Young Dick

by John Jarvis

CHAPTER THIRTY

  “Again!” ordered Richard and the men muttered under their breath.

  “Perhaps a gun practice might ease the tedium, Sir; the men crave action,” suggested Lewis.

  “I am aware of that, Number One, but it is in the small details where we might succeed or fail. The deck cannons’ crews are too slow to man their guns; have them wear only a civilian jacket over their uniform, no one will see their trousers behind the bulwark,” ordered Richard. The men redressed and the gun port hatches were hauled back into place and then the exercise was repeated.

  “Much better,” commented Richard. “Send for the Gunnery Officer Number One; this time we will have live firing.” The officers on the quarterdeck relaxed as the word was passed.

  “Are you satisfied that your computations are correct, Guns? We can reduce charges if you have any doubts,” asked Richard.

  “I believe they are, Sir, the carronades, when fired when not fully run out, will recoil all the way back to the extended pedestals. Stoppers further up will be screwed in place while the pieces are being reloaded, and after that it will be normal firing,” said a confident Guns. “Midshipman Murphy can you release the colors without a tangle this time?” Richard asked.

  “Yes Sir,” replied an embarrassed Murphy in an as yet unbroken voice.

  “Action Stations!” Richard yelled, and Talon changed from a lazy cargo ship into an active warship. Sailors shrugged out of their civilian clothes and ran to battle stations. The deck gun-crews manned the twelve pounders that had been previously loaded with grape. Midshipman Murphy tugged open the bundled colors at the top of the mast and fifteen gun-ports crashed open.

  “Fire!” ordered Richard, and the deafening broadside emptied into the sea caused Talon to reel away and smoke to obscure the main deck. Over the ringing in his ears Richard could hear the flurry of activity as the guns were reloaded and realigned.

  “Fire when ready,” ordered Richard, taking note of which guns were reloaded in the fastest time. When the massive sixty-eight pounder had disgorged the last shot Richard was well satisfied.

  “Stand the men down for breakfast, Number One, and have them all assembled on deck at four bells, and have Guns report to me if you please.”

  Aye Sir.”

  “Officers and men of the Talon. All of you are volunteers, something the Royal Navy can never claim and that makes us a better crew, but it is also an incentive for all of us to fight to win and avoid capture at all costs. None of us would fancy spending the rest of the war impressed in the Royal Navy, and do not think that they would expect us to fight against our fellow countrymen. No, they would post us to relentless hardship and boredom in the Mediterranean, Caribbean Sea or even off the new penal colony in Botany Bay Australia.”

  Some of Talon’s crew looked apprehensive.

  “All of you volunteered for action, but action on the Talon will be very different from that of any ship of the line, as you will have already deduced from your training. Whether equipped with long or short ranged weapons we could never engage a purpose built warship, and even if we did succeed in capturing or sinking a third rater or an aging smaller frigate the Royal Navy would not give a toss. They can build ships faster than we could sink them. Our mission will be far more damaging to the enemy: by capturing merchant vessels we reap the benefit of denying supplies to an enemy that will soon be forced to ship most of the material of war across a wide and unfriendly ocean. Not only will our new nation gain the benefits of these supplies and ships, but also we will all gain the benefits of prize money.”

  There was a murmur of interest from the crew.

  “What we lack in speed and firepower we must make up for with deception, guile and surprise, but in our success we must be polite to any civilian detainees and facilitate their repatriation as soon as possible. We must treat any enemy prisoners with honor and respect and make their incarceration as healthy as possible, and do all this in contrast to the British Army Hessians who are currently raping and pillaging our countryside.”

  The murmur had turned into a low growl.

  “It is our time, it is Talon’s time: let us go fishing!”

  The men cheered and threw their caps into the air, and even Lieutenant Lewis smiled.

  Captain James Jackson of the ‘Bastion’ was dreaming. He was dreaming of the retirement he would enjoy once his return voyage was completed: a cottage in Kent, perhaps well away from the sea where his wife of thirty years could engage in her passion, growing award-winning roses. He had invested much of his savings in the cargo of ironware agriculture implements and machinery, all of which would sell readily in a fast growing Colony.

  “Excuse me, Sir, but there is a French merchantman overhauling us on a similar course for New York,” interrupted his Deck Officer.

  “Well of course she would overhaul us, wouldn’t she as would every other vessel not laden down as are we with iron? She is riding relatively high, probably carrying French panties and perfume.” Both officers watched Talon draw abreast and then shorten sail to match Bastion’s four knots.

  “What the devil is she up to – wants to parlez-vous, perhaps?” chuckled Jackson.

  Talon was all action and a brief instruction. The gun-ports slammed down, revealing the muzzles of the large carronades. The Stars and Stripes broke from her masthead and uniformed sailors ran to the deck cannons, and trained them on Bastion.

  “Surrender your ship or you will be sunk!” came a metallic voice through a hailer.

  Captain Jackson had no option, but could not say the words and could only nod to his Deck Officer.

  “Strike the colors,” the Deck Officer ordered.

  Bastion was soon searched and secured, the Captain and Officers confined in Talon’s passenger cabins and her crew locked down in the hold. A prize crew took over and Richard spoke to the Junior Lieutenant in command.

  “Your first command, Patterson: take good care of her and we will see you in Boston.”

  “Aye Sir,” replied Patterson, full of pride.

  “Well, that was a load of fun was it not?” Richard asked his Duty Officer.

  The Amelia Gray followed a day later, carrying a cargo of wool and linens and the stunned crew added to Talon’s guest list. The smaller schooner Dunedin seemed hardly worthwhile until the cargo list revealed scotch whiskey and mail.

  The fiery Captain McKay stormed up to Richard on the Quarterdeck and complained, “Ye are nay following the rules, Captain!”

  “Rules, Sir? This is war, not a game of tennis,” replied Richard.

  The Captain of the large ex Indiaman ‘Devon’ was a different kettle of fish. Captain Franklin had served in the Royal Navy fighting the French and retained an intense hatred of them. When he ascertained that Talon was closing on a course that would pass within a quarter of a mile he ordered a change of course and his four deck guns manned and loaded despite observing that Talon’s cannons were unmanned.

  “Damned French, cannot stand their smell of garlic,” he muttered.

  When Talon also changed course, Franklin’s suspicions were confirmed.

  “Something smells here and it is not their garlic; clap on all sail and bring her around out of the wind,” he ordered.

  Devon, with the wind behind her and an increased sail area, began to pull away but Talon did likewise, following like a shadow and slowly closing the gap and breaking out her colors.

  “Leach the water tanks and dump all excess weight,” cried Franklin desperately.

  Talon’s reply was an eighteen-pound shot from its bow chaser falling short.

  Devon gained a knot but it was not enough – her heavy cargo of rice and sugar sat her too low in the water. Another bow-shot fell closer. Franklin realized that he could not prevent a boarding from a naval vessel; his only chance was to turn and fight, hoping for a lucky shot to disable the enemy’s sails.

  “Bring her around and engage with cannon,” Franklin ordered.

  Devon came about and her guns fired a rag
ged broadside followed by individual firing. Talon, still bow on and closing, could only continue to fire its bow-chaser with neither ship scoring a hit.

  At two hundred yards Richard ordered, “Bring her about, Number One, and engage with our deck cannon; we need to chastise this stubbornness.”

  Both vessels pounded away at each other, scoring the odd hit but neither suffered serious damage due to their stout construction. Talon, however, had the wind age and was being slowly pushed towards Devon. At a hundred yards Richard tired of the game of cat and mouse and ordered his gun-ports opened.

  Whether anyone on Devon heard the call to surrender at that distance was never determined, but Captain Franklin shook his fist and personally fired the shot that smashed into Talon, killing two. The resulting counter broadside punched holes killed men and shredded sails aboard Devon. She began to sink quickly and only a dozen survivors were rescued, their Captain was not among them.

  After repairs and burials at sea Richard was prepared to return to Boston. His holds were full of prisoners or guest officers and captured species, and food was running low, but his luck held.

  Three days later the Nomos, carrying returning loyalist colonials and businessmen intent on profiting from the war fell into Richard’s hands like a ripe plum: Nomos’s Captain’s concern for his passengers insured that. Richard now had no option but to return to Boston.

  In Boston they were treated like heroes, their successes welcome at a time when the war was going badly and General Washington in retreat. There were some mutterings against tactics bordering on illegality but the auctioned cargos caused local businessmen to thrive, and the motto of the new America was the ‘business of America is business’.

  Richard pleaded with Captain Sorenson that repatriation proceed as slowly as possible to delay the British knowledge of Talon’s tactics and to an extent this was achieved, but nevertheless, while Talon was on its second cruise, reports began filtering back to British Naval Headquarters in New York.