an apple when the knock came.
‘Mr Hallowell?’ was the enquiry. His interest pricked.
‘The ship ahead, sir. It’s flying no flag, has raised more sail and altered course to the south.’
‘Her previous course was for home?’
‘Mr Williams says most certainly yes.’
‘If she was crossing our bow, from where was she coming?’
‘The master consulted his charts and did a bit of guesswork.’
Pearce was slightly irritated at having what little time he had to himself disturbed, which resulted in him speaking more forcibly than was warranted. ‘Are you asking that I do the same?’
Still seeing himself under a cloud, Hallowell flushed, which got him a full and immediate apology. ‘So, what did Mr Williams come up with in his conjecturing?’
‘He reckoned the port from which the ship could have come was Gravelines.’
The speed with which his captain was out of his chair and heading for the deck surprised the premier and, when he followed, it was to see John Pearce, coat thrown off, with a telescope being jammed into his breeches, on the way to the shrouds. Soon he was climbing at pace, all the way up to the crosstrees, to sling a leg over the yard and, hauling out the glass, to train it forward.
It told him little to nothing at this distance; not even the name could be made out as the stern was covered with canvas, no doubt a sail being dried after the storm and a good place to do it. But the alteration of course
and the putting on of extra sail on the upper spars was curious.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Pearce reckoned everyone on deck would be wondering, first what he was about and next what, if anything, was coming. They were not to be disappointed: even if there were good reasons to do little or nothing, he could not pass up an opportunity to behave, as he would and should, had the ship ahead been an enemy merchantman. He called down his orders.
‘Mr Williams, I require that we alter course to close with yonder vessel and I suggest we will need aloft all we can bear. Mr Hallowell, once we have the canvas rigged and drawing, I want you to be ready to clear for action.’
It was gratifying to see the deck burst into a mass of shouting and activity: having no idea there was no threat, everyone was acting as if one existed. The orders rang out and the numbers doubled as the watch off duty came tumbling up from below. He knew he must get down quick: once the topmen started about their duties, he would be in the way. The whole ship was then treated to the sight of a ship’s commanding officer, sliding hand over hand down a backstay, with all the freedom of a fourteen-year-old skylarking.
Soon he was back in his proper clothing and place, on the quarterdeck and saying as little as possible: he wanted to see how things worked out without too much intervention by him. The Mite, who had come to take station beside him, was ordered to make a note of the time, as well as a rough reminder of the ship and its position for later writing up in the log. What details were needed, or in this case those he wished to be seen, Pearce would add later.
As the necessary duties were carried out, he knew he was the object of much interest. Had they been able to feel his pulse they would have noted his heart was pumping marginally faster than normal due to several factors. The first was the ship under his feet and what she could do, something about to be proved and for the first time. A chase was one of the operations for which the Cormorant class of sloops had been built. She would be fast on a bowline, thanks to a narrow hull, a shallow draught and a lot of top hamper. In the case of HMS Hazard, never having been required to serve in warmer climes, could be added relatively clean copper on her bottom.
A Close Run Thing Page 28
