Battle Fleet (2007) Read online

  Paul Dowswell

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Map

  Chapter 1 Goodbye to All That

  Chapter 2 Bird Trouble

  Chapter 3 A Whiff of Sulphur

  Chapter 4 ‘Run Out the Guns!’

  Chapter 5 Peculs and Catties

  Chapter 6 Ten Little Daggers

  Chapter 7 Company

  Chapter 8 The Speckled Monster

  Chapter 9 Quarantined

  Chapter 10 London Calling

  Chapter 11 London Life

  Chapter 12 Back from the Dead

  Chapter 13 Adrift

  Chapter 14 My Friend the Rat

  Chapter 15 A Proper Gentleman

  Chapter 16 HMS Victory

  Chapter 17 Murder

  Chapter 18 Sailing into History

  Chapter 19 ‘Enemy Coming Out of Port’

  Chapter 20 Prepare for Battle

  Chapter 21 Into the Fire

  Chapter 22 Shot Through

  Chapter 23 Waiting for Death

  Chapter 24 The Ariane

  Chapter 25 The Storm

  Chapter 26 Dark Return

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Paul Dowswell

  Imprint

  To

  DD

  and

  J & J

  21st October 1805,

  shortly before noon

  This is a dream that will not leave me. I am propped against the quarterdeck rail on a stricken man-o’-war. I have been wounded and cannot move. Although it is daytime, all around is darkness – from a murky sky and smoke that pours from a fo’c’sle fire. Despite the heat of the blaze and the warm, cloying breeze blowing across the ship, I feel cold sweat running down my back. No one else is there. I am alone on the deck but can hear anguished cries from below. I close my eyes, consumed by dread, and wish with all my heart I had never gone to sea…

  CHAPTER 1

  Goodbye to All That

  We sailed from Sydney on a perfect spring day, out into the blustery winds of the Pacific Ocean. Richard stood beside me atop the foremast with a huge grin on his face. ‘This is a voyage I never thought we’d make again,’ he said. ‘Certainly not as free men.’

  I looked down on our ship the Orion, and thought what a handsome vessel she was. Three masts to speed us through the oceans, twenty-four guns to protect us. Despite these guns there was still no mistaking her for a man-o’-war. She had the plump curves of a merchant vessel, and would make a tempting prize for any pirate or privateer who crossed our path. The crew would never pass muster on a Royal Navy ship either.

  The Orion had visited Sydney to sell – plates, buckles, shoes – rather than buy. She had taken on a small quantity of timber and flax, and us. The crew had also loaded a large number of botanical specimens, each in their own separately marked pot, to be shipped back to England. Then they had stocked up on fresh water, fruit and fowl for the journey. Where there was space beside the plants, the weather deck was packed with caged birds, their constant squawking adding to the general pandemonium.

  A haughty Scottish voice called up from below. ‘Look lively, you urchins on the fore topgallant!’ That could only be Lieutenant Hossack, the ship’s second in command. We had been on the Orion for less than a day, and already I had taken a strong dislike to him.

  When we came down to the deck, he was waiting and gave me a swift clout around the ear. ‘I’ll not tolerate slackers, Witchall,’ he said. ‘You’ll pull your weight on this voyage, or you’ll find yourself with some stripes on your back.’

  When my duties were over, I went to sit on the fo’c’sle, alone with my thoughts. Evening fell, a beautiful velvety evening, like a warm, starry blanket. A cool breeze cut through the heat and I filled my lungs to bursting, feeling light-headed with happiness. For the first time in perhaps six months I was free from a crushing, ever-present fear of death.

  Richard came to join me. We had sailed together since I was first pressed aboard HMS Miranda three years before. After fighting side by side at Copenhagen we had been framed by our ship’s crooked Purser. Transported together as convicts to New South Wales we had now been pardoned and freed to return home.

  He had joined the Royal Navy as his family in Massachusetts believed it would be the best apprenticeship for a boy with the sea in his bones. Now he had had enough. When we reached the East Indies port of Coupang, he planned to hook up with an American ship and work his passage home to Boston.

  I was pleased to sit with him, of course, but I felt a twinge of betrayal over his plans to leave. We ought to look after each other. Especially on this ship. They were a rough bunch, the crew, and worse than the merchant seamen I’d known when I first went to sea.

  We got some measure of them that afternoon, when there was a tussle on the fo’c’sle. Two seamen started arguing about a harbour girl who had tried to solicit their favour and they began to fight. Several of their fellows gathered around. Rather than pulling them apart, they started throwing stones and other missiles at them. The Captain, Henry Evison, waded in, banged their heads together and had them both clapped in irons.

  ‘I expect the press gangs have taken the best merchant seamen,’ said Richard. ‘Half of this lot don’t even know their way around the rigging. The other half seem pretty good, though I’d hate to see them with some drink inside them.’

  Along with half a dozen passengers, there were only thirty or so men in the crew. They were a curious collection of old salts, chancers, rogues and shirkers. There were colliermen from Newcastle trying their hand at deep-water sailing, a few former slavers, and rogues from the postal packets who boasted openly of their smuggling rackets. Toughest of the lot were the gruff northerners known as Greenlandmen – those who had made long voyages into the Arctic, hunting for humpback and right whales.

  They were a breed apart and on that first evening I enjoyed listening to their boastful tales while we ate, especially the stories about escaping the press gang. They were not above a bloody battle when the Navy tried to board their whalers, and would drive them off with harpoon and grapeshot. One of the Greenlandmen, William Bedlington, was a bearded giant – six foot three – as he told us several times.

  ‘So how did you end up at sea?’ he asked me.

  I told him I’d joined a merchantman at Great Yarmouth and been caught by a Navy press gang.

  ‘I got pressed the once,’ he said. ‘Came and took me from me bunk they did, night before we sailed out of Hull. Before I knew it I were plonked in a boat with a bayonet at me belly and they were rowing for the quay. Soon sorted that lot out. I pressed against the strakes with me back and me feet and broke that boat in half before they realised what I were doin’. Bastards all drowned – that’ll teach ’em not to learn to swim.’

  It sounded an unlikely tale. Later that night I heard Bedlington claim to have jumped a five-bar gate with his wife under one arm. I wondered if they were still together.

  Rough men I could cope with, there were plenty like them in the Navy after all. I hated our cramped quarters though. The crew were packed into a couple of filthy cabins in the fo’c’sle and the stink in there was unbearable. Part of the smell came from the fetid bedding – there were bunks here rather than hammocks I was used to at sea. Evison was keen to keep the rest of his ship spick and span they told me, but he turned a blind eye to the seamen’s quarters. It was so stuffy the candles would not burn for want of air.

  Early next day we suggested a good clean up of our cabin, but we got short shrift. ‘There’s enough bloody scrubbing of the decks to do,’ said Bedlington, ‘wi’out havin’ to do ower own quarters. I like a bit o’ dirt meself. Keeps the flux and pox at bay
.’

  The Orion was a creaking, leaky old vessel and Richard and I were quickly put to work caulking the decks and strakes. The ship was rumoured to be stricken with teredo worm too. On a quiet night, it was said, you could hear the dull scratching sound of them gnawing away at the timbers of the hull. I knew there were stormy seas ahead and I hoped the Orion would be strong enough to survive them.

  Despite our year away, Richard and I still had that Navy sense of discipline and duty – an instinct to do a job properly, for the good of the ship and its crew. When we tended to repairs, we would do it until the job was done. This annoyed the other men working alongside us who tried to do as little as they could get away with. When I tried to show one of the crew how to do a monkey’s fist knot on a rope he was using, I heard oaths that even convicts on a transport ship would shrink from using.

  After those first few days Richard and I began to feel increasingly uncomfortable with the crew. They would barely talk to us when we ate our meals, and we would be jostled on the decks or companionways as men walked past. Occasionally one would spit on the deck close to where we were scrubbing it. ‘Maybe they’re like this with all new sailors?’ I said.

  Richard shrugged. ‘Never mind. We’ve got each other for company.’

  We didn’t like the crew but we did like Evison. He was a tall, gruff Lancastrian who spoke with his fists if any man showed disrespect or acted foolishly. But he fed his crew the best he could and treated them fairly. I sensed we were in safe hands.

  ‘I think the Captain’s all right,’ said Richard. ‘Bit of a rough diamond though. Have you heard the stories about him? Spent his whole life at sea. They say he knows neither his exact age or his real name. He was found as a small boy, drifting off the coast of South America, the only survivor in a boat of castaways. Wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of him though.’

  I laughed. ‘Never mind him, it’s his wife I’m frightened of.’

  ‘Not as much as he is,’ said Richard.

  Evison’s wife Kitty was a great stout woman, plain in her likes and dislikes. Like him she was also from Lancashire. When we had been brought to the Orion, she had been against our joining the crew. ‘They’re boys, Mr Evison,’ she had said to our faces, after we had been added to the muster book. ‘You want strapping tars who can do everything they’re called on to do, not these. Let ’em travel as passengers, if they’ve got the means to pay.’

  ‘They’re Navy lads, Mrs Evison,’ said the Captain patiently. ‘I’m sure they’ll do us proud. And I’ll wager they can do more than most of the other sailors on this ship.’

  ‘Make sure you do, boys,’ she said, fixing us with a flinty eye.

  Among the other women on board was Lizzie Borrow, the daughter of one of the Governor’s officials. She was fleeing back to England after a disastrous engagement to an army officer. This was good news for Richard, who had taken a fancy to her. Lizzie had a maid too – a pretty dark-haired girl called Bel Sparke. Lizzie was occasionally friendly, although she could be haughty too. I had never spoken to Bel, but I felt drawn to her. She had an impish smile and I longed to know more about her.

  As we sailed further north, the lush shore began to turn a sickly green as the climate grew hotter and drier. We were making a cracking pace through the breakers and warm wind.

  I was surprised how quickly I adapted to life at sea after our year in New South Wales. The food was no worse than what we’d have expected on a Navy ship – the usual salt meat, pease and biscuit – though there was a particularly revolting barrel of salt pork filled with feet and tails still covered with hair, and even the head of a pig with a ring running through its nose.

  Our day was little different from that of a Navy ship. Two watches for the crew, four hours on four hours off. Inspection every Saturday and then the crew exercised with the guns and practised their small arms drill. It was a relief to see they were pretty handy with the weapons.

  ‘D’you know much about where we’re going?’ said Richard over dinner.

  ‘The Spice Islands? They sound exciting,’ I said. On the voyage out here, we had sailed straight from the Cape to the south coast of New South Wales. Now we were heading north to the great ring of islands above the continent, and would then bear west to Africa.

  ‘They’re excitin’ all right,’ said John Garrick, the bespectacled ship’s carpenter, who was sitting opposite us. ‘Excitin’ like being chased by a pack of dogs is excitin’,’ he said in his West Country burr. ‘If you don’t catch some fatal disease when we pass through, then the pirates will get you … not a pretty story. The pirates in these waters come out forty boats at a time and kills every last man, woman and child on a European ship. And you’ve always got the chance of being killed by an earthquake or volcano.’

  I thought they’d be a spectacular sight to witness and said, ‘We’ll be all right if we stick to our ship.’

  ‘Sailed these waters before have you?’ said Garrick sharply. ‘Thought not. Your earthquakes are followed by giant tidal waves that sweep a ship away in an instant. The natives call them tsunamis.’

  ‘No matter,’ I told myself. What could be more dangerous than going into battle? We’d done that. We were tough enough to take anything the sea could throw at us.

  We talked more about the port of Coupang, on Timor Island, where Richard hoped to find an American ship. Garrick was full of gloomy advice here too. ‘You’d be better off at Batavia – that’s the main trading port around here. You’d have more ships to pick from. But we’re not going there, which is a good thing for the rest of us. It’s full of Dutch and they say a thousand of ’em die a year from disease.’

  Garrick really didn’t like the East Indies, and there was no stopping him. He was making me feel uneasy and I wished he’d shut up.

  ‘I can’t be doin’ with the natives round here, either. “They’re ugly and strong, and bear malice long” – that’s what the Dutch say about ’em. Much rather be doin’ business with the Indian or Chinaman. But the Captain don’t want to go that way. They say he hasn’t got a proper licence – and if the East India Company catch him there’ll be trouble.’

  I didn’t know what he was talking about, and I certainly didn’t like the sound of it. He could see the baffled look on our faces.

  ‘East India Company – they’ve got the sole right to trade for Britain east of the Cape. You go further than Cape Town you gotta be an East Indiaman. Evison thinks he can beat ’em by trading with New South Wales and the Spice Islands. “Who’ll know?” he says. Maybe he’s right. There’s very little British trade in these islands, so maybe we’ll get away with it.’

  ‘What sort of highwayman outfit is this?’ said Richard sharply. ‘No licence to trade! What will happen if we get caught? Will we get treated like pirates?’

  ‘Don’t soil yerself over that, lad,’ said Garrick impatiently. ‘Evison’ll be fined, that’s all. Anyway. I’ll not have you talkin’ about the Captain like that. He’s a good man, and he knows what he’s doin’.’

  I felt a bit bashful about the way Garrick spoke to us. He was a decent sort, and a seasoned tar, but like many of the crew he seemed to have taken a dislike to us. Maybe we were being a bit too cocky?

  I was also shaken up by the other things he’d said. A leaky ship without a licence to trade. A pirate-infested sea. A pestilence-ridden land. The chill of impending disaster crept into my bones.

  CHAPTER 2

  Bird Trouble

  ‘Put your back into it, Witchall,’ said Lieutenant Hossack, as we scrubbed the deck one morning. ‘I’ll not tolerate slackers.’

  ‘Yes, sir, right away, sir, at once, sir …’ I tugged my forelock in mock respect. But just as I caught myself wondering if I had gone too far, I noticed Hossack had wandered off. He had not even noticed I was poking fun at him.

  ‘Ai’ll nut tolerayt slackahs, Witchull,’ said Richard, imitating the Lieutenant’s demure Edinburgh accent. ‘Us, slackers?’ he said. ‘We work harder than any
one else on this leaky bucket. Watch him though, he can still have you flogged.’

  Hossack’s bullying was shared equally among the crew. And his pious righteousness. He would suffer no swearing: ‘The Lord abhors an uncouth man,’ I heard him say as he rained down blows on Thomas Bagley, one of the Newcastle colliers he had overheard let slip a curse. Bagley was a big man, fond of his pie and ale, so at least the Lieutenant didn’t just victimise us boys.

  Captain Evison caught my eye and beckoned me over. I thought he was going to admonish me too, but instead he said, ‘Witchall – are you good with animals?’

  ‘I looked after the ship’s cat on HMS Miranda, sir. And I grew up in the country.’

  ‘That’ll do,’ he said, then beckoned me to follow him into his cabin.

  The interior was quite different from that of a Navy captain’s quarters. There was no sparkling silver and burnished wood, just dull furnishings among a lot of clutter and a large table with a map spread upon it. The cabin was in need of a lick of paint. But on the balcony outside the stern windows there was an explosion of colour. Evison had rows of potted plants – lemons, oranges and limes, all sprouting and fruiting.

  Something squawked in the corner. It was a large bird, perhaps two whole foot from beak to tail, and white all over, aside from a tuft of yellow feathers on its head. Some of its other feathers lay ruffled on its body. The bird caught my eye and began flapping around as far as its short tether would allow.

  ‘Show us yer arse,’ it said by way of greeting.

  Evison sighed. ‘I’m afraid the Governor left it in the care of a squad of marines.’ There was a pause where he raised his eyes to heaven. ‘He’s asked me to deliver it to his friend Lord Montague in London. Mrs Evison has had enough of it already and I haven’t the time to look after it. The thing needs a lot of attention. Will you take care of it?’

  ‘I’ll try, sir, but I’ve never looked after a parrot before. I imagine he’s a bit lonely. I’ve seen them in the wild, and they always flock together with their kind.’