During the voyage he demanded all petty officers gain the respect of the men by example rather than by fear. He also made it clear to the men that they did not have a choice but to obey any order given by the petty officers.
At the beginning of the voyage there were a few problems from the new hands. They argued or answered back to the petty officers but a day or so at the masthead, in freezing weather as they crossed the Bay of Biscay, fixed the problem. A landsman, seeing the ship roll and sway beneath him, soon came back in line. Seasickness was a far greater punishment to the uninitiated than a striped back, which only caused resentment and festered ongoing fear of the Navy. He had heard it said – a flogging would spoil a good man and make a bad man worse.
The cold weather in the Channel became a memory as they voyaged towards the Equator. William used the time for daily gun practice and sail drill. He devised competitions between the watches to keep them busy. Most of the crew were Belleisle men, with a few new hands collected in Falmouth. He’d hoped to sign volunteers, but no able-bodied man would hang around a seaport to read notices. The fear of the press gangs made sure they were miles inland, well away from the smell of the ocean. Five of his original crew had run, but he managed to get nine hands from the local debtors prison. At least they would eat, and if they were careful and survived, they would earn some money, perhaps even enough to payout their debts on their return. In the meantime they were immune from prosecution. The constant training and the example set by the old hands soon integrated the crew into a well-oiled machine.
The crossing of the line allowed him to loosen discipline a little. The tradition of asking King Neptune and his wife, Amphitrite, to come aboard and proclaim the Pollywogs, or those members of the crew who had not crossed the Equator before, to be trusty Shellbacks made for an eventful day and night.
Sitting on an upturned barrel, with his trident as his badge of office, King Neptune, who was the bosun dressed in a rope skirt, wearing a wig made from unpicked rope ends, had the Pollywogs dragged before him. He ordered that each should be purified before crossing the line by having his head shaved and the bald area greased. The greasing would make it easier for the Pollywog to slip over the Equator and not cause ripples in their Majesty’s domain.
Midshipman Peter McCall, as Queen Amphitrite, dressed in a canvas dress adorned with short pieces of rope made to look like seaweed, was very generous in daubing each bare head with a liberal amount of grease. At the conclusion of each Pollywog becoming a Shellback he was hosed down with saltwater.
The relaxation of the day allowed the crew to see that even the petty officers and midshipmen were human. One of the crew, having an artistic nature, drew up a fancy parchment for each of the new Shellbacks. As captain, William signed on behalf of Neptune and awarded each new Shellback a tot of rum along with his certificate. The whole day was allocated to ‘make and mend’ and a double tot of rum for each hand capped the celebrations.
Late January 1805
Dawn broke over a cobalt-blue sea speckled with the occasional breaking wave. As the sunlight lit the ocean, the crew of the Nancy watched the dark mass on the horizon harden into Table Mountain.
Lieutenant King studied the mountain with its peak topped in white mist, the sun not yet hot enough to burn the cloud away. He remembered the quote in the Admiralty notices, attributed to Sir Francis Drake after he had sailed around the Cape in the Golden Hind: ‘This Cape is a most stately thing, and the fairest Cape in the whole circumference of the earth.’
HMS Nancy drew closer to land, allowing William to focus his telescope on Cape Town at the mountain’s foot. He felt a sudden concern that the Spanish may have already landed and perhaps captured this outpost of Empire.
‘A beautiful sight, Sir.’
‘Yes indeed, Mr McCall, a fine landmark for the navigator.’
‘The clouds seem to roll down the mountain from the top like smoke. It isn’t smoke, I suppose?’
‘There is a legend my father told me, when I first went to sea, one of his many stories. The smoke effect of the cloud is supposed to be a Dutch man called Jan van Hunks. He retired from the sea to live on the mountain. He loved his pipe and spent all day smoking until one day a stranger asked him for a fill. They passed the time of day and decided to have a smoking competition. This lasted for some days but eventually van Hunks won. It turned out the stranger was the Devil. The legend is that the smoke you see rolling down the mountain is the two of them competing again. In reality it is the south-east wind in the summer that causes the clouds to roll down the slopes.’
‘Ships at anchor in the bay, Sir,’ yelled the lookout at the masthead.
‘A man in the chains, if you please, Mr McCall, we don’t want to run aground.’
‘Land on the larboard bow,’ came the voice from the masthead.
William refocused his telescope and realised it was Robben Island, the prison island.
The warm air pushed the Nancy into the bay. As the sun climbed higher it became hot enough to melt the tar in the deck seams. The British flagship floated above a duplicate of itself in the clear blue water.
‘Mr McCall, make the private signal and our number. She must answer the private signal correctly. If she doesn’t, we’ll know she’s been taken.’
William raised his glass once again and studied the anchored vessel as flags rose to the top of its halyard.
‘Private signal answered correctly, Sir.’
‘Thank you, Mr McCall, standby for the salute.’
HMS Nancy eased her way into the safety of the harbour with her ensign and number flying from her masthead. William was not taking any chances – not in a French-built schooner entering the harbour of an English base.
The Nancy slowly approached the anchorage near the flagship. When he was satisfied William waved his hand and shouted, ‘Let go.’ The splash of the anchor brought them to the end of their long voyage. The sails dropped smartly. All eyes would be on the new arrival, and the crew knew it.
‘The flagship’s signalled, Sir. Captain to repair on board immediately.’
‘Thank you, Mr McCall, make the boat ready if you please, and Peter, while I’m away arrange for a water boat and fresh fruit and vegetables. I doubt we’ll be allowed to stay any longer than necessary.’
‘Aye, Sir.’
William climbed down into the Nancy’s small boat to the sound of the single bosun’s pipe. The boat left the shelter of the Nancy as soon as he had settled in the stern. Although it was still morning, William could feel the heat of the sun through his thick, English designed, uniform. The only breeze was self-generated as the Nancy’s boat moved through the water. Sweat gathered beneath his hat. He could feel it as it started to run down the side of his face. He envied his boat’s crew in their loose fitting clothes as they effortlessly rowed towards the flagship. The oily calm water reflected the cloudless sky.
His boat glided in to the relative coolness of the shadow cast by the flagship. The heavy dispatch bag between his feet was a reminder that he didn’t want anything to happen to it in the last few minutes in his charge.
‘Hold water starboard, oars up larboard,’ commanded the coxswain and the Nancy’s boat came to a halt beneath the towering wooden wall of the flagship.
William stood in the boat and judged the timing of his step to the bottom rung of the Jacob’s ladder. With the dispatch bag slung over his left shoulder he slowly climbed the swaying ladder.
He stepped through the entry port to the sound of the bosun’s call and doffed his hat in respect to the flag. Even though he was only a lieutenant, as a commander of one of His Majesty’s ships he was entitled to due honour.
A middle-aged, immaculately dressed flag lieutenant doffed his hat in reply.
‘Lieutenant Spring, Sir, Admiral Popham’s Flag. May I take the dispatches? Mr Dignan, one of our midshipmen will show you to the wardroom.’
William turned to Midshipman Dignan and nodded his thanks. The midshipman looked about thirteen.
His face was tanned from the tropical sun and he was obviously uncomfortable in his uniform. His family must have influence, thought William, to be so young on a flagship. The flag lieutenant accepted the canvas bag and hurried off to open it in front of Vice Admiral Home Popham.
William was aware of Admiral Popham as the man who devised the Royal Navy signal system of flags the previous year. He was a man who would not suffer fools. His reputation as a fighter was well known having fought against the French and the Americans and had then taken the Royal Navy to court after they seized his trading vessel.
‘Will you follow me, Sir?’ asked the young midshipman. ‘I will conduct you to the wardroom for refreshments.’
‘Thank you.’
William knew that it could be a long wait while the admiral read the various dispatches.
Below deck the open wardroom windows allowed a gentle breeze to waft through the cabin. The glass of cool white wine and the breeze soon took its toll. William slept.
‘Sir, Sir, the admiral wishes you to join him,’ said a young voice, as a hand gently shook his shoulder.
Jolted awake, William pulled out his watch. He had been asleep for an hour and a half. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘No point, Sir. You were tired and there was nothing else for you to do until the admiral wanted to speak to you.’ The midshipman smiled
At least this officer could think for himself, thought William. ‘You’ll go far, young man.’
‘Thank you, Sir, please follow me.’
William climbed to the quarterdeck to see the admiral sitting at a small desk in the shade of a large piece of sail rigged above the stern of the flagship.
The wooden deck, stretching forward from the admiral’s desk, was sun-bleached white and without blemish. It was obvious that the liberal use of salt water and holy-stones, by the ship’s crew, was a daily event. The only colour, apart from the dark blue uniform of the flag lieutenant, was that of the armed scarlet-clad marine at attention. His normal position would be outside the admiral’s cabin, but as the admiral was working on deck, he stood just under the shade of the canvas screen.
The flag lieutenant greeted William and accompanied him to the admiral. The flag lieutenant saluted and stepped to one side. William halted in front of the admiral and saluted.
The admiral had removed his wig and placed it at the end of the table, where it sat like a large grey-haired cat. He leaned back allowing his frock coat to fall open for coolness. He was forty-two years old and starting to lose his hair. He had a pleasant face and although his hair was turning grey, his eyebrows remained black, making his face appear younger than his years. The smile he gave William carried to his dark eyes.
The interview, as William expected, was straight to the point.
‘You are aware, Lieutenant, that we are at war with Spain?’
‘Yes, Sir, it happened just before we sailed.’
‘Sight many other vessels?’
‘No, Sir, we avoided all contact as soon as we sighted a sail. My orders were to deliver the dispatches as fast as possible.’
The admiral grunted as he flicked through the papers on his desk. ‘I will have replies for you tomorrow, and I’ll expect you to sail for England as soon as they’re on board. What do you require in the way of provisions?’
‘I need water and fresh vegetables, and to replenish my powder.’
‘I thought you didn’t meet any other vessel.’
‘I didn’t, Sir, but I have used some on practice. I wanted my crew to experience as close as possible a live situation.’
‘Ahem. See to it, Flag.’
‘Aye, aye, Sir.’
‘I want the Nancy out of here by the twenty-second.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Thank you, Lieutenant, you may go.’
On his return to the Nancy, William ordered the ship’s boat crew to row him around the ship so he could see how she sat in the water. If he stowed some stores aft, the Nancy would sail closer to the wind and travel faster.
Before dawn next day William and Midshipman McCall organised the crew for the loading of fresh water, fruit and vegetables. He went ashore to make certain of the quality of the fresh produce that was to be supplied. He did not want rotten or overripe fruit. It wasn’t unusual for quartermasters to fob off second grade stores on a young commander.
He watched the water barge make its way from the shore and amused himself as he compared it to a water beetle, the oars replacing the beetle’s legs. The Nancy’s water barrels had been cleaned and were now ready to accept the sweet, fresh water. He even managed to scrounge a few barrels of beer for the crew. Periodically he had the boat crew row him around the ship to make sure the Nancy sat correctly to her anchor.
Mid-morning on 22 January, the final supplies of vegetables were loaded and the admiral’s dispatches signed into William’s care. The flag lieutenant’s boat cast free of the Nancy, which released William to order the anchor hove short and the sail made ready for sea.
‘Anchor’s aweigh!’ came the cry from for’d as HMS Nancy sprang into life, now free of the land.
‘Lay a course to round the headland, Mr Hargrove, and then steer nor’-nor’-west.’
‘Nor’-nor’-west after we’ve rounded the headland. Aye, aye, Sir.’
The Nancy heeled over with the wind on her larboard bow. William allowed his legs to bend just a little to compensate for the list of her deck. The bright blue sky was sharp and clear, as if freshly painted. The sun beat down to suck what moisture it could from the bodies of the Nancy’s crew.
‘Call me when you are ready to alter course to round the headland, Mr McCall. I am going below to get out of this uniform. Feel free to dress down on your next watch.’
‘Aye, Sir,’ smiled Midshipman McCall.
They were headed back to England. The days passed in a routine of watches between William, the midshipman and the master. William and the bosun inspected the vessel from stem to stern. They checked the stores and made sure the Nancy was trimmed to her captain’s satisfaction. Barrels of meat and water were shifted, which altered the trim a few inches. William even had some barrels re-stowed to the lee side when he set her on a course for some days. The wind blew from the south-west day after day so the miles slipped below the Nancy’s keel.
They re-crossed the line again, without ceremony this time, King Neptune having been acknowledged on the outward voyage.
As the strange craft became easier to see, William could make out her rigging and the dirty condition of her hull. He thought he could see weed clinging to the hull, but as he refocused his glass he realised the hull was painted dark green under the dirt. A cold chill ran down his spine as he pointed his glass to the masts and saw that the lower part was a buff colour, whereas the upper part was white.
A dark green hull to allow the vessel to hide in tropical rivers and the top of her mast painted to match the sky. Most expected the topmasts would be blue to match the sky. Frequent rain in the tropics meant the sky would be broken with white clouds. The topmast painted white blended in to the clouds. A slaver!
‘By the look of her, she is not a Navy ship,’ commented the bosun. ‘The muck all down her sides tells me she could be a Dago.’
‘I think you may be right, Bosun,’ said Lieutenant King as he closed the glass with a snap. ‘Distribute small arms but don’t let them be seen. I think she is a slaver.’
‘A slaver, Sir?’
‘Aye, and we’re about to put a stop to her dirty traffic.’
The crew filed past the arms box under the wheel to take their pick of cutlasses, swords and bludgeons. Each man picked his weapon and swung it in anticipation.
‘Keep those men quiet and make them keep the weapons out of sight. I don’t want to scare her.’
The bosun touched his knuckle to his forehead. ‘Sir.’
The stranger was not more than half a mile away when Midshipman McCall shouted in alarm.
‘They’re throwing things
overboard.’
William lifted his glass and checked the items that floated in the water. They were alive!
‘She is a slaver! By God, I’m right. If we’d been down wind of her, we’d have smelled her hours ago. I’ve smelled slavers in the past. The stink sits in one’s nose for days.’
‘He’s throwing the slaves overboard, Sir,’ cried the young Midshipman.
‘Bosun, put a shot across her bow and signal her to heave to.’
‘Sutton,’ cried the bosun to their best gunner, ‘a shot across her bow.’
Sutton positioned the gun carefully and sighted along the barrel. The weather was relatively calm and he did not need to make too much of an allowance for the state of the sea. He satisfied himself, stood and pulled the firing cord. The sound of a loud cough, rather than a bang, carried across the water. He’d used one of the four-pounders, more for image than effect.
They all watched as the ball splashed about a hundred yards ahead of the slaver.
‘He knows we’re here now. Run out the guns and show our colours.’
Chapter Three
The Slaver
Atlantic Ocean
February 1805
Midshipman McCall tugged on the flag halyard and released the colours.
William studied the vessel and watched the crew running around in panic. They could not mistake the Nancy’s intentions now that she had shown her teeth. Slowly the flag of Spain rose to the slaver’s masthead. He conned the Nancy closer and closer to the Spaniard. The stench from the slaver was oppressive. They were still throwing slaves overboard. The Spaniard, in an effort to gain more speed, was willing to jettison even his cargo of slaves.
‘Mr McCall, take the smaller of the two ship’s boats and see if you can pick up some of the people in the water. Make sure you and your crew are armed and don’t forget that those people do not speak English, but don’t allow any of them to gain the upper hand.’
‘Bosun, four armed men to the ship’s boat,’ shouted the young midshipman.
William’s stomach gave a sickening lurch as he contemplated anyone who would steal people from their homes and sell them in a foreign land, like cattle at a market. To trade in slaves was legal in England, but William knew of a strong movement, led by William Wilberforce, to have slavery outlawed. He had read with interest some of the speeches made by Wilberforce, a Member of Parliament representing Hull in Yorkshire.
Triangle Trade Page 3
