Take burn or destroy, p.34
Take, Burn or Destroy, page 34
And the men huzzahed with a will, their cheers echoing across the anchorage, and so pleased was Hayden that his cheeks coloured like a boy’s.
Raisonnable lay to her anchor among ships refitting or having but recently made port. She appeared much as Hayden remembered her—and he let his eye run over her rigging, wondering if she really could be ready to sail that very day. No more than a handful of men were engaged aloft, and that, Hayden hoped, was a good sign. Every second gunport was opened to air the ship, and he could see a bosun and his crew employing a burton tackle to set up the mizzen shrouds.
In very short order, they were piped aboard the sixty-four-gun ship Raisonnable. Three lieutenants met them as they came over the rail, the most senior introducing himself.
“Geoffrey Bowen, sir. I was Captain Lord Cranstoun’s third lieutenant. May I introduce Robert Stanton Milton-Bell, sir, and James Huxley. We are all honoured to sail with you, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr Bowen.” Hayden quickly introduced his own officers and enquired into the readiness of the ship for sea.
“She has been both provisioned and watered, Captain Hayden. Shot and powder were put aboard last night and completed this morning. She had a major refit, sir, and has new masts and yards, the better part of a new upper deck, her bottom is newly coppered, and she has been painted from taffrail to beak-head.”
Indeed, the ship fairly glowed from the dockyard’s recent ministrations. Hayden took the briefest moment to let his eyes run over his new command. There were six carronades on the quarterdeck, replacing the original nine-pounders, four of which remained in the after positions. All of the quarterdeck guns had been repositioned so that the guns beneath the quarter-ladders were shifted aft—something Hayden had once had the temerity to suggest to his captain, whereupon he was informed that when he actually knew something he would be allowed to make recommendations to his commanding officer. The guns beneath the quarter-ladders could not be worked without removing the ladders, which made climbing to the poop difficult—indeed, older officers found it all but impossible. There were nine-pounders on the quarterdeck still.
“I have all the paperwork ready for you, Captain,” Bowen informed him, “and will put myself at your disposal at any time to tour the ship. And if you please, sir, I have been given to understand that you are short of midshipmen. There are four likely-looking young gentlemen standing by, sir. None of them have any experience, but two of them are brothers to Mr Huxley and myself and the other two are from good families. I can give them all excellent characters, sir, from being personally acquainted with them for some years, and I believe they would learn their business passably well. I should never presume upon you in such a manner, sir, but given that the Port Captain told me we would sail upon the tide, I thought you might not mind.”
“Under the circumstances, Mr Bowen, I should say you have shown excellent judgement. I shall speak to your young gentlemen as soon as you can get them aboard. For now, I will read my commission and then tour the ship.” Hayden turned to his crew gathered at the rail. “Mr Barthe, you will see to the masts, sails, and rig. Search out the bosun and put to rights anything that does not meet your approval. When you have completed that, we shall both go down to the hold and find how she is stowed.”
The next few hours saw a flurry of activity aboard. Ship and crew were inspected, stores lists, muster lists, etc., were not ignored, for Hayden did not want to discover at sea that he lacked anything essential to the execution of his orders. Permission came from the Port Captain for Hayden to get under way, which he did a scant five hours after first setting foot aboard. It helped greatly that he had served aboard Raisonnable before, for she was largely unaltered.
“You will find her fast and able, Mr Barthe,” Hayden told his sailing master as the ship gathered way and began to slip across the surface of the anchorage. They stood upon the poop, which gave Hayden a great sense of height compared to the quarterdeck of the Themis. “Almost a large frigate, but with a deck of twenty-four-pounders in addition to the eighteens.”
“The Advent class was one of Mr Slade’s best,” the sailing master agreed, patting the broad taffrail with a flat hand. “If this wind bends around but a little, it will carry us out into the Channel, sir.”
“For which I would be most thankful.”
The wind, which seldom heeded the wishes of sailors, did “bend around” and bore them into the Channel before the day’s light had faded. Hayden ordered their course shaped for Ushant and called all of his officers below, leaving a midshipman briefly in command.
As his belongings from the recaptured Themis had yet to be delivered to him, and there had been no time to procure any furniture of his own, Hayden collected everyone in the wardroom and bid them sit at the long table. He kept his voice low so that his words would not reach beyond the little enclosure.
“I have been entrusted with dispatches from the Lords of the Admiralty for Admiral Lord Howe and charged to deliver them with all possible haste. To that end, we will shape our course for Ushant in hopes of finding the Channel Fleet on that station. If His Lordship is not to be found in those waters, we are to expend all energies to discover him and perform our duty. I do not know the nature of the Admiralty’s dispatches, but it was also noted in my orders that a large and valuable French convoy, under escort, was believed to have left America recently and we are to gather all information we might as to its course or location.”
“The Lords of the Admiralty,” Barthe spoke up immediately, “are aware, are they not, that a man cannot see across the Atlantic . . . even standing on tiptoe? If Lord Howe has seen fit to leave his station to seek this convoy—if that is his purpose—we might sail the rest of our days and never discover him.”
“I do agree with you, Mr Barthe, regarding the size of the ocean. Certainly, we have not been honoured with a simple duty. If you read the report in the Times not so long ago of a French convoy consisting of over one hundred transports and escort vessels gathering in the Chesapeake, we must believe that such a fleet of ships will not go unseen even in an ocean as vast as the Atlantic. We shall speak every ship we meet, and if we take a prize, mayhap we shall learn the whereabouts of the Channel Fleet. I know nothing of Lord Howe’s orders, but I suspect the Channel Fleet is cruising off Brest or the First Lord would not have sent us there with dispatches.”
Barthe made a sound in his throat—a low growl—suggesting that Hayden had more faith in the understanding of the Admiralty than he did himself.
“We shall take up our usual duties,” Hayden went on. “Mr Archer, you are first lieutenant. Mr Ransome, second. Our new shipmates, Misters Bowen, Milton-Bell, and Huxley, will make up our complement of lieutenants. We are still short of reefers, but perhaps we shall find some likely men to make up their places. We have no marine captain, I am told, so, Mr Hawthorne, you will be acting marine captain until such time as you are confirmed in that position or replaced. The very experienced Mr Barthe is, as usual, our sailing master, and we are all most satisfied to have Dr Griffiths as our surgeon.”
First Lieutenant Archer had made up a watch and station bill with the aid of the lieutenants who had been aboard during the launching and refit, and as Hayden did not yet know the crew, he signed it readily. As this concluded all immediate business, a late dinner was set out by the servants and the residents of the wardroom ate their first meal at sea together with their newly minted post captain as the guest of honour.
“You must be held in very high regard by the Lords of the Admiralty, Captain Hayden,” Bell observed. “To be given a sixty-four-gun ship as your first post command is a high honour.”
“I should not be surprised to learn this command is temporary, Mr Bell, and I shall find myself back aboard a frigate in the very near future.”
“Was it you, Captain Hayden, who raised the guns to the hilltops in Corsica?” Huxley asked.
“All of my crew, almost without exception, played a part in that particular enterprise, Mr Huxley. Mr Wickham, there, had command of one of the crews himself.”
“It must have been a very great surprise to the French when they found batteries erected behind them.”
“It was a very great surprise to even the Corsicans,” Hawthorne said with less pride than satisfaction. “They assured us that guns could never be raised to those hills. General Dundas was of the same opinion exactly. Only Colonel Moore and Captain Hayden thought it possible.”
“I do wish I had been so certain,” Hayden admitted. “In the end, it was managed and the French positions overrun by Colonel Moore and his troops.”
“And you cut out a new-built French frigate, I am given to understand.”
“The French were in the process of scuttling her when we boarded, and she was later refloated. They put up a fight, though—Mr Ransome is limping yet, are you not?”
“I am, sir, but the prize money shall ease the hurt, I am certain.”
“It is not the balm for all wounds, you may find,” Dr Griffiths felt he should point out.
Hayden thought his new lieutenants showed some promise. They had all been at sea since they were boys—two of good Navy families—and had learned their trade under excellent captains—men whom Hayden knew by reputation. He could not have been more pleased. Notwithstanding a family in trade, Huxley seemed bright enough, though a little retiring. A bit of a bulldog in shape and height, but an English bulldog, and Hayden was not unhappy with that. Bowen’s father was a cleric, and he and Smosh immediately fell in with each other, though Hayden expected from what he had overheard that Mr Bowen’s father was rather unlike their own parson—not surprisingly. Bowen had that bright-faced, alert manner of the moderately intelligent—true geniuses were invariable misfits of one sort or another, at least in Hayden’s limited experience. Milton-Bell—who preferred “Bell”—was of a very good family, but being the youngest son he had drawn the Navy as his career and did not seem perfectly pleased with it either. He was, however, treated with respect by the other lieutenants and the crew, which gave Hayden hope that he was a passable officer.
The new midshipmen, who had been invited to dine, exhibited all of the apprehension one would expect of nonswimmers being cast into a raging river. And Hayden believed it was not nearly fear enough—they really did not understand how dangerous a life they were embarking upon, given that Britain was involved in a war that seemed to be ever-growing in both scale and ferocity.
“Would you care for some wine, Huxley?” Hawthorne asked, nodding to a servant standing behind. And then, “That would be you, midshipman. Your brother will be ‘Mr Huxley’ or ‘Lieutenant Huxley,’ but as we cannot have you confused with him when the captain is calling out orders, you will be ‘Huxley.’ And the same will go for you, Bowen.”
“Yes,” Hobson added, “we shall call you ‘Huxley’ as well.”
“Mr Hobson!” Hawthorne fixed the midshipman with an indignant stare. “You know very well what I meant. I dare say even Bowen knew, even if he is still damp behind the ears and as green as new-cut oak.”
“Despite what you might think,” Wickham informed the new reefers, “Mr Hawthorne has not a cruel bone in his body, but he will practise upon you unmercifully all the same. You must not mind, as it is the custom in the Navy to make new midshipmen appear foolish at every opportunity. He will, however, grow tired of it in a few months and leave off tormenting you.”
“That is, if you live that long,” Hobson interjected. “Most midshipmen are blasted to hell by cannon fire within a month of coming aboard.”
“If you live beyond thirty days, however,” Hawthorne explained to the new midshipmen, “you will almost always make six months. Never a year—or almost never—but six months is quite possible. I have seen it myself.”
“We lost a dozen midshipmen on our last cruise alone,” Hobson added, shaking his head sadly. “Terrible mess some of them made on the deck. The worst is to be hit by a thirty-two-pound ball from a carronade. Hardly anything left to put over the side. We just kind of swabbed them up and poured the remains out the scuppers. Mr Smosh said a few words over the bucket and we committed the mush to the sea. ‘Midshipmush,’ we called it.”
“You would never think a midshipman could fit in a bucket, but we’ve all seen it . . . have we not?”
Everyone agreed, and added what a disgustingly sad sight it was.
“We hope you manage to survive such a fate, but on the chance that you do not . . .” Hobson motioned to a servant, who opened the door, letting three crewmen in. “We had these made up for you.”
The hands produced, from behind their backs, three buckets, each bearing the name of one of the new middies in white paint.
The midshipmen had the buckets pressed into their hands, all grinning anxiously, as if uncertain that everything being said to them was not wild exaggeration. The older brothers remained impressively neutral, betraying not a hint of a smile.
“You might find the bucket comes in useful when the sea gets up a little,” Barthe added. “I should hang it by my cot.”
Hayden’s cabin was so barren—merely a cot swinging from the deck beams and his trunk in a corner—that he could hardly bear to remain there. The fact that it was very grand made the lack of furnishings seem even more pathetic. The carpenter and his mates were at work making Hayden a rough table and refitting some old chairs that had been found, so at least he would have a place to do his paperwork and dine. The beautiful table that Wickham’s father had given him was sorely missed. It also seemed rather ungrateful to have lost this gift so soon after it had been given. He went out onto the curving stern-walk and stood with his hand on the rail, observing the ship’s wake bubbling up aft. He traversed the open gallery from larboard to starboard and then back to amidships. In recent years, he had not allowed himself to even imagine being in such a position—leaning his elbows upon the rail of an elegant stern-walk aboard a line-of-battle ship. His stern-walk aboard his own post ship. For a moment, the satisfaction that this engendered overshadowed the almost constant echo of his last conversation with Henrietta. He wondered still that he had stood and watched her walk away without protest. She had seemed so very certain—not the least doubtful—and part of him had felt that she was right. She was meant for better things than waiting at home for her sea officer to return, always anxious. He had lost his own father in just this way and it had been a terrible blow. There was also a part of him that felt he did not protest or make any declaration of his feelings because he had betrayed her trust—and he believed that somehow she would learn of it one day. He could not bear the thought of that.
Taking a last look at the sea aft, he returned inside.
Ten minutes of his stark cabin, though, saw Hayden don an old boat cloak and walk out onto the deck. His marine sentry, barely visible in the poor light of a shuttered lantern, touched his hat and said, “Captain,” loud enough for the helmsmen to hear. The wheel lay just beyond the door to Hayden’s outer cabin and under the shelter provided by the short poop. The helmsmen had only a view forward from such a position but were always directed by the officer of the watch. The two men tending the wheel twisted around and made knuckles. Hayden walked out onto the quarterdeck, which was bisected fore and aft by the companionway that lay just forward of the binnacle, a long scuttle, and a second companionway. Here the bulwark was high but ended abruptly outboard of the mainmast, where hammock netting took the place of a rail.
Hobson and midshipman Huxley leaned against a carronade, but jumped up the instant they apprehended Hayden appearing from beneath the poop. Both touched their hats.
“Your first night at sea, Huxley, is it?”
“It is, sir, and very pleased I am to be here, Captain.”
“An excellent night for your first night watch, only enough wind to hurry us along and not a hint of fog. Most pleasant. I trust you and Mr Hobson are employing your time most profitably?”
“Indeed, Captain. Mr Hobson has been quizzing me about the parts of the ship and has begun to teach me my ropes.”
“Then what would you name this?” Hayden asked, laying a hand on a long piece of wood seized to the shrouds.
The boy appeared confused a moment and then blurted out, “Is it a ‘stretcher,’ sir?”
“I am asking you the questions, Huxley.”
The boy looked both frightened and embarrassed. “I would call it a stretcher, sir.”
“And you would be correct. You might also hear an older sailor name it a ‘squaring staff,’ and you must know what he means. Mr Barthe has been heard to call it thus, and if he were to use that term and you did not recognise it, he would give you a cuff.”
“A ‘squaring staff,’ sir. I shall not forget.”
“Carry on, then.”
Hayden gazed aloft. Between the sails, stars glittered among masses of dark cloud. A fresh breeze held steady out of the north-east, pressing the ship down-Channel on the ebbing tide, Raisonnable exhibiting her usual turn of speed. What a cruiser such a ship would make, Hayden thought. Two frigates and Raisonnable would make a deadly little squadron. Prize money would come rolling in, or so he imagined.
“Captain Hayden?”
It was Archer, appearing out of the darkness.
“You are not standing a watch, are you, Lieutenant?”
“No, sir, it is Mr Huxley’s watch. I have just come on deck to take the air. Perhaps it is the motion of the new ship, sir, but I could not sleep.”
“Perhaps that is what has brought me up here as well.”
“I am very pleased with our new ship, though, Captain.”
“As am I, Mr Archer.” He did not say that as a young lieutenant he dreamed of being Raisonnable’s captain one day. A young man’s dream—almost a boy’s. Yet here he was, however temporarily, upon her quarterdeck wearing a post captain’s coat.
