Thunder On the Sea: A Tim Phillips novel (War at Sea Book 11) (5 page)

When Corporal Henderson reported to his captain, he did not appear unduly chastened. He seemed rather matter-of-fact about the whole proceeding, as if he was used to the whole scenario.

“Corporal Henderson, as you might have guessed, you have found me at a bad moment. I have been furnished a draft of men supposedly Royal Marines, who should still be at their training depot. You are the only man I have available who may be able to whip them into shape. But, just who in hell will whip you into shape, Corporal?”

Henderson remained at rigid attention, without seeming to move a muscle. He remained mute, after his captain’s question. Phillips eyed the man dispassionately for a moment, then barked, “Henderson, I asked you a question. You will answer me!”

This time he got an answer. “Yessir, dunno sir.”

Another question, Corporal. “When was the last time you had a drink?”

“Forenoon watch, sir.”

Phillips nodded, “Of course. I wonder, Corporal. You were brought before me on charges of being drunk and disorderly. Did you get to that condition solely from your issued grog, or did you convince one of your men to give you his ration?”

Henderson remained mute.

Phillips reminded the corporal. “You will have no opportunity to obtain rum until you have mended your ways.”

With no response, Phillips tried once more. “Henderson, we both know I can have you flogged bloody. I expect that would gain me nothing. Instead, I will try a different approach. If you can pull yourself together and act like a Royal Marine non-commissioned officer, I am prepared to give you your sergeant’s stripes back. You will then be expected to whip those men into shape. You will receive your normal ration of grog, perhaps supplemented by some extra spirits I may furnish, from time to time.”

“On the other hand, if you continue to defy me, you will find yourself standing at another mast. I can assure you the sentence then will be much different from what you received this time. Before being flogged at the grating, your present stripes will be torn off. After the flogging, I will have you stretched out on the mess deck in irons, with a guard present to insure you get no rum. I will tell you the truth. I have about had my fill with your antics and those of the other supposedly Royal Marines.”

“If I must, I will press the whole damned lot of you into the ship’s crew, to be replaced with a draft of Italian soldiers from shore. Now, give me your answer immediately.”

When Henderson remained silent, Phillips shouted for Jacobs, his servant. “Ben, I wish you to pass the word for Mister Fitzhugh. I require him here now.”

Henderson stood frozen for a moment, then spoke as the first officer entered. “Sir, Captain, I’ll do as you order!”

The storm cloud evaporated from Phillip’s face. Addressing Lieutenant Fitzhugh, he apologized for summoning him so abruptly, telling the officer that he had intended to have him write up more charges for the good corporal. Now that Corporal Henderson had seen the light though, hopefully that would no longer be necessary.

As soon as Fitzhugh left, Phillips began telling Henderson what he wanted of him. “I want those men of yours looking and acting like Marines. You will especially take note of what Lieutenant Haynes, your officer, has to say to you. Now, I have spent all the time I wish to waste on you. Dismissed!”

Turning as he was about to go through the door, Henderson said, “Captain, I really need a drink right now. I can’t do my job without it.”

His exasperated captain retorted, “Henderson, you told me a bit ago that you had already received the forenoon ration. You got yourself drunk on it! If you do your job, you will get your next ration tonight. If you give me trouble, just remember our bargain.”

Henderson nodded and went out the door. An hour later, hearing a noise at the door, Phillips opened it to find a Marine sentry standing outside. While his uniform was wrinkled, it did look as if some effort had been made so Phillips nodded and closed the door. 

Prince Rupert stood out to sea, on her search for the French frigate. Aphrodite was not sighted, but a number of commercial traders were. When challenged, most raised the French Monarchist flag, but a small brig raised the tricolor. Following The abolition of the French monarchy near the end of the last century, the new French Republic had adopted the Tricolor to replace the old white Bourbon banner. Of course, following the restoration of King Louis XVIII, the monarchist white flag was now the official flag of France. By flying the tricolor, this brig was showing contempt for the new order and perhaps a candidate for closer inspection.

She declined to heave to, even after a shot across her bow. Tiring at the game, Phillips ordered the forward guns on the starboard side, the only ones that would bear, to fire. One by one the guns fired, with several balls striking home on the brig’s hull. Only after a hit on her port fore chains brought down the foremast, did she come to.

Captain Phillips ordered Mister Fitzhugh to take a likely looking midshipman with him and take the launch over to the brig to see what she was about.

After an interminable wait, the first officer was seen climbing down into the launch. Coming aboard Prince Rupert he made his report.

“Well, if we are in a state of war, then she is a legitimate prize. The brig has a hold full of muskets the master purchased in Tuscany. His mate told me he hopes to sell them to Bonaparte’s forces.”

Phillips nodded his satisfaction. “Very well, put a good prize crew aboard and send the prize into Livorno. Tell your midshipman to keep a sharp lookout for Commodore Wilson and report to him if possible. He should bear in mind that if that brig’s master was able to buy a cargo of muskets in Tuscany to deliver to Napoleon, there are likely sympathizer’s present, also. If there is any sign of trouble, he may up anchor and sail to find the fleet. Otherwise, he should see the British consul.

Cruising off Nice, they learned of Major Bentley’s raid. His party had landed at a fishing port near Cannes. A shore battery had made the unfortunate decision to fire upon their boats as they approached the beach. One of the boats was struck a ball, which caused the death of one Marine and the maiming of another.

The Marines stormed the battery, those gunners who were not able to escape received no quarter. After spiking the guns, Benson’s party burned all the shipping in the harbor before returning to their brig.

The crew of HMS Prince Rupert learned of the action by terrified citizens who had escaped in small boats, a few of which were intercepted by the post ship. Captain Phillips invited one of these civilians aboard his ship and took wine with him in his cabin.

Monsieur Charpentier was politely dismissive of the Spanish wine he was served, but readily gave his views of the political and military situation in the area. He assured his host, while he, as well as most of the populace of the area, was outraged by the actions of the new monarch, few wished for a return of Napoleon Bonaparte. The people were tired of war and just wanted a return to a peaceful life. 

Charpentier did admit that many of the veterans, outraged by the defeat of the Empire and finding their prospects in civilian life limited, were flocking back to the tricolor. It was his opinion that the whole scheme would only end in tragedy. France was surrounded with enemies with huge armies, while Napoleon’s troops were fragmented. The only hope for the former emperor was for a delay until he had a chance to get his armies assembled.

Captain Phillips learned that the wayward French frigate they were searching for had sent a boat into the town’s harbor a few days prior, searching for trained seamen and a supply of gunpowder. From rumors spread by the boat’s crew, it seemed that much, if not all, of Aphrodite’s powder had been damaged by improper storage after the ending of the late hostilities. Some was so damp, it could not be used.

With that encouraging news, Prince Rupert resumed her patrol. Ranging out to sea, three days after leaving the coast, the lookout reported a sail. Upon closing, the sighting proved to be a ship-rigged merchant, from its identification signal, it seemed to be a hired transport in the service of the Crown.

Her signal code was from the last month, and Phillips was suspicious. She had apparently been in an action, with hastily repaired patches on her hull. The transport readily awaited boarding, and an armed party was sent aboard. In due course, the boat brought back her master with his ship’s papers in a packet.

Conferring with that master in his own quarters, Phillips learned she was the hired transport ‘Sarah Reeves’ out of Portsmouth, loaded with miscellaneous military gear, sailing in convoy to join Commodore Wilson. Besides the military supplies, she also carried a half-company of light infantry replacements. Last week in a blow one night, they had temporarily lost sight of their convoy, and found themselves under the guns of a big French frigate.

After receiving a thorough pounding by French twelve-pounder shot, the transport hauled down her flag and hove to under the guns of the frigate. The sea-state making it impractical for small boat work, the transport was not visited by her captors until the next morning, when the seas had abated. By this time, the convoy and escort had vanished and Captain Wilcox of the transport had decided he was about to find himself in a French prison.

The half-company of troops being carried by the transport were immured on a lower deck and desperately sick from the storm. Their officer, one Lieutenant Graves, was on the weather deck along with the few passengers to meet the French captors. Two boats manned with armed sailors came aboard and took possession. Graves, as the only apparent military man an aboard, was hustled down into a boat and carried over to Aphrodite.

The French prize crew somehow did not realize the presence of the troops below and merely reported their capture of a transport loaded with miscellaneous military gear. The captain of the frigate ordered her taken into Marseilles and departed, leaving enough of a crew on board the prize to work the ship and control the few prisoners.

Colour Sergeant Edwards had remained on deck with Lieutenant Graves the previous evening, during the height of the storm. When it appeared their capture was imminent, Graves ordered Edwards to go below to see to the men. He should remain with them and take any opportunity which might present itself.

With no further instructions, Edwards went below. He found the troop berthing compartment to be a shambles, with retching soldiers fouling every inch of space. As the storm subsided he was able to make a few of the men listen to him. He informed them of their situation and of the importance of their silence.

With the violent motion of the ship lessening, more men were able to function and their Colour Sergeant could make his plans. While his men had no weapons in their compartment, Edwards had supervised a working party back in Portsmouth and knew his unit’s field gear and weapons were in the next compartment forward. The hatch was closed, protected with a heavy lock, but Edwards knew one of the men, Private Hooper, was a lockpick by trade, having entered the Army to avoid the hangman’s noose. A conscientious craftsman, Hooper had kept the tools of his trade, and even working in the dark, it took him only a few minutes to have the lock open.

As the crates of muskets were forced open, more of Edward’s command began to revive. Now with the power to relieve some of their misery, the soldiers began to clean themselves and make their muskets ready for use.

By late morning, the transport was by herself, on a course for Marseille when Prizemaster Henri Dupret decided to look around his domain. A shopkeeper by trade, he had accepted this berth after the frigate’s captain assured him he would shortly be called up by Napoleon’s army if he were not otherwise engaged in the defense of the Empire. A previous tour in the infantry had persuaded Dupret he had been lucky to survive the previous war.

Now heading for port with this capture, he judged he had made the proper choice. He expected he would receive a significant share of the prizes value and would be able to relax on shore until the Aphrodite returned,

With a ring of keys taken from the former captain, he went on a tour, accompanied by a seaman carrying a lantern and a pair of boarders armed with muskets.

After the officer had reached the bottom of the ladder he awaited the seaman with the light to see what was in the compartment. Something foul, that was certain. The stench was terrible. As his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, he saw to his surprise a dozen British redcoats with their bayonetted muskets trained upon him. Behind them, stood many more!

Without a word being said, the Frenchmen were secured and the soldiers began climbing up to the weather deck. Following the brisk weather of the evening before, the sun had brought a fine day and the ship was sailing on course propelled by a following wind. Colour Sergeant Edwards detailed a party to secure the release of the ship’s British crew. In minutes, the situation had reversed, with the Britons exchanging places with their former French captors. Such was the situation when HMS Prince Rupert came upon the scene.