HMS DREADNAUGHT: A John Phillips Novel Read online

  The Frenchman though, was in trouble. At that range, every shot Dreadnaught fired went aboard her. By the time Dreadnaught’s aftermost guns went off, some forward guns were reloaded, and beginning to fire again, while more than a minute passed before a gun spoke again on the enemy ship. Every shot striking either ship had the potential of killing or disabling men, or destroying equipment. As the 74 struggled, the big iron shot from Dreadnaught was pummeling her incessantly. Guns were being disabled on both ships, but especially on the big French 74. As the fighting continued, her weakness became more pronounced.

  Beauford was raging about the upper gun deck, attempting to get the gunners to fire in unison. Phillips sent Mister Jackson, a senior midshipman he kept beside him on the quarterdeck as a sort of aide de camp or messenger, to Beauford. The midshipman handed Beauford a note ordering him to cease giving the gunners commands.

  Sputtering, the officer reported red faced to his captain, protesting the un-seamanlike display they were presenting to the French. Beauford wanted disciplined broadsides, every gun going off in unison. Of course, this would mean the broadsides would fire at the speed of the slowest gun crew.

  Not wanting to spend time arguing with the ignorant officer, he ordered him to go below, and make a careful inventory of their dead and wounded.

  “Mind you, Mister Beauford, you are not to tell the surgeon his business, or disturb him at his work.

  Having removed the first officer from a position where he could cause damage to the ship or its crew, he looked around.

  The gun crews were well into their drill, readying their big guns before the Frenchmen. Again the guns thundered, destroying men, equipment and rigging. The very fabric of the enemy ship was coming apart. The French liner had started with more and larger weapons, but that advantage did not last long.

  With his crews firing faster and more accurately than the enemy, the net result was as though they had a more powerful weapons system. In addition, the numerous Army troops aboard were lined up at the bulwarks, firing the disciplined volleys British troops were noted for.

  These men were fresh from their training barracks, and some were seasick, but they did know how to fire in volley. Sickness be damned, they slammed their disciplined volleys into the enemy ship with the skill and ferocity of more seasoned troops.

  Following the action, many of the troops would discover their sickness to have miraculously vanished.

  Rigging and spars on the enemy succumbed to the intense fire. Crewmen attempting repairs were decimated. Dreadnaught had crept up athwart its opponent’s bow, and had begun to send the heavy balls down the length of the cavernous enemy hull, destroying whatever they encountered, be it human flesh, weapons or equipment. Guns aboard the French line of battle ships were being dismounted or damaged with every broadside.

  This was termed ‘raking’, and was especially deadly, since each individual ball from a big gun had the entire length of an enemy ship to find a target. Often one ball would find several targets, both human and otherwise. The bow of a ship had a more complex geometry than the midships did, and it was thus easier to cause desperate damage with those big guns firing three times every five minutes.

  The foremast of the enemy ship, being hit multiple times, finally came down, blanketing the forward guns with flammable sailcloth. A gun discharging into this material started a small fire. The ship just could not cope. With men drawn away to clear away damage, much of her crew wounded and out of action, and now a fire to fight, she was no longer able to fight effectively.

  A master’s mate, visiting Dreadnaught’ quarterdeck for reasons of his own, announced, “She strikes! Captain, she surrenders.”

  The task now was to quiet the guns. First one section, then another received the order.

  With the big guns stilled, it was necessary to get the enemy ship under control. Phillips had few Royal Marines aboard, but many Army troops.

  A word with the senior Army officer aboard, Major Hendricks, revealed the troops were ready and eager to board the captured third rate, and restore order. As the Army troops readied themselves, the signal midshipman came to him waving his slate. “Sir, the troopers are signaling.” As he turned toward the troop ships he saw two, the HMS Viceroy, and the other, an old frigate from the American War, HMS Alarm, covering the French brig. As he looked, the tricolor came down, signaling her surrender.

  Two of the trooper frigates were signaling. The signal officer said the pair wanted to go after some fleeing merchant ships.

  Phillips gave his nod, and the pair was off. These were old, decrepit ships, but they were still fast sailing vessels.

  The frigates were hull down, at the very limits of visibility, when they both overtook their selected target. Phillips signaled them to secure their captures and return to the convoy. It was necessary to relay the signal through Viceroy, who was a little closer.

  The elated men of the convoy were cheered when they sailed into St. Peter-Port. The ship’s crew, as well as the dockyard’s staff worked around the clock repairing the battle damage aboard Dreadnaught. In a matter of days, they were ready to proceed to the next destination, Gibraltar.

  *****

  The prize battleship and the rest would remain behind. The 74 would be minimally repaired at the yard’s leisure then sent across the channel. Viceroy would remain behind to bring aboard her weapons and attempt to recruit some people to augment her miniscule crew.

  HMS Dreadnaught had her prize crews from the prizes returned as they prepared to leave. They had been working long hours also to repair and beautify what they could.

  It was felt by most members of the crew that a prize in good order would bring a better price than a savagely damaged vessel. The men were trying to impress the people who would put a price on the liner.

  Lieutenant Beauford came to him as they left, protesting again. He thought he should have been placed in command of the French 74, hopeful of gaining a promotion to commander on its return to Portsmouth.

  Phillips neglected to tell him of the report he had filed, listing the first officer’s deficiencies. Finally, becoming exasperated at the continual carping, he asked, “Mister Beauford, do you wish me to give you command of our next prize to take back home?”

  With pleasure on his face, Beauford assured his captain this would indeed satisfy him. The captain resolved to put the man on the next prize going home, even if it would mean his promotion. Anything to be rid of him.

  The lookouts spotted nothing on the way to the ‘Rock’, but after resupplying and taking aboard a few replacements, Dreadnaught departed on course for Halifax.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A few days out of Gibraltar, they spotted a small convoy, its escort brig flying the tricolor. Apparently from one of the French sugar islands, these were small craft probably built in the Caribbean. The brig itself had ports for a dozen guns, but of course, had no business attempting anything against a third rate.

  It became obvious that the convoy was too slow to escape the behemoth. In Phillips professional opinion, the brig would best serve her country by abandoning those ships.

  Her captain and crew were made of sterner stuff though, and the brig placed herself between Dreadnaught and her convoy, with her pitiful broadside facing her adversary. As Dreadnaught approached, she fired. None of the shots came near, and Phillips expected that, after firing that broadside, she would hastily lower her flag.

  Not wanting to fire upon an opponent so far out of his class, Phillips withheld fire. Continuing its approach, the brig fired again. This time, three shots came aboard, two without incident, but one penetrated the maindeck bulwark, showering a gun crew with splinters and rather messily removing the leg of a nineteen year old master’s mate.

  Timothy Phillips was standing beside his father to act as his messenger, when he heard his parent use language he had never heard him utter before.

  A terse command to the ship’s master brought the bow of the ship around, and gun crews readied themselves. A
s she came around, out of the corner of his eye, Phillips saw the flag on the brig flutter a bit, as if it were about to begin its descent to the deck. Apparently the officer attempting to lower it was having difficulty, since it did not immediately come down.

  Probably the halyard had become jammed in the block. Ordinarily he would have considered giving the opponent time to get matters in hand. Now, with a likeable young lad pouring his life’s blood onto the deck, he was not feeling generous.

  Obviously, the brig’s commander had the duty to do his best to safeguard his own brig as well as the convoy. However, with this disparity of force, it was inhumane to continue a hopeless battle. Captain Phillips decided he needed to learn his lesson.

  Watching the now frantic struggle aboard the enemy brig; “A bit too late anyway, monsieur!” he said before he ordered Mister Watkins “Fire as the guns bear!”

  Everyone on board now knew about Mister Randolph’s leg, and gun crews were taking extra care to sight the big guns properly. The weapons did not all fire at once, but they came close to it.

  The broadside exploded with a shattering roar, and the enemy brig just ceased to exist, reduced to a cloud of smoke, fire, and flying debris. The brig’s magazine had exploded, but the crew of Dreadnaught preferred to believe their accurate work at the guns had simply taken the ship apart.

  Boats sent to the site of the destruction found one survivor, a ship’s boy, his clothes torn off by the explosion. So horrified he did not speak for days.

  The merchant ships in the convoy, their crews shocked at the savage response, immediately lowered their flags.

  Mister Beauford stood by, for once silent, as the catastrophe he had just witnessed was absorbed in his thoughts.

  Phillips apologized, “I had planned on giving you the command of that brig, Mister Beauford. Perhaps we can find something else.”

  The ship’s boats were busy, going back and forth among the prizes to see what they had caught. The officers were disappointed. The ships themselves were small, in poor repair. Hardly worth bringing in. However, two of them had cargoes of bagged raw sugar that might fetch a pretty penny. The other items were just island produce that Phillips felt would not justify the dispatch of the necessary crews to bring those ships home.

  Taking advantage of the clear weather, the captain put his crew to work transferring sugar. All of the sugar was put into the best appearing ship, with the other lower valued cargo jettisoned overboard.

  While this work was going on, Lieutenant Beauford had retired to his cabin. Although as first officer, he did not actually stand a watch, Phillips heard some of the other officers muttering about their first lieutenant’s inactivity.

  Phillips asked the second officer if he could round up any crew members that might understand the dialect spoken on the French Caribbean islands. Eventually, three crewmen were brought before him. These men had served for years in ships of the Royal Navy, but from their accents it was obvious they had grown up themselves speaking the patois used on the French sugar islands.

  Carefully he explained his plans to the trio. “I wish to send the ship we filled with sugar home. I expect she will bring a tidy sum.” Grins covered the men’s faces as they heard the news. Naturally, they would get their share also. “Of course, men we send away on the prize, we will probably not get back. I dislike to weaken the ship this early in her commission.”

  “However, I believe we could ask crew members of the prizes, perhaps natives of the French islands to serve in the Royal Navy. By doing so, they could avoid being sent to the prison hulks.”

  “These men would serve here, on the Dreadnaught, and receive the same pay as others of the same rate would. Men they replace on our ship would go aboard the prize and sail her to Britain. I would like you men to go among those former crewmen and find out if anyone would be interested.”

  Toward the end of the watch, one of the crewmen reported to him, accompanied by his division officer. He had found a round dozen people who would enlist in the Royal Navy to avoid the prison hulks. A few more were wavering.

  Calling Mister Watkins, Phillips gave him all that he had learned. He said, “After the grog issue at noon tomorrow, we will ask those people if they wish to sign on. Everyone who does will get his mess number. Those who do not will be shackled and taken below. Now, what is our Premier up to? I have not seen him since we destroyed that French brig.”

  “Sir, I believe he is a bit under the weather. He is in his cabin, I think.”

  “Very well. If the man is capable, I wish to see him. If he is not capable, have the surgeon look at him and give us a prognosis. I do need to see the man as soon as possible.”

  From his cabin, Phillips could hear the tirade Beaumont was inflicting upon the unfortunate Mister Watkins below.

  In due course, the Royal Marine sentry announced the first officer. He presented a most disheveled appearance, and slurred his words. The man stank of bad brandy.

  The man stood a moment, then sat down hurriedly, as if he could not remain upright any longer.

  “Mister Beauford, I am waiting for an explanation.” The man sat without speaking.

  “Mister Beaumont, I will try one more time. If you do not reply to me, I will summon all commission officers in the ship and have them bear witness that may well be presented to a court martial.”

  The officer muttered an apology, and assured Phillips he would not be incapacitated again.

  “Very well, Mr. Beaumont. I will ask you to stay away from the bottle for the rest of tonight. In the morning, you will report aboard the prize ship we are sending in and take command. You will take her home.”

  The officer expressed his dismay. The Royal Navy would attach little glory to a former first officer sailing a captured cargo ship home. In fact, there might well be questions asked as to why a senior ship’s officer would be sent back on a prize cargo vessel, one that a midshipman or master’s mate might command. “Sir that is a command for a master’s mate. You cannot send me away on her.”

  “Mister Beaumont, you will not tell me what I may or may not do. You do have a choice. You can take her back as her commander, or you can be placed in arrest under guard, as a prisoner awaiting court martial.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Next morning, the merchant ship carrying the sugar squared away to the wind and set out on her voyage to her new home. Aboard Dreadnaught, a baker’s dozen of the Island Blacks began learning their duties as seamen in the Royal Navy. Mister Watkins, now first officer in place of Beauford, soon advised his captain that other than the expected language difficulty, the seamen garnered from the prizes were skilled, able seamen. On board the now abandoned and empty merchant ships, tendrils of smoke emerged, enlarged and soon engulfed those ships in fire.

  A few weeks later, HMS Dreadnaught banged out her salute to the Lieutenant Governor at Halifax, Sir George Prevost.

  Almost immediately, her captain was ordered to Government House where he met with Provost and Vice Admiral Warren. After presenting his orders to the officials, Warren informed him he would not be taking Dreadnaught south to settle the dispute concerning the impressment of American sailors.

  Warren spoke of the Chesapeake incident of the previous year. Captain Humphreys of HMS Leopard had hailed Commodore Barron of the US Navy on his ship, USS Chesapeake and demanded Barron turn over some deserters from the Royal Navy reported to be aboard. Barron refused and Leopard fired into her. Three of Chesapeake’s crewmen were killed, and eighteen wounded including Barron himself. Barron surrendered, and a search party from Leopard removed four men, three of whom were American citizens.

  War talk was now rampant in the US, and it was believed, in Halifax anyway, that no amount of diplomacy was going to bring an amicable relationship between the two countries.

  Captain Phillips was now ordered to report to Rear Admiral Sir Alexander Cochrane commanding in the Leeward Islands for further orders, after turning over the impressed American sailors to their consul.

&nbs
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  Phillips was told by the pilot upon entering English Harbor at Antigua that Governor Livingston had expired, the newly appointed governor Eliot had not yet arrived and Admiral Cochrane was at sea, so there was no need to fire off a salute.

  There was time to get some essential repairs done at the dockyard before the arrival of Admiral Cochrane. The bosun had been complaining about the main yard for the entire voyage. By chance, another 64 gun line of battle ship was in harbor, with much more wrong with her than a warped main yard. Her captain and first officer were awaiting court-martial proceedings after grounding the ship, and he was able to talk her spiteful first officer into letting him have their good main yard in exchange for Dreadnaught’s damaged one.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Cochrane met him with the greatest courtesy, and gravely explained there was really no duty here for another third rate, a small one at that. He was assigned to take a convoy back to Britain, in company with a recently captured French corvette, now HMS Henriette, rated as an eighteen gun sloop of war.

  He was told in confidence by the admiral’s aide that Henriette’s commander was a sprig of the nobility who had gained his present rank having never commanded anything larger than a mill pond row boat. The reason for his lack of experience being that he had just not been trusted with command before this.

  Now, pressure from powerful family members had resulted in giving the new commander a real ship to play with. Phillips was advised to keep a close watch on her.

  The other escort was an old gun brig, HMS Panther, being sent back home for survey. It seemed her bottom was in poor condition from rot and teredo worm. The hope was she would make it home before the bottom fell out. Her captain however was a long service lieutenant, with much experience with convoys. It seemed he had been doing little else in recent years, since few ship commanders wanted a lieutenant aboard old enough to be the captain’s grandfather.