On the Lee Shore, page 5
‘Soon, lads,’ he whispered. ‘I have heard that the whole Channel Fleet is ready to rise up in mutiny. It will be over a demand for better pay, and that will be our chance.’
‘The whole fecking fleet!’ gasped Kenny. ‘How the hell do you know that?’
‘You got to trust me on this, but I have a way of corresponding with like minded jacks on most of the other ships. Don’t go asking me how. The less folk as know about it, the better. But we all need to be ready when our moment comes. Patience, brothers. We must bide our time for now and wait for matters to align in our favour. Then, the moment something shall happen on board that we can rally the men over, we can make our move.’
‘What do you plan to do about the Lobsters?’ asked Page. ‘They did little to stop us last time, but since that new Scottish Grunter came, he has a proper grip on them. I have tried to talk with the ones that helped us, but they’re not in the mood to listen any. It’s right hard for men with clasp knives to take on soldiers with muskets, however just their cause.’ Sexton tapped his nose with the index finger of one hand.
‘You're right, Morris, but I have a plan for that. You know Stephenson, the armourer’s mate? He used to be a locksmith. When the last mutiny ended I had to give the Grunters back all the keys we took off them. Only before I did, I got him to make me a copy of the one to the arms chest. Have no fear on that score, it will not just be clasp knives we will have next time. I reckon even the Lobsters will be a bit more willing to see reason when it’s us as have muskets too.’
‘That’s very good, Dick,’ smiled Kenny. ‘With proper weapons we only need a few committed rebels. Just enough to boss the others, like.’ Page nodded his agreement at this. He looked past the Irishman to where Sedgwick still sat chatting with Evans, Rosso and Trevan.
‘We need to watch those new volunteers too,’ he muttered. ‘They might be trouble. They look as if they know how to handle themselves, especially that big bastard.’
‘It’s funny you mentioning him,’ said Sexton. ‘I have a strange feeling about that one. He seems familiar somehow. I wonder where I might have seen him before?’
Chapter 4
The Inshore Squadron
Captain Alexander Clay clambered down the side of the Titan in his full dress uniform and sat next to Sedgwick in the stern of the barge. He had settled himself in place, with his best cocked hat on his lap, and his sword held upright between his legs, before he noticed what the crew were wearing. Each of them had on a white shirt with seams lined in dark green ribbon. Their white duck trousers were clean and neat, and on every head was a matching straw hat, decorated with a further band of green ribbon.
‘Push off there in the bow,’ ordered Sedgwick, from beneath his own straw hat. ‘Give way all!’ The men started to swing their oars in unison and the barge gathered pace as it swept away from the tall side of the frigate.
‘I must say I do approve of the way the crew are dressed, Sedgwick,’ said Clay. ‘Is this your doing?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied his coxswain. ‘The oars are now painted in green and white too. I have some way to go before I have the barge as I wants it, mind. I need to find a shipmate with a good steady hand to add ‘Titan’ in white paint on our hat bands, and I shall ask the boatswain to repaint the hull of the barge to match the oars.’
‘Good idea,’ agreed Clay. ‘The men do look very smart. What gave you the idea?’
‘Watch your stroke, Rodgers!’ barked Sedgwick, before returning his attention to his captain. ‘Do you recall how back in Bridgetown the admiral and all the grand captains had barge crews dressed up fancy, sir. I thought that we should do the same, now you are made post. Beggin’ your pardon, sir, if I speak out of turn, but I also hold this new ship of ours needs a bit more pride in itself. It is but a small matter, but perhaps having a smart barge crew shall help, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
Clay looked back at the Titan and thought about what his coxswain had said. Her long black hull was almost a hundred and seventy feet long from her gilded stern to the bulging, muscular figure of the Titan that glared out at the world from under her bowsprit. The length of the ship was emphasised by the broad stripe of yellow that ran along the line of her gun deck. It spoke to Clay of her power and strength. Behind that layer of paint were her thick oak sides, and the row of heavy eighteen-pounder guns, big enough to overwhelm any foe she might meet below a ship of the line in size. Above her hull her enormous masts soared a hundred and fifty feet into the grey sky. From there her wide yards reached out far on either side. She was a fast ship too, he thought; speed and power, a potent combination. Nothing that she could not beat in battle would be able to catch her.
‘You are quite correct, Sedgwick,’ said Clay. ‘We do have the benefit of a magnificent ship. Any right thinking seaman should be proud to serve upon her.’
‘Starboard side, sir?’ asked Sedgwick, gesturing towards their destination. Clay looked back towards where the Indefatigable lay hove-to ahead of them. A commodore’s broad pennant flapped languidly out from the top of her mainmast, showing her to be the flagship of the squadron. She was an even larger frigate than the Titan, with twenty-four-pounder cannon for her main armament.
‘If you please, Sedgwick,’ he answered. His hand drifted up to adjust his best neck cloth of thick china silk. Coming aboard on the starboard side was the right thing to do for his first visit to his new commander, but Clay was a shy enough man to still be nervous at the ceremony this would involve him in.
In the stern sheets of the barge Sedgwick leant forward in his seat. His eyes flickered backwards and forwards across the narrowing gap between the boat and the ship’s side.
‘Boat ahoy!’ came a hail from the Indefatigable.
‘Titan,’ shouted Sedgwick, without taking his eyes off his approach.
‘Easy all!’ he ordered. ‘In oars! Clap on in the bow there!’ The boat slid ever closer to the black wall of oak and came to a halt next to the bottom of the ladder of slats built into the frigate’s side. The bottom few steps were treacherous with olive green weed, but two braided lines of hemp hung down either side of the entry ladder to act as hand rails. Clay settled his hat in place on his head, stood up in the barge and hitched his sword around behind him so it would be out of the way of his feet. The boat rose and fell a good three feet in the swell, despite the best efforts of the crew to hold her steady. Clay waited for the top of the rise and jumped for the ship’s side. One foot slipped a little, but he managed to scramble up clear of the treacherous lower steps. His coxswain watched his climb anxiously from below, wondering if he would be able to pull himself up with his injured shoulder. As his captain’s head reached the level of the Indefatigable’s main deck, Sedgwick heard the first squeal of the boatswain’s pipes.
‘Present arms!’ yelled an unseen lieutenant of marines, and Clay disappeared from view.
While Sedgwick watched his ascent up the side of the frigate he caught sight of a tiny movement out of the corner of his eye. It was as if something small had been dropped down into the boat from above them. He glanced towards where the movement had come from, just in time to see the slither of a gap under a port lid close. He looked round at his barge crew. All the men were able to meet his enquiring gaze except one. Now then, he thought, was it just the way that the folds of linen hung, or did Rodgers in the bow of the boat seem to have something concealed under his shirt?
*****
‘Welcome aboard, Captain Clay,’ said Sir Edward Pellew, with a voice thickened by his slight Cornish accent. He stepped forward to greet his visitor and gripped his hand with a strong handshake. He was an athletic looking man with thinning, sandy coloured hair that had just started to grey over his temples. The pale blue eyes that regarded those of his new subordinate were thoughtful, almost questioning. ‘Do please follow me below.’
The great cabin of the Indefatigable was decorated with a degree of sumptuousness that Clay had last seen at sea on board an East Indiaman. The duck egg blue bulkheads were lined with gilt-framed paintings of Pellew’s wife and children. Thick Persian carpets covered the deck beneath his feet, while the light from the silver lanterns that swung above his head was reflected from deep within the gloss of the polished cherry wood furniture.
‘Just over six minutes, in case you were wondering,’ said his host, smiling at the surprise in his guest’s eyes as he ushered him across to his chair. ‘It is a little longer than the cabin of a man of war should take to be cleared for action, but I have been tolerably fortunate in the matter of prize money, so I feel able to surround myself in a little luxury. How long does your cabin on the Titan take to clear?’
‘Nothing like as long, Sir Edward,’ laughed Clay, thinking about the few Spartan possessions he had in his quarters.
‘And yet you too have been blessed with some prize money of late, I believe?’ asked the commodore. ‘The capture of that Spanish ship of the line last year was quite the talk of the navy, I recall. Why, I received my knighthood for a much less notable victory.’
‘You are very kind to mention it, Sir Edward,’ said Clay, as he accepted a crystal glass of sherry from the tray held out to him by Pellew’s steward. ‘I fear it has been rather eclipsed now by your victory over a French seventy-four during the winter.’
‘Ah yes,’ smiled the commodore. ‘But while the Amazon and ourselves received some honour from our victory, we gained no other reward. Regrettably we drove the Droits de l'Homme to her doom on the rocks. Still, I am pleased to have another fighting captain in the squadron. Your predecessor was anything but. Confusion to the French!’ Clay joined in the toast, and the steward refilled the glasses.
‘Now, captain,’ said Pellew, ‘tell me if you have succeeded in suppressing all this mutinous nonsense on board your ship?’
‘To a certain extent, Sir Edward,’ replied Clay. ‘The crew are at least now obedient to their officers, but the Titan is far from being a happy ship. If I can be frank with you, the men yet smart over their treatment at the hands of Captain Sheridan.’
‘I did try to warn him that he was all together too thorough with his people,’ said Pellew, shaking his head. ‘There is such discontent in the navy at present that it takes very little to provoke the men. I had a petition from my own crew only this week demanding an increase in their pay.’
‘Sir Charles Middleton at the Admiralty told me that he is obliged to consider such demands almost every day,’ said Clay.
‘Quite,’ said the commodore. ‘But at least I have the comfort of knowing that if the French should come out my people will still fight. Will yours, captain?’
‘I have an officer I trust in charge of my marines now, Sir Edward, and I have put in place some other changes that I hope will answer. So yes, I believe they will.’ Clay met Pellew’s eyes confidently enough. After a moment, the Cornishman continued.
‘Very well, Captain. Then welcome to your new role as one of the guard dogs of the fleet. We number five hounds in total. In addition to our two ships there are the Argo, the Concord and the Phoebe.’
‘And our role is to guard the approaches to Brest, I collect?’ said Clay.
‘Sounds simple, don’t it?’ said Pellew. He turned in his chair to point out of the stern window of the frigate. ‘Over yonder is Brittany and the principal French naval base at Brest. The Channel Fleet keep safely out at sea if it is calm, or run to the shelter of Torbay if it blows above a cap full of wind. They can do that because they are certain that my Inshore Squadron will keep watch over the Frogs, and will tell them the moment they come out.’
‘That seems clear enough, sir,’ replied Clay. Pellew fixed his new subordinate with his pale eyes once more.
‘Our duty is clear, but that don’t make it easy,’ he said. ‘Because regrettably we are on the most savage of lee shores. There are hidden rocks and wicked reefs too numerous to count. Riptides and sea currents the like of which you never dreamed possible. Our station is to spend our days and nights close amongst such hazards. You will have need of unwearied diligence, Captain Clay. Most days the wind blows from the west, constantly pushing us towards the shore. Yet when the wind is elsewhere, we have little prospect of rest, for that is when the weather will serve to bring the French out.’
‘Do they come out often, Sir Edward?’ asked Clay.
‘Annoyingly they do,’ said Pellew. ‘It is seldom the whole fleet that emerges to challenge us. Chiefly we must watch out for a swift frigate or a little squadron, slipping out to sea on a dark night. They come out to prey on our commerce, or to rush supplies out to one of their colonies or to their rebel friends in Ireland. And their warships are only a part of our problem. There is also a lively coastal trade that we must try and disrupt. With Brittany so poorly served with roads and rivers, almost all of the French fleet’s supplies must needs come to them by sea.’
‘And there was I congratulating myself that regaining some control over my ship from mutineers was to be my chief trial, Sir Edward,’ exclaimed Clay. His new commander laughed at that.
‘Do not worry overly, captain,’ said Pellew, favouring his new subordinate with a smile. ‘I have become melancholy by being over long on this damned coast. We do have compensations, you know. Unlike the ships of the Channel Fleet, we at least have the prospect of prize money. There are no end of coasters trying to bring supplies into Brest, if you can contrive a way to come at them.’
‘I am pleased to hear it, Sir Edward,’ said Clay. ‘Perhaps the prospect will serve to reconcile my crew to their duties.’
‘Let us hope that it does,’ said the commodore. ‘And swiftly too. I have your orders here. You shall be relieving the Phoebe outside the entrance to Brest itself. Look into that port whenever wind and tide serve. Report back to me what you find, attack any French ships that may come your way, and above all keep clear of the rocks! Achieve that much, and you will have done your duty.’
*****
Second Lieutenant Edmund Morton of His Majesty’s frigate Titan was a thin man of twenty-four, with brown hair and eyes. His face had a haughty, aristocratic look to it, enhanced by his prominent hook nose. He was known aboard for the shortness of his temper, so it came as little surprise to his brother officers when he barged through the wardroom door and threw his hat in the general direction of his servant.
‘Good God!’ he exclaimed. ‘The damned hands have taken to singing now, as if all that infernal dancing weren’t enough. It really is becoming insupportable. Captain Sheridan would never have permitted such behaviour when he was in command.’ He thumped down into a vacant chair at the table that ran the length of the cabin and glared around him.
‘Were his views of a puritan character when it came to the hands enjoying themselves off duty, then?’ asked Macpherson, looking up from the game of cards he was playing with Henry Warwick, the Titan’s quietly spoken ship’s master.
‘No, sir,’ replied Morton. ‘I would not describe him as a Puritan. He had no objection to the men seeking to divert themselves, provided they did so quietly.’
‘You were well acquainted with Captain Sheridan then, I collect?’ asked the marine.
‘Exceedingly well,’ said the lieutenant. ‘The Sheridan and Morton estates are in the same part of Wiltshire. Together they have supplied officers to serve the Crown for generations. Captain Sheridan was my godfather, don’t you know?’
‘Was he now?’ said the marine. ‘I didn’t realise. You must have found the change in command rather vexing then?’
‘Bloody ridiculous if you asked me,’ snorted Morton. ‘We can’t have the damned hands deciding who shall command which ship! Where in all damnation will that sort of Jacobin nonsense take us? I cannot imagine what the Admiralty were thinking.’
Warwick placed his cards face down on the wardroom table and joined the conversation, just as the frigate went over onto the other tack. A mass of creaks and groans from the timbers all around them served to mask what he had said.
‘What was that, Warwick?’ bellowed Morton, cupping a hand around one ear. ‘Do speak up, man.’
‘I was asking you what you would have done if you were in the Admiralty’s position, Edmund?’ repeated Warwick, rather more loudly.
‘Why, I would most certainly have been firmer with these damned mutineers,’ said Morton. ‘I should have ranged up next to the Titan with a loyal ship of decidedly superior firepower, and then boarded with a decent sized body of marines. String up the ringleaders and flog the rest. That would have ended matters in pretty short order.’
‘Hmm, I am not sure that would have answered,’ said Warwick. ‘The men were resolved to slip anchor and sail for France at the first hint of trouble, with we officers locked away down here.’
‘I am inclined to agree with our worthy master,’ said Macpherson. ‘I am not acquainted with your godfather, Edmund, but whatever his failings may have been, a want of firmness does not seem to have been among them. When I took command of my marines they were so in sympathy with the plight of the crew that they were not to be relied on at all. I am still not sure that they would oppose a rising even now, if I gave the order.’
‘But don’t you see how the land now lies?’ exclaimed Morton. ‘The men believe that they have won! Are we to expect them to mutiny afresh whenever they are required to perform some service they are disinclined to do? If you ask me this is what comes when you allow those of the middling sort to become officers. They don’t have a proper feel for it, not like those of us born to the role. Until the start of the war, Taylor was the master of a collier for the love of God, and I have never heard of Captain Clay’s people at all.’
‘Let me reassure you on that point, Edmund,’ said Macpherson. ‘While Captain Clay’s origins may be humble, he is quite the best commander I have ever served under. In time the hands will come to realise that, and then I believe we shall have no further talk of mutiny.’
