Ajax, p.11
Ajax, page 11
part #3 of Wharton Series
‘Cavalry over to our right,’ screamed Hobson, pointing at a flurry of horsemen between them and the sea. Wharton immediately looked to the north. Charlie was right. Several squadrons of French cavalry had swung around the British right flank and were trying to outmanoeuvre Moore’s foot soldiers and gunners. They were still 500 yards away but closing fast.
‘Brown, do you see those French horse. Get our guns around a few points and let us give them a warm welcome,’ Wharton shouted to the gunner with much more confidence than he felt. The thought of the slashing sabres amongst his gun crews was alarming. Other batteries, he noticed, were following their suit, and hauling around the cannons to face the new threat.
A British regiment ahead of them was gradually bringing their line around to cover the blue-coated French riders. The front line fired a spluttering volley, but it was too little too late. The horsemen swept around the end of the line and started hacking and bowling over the men to the rear of the formation.
Wharton realised he could not fire for fear of blasting grapeshot into the backs of their own troops. It was so frustrating. He noticed other naval officers were urging the gun crews to slew their cannons even further right and bellowed at Brown to do the same. If the French were coming, they would have to reform and attack them from the north. There was a gully just below the guns, so the French cavalry could not attack them directly from the front. But they could from the flat ground to the right.
It was only a matter of time now. The French squadrons reformed and started their steady trot around towards the signals hill and the naval guns. Two cannons fired uselessly, and far too early, at the approaching horsemen. This produced cries of ‘Hold your fire’ from Wharton and some of the other officers.
‘Wait for it, boys,’ Brown added, rubbing the sweat from the palms of his hands down his trousers. Wharton wished he could do the same. They all appreciated there would be a terrible price to pay if the French got amongst the guns.
Two cavalry squadrons over to the right of their attack formed into one cantering mass of horsemen. Wharton looked over to Hobson and they both nodded. Now was the time. They shouted ‘Fire, fire’ in unison.
The effect was almost instant. The grapeshot scythed into the tight formation and horses and men checked and went down onto the yellow ground. The sound that followed was blood curling. Horses whinnied and squealed above the cries of the wounded bloodied men.
Some of the naval gunners shouted in triumph until silenced by the officers. Brown growled at his battery and any jack thinking of joining the others, many of whom had been capering around their cannons with delight, were quickly quietened.
The French horsemen in the middle and rear of their squadrons rode around their fallen comrades and started to reform.
‘Reload, you sons of bitches. Reload,’ Brown screamed above the hubbub.
Wharton squinted at the horsemen. Their silver breastplates and drawn sabres flashed in the morning sunlight and the realisation that he and his gunners might be hacked to pieces in a few moments was like a thunder bolt. They had just a minute or so to prepare for the onslaught. Frankly, he was terrified. They could not just wait for the inevitable. He had to act and act fast.
‘Gunners, hear this,’ he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Wishbone your guns. Everyone to haul the cannons right or left. The bastards can’t get at us through the barrels. Move. Now.’
There was confusion for a heartbeat as the gun captains worked out what the lieutenant was saying. The penny dropped as they saw Brown with Achilles’s guns directing his men to pull each cannon sideways – first to the right and the next to left. A barricade of long black iron gun barrels was beginning to face the French horsemen.
‘Back behind the guns. All of you. Draw hangers,’ Wharton called and was pleased to find his naval sword in his hand. The only way the cavalry could get at them now was to jump the line of guns.
There was a volley of musket fire ahead of them and Brown pointed with excitement. ‘Our lobsters are hitting their flank, sir. They are in a trap of their own making,’ he called out in excitement.
The first line of horsemen was suddenly on them. Two cuirassiers stumbled right in front of Wharton’s guns and others behind, unable to pull up, cannoned into them. Several others tried to jump Hobson’s 18-pounders, but only one sailed over the barricade and was immediately set-upon by the defending seamen, hauled off his horse and hacked to death by a dozen hangers.
Wharton heard a cried warning as a French cavalryman forced his way between the gun barrels and was cutting down with his sabre on the sailors until he too was overwhelmed.
‘Mr Hobson is down,’ Brown said calmly, pointing through the melee.
Wharton looked as two more French horsemen pushed through the guns and was pleased to see them dragged off their mounts and killed before they had any chance of inflicting any damage to the gunners.
The volleys from the British infantry into the now halted squadrons decided the outcome of the charge. A trumpet blared and the surviving horsemen turned their mounts and started to stream away towards the sea to the north and safety. The charge had been repulsed and the signals hill safe.
Wharton, satisfied the immediate danger was over, shouted for the crews to re-set their guns. Just two minutes later, every gun in front of the hillock was now straightened and pointing back at the enemy.
He walked over to a prone, bloody Charlie Hobson. The wounded lieutenant waved a right hand in greeting and tried, but failed, to push himself into a sitting position. ‘This will go down in naval lore. We shall call it ‘Wharton’s patent formation for naval guns facing close cavalry attack.’
‘How are you, Charlie?’
‘Took a cavalry sabre to the top of my neck and smashed my collar bone, I think. Nothing the sawbones cannot make right, I am sure. How are my crews?’
Johnnie patted his friend lightly on his good arm and walked away to assess the damage. He was back with Hobson a few moments later and announced ‘You did not lose any of your jacks. Several others with sabre wounds, but non mortal. We need to get you, and the other four with cuts or broken bones, back to Ajax and the tender care of Doctor Walker. I will ask Lieutenant Westropp to signal to Bolton that he should send a launch to bring you back on board.’
The sounds of battle were moving away from them. General Moore was pushing the French back through Mendara towards Alexandria. Two British victories on land against the French in three days. Now that was extraordinary.
Chapter Seventeen
With many of her guns ashore, Ajax’s upper deck seemed wider than usual as Wharton climbed aboard. He looked back down at the launch which had carried him from Mendara Beach. Charlie Hobson was sitting propped up against one of the rowers and beside four other wounded men.
He heard footsteps on the deck to his side and discovered Bolton walking up to him. ‘Pleased to see you in one piece, Mr Wharton. A few wounded, I see. Any fatalities?’ asked the first lieutenant.
‘Afternoon, sir,’ Johnnie replied warily. ‘Lieutenant Hobson with a sabre slash and broken collar bone and four seamen with greater or lesser sword cuts. None of our men were killed, I can report.’
‘Relieved and pleased to hear it. We lost young Hughes and his whole crew during the landings. I feared the worst from the French counterattack this morning. We had a grand view from the quarterdeck. Right by the signals mast, were you?’
Wharton looked surprised. ‘Were we that obvious?’ he asked.
‘One of the eagle-eyed middies reported that Hobson and you were directing our guns by the mast. Drove off some cavalry, he reported. Well done and welcome back on board.’
‘Thank you, sir. Can we get a bosun’s chair lowered down to bring Mr Hobson up – and the four seamen too, perhaps.’
Bolton called over to the boatswain and issued a string of orders. Turning back, he added with a rare smile ‘The captain came back on board shortly before you arrived alongside. I am sure he would like to hear your report since you went ashore three days ago. I know I would.’
Cochrane was sitting at his desk as the first lieutenant ushered Wharton into the great cabin. Usually immaculate, the captain’s face was streaked with yellow mud, his linen hanging down his chest and coat torn and dirty. Johnnie realised he must look much the same.
‘Take a seat, Mr Wharton. I was never so pleased to be back aboard Ajax. What a terrible business is soldiering. Give me a solid oak deck any day. A drink to celebrate our survival and our successes - and remember poor Midshipman Hughes, of course.’
‘The French are on the back foot. They have fallen back on Alexandria and are likely to stay there. General Moore is preparing a siege and asked if he can keep our naval guns and crews ashore to add some firepower until he has a clearer picture of the French placements. He may have to call on the Navy to provide more men for the final attack on the city. I have asked Lieutenant Bolton to make arrangements for volunteers as far as that is concerned. Is that not the case?’ he asked William Bolton.
The first lieutenant made something of a face. ‘I have George Hardy making up lists of the ‘volunteers’. He is basing his survey by Division. He tells me that a surprising number of men are really volunteering, probably due to the chance to stand on dry land for a change. We will be ready, when and if, the call comes from General Moore.’
Bolton pulled out a paper from his pocket. ‘With some of our men ashore with the guns, the injury to Lieutenant Hobson and the death of young Hughes, I have taken the liberty of changing the manning levels of the Divisions, sir. I hope these meeting with your approval.’
Cochrane took the paper and glanced down the list of officers and mates. ‘A matter for you, Mr Bolton, and keep me informed how these changes work for the general efficiency of my ship.’
‘While I have been ashore, it appears that there has been trouble with a breakdown in discipline in various parts of Ajax. Indeed, according to your daily report, there are eight men awaiting punishment for a variety of misdemeanours. Has the ship truly become such an undisciplined rabble in the few days I have been with General Moore?’
‘Many men have taken advantage of the inactivity while we have been at anchor out here. Idle and mischievous and worse, sir. We should make a proper example of these men. I believe at least four should be flogged and the others restrained for a week. This sort of laxity could spread like a disease,’ Bolton announced aggressively. ‘I had to masthead two of the younger midshipmen yesterday for running on deck. The only way they will learn.’
The captain stared back at the first lieutenant for many seconds and shrugged his shoulders before asking ‘How long did you masthead the young gentlemen?’
‘Eight hours, sir.’
‘In this Egyptian sun? In the name of God, what were you thinking? I want to review each of the cases for the men on your punishment list. Take no further action until I have done so. Do you understand?’ he barked at Bolton. ‘I will not detain you for another moment. Mr Wharton, will you stay for a while.’
Once William Bolton had left the cabin, Captain Cochrane turned in his chair and stared out of the gallery window for a full minute. Finally, he looked back and said ‘Well, Mr Wharton, you have just witnessed my problem. Officer to officer, I am going to speak candidly and you should regard what passes between us now as a private matter not to be shared. Do you understand?’
Intrigued, Wharton replied ‘Of course, sir.’
‘I have never served with an officer as steady and organised as Lieutenant Bolton. On the other hand, the man is obsessed with discipline and punishment for those he perceives as malcontents and idlers. If I had not overruled him, we would have flogged 25 men on this ship since I took command. As it is, I have permitted six floggings and some of those were questionable cases. I fear for the morale of this ship, good men being broken and many others sullen. I would value your experience.’
Wharton was amazed that the captain of one of the newest ships of the line should unburden himself to a very young second lieutenant. It was unheard of, and Johnnie knew he must be very careful how he responded.
‘I have not been aboard for long, sir, but Ajax is a model of efficiency. That must be to your credit and your first lieutenant’s. On the other hand, I am neither blind nor deaf. Mr Bolton is not popular with the more junior officers; perhaps first lieutenants are not supposed to be. However, there is a constant background of resentment and fear towards Mr Bolton from almost all of them, particularly the midshipmen. They are truly frightened by the man.’
Cochrane let Wharton’s words sink in. He rose from his chair and paced the cabin for a while in silence. ‘I care more for morale than pure unquestioning discipline and order. Our crew is here to fight Britain’s enemies and they will do so better if they believe in their ship and those who lead it. We cannot flog loyalty into the men.’
‘Have you spoken to Mr Bolton about this, sir?’
‘I have tried on several occasions. Bolton is quite clear in his mind that his methods produce results. Even you comment that Ajax is a well-run ship. But for how much longer if the younger officers and the mates have enough and start making trouble? I know our jacks too. They will only take so much oppression before we have a mutiny – or Mr Bolton has some kind of ‘accident.’’
Wharton moved uneasily in his chair. He cleared his throat and said, ‘Could it really come to that?’
‘I believe it could indeed.’
‘Then, for the first lieutenant’s safety and for the good of this ship, I believe Mr Bolton has to go. Perhaps you could recommend to Their Lordships that a position be found for him in the Admiralty. He is, after all, a very detailed man. We need people in Whitehall with an eye for detail, I imagine.’
Captain Cochrane looked thoughtfully. ‘Yes, he has to go. I can see that clearly now. I shall speak to Lord Keith later today and then write to Their Lordships, if the Admiral gives his assent. All this means that you will have to assume the role of acting first lieutenant once Mr Bolton is on his way back to Gibraltar and then Portsmouth.’
Johnnie Wharton was stunned for a moment. ‘Are you sure, sir? I had not sought such a position when I spoke just now. Surely, I do not have the experience,’ he managed to blurt out.
Cochrane laughed out loud. ‘I have watched you, Mr Wharton. Also, Captain Burns wrote to me about you in the most flattering terms. He was correct to do so. By the way, the Master Holligan speaks highly of you as a natural sailor. Praise from him indeed.’
‘Be aware that you will only be ‘acting’ until I hear further from either Admiral Keith or, later, from Their Lordships. It does mean, however, that your days sweating ashore with the army are over. You now have a ship-of-the-line to manage. Do you think you can do that?’
Johnnie’s mind was in a turmoil. Of course, he was excited at the opportunity. It would put him one step nearer to commanding his own ship. One naïve miscalculation, however, could end his career in the Royal Navy before he had a chance to prove himself. He had to grasp the good fortune offered and banish his fears.
He took a deep breath. ‘I am aware of your generosity, sir, and faith in my limited ability. I would be honoured by the step up.’
*
In something of a haze, Johnnie Wharton retired to his cabin, closed the door and sat down heavily on his bunk. His mind was in a turmoil. He was excited at the opportunity, of course. It would put him one step nearer commanding his own ship. And it was only 10 years or so since he had first climbed the gangplank of HMS St George back in 1791 as a very junior midshipman.
He was not given to doubts about his ability – until now. Did he really have what it took to be a great leader like Burns, Packenham or Cochrane. Not given to hero worship, he had to admit these men truly knew what they were about.
Was he ready to fill the shoes of such men? He was not sure. In the quiet and dark of his cabin, the doubts started to edge their way into his mind.
He had nothing like the confidence or swagger of Burns or the easy command of events like Alexander Cochrane. He knew he was competent, but his captains had real authority and leadership qualities which, he felt, must take years to acquire. Just one naïve miscalculation could end his career in the Navy, before he had a chance to prove his abilities as a true commander to his fellows and, indeed, himself.
And what would be his prospects outside the service if that were the case? He had no other life than walking the decks of ships. The company of his fellow officers and men was all he knew. What about the rest of society outside the rigid discipline and rules of shipboard life? Again, he had a total lack of experiences of such things.
Then there was the troubling scar on his face. His shipmates were quite used to injury and disfigurement. Why, Britain had been at war with France for a decade or more and such wounds were expected. What would be the view of the civilians in polite society? He dreaded to think.
There was a sudden tap on the door and Wharton snapped out of his temporary gloom to find the beaming face of George Hardy leaning into his cabin.
‘Acting premier! I say, what a lucky fellow I am to have such friend. Congratulations, Johnnie. Quite deserved. We should raise a glass together in the Mess to celebrate.’
Chapter Eighteen
Lieutenant William Bolton was seen over the side of Ajax by Captain Cochrane. The departing first lieutenant was to be rowed over to the frigate HMS Leander bound for Gibraltar that evening with despatches for the admiral of the Rock and more for the Admiralty in London. The man had a frown on his face and did not once turn for a final look at the 74-gun third rate.
Once Bolton’s departure was known, the whole ship seemed to give an enormous sigh of relief. The midshipmen had a new spring in their step and even the boatswain and quartermaster were seen to smile occasionally.
George Hardy was pleased with his temporary promotion and, with the captain and the new first lieutenant’s permission, started to devise a series of challenges and games for the midshipmen and jacks. He had the Divisions form teams to race each other up and down the rigging, knot tying competitions and even communal singing and theatrics on deck some evenings.
