A Ship of War, page 43
Hayden turned and looked back at the chasing ships, measuring their speed and the speed of his own vessel. Both French ships were bracing yards and drawing the wind aft, sailing perhaps sixty yards apart. Hayden turned back to the helmsman.
‘Leave the hulk to port. Where is Mr Archer?’
‘On the starboard gangway, sir.
Hayden turned to his runner. ‘Mr Gould, go to Archer and tell him I want twenty men on the poop the instant yards are braced and sails trimmed.’
The midshipman touched his hat and climbed over the fallen yard in such haste that he stumbled down the ladder, catching himself at the bottom. Hayden found an axe and began cutting away ropes on the crow-jack, though he left anything he could. Archer and two dozen men came onto the poop as Hayden was sorting out a fallen rope.
Thrusting the rope at one of the hands – a man named Pierce – Hayden said, ‘I need a run of ten fathoms – mind all of it is sound. Mr Archer, we will slide this yard over the side in but a moment.’
‘Fifteen fathoms, sir,’ Pierce quickly reported.
Hayden took one end and tied it off to the tip of the fallen yard. ‘Take the end and run it outside of all to starboard, outside the transom, back inboard to larboard and make fast. You,’ Hayden pointed at a man he did not know, ‘feed the rope to Pierce.’
The starboard brace had torn away from the forward shroud and Hayden sent two men down onto the quarterdeck to sort it out, coil it, and carry it up to the poop.
‘What are you intending, sir?’ Archer asked.
‘It is a desperate plan, Mr Archer. We will let this French ship on our larboard quarter – the swifter of the two – all but catch us. Just as we pass by the dismasted ship – which I pray has struck and will not fire into us – I intend to push the crow-jack yard over the side with all of its attendant gear. It will drop astern and pull up short on these ropes, which will check our speed. The ship to larboard will be forced to pass the hulk to larboard. As our speed is checked it will shoot past, we will cut away the crow-jack, turn to larboard across the bow of the hulk and rake the Frenchman as he passes.’
Archer considered this only a second. Hayden half expected him to express doubts but instead he asked, ‘What of the other chasing ship, sir?’
‘If we catch him by surprise he will not turn quickly enough and we will be away. If he does make the turn, we must either luff and rake him from forward or run. I hope he will not make the turn in time and we will be away.’
Archer nodded. ‘Shall I cut away the hammock netting so it does not interfere?’
‘By all means, Mr Archer, do so at once.’
Hayden realized then that Barthe was standing on the ladder head, listening over the firing of guns all around.
‘Mr Barthe, we must slow our speed a little. For this plan to work we will almost certainly have to take a broadside. Once we are up with the hulk sufficient hands to brace yards and make our turn to larboard will be required. It must be handsomely managed.’
‘Aye, Captain.’ He glanced down at the fallen yard. ‘I shall let some sheets run, sir, to slow us a little.’
‘If you please, Mr Barthe.’
Barthe climbed stiffly down onto the quarterdeck and took up his speaking trumpet.
Hayden watched the French ships in their wake. His plan depended so much on timing and accurately measuring the speed of each vessel to a nicety that he could hardly bear to think of what would occur should he fail. Two seventy-fours would be on them of an instant and though his crew would not lose their nerve, the larger ships would destroy them. He had struck his colours once in the last weeks; he did not intend to do so again.
‘Captain Hayden … ?’ it was the one of the bosun’s mates calling from forward. ‘Ship forward of us, sir, is displaying a Union Jack.’
And indeed it was, laying the flag over the stern to indicate it had struck.
‘Do you trust them, sir?’ Archer asked.
‘I cannot see that we have any choice, Mr Archer. Trust does not enter into it.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Hayden turned to the men, who awaited his orders. ‘Take hold of this yard. We will slide it out to starboard but keep the outboard end up; if it catches in the water it will cant aft and the inboard end will swing forward and make a great deal of mischief, I fear.’
The French seventy-four to larboard fired its forward guns at that moment, balls screaming overhead, through the poor mizzen and several burying in the oaken hull below. Hayden could feel the tension of the men around him. One cursed under his breath.
If the French managed to take down one of Hayden’s masts now his plan would come to nothing, but there was no choice. The spar over the stern would only check Raisonnable’s speed to a degree. If the French ship was not almost abeam when they reached the hulk, slowing their ship would not work and they would be broadside to broadside with the powerful seventy-four with a second bearing down astern.
They were very quickly coming up on the dismasted vessel, and Hayden was relieved to see that the chasing ships would split, just as he had assumed, the faster taking the opposite side to Raisonnable, hoping to fire a broadside as they sailed clear of the bow.
‘Handsomely, now. Slide it out.’
A second report from the French ship and the rail at the forward end of the poop shattered not a yard from Hayden. All of his men held their places.
The heavy yard resisted a moment but then began scraping slowly – too slowly – over the side.
‘Push, men! Push!’
And push they did, the yard finally releasing its hold on the deck.
‘Everyone aft of the yard!’ Hayden ordered. ‘Put your weight on it.’
They all pushed down as they could but finally the yard tilted down, caught the water, and swung round, even as it slid overboard, and though it struck the mizzen backstays it did not tear them away.
The yard floated clear of the ship, falling aft. First the larboard rope came taut, then the starboard. The spar was not quite square to their travel but even so it did check the ship’s speed. Hayden glanced right and found the crew of the dismasted vessel watched their passing in sullen silence.
‘Take up this axe, Pierce. When I tell you, cut the yard away.’
‘Aye, sir.’
The chasing ship, which had been all but abreast, now surged ahead down the other side of the drifting vessel.
‘Is this going to work, sir?’ Archer asked suddenly.
‘I do not know, Mr Archer. Go quickly down to the helmsman and be certain we make our turn the instant I give the order.’
Archer went down the ladder without so much as touching his hat. He took up position where he could see both Hayden and the men at the wheel.
The stricken French ship appeared to slide aft, and very quickly they were up to its bows.
‘Cut it free, Pierce!’ Hayden called out and took his own axe to the rope, but made a poor job of it on the first try and had to cut again. The rope slid quickly aft and was gone. He ran forward a few steps.
‘Helm to starboard, Mr Archer.’
Archer gave but a nod to the men at the helm, and Hayden felt the ship begin a quick turn, Mr Barthe calling out orders to sail handlers. To his horror, Hayden saw the French ship only a little ahead and immediately they began firing into Raisonnable’s bow.
‘Down on the deck!’ Hayden yelled over the din. ‘Have the men lie down on the deck!’
Hayden went quickly down the ladder to the quarterdeck and stood some yards before the helmsman ready to take the place of either man at the wheel in the event that one was shot. Archer was yelling through his speaking tube down at the lower deck, and around him the men threw themselves flat between the carronades; many covered their heads with their arms.
Raisonnable slowly turned. Hayden could see the men handling braces and sheets, all crouched down as low to the deck as they might, but hauling on ropes all the same. His ship continued its turn, the tip of its jib-boom threatening to tangle in the enemy’s shrouds. Fewer of the Frenchman’s guns could be brought to bear now, but even as Hayden turned to larboard, the French ship began a turn to starboard.
Hayden’s jib-boom all but tore into the other ship’s mizzen sail, they came so close to collision.
Going himself to the wheel, Hayden began to turn the ship now to starboard, that he might cut squarely across the other ship’s stern.
‘Up, Mr Archer. Back to stations. We will fire the starboard guns as the enemy bears.’
Archer went running along the gangway calling down to the decks below. Reaching the forward gun, he pointed to the gun captain and it reared back in a torrent of smoke. The guns below began to fire at that instant, one by one by one. Hayden continued to turn his ship to match the manoeuvre of the French seventy-four. Overhead he heard someone let the mizzen sheet run.
The transom of the French ship was being methodically destroyed and Hayden could but imagine the destruction along the decks, the lives being lost.
Hayden handed the wheel back to the helmsmen. ‘Continue your turn,’ he instructed and he went forward to where he could see what transpired. As he did so he realized that French ships were going to run afoul of one another and the ship that had been in Hayden’s wake was turning to avoid collision.
And then they were past, the main and mizzen masts of the French ship toppling slowly to leeward.
‘Luff and touch her, Bullfinch.’ And then to the men on the poop, ‘Sheet the mizzen close; we go hard on the wind, now.’
Hayden climbed back up to the poop and surveyed the field of battle, ships still engaged here and there, many others drifting with masts gone or lying over the side. To the west ships were forming what appeared to be a line. Finding his glass, Hayden fixed it on this gathering.
‘Mr Archer!’ Hayden called.
‘Sir?’ Archer had just returned to the quarterdeck.
Hayden raised what he realized was a painfully stiff arm and pointed. ‘The French are forming a line. Do you see?’
Archer took a moment to find a glass but then replied, ‘It is their flagship, Captain. She is signalling.’ The lieutenant climbed up to the poop.
Other French vessels were shaping their courses to join their admiral’s ship.
‘What are their intentions, sir?’ Archer wondered.
‘They will wear and return to the action.’ Hayden made a quick count of ships in the French admiral’s line and those sailing to join him. ‘Eleven sail of the line, Mr Archer.’ Hayden began searching among the field of ships, fearing that he would find Lord Howe’s vessel disabled. But then he saw her, just as signals were being hoisted.
‘Mr Gould? There you are.’ Hayden thrust a glass at the midshipman. ‘Do you see the admiral’s signal?’
The midshipman raised the glass for only a second. ‘“Form a line as convenient,” sir, “astern of the flagship”.’
‘Mr Archer, we will hold this course until the lord admiral’s intentions become clear. We dare not tack – our rig will not bear it – but if needs be we will wear to join his line.’
‘Aye, sir.’
They both stood watching Lord Howe’s ship and the few British ships that appeared to be making for her.
‘Have you been down to the gundecks, Mr Archer?’
‘I have not, Captain.’
‘Do you have any idea of our losses?’
‘It will not be a small number, sir. L’Achille did a great deal of damage, and we were all but raked in this last action.’
Hayden was silent a moment. ‘Water in the hold?’
‘The carpenter reports we took no shot below the waterline, sir.’
‘We have had some luck this day.’
‘Both good and ill, sir.’
‘I have seen luck run ill out of all proportion, Mr Archer; I shall gladly accept an equal share of either. And even more gladly on a day such as this.’
‘I agree, sir. Ill luck is like the intermittent fever – once it has its hooks in you it returns again and again. Few men shake it off.’
Hayden did not much like this diagnosis, as he had certainly endured his share of poor luck – more than his share, he often thought.
Across the watery field, cannon fire reverberated yet, and dense creatures of smoke rambled low over the waves. Ships with all masts standing, if not engaged, were making their way towards their respective flagships.
‘Sir?’ Archer said, and pointed off to the north. ‘Is that ship one of ours?’
Farthest from the centre of action lay a three-decker, dismasted and drifting north-east. Hayden fixed a glass on her a moment.
‘Where is Mr Barthe?’
‘Forward, sir,’ Gould reported, ‘overseeing repairs to our rig, sir.’
Hayden proffered his glass. ‘Jump down to him, if you please, Mr Gould, and ask him if he knows that ship.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Gould went quickly down the ladder and forward among the working crew. Hayden tried to count the disabled ships but there were battles still being fought and smoke obscured much even yet.
‘Captain Hayden, sir,’ Gould came pounding up the ladder, glass in hand. ‘Mr Barthe believes it is the Queen, sir.’
‘Does the king know that his queen is consorting with sailors?’
Turning about, Hayden found Hawthorne stepping awkwardly onto the poop, with Dr Griffiths’s cane under employment. His white breeches were stained crimson.
‘Mr Hawthorne, it would appear you have been wounded, sir,’ Hayden observed.
‘A musket ball in my leg. Mr Smosh has bound it up nicely and it hardly seeps at all. The doctor will remove the lead at some later time. Perhaps on the morrow when there are fewer pressing matters for him to attend.’
‘Should you not be below in a cot?’ Hayden asked.
‘I believe I can be of use on deck – unless running is required. Give me a musket and corner to wedge myself in and I will put paid to the careers of a few Frenchmen, I am quite certain.’
‘Mr Gould … fetch Mr Hawthorne a musket, if you please.’ Hayden gestured aft. ‘You may wedge yourself in either corner against the transom, Mr Hawthorne. There are small benches there to sit upon if you so desire.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Hawthorne reached up to touch his hat – gone – and then limped aft.
Gould appeared a moment later bearing a musket, powder and shot. He also took Hawthorne his own glass, for which the marine gave markedly heartfelt thanks, the thoughtfulness of this gesture affecting him greatly.
‘Do you know, sir,’ Archer began, ‘the French appear to be forming a line of ten or eleven ships. Lord Howe would appear to have no more than five or six, including our own ship, sir.’
‘Can our own ships not see the signal? Look there,’ Hayden waved his glass. ‘It is being dutifully repeated on a frigate.’
‘So it is, sir. I believe a number of our ships are engaged in securing prizes.’
‘Prizes they will be in danger of losing if the French can bring eleven ships against five.’
Hayden could see Queen Charlotte begin to stand down towards the approaching French.
‘Make ready to wear ship, Mr Archer. If we cannot find a place in the line near to the flagship we will take up the rear.’
Hayden watched as the men went to their stations. Exhaustion festered like poison in all their limbs, and every movement was a conscious and trying effort. Even his officers’ faces were blanched beneath the smoke stain, eyes red-rimmed. Hardly a soul aboard had slept more than a few hours at a stretch these five nights past, the hands lying on the deck at the guns. The excitement and fear of the battle had given them much energy but now they were spent, utterly. And Hayden realized that he was little different – his mind was fogged, thoughts coming with difficulty, and he felt as though he dragged his limbs along, barely able to keep his feet beneath him. How much longer he could demand his crew fight he did not know. They were past the point of endurance now, functioning on nothing but desire and a sense of duty. Even so, the French could be little better off; his own crew could not shirk when the enemy did not.
Something caught his eye at that moment. ‘Mr Hawthorne? Can you see that ship?’ Hayden pointed. ‘South of the two that still fire their guns?’
‘With just the stump of a foremast showing, Captain?’
‘The very one. Fix your glass upon her, if you please. Does she sit low in the water? I cannot be certain at such a distance.’
Hawthorne twisted around on the little bench, leaned an elbow upon the cap, and scrutinized the ship Hayden indicated.
The marine looked over at Hayden in surprise. ‘She appears to be almost up to her gunports, sir.’
‘Is she one of ours?’
‘I could not tell.’ The marine lifted his glass and examined the ship again. ‘I cannot say, sir,’ he informed Hayden after a moment, not lowering his glass.
‘Does any ship come to her aid?’
‘Not that I can tell, sir.’
‘Captain … ?’ It was Archer. ‘Should we wear, sir?’
Hayden glanced back to Lord Howe’s ship. ‘By all means, Mr Archer. Immediately.’
As the wind was brought across the stern and yards braced – perhaps not as smartly as commonly – Hayden took up his own glass and went to the rail beside Hawthorne.
‘I do believe that ship is sinking,’ Hayden observed after a moment.
‘Not unheard of, I should think?’ Hawthorne said.
‘No, but almost so. Whatever could have happened to cause that, I wonder?’
‘Will frigates not come to her aid?’
‘So they should, but whose frigates? Ours or theirs?’
Hayden was forced to tear himself away to concentrate on slipping his ship into the line, which required some backing and filling. Fortunately, it was a line formed in haste and hardly a model of such endeavours, so the distance between ships was greater than seen commonly.
The small breeze carried the British ships down towards the French, though not swiftly. Every ship had some damage to sails and rig, and so were handicapped to a greater or lesser degree.
