Trafalgar and Beyond: A John Phillips Novel (War at Sea Book 3) Read online

  TRAFALGAR AND BEYOND

  Richard Testrake

  Copyright © 2014

  Richard Testrake

  All Rights Reserved

  This book dedicated to my wife Peggy, my daughter Lisa, and my son Charles.

  Table of contents:

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  Adventure at Home

  John Phillips was as helpless as a newborn in swaddling clothes. After being struck in the upper arm with a French musket ball, and having his chest torn open by flying iron while in action with a French National ship, he had been stitched up by his wife. Now ashore, he and Sarah were awaiting the return of her friend Charlotte Norris’ coach. Sarah Phillips had just brought her husband to the little village in Essex from her husband’s ship HMS Stag, which had been in desperate action with that same French ship. Unconscious from blood loss, Captain Phillips had been put ashore to obtain medical attention, while Stag, now under the command of her first officer, pursued another French ship that had made its escape.

  Their neighbor, a sometimes randy woman who cared not a fig what others thought of her or her lifestyle had arrived in the village just moments before the Phillips’ had landed and offered to transport them to their home. First, she needed to see to her horses, though. One of her blooded bays had cast a shoe. The man who served as the local blacksmith and farrier was drunk, so she took her limping horse to the posting inn. There, after handing over an exorbitant amount of cash, she was able to rent an animal to replace her lame horse for the time being. Now, with four horses in the traces, she went back to the riverside to meet her friends.

  Captain Phillips had started to awaken from his laudanum-induced sleep, but a military surgeon present with his unit, thought it best to dose him again, at least until he was back home in his bed. The surgeon admired the stitching that Mrs. Phillips had done on her husband, and said he wished he had an assistant as dexterous as she.

  Strapped to a carrying board, the captain was laid fore and aft on the coach’s seats, leaving little room for the ladies, and the two children. Neither woman was what one might call a shrinking violet, and both submitted to the cramped quarters without complaint.

  The driver climbing aboard, they were off. The horse from the inn, while not groomed nearly as well as the Norris’ horses, was equally fit, and the coach made a dashing exit from the village. They were four miles from the village, and almost home, when the women saw the two riders. One was on either side of the road in the fields. Norris rapped on the coach roof with her cane as a signal for the driver to whip up the horses. The riders, on good horses themselves, swept in from the fields, each brandishing a short musketoon.

  Not wanting to see bloodshed, and fearing for the children’s safety, Norris ordered the driver to halt the coach. One rider approached and swept the leather curtain open with the muzzle of his weapon. “Well, what have we here?” the intruder exclaimed. Two attractive women, two children, and an unconscious, helpless man, in the remnants of naval uniform. At first thinking of some other uses he could put the women to; he decided he and his partner should just stick to the original plan of robbing the coach’s passengers.

  A problem arose. Norris had used most of her immediately available cash to rent the horse, and had not enough left to interest the highwaymen. Sarah had left her own money with the innkeeper back at the Red Lion inn back in London and in the commotion had not thought about reclaiming it. And Captain Phillips had handed his purse over to Sarah earlier, before the action with the French ships. However, she had left it in the bloody operating theatre on the ship, and had not retrieved that either.

  The highwaymen were not amused, and one opened the coach door with the idea of rummaging the persons of the passengers. Sarah put up with the intruding hands of the robber on herself, but exploded when he began searching her unconscious husband. Without thinking, she pulled a long hatpin from her hat, and thrust it deep into the shoulder of the robber. With a howl, he dropped his shortened musketoon into the coach and grabbed his arm. Norris, before inclined to go along with the highwaymen, now decided she had better take some more positive action herself.

  In a fabric pocket on the inside of the coach body, rested an ornate Manton pistol. It was the driver’s responsibility to renew the priming on the weapon, as well as its mate on the other side of the coach every week, and before any trip. She desperately hoped he had done his job. The second robber had put his face in the window to see what the problem was. Norris, earing back the cock, just placed the muzzle of her pistol under his chin and pulled the trigger. Instantly, the top of the man’s head blew open like a volcano erupting, leaving blood and brains all over the coach’s interior.

  Sarah, seeing they were in a serious situation, and hearing the children’s screams, knew she needed to do something to assist. She was aware Norris had another pistol on her side of the coach, but where, she did not know, and there was no time to look. Instead, she found the musketoon which had been dropped on the floor beside her seat. She picked it up and pulled back the cock. It was an unfamiliar weapon, but all flintlock weapons worked much the same. She pointed it out the window at the cursing bandit, still clutching his wounded arm.

  Pulling the trigger sent a handful of pistol balls at the man and his horse. Some went into the blue, but four balls hit the robber, and two more the horse, which immediately threw his rider off. After succeeding, the animal ran off, leaving the bandit lying on the ground, groaning, twitching and writhing in pain. Leaving the two highwaymen where they lay, Norris ordered the shocked driver to drive on to the Phillips estate. He unlimbered his long whip, and they were off. Once at the estate, and unloaded, she ordered the driver to drive on to the magistrate’s residence and report the incident. In the meantime, some shouts wakened the household, and staff came out to carry Captain Phillips to his bed.

  Next morning was busy. The Phillip’s family was not without status in this part of the county, and the magistrate felt it advisable to get to the scene of the outrage and access the situation. The bandits were still where they had fallen. One was dead, and he was buried on the scene. The other, still alive, was tossed without ceremony into the coach he had tried to rob and carried to the Phillips house. Both women went to the coach and identified the man as the one Sarah had stabbed with the hatpin. The magistrate made sure she was going to be present all day.

  “This one has taken a ball in his gut, and won’t live too much longer. I need to get some men toge

  ther and hold an inquest, then a quick trial. I have the village carpenter and some men putting up a gallows right now. As soon as the jury finds him guilty, we’ll take him out and hang him up. We’ll need you ladies, along with your driver, as witnesses. No need to trouble your children.”

  “The trial should not take long. You ladies will just tell your story to the jury, then they will vote the man guilty. After a few words with the parson, we will take the man out and decorate the gallows with him. I don’t supposed Captain Phillips was awake for the robbery attempt?”

  Norris answered, “No he w
as not. He was savagely wounded just hours before this happened and was unconscious.”

  The magistrate assured the ladies their testimony alone would be sufficient to hang the man several times over. “You will not need to remain for the hanging itself, unless you choose to. All we really need is your testimony.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Domestic Problems

  The rest of the year and part of the next, while painful, was still a delightful time for John Phillips. At first, he was weak as a kitten, but with the exercise orchestrated by his two young children, soon became more active day by day. One day, he received a letter in the post from Commander Mullins, one of his former midshipman from the beginning of the war. He told of an almost new French brigantine his sloop had captured earlier in the year which was going to be sold in London soon.

  Phillips was interested, but did not want to leave his wife and children alone at that time, so he went into the village and discussed matters with the solicitor. The gentleman knew another such in London who he felt would do a serviceable job in purchasing the vessel for Phillips. Some inquiries among local shipping circles found a manufactory that had fabricated some steam powered equipment for a Maryland company, and needed to have it transported there as soon as possible. From Naval sources, Phillips had been hearing strong rumors of peace.

  Bonaparte had submitted peace proposals to the Prime Minister, but Pitt had flatly turned them down. Now, after a dispute with King George III about Catholic Emancipation in Ireland, Pitt was out, and Addington was the new Prime Minister. Addington immediately instituted peace negotiations through a French official residing in London, who normally handled matters concerning prisoners of war. With negotiations successfully finished, the treaty was signed at Amiens, and the world, after ten years of warfare, was finally at peace. At once, well-to-do people, blocked from the continent for a decade, began rushing over to investigate the Parisian fashion shops, and to purchase wines and brandies to restock empty cellars.

  Sarah began pressing her husband to go to France. She had spent much of her life there, until becoming involved with the Terror. Phillips had rescued her from the guillotine a few years earlier. Now though, she wished to return and find what had happened to her old home there. Impatient with her husband, she made plans with the widow of an émigré, who had returned. Sarah would finance the trip, while the widow would hopefully show her the Parisian fashion shops and boutiques Sarah’s mother had taken her to as a girl.

  When her husband tried to point out many of these shops had probably been destroyed during the Terror, while the owners had probably had their heads removed. Sarah had a tantrum. She was going on the trip, and that was final! Phillips reluctantly decided to accompany her, but she now wanted nothing to do with him. She would take the children and go to France with her new friend. Her husband could stay home and play with his ships.

  With no demands on Captain Phillips for Naval service, Phillips had more time on his hands than he wished. Some of his spare time was spent on his shipping business. He had to organize officers and crew for the new brigantine. With the downsizing of the Royal Navy, he had little trouble engaging hands for the vessel, and it set sail on schedule for Maryland, earning a respectable cash payment for the freight. He had asked the new captain to diligently search for a cargo in America, and the merchant captain was successful.

  He filled the brigantine there with dried cattle hides and maize. With the onset of steam power in Britain, hides were becoming necessary to fabricate drive belts for the machinery. After a decade of war, with consequent disruption of agricultural commodities, there was now a continent wide shortage of grain in Europe, with prices increasing every week. His corn and hides found a ready market at a good price. The steady increase in his account balance at his banker’s office proved very satisfying.

  Phillips did get a letter from the Admiralty, asking him to see Secretary Evan Nepean. Nepean, wishing to express his thanks for Phillip’s previous endeavors, wondered if he would care for the command of a third rate line of battle ship. John was extremely pleased to get the offer. Normally such a command might come many years later in an officer’s career. However, without dwelling on the matter, or even informing Sarah, he declined the offer. With his estate, and budding shipping interests, he felt he had enough to occupy his time.

  With all the acreage available on the estate, he thought he might put it to use. For the growing season of 1802, he leased the unused land to his neighbor, who grazed sheep on it. The neighbor did well on the project, and during a cold day in January 1803, the two were discussing the sheep raising business over mugs of stout at the nearby Plow and Harrow Inn. Jenkins, the neighbor was trying to interest Phillips into buying his sheep, thinking he might sink a few shafts on his own property to see if he could profitably mine some coal. Phillips shook his head over that idea, saying he knew nothing about either sheep or mining coal; for that matter.

  Jenkins replied, saying that it was not necessary to know anything about sheep. All one needed to do was to hire the best sheep man around, who would ease him over and around the many pitfalls. As it happened, if the neighbor could dispose of his sheep, he would let his head shepherd go with them. The shepherd had the expertise to make the enterprise profitable.

  Thinking over the proposition for a few weeks, even talking to Sarah about the proposal, he did offer to buy a thousand ewes, and one hundred rams. These ewes and rams were only a fraction of the animals Perkins was selling, but he thought he could sell the remaining beasts to others. As days began growing longer, and the weather warmed, one day the new shepherd Phillips had hired from the neighbor came to the back entrance of the house, and asked to see the Master.

  He needed hay or some other forage to feed the sheep, telling Phillips all the fodder Jenkins had left him was now consumed, and more needed to be purchased immediately. Phillips was astonished. Nothing had been mentioned about this cost. Asking the shepherd how much this would cost, he was told suitable fodder was scarce and expensive this time of year. A figure was mentioned somewhat greater than the purchase price of the animals.

  Phillips had noticed on his rides about the estate, the warming weather was causing the grass to grow. He told the shepherd to put the sheep out on the grass. He learned then the only grass was outside the fences. The property had been heavily overgrazed the year before, and it was unlikely there would be much available this year. He was told he must either find other grazing land for his stock, or buy feed for them. It would be necessary to make a decision soon, as the ewes would be dropping their lambs any day now. Asked why he had never mentioned any of this before, the shepherd replied it was his understanding that he was still employed by Master Jenkins, and he answered only to him.

  “Very well, if you think Jenkins is your master, you had better go see him for your wages. While you are at it, think about how you are going to repay me for the money I have been giving you all winter.”

  Late in May 1803, Phillips managed to sell his sheep at a loss to another landowner, making sure this man understood all the problems that had befallen them in the past year. He was in the kitchen, lifting a glass of the potent cider produced last autumn on the estate and stored all winter, when he heard a commotion outside. His butler, a one-legged former Regimental Sergeant Major investigated, an enormous horse pistol held at his side. The butler ushered in a spare looking man, in his mid-thirties. His coat consisted of more patches than original cloth, but in fact appeared to be the remains of a Naval Lieutenant’s uniform.

  The two men looked at each other for a moment. The man wearing the rags said, “You don’t recognize me, do you Sir?”

  Straining, Phillips taxed his memory. Then, it came to him. The last time he had seen this officer, he had been a lieutenant, commanding the brig Bulldog. At the same time, Phillips had been a commander, commanding HMS Exeter, a sloop of war.

  Pulling the man’s name out of his memory with a struggle, he shouted, “Drummond, sit yourself down and hav
e some cider. Tell me, how long can you stay?”

  “Sir, I really can’t stay long. Now that the war has started again, I want to call at the Admiralty to see if I can get a position aboard one of the ships they will be pulling out of ordinary.”

  “War, you surprise me Mr. Drummond, I had not heard that.”

  “Sir, all the newspapers are reporting this.”

  “Hmm, I did see a paper at the inn saying we might have to do something about Bonaparte if he kept up with his shenanigans. So far I have seen nothing that says we are at war.”

  “Sir, if we ARE at war, I wonder, could I accompany you to the Admiralty, when you go? Everybody knows you are a good friend of Secretary Nepean, and I was hoping some of that friendliness might rub off on me, in the form of a ship.”

  “Oh hell, Drummond, I’m doing nothing else. My wife and our children are over in France, visiting her old home there. She and I are not getting along so well. She refused to allow me to accompany her. I’ll accompany you then into London. Maybe we can get into some trouble there. Don’t look forward to serving on any ship of mine, though. My wife would have me hung me if she found I was even thinking of going back to sea again.”

  While telling his butler to keep Drummond’s glass full, he located the housekeeper and asked her to have the maids see to his chest. He wouldn’t be taking any of his seagoing gear, but thought he might spend a week in London, visiting old friends. He felt he might as well take some uniforms along with him, just in case war was in the immediate future. While he wouldn’t be serving, there might be events where he would not want to stand out.

  During a lull in the fevered activities, the butler approached him and wondered how he planned to travel? “Why, the new carriage, if you please.”