Across to America: A Tim Phillips Novel (War at Sea Book 9) (3 page)

A pair of officers and some seamen from Stately were brought aboard Ferret to re-inforce her crew. Phillips suspected some of Stately’s midshipmen were about to be appointed acting lieutenants in lieu of the transferred officers. There were some wry looks among his own mids at the lost opportunity, but Phillips well knew some of these would have their chance before long.

Now it became the convoy’s turn to furnish men to the warships. Officers with boarding crews went onto every ship in the convoy and determined whether any of the merchantmen could spare any people.

Of course many ships had aboard only the barest minimum of crew needed to make sail, but a few ships did have an adequate crew and these were the ones penalized. Naval crews were sent to the ships damaged in the action to assist in repairs. Besides the needs of Ferret, men were needed to man the crippled schooner which was snapped up by Alceste after the action.

She would furnish the only prize money available for the action since the destruction of the enemy brig eliminated any profit from her. There were some harsh words spoken about Stately’s treatment of the privateer brig. Some felt Andromeda could have easily finished the task herself with the bonus of having an intact hull to sell afterward.

Captain Phillips saw some wondering looks from the men and was perplexed until he recalled his promise to the gun crews. With hands swarming around the ship, each bent on his own mission, he called over a carpenter’s mate. Finding the first officer had assigned the petty officer and his crew the task of replacing a section of splintered deck an enemy shot had plowed up, Phillips judged this repair to be mainly cosmetic and not immediately necessary. Speaking first to Mister Gould, he ordered the petty officer to put a crew of men to work putting his quarters, along with that of the envoy’s back together again. Before the action, all partitions had been knocked down and struck below to allow free access to the guns and to minimize injuries from flying splinters.

Now the envoy’s gear was being brought up from below. Phillips ordered Mister Gould to belay the furnishing of his own quarters until later, but added he would like it if a five gallon cask of his own personal spirits were brought up. These spirits were the remnants of a supply purchased in Cape Colony in Southern Africa on a previous voyage. At the time, Phillips had thought the ship might run out of rum if she stayed out much longer so had purchased a supply of locally distilled spirits.

In the end, the liquor was not needed and Phillips had taking to using the potent liquor himself on occasion. When necessary work on the ship showed signs of completion, he spoke to the Royal Marine lieutenant assigned to the ship.

“Mister Watkins, who would you expect to be your steadiest Royal Marine, one who perhaps is not overly tempted by drink?”

Watkins though a moment. “You may be thinking of Private Larson. While he does take his ration of grog every day, I have never seen him incapacitated.”

“Well sir, would you pass the word for Private Larson? While you are at it, you might do the same for Seaman Fletcher.”

Larson and Fletcher both came at the run, Fletcher with a fair idea of what was involved. Phillips gave both the plan. ”My sleeping quarters are now put together, but are still empty of furnishings. Private Larson, I promised the gun crews I would reward the gun crew that crippled the enemy schooner with a good drunk. I saw Seaman Fletcher here bring down her foremast and his gun crew wins the prize. I also believe the neighboring gun assisted, so these men will also share.”

“I am allowing these men the use of my quarters tonight where they will have as much spirits as they can handle. Private Larson, you have been reported to me by your officer as a steady man. You will be provided a ladle with which to issue the liquor into each man’s piggin.”

“Every man may have as much spirits as he can handle, but he must not drink too rapidly. Every time the ship’s bell is struck, at the end of every glass at the ship’s binnacle, each man may receive one ladle of drink, then must wait until the next glass. You will not drink, Private Larson. Instead, you will be paid five shillings for this task and receive an extra tot of grog tomorrow.

Seaman Fletcher, you are this moment rated as Gunner’s Mate. As such you will keep control of your men and prevent them from harming each other or the ship. One of Private Larson’s mates will remain outside the closed door in case you need any assistance. If we are clear Petty Officer Fletcher, you may leave now to bring your mates aft, and the party will begin. It will end when I say it will.”

The grim faced Lieutenant Gould was plainly dis-approving when he learned of the party. He sourly wondered aloud what their envoy was going to think of a drunken orgy being held next to his own quarters.

“That is a very good question Mister Gould. However, Lord Forsythe will not mind sleeping elsewhere this night. Would you locate Mister Goodrich now and both of you see me when he is located?”

In due course, Gould and Goodrich reported to their captain on the quarterdeck. “I assume Mister Gould has informed you of the entertainment I am giving my gun crews tonight in my quarters, Mister Goodrich. I will be spending the night on deck as I often do, but there is the problem of Lord Forsythe. He may dislike spending the night next to a party of drunken sailors. I wonder if I could implore you to offer him the hospitality of your berth tonight. Would you be willing to spend the evening in the gunroom?”

Mister Goodrich, a midshipman himself until very recently and well familiar with gunrooms, was fatalistic and accepted the suggestion without demur. Mister Gould was another matter. Having held his commission nearly twenty years, he was well aware of his rights. One of those rights was his charge over the wardroom, where the officers ate and lived. It would have been more diplomatic had Phillips asked him first.

Phillips, having dealt with recalcitrant first lieutenants before, had made up his mind he would not defer to this officer. He was the captain of the ship and the other officers would just need to adapt.

With matters settled, he next approached Lord Forsythe, now ensconced in Phillips own deck chair on the quarterdeck. The ship had travelled south enough to begin getting some pleasant temperatures, pleasant enough that is, if one was wearing a decent cloak.

He explained the situation with his gun crews and the party he was giving them for knocking down that schooner’s mast. He said, “I fear they will become boisterous as the evening wears on and may become tiresome. I wonder if I can beg you to spend the night in a spare cabin in the wardroom. It is tiny, but I am sure it will be more comfortable than your present quarters with an orgy going on next door.”

Forsythe assured him not to have any concerns. “Turnabout is fair play, Captain. I am told it is many a night you have slept on deck to escape my vile retching. This is the very least I can do.”

The prize schooner had been left behind, with men and materials necessary to rig a jury foremast. Captain Moore in Stately, with more men under his command, assigned crew from his own ship to man her. There was grumbling aboard Andromeda, some of the newer men having a dim understanding of prize procedures, imagining Stately was trying to ‘steal’ the prize, while their own efforts had caused her capture.

Overhearing some bitter debate from a nearby work party, Phillips called over the watch officer and asked him to bring a delegation of these men to the quarterdeck. Lieutenant Darby spoke with Midshipman Otis who was supervising the work party, and soon the apprehensive seamen were standing before their captain on the quarterdeck.

“Men, you and the others in the crew have made me proud today. Your efforts have caused the enemy to surrender a fine schooner to us. When she is sold, all of us will share in the money she brings. Are there any questions?”

A rugged-looking man stepped forward. He was one of a group of ‘Quota Men’ that had been originally sent to the ship from their home county as men regarded by the county officials as people that could well be done without.

Often free with his fists, Landsman Willis was one hand with whom Phillips thought he might have to amend his own rule about punishment. Several of his officers felt Willis would be the better if he were triced up and given a dozen lashes now and again.

Willis knuckled his forehead, then ruined the effect by sneering, “Sir, we took the ship, now Stately takes it away from us. What about that, then?”

“Willis, Stately did not take her away from us. Captain Moore as senior officer decided his ship, with its larger crew, was better prepared to man and repair her. After making port, she will enter prize court proceedings, and will be sold with the money divided up between the crews of all King’s ships in sight of the action. That is the rule.”

Phillips walked away from the group, not wishing to debate this lout any longer. Approaching Otis, he asked if the mid had had much trouble with Willis. The mid answered, “He always has that sneer on his face, and often ignores me when I speak to him. Yesterday he told me his old granny was a better officer than I would ever be.”

Phillips nodded. “Mister Otis, if that hand gives you or any other petty officer disrespect again, you will write his name down for captain’s mast and give it to Lieutenant Gould. I have tried to be easy with the hands, but I see that some are getting the wrong ideas. Things will change.”

Next morning, the first officer approached Phillips on the quarterdeck and lifted his hat in salute. “Sir, I have a man on report for punishment. Midshipman Otis tells me you had asked him to write him up.”

“Yes, I did, Mister Gould. I believe the man in question is Landsman Willis?”

“Sir!”

“Very well. I spoke to Willis yesterday. I regarded his demeanor as lacking in respect. Mister Otis tells me he is frequently insolent with him. I ordered him to put the man on report on the next occasion. Now, what are we to hear about Landsman Willis?”

“Sir, Bosun’s Mate Anderson, in the hearing of Midshipman Otis, ordered Landsman Willis to coil down the main topmast staysail halyard. Willis advised Anderson to get stuffed. When Otis then ordered Willis to do what he was told, Willis informed the mid he was nothing but a boil on the captain’s ass, begging your pardon, sir. He refused to obey and Otis called Mister Darby who had the watch. Willis, who was probably under the influence of his evening grog ration, was insolent to Darby, and the man placed in restraints and put below.”

Phillips glanced out at the convoy and then up at his sails. The wind was light at the time, out of the WNW and the convoy was on the port tack. With no immediate concerns at hand he thought he might as well get the problem taken care of.

Telling Gould he was about to hold captain’s mast, and all customers should be presented, he went below to put on his good coat and hat. The gold buttons and lace flashing in the sun, he went back up on deck. The men off watch had been summoned up from below, and a party of men were securing a hatch cover upright to the mizzen. The Marine sergeant with a pair of men led the prisoner up to their captain, crashing to a halt, with Sergeant Wolfe reporting, “Prisn’er and escort present and correct, Sir!”

Phillips noted Landsman Willis had lost his sneer. He seemed almost concerned about his situation. The captain suspected some of his mates had been telling him stories of the punishments that could be imposed upon him.

Captain Phillips started, “Mister Otis, would you please tell us of the charges placed against Landsman Willis?”

Willis stood, clad in the best uniform available in the gunroom, reciting the misdeeds of the culprit.

Phillips, noting the absence of one report wondered. “Mister Otis, it was mentioned to me that you were an object of comparison. I heard that Landsman Otis compared you to a boil on my ass. Could this be true?”

His face red, the lad stammered he could not possibly say that to his captain.

“Very well, Mister Otis. We will drop that for now. It well might prove embarrassing to have that entered in the log. Let us move on. Have we any witnesses to our Landsman’s musings? Bosun’s Mate Anderson, perhaps?”

“Sir”, uttered Anderson, “I don’t rightly know what that word is you said.”

“Well, what did you see or hear that may concern us, today?”

Anderson spoke up then, informing all of Willis’ refusal to coil down the halyard as ordered and a litany of other offenses, including the reference to the captain’s boil.

When Anderson finished, Phillips ruled he would not consider Willis’ ‘boil’ statement in his ruling since it had not been mentioned in the charges. However, he cautioned, charges could still be preferred and the matter could be brought up at another time.

Now Phillips asked if anyone had anything to say for the man. This was normally the time when a supervisor would ask leniency for the defendant, giving some type of explanation for his action.

At first nobody stepped forward. Finally Midshipman Otis stepped forward as the silence mounted. “Sir”, the mid uttered, “Landsman Willis always rolls his hammock in a seamanlike manner!”

There were several muffle guffaws at that, and a smirk from Willis. Phillips looked grave and announced this had no bearing on the case. Turning to Willis, he asked, “Landsman Willis, have you anything to say for yourself?” There was silence while Willis shuffled his feet, started to open his mouth, then remained silent. Captain Phillips let the silence mount for a few minutes the stated, “Sentenced to twelve lashes and forfeiture of all grog and tobacco for the next week. Doctor, do your duty!”

It was necessary for the ship’s surgeon to declare the prisoner fit to stand for his punishment, but there was a problem. All the other ships officers and warrants were present, but Doctor Baynes was not among them.

Phillips realized that Baynes had still not become aware of all the ship’s customs and rules and was willing to accommodate the man as much as possible. Further, his patient had kept him up most every night since the beginning of the voyage. Now however, Lord Forsythe was beginning to get his sea legs, and the nightly sickness had almost vanished, allowing Baynes to finally get some rest.

Regardless, his presence was required on the quarterdeck, and Otis was ordered to go below and fetch the good doctor immediately.

The hands stood there, chewing their quids and murmuring as the wait became longer. Finally Baynes appeared with the harried mid almost pushing the doctor up the ladder.

The doctor was outraged when he learned the reason for his summons. He stated, at Phillip’s question, “Yes, I heard the call, but as a doctor I am not at the beck and call of any jumped-up sailor. Further, these proceedings have nothing to do with me.”

With that, the doctor turned his back and began going down the ladder to the wardroom. Phillips goggled at this effrontery then turned to the Marine officer standing near him.

“Mister Watkins, you will favor me by having Baynes brought back up. You may wish to have a few of your Marines assist you.”

With a shout to Sergeant Wolfe who was standing close by, Lieutenant Watkins repeated the captain’s orders. A file of Royal Marines rushed below, and soon re-appeared, with the doctor’s elbows firmly grasped by a pair of burly Marines.

Phillips almost laughed at the enraged, red-faced doctor, but held himself in check. Now was not the time to further inflame passions.

Phillips addressed Baynes, still in the firm grasp of the Marines. “Doctor Baynes, I will not require you to tell me what you meant by the remark you mentioned about ‘jumped-up’ sailors. I do hope you were not referring to me. As it happens, you do have a place in these proceedings. Namely, you are required, as ship’s doctor, to pass judgment on Landsman Willis’ health. We must know whether his health at this moment is such to withstand a dozen lashes of the cat o’ nine tails.”

The still furious Baynes lashed out himself. “You forced me up for this, you nincompoop? I’ll have you know I will bring charges against you when I next see a magistrate. I am Lord Forsythe’s physician. I have nothing to do with your shipboard brutality.”

Captain Phillips considered. “Doctor, you seem to still have the wrong impression of your standing aboard. At the moment, you are not an imposing Harley Street physician. Instead, when you accepted the warrant the Sick and Hurt Board gave you before you came on the ship, you became a warrant officer of the Royal Navy, subject to the orders of all officers senior to you. Yes, you are Lord Forsythe’s physician, but you are also physician to every member of this ship’s crew.”

“One of your duties is to examine defaulters before they come up for punishment. Should you refuse, you may be charged with mutiny.”

Baynes sneered at the captain. “And what are you going to do to me if I refuse? Whip me also? I tell you, I am a gentleman and must not be threatened in this manner.”

Phillips sighed. “Yes Doctor, you are a gentleman and holder of a Navy Warrant. You will not be triced up and lashed. However, I am charging you with mutiny at this time. You will be taken below, where you will remain confined in your cabin until such time as I can turn you over to higher authority. You will stand trial at court martial and suffer whatever sentence that may be imposed upon you. You may well hang, Doctor Baynes.”

As the Marines began to hustle the doctor below, Lord Forsythe, who had been a silent witness to the events, spoke up. “Captain Phillips, I wonder if I may have a few words with the doctor?”

“You may indeed Milord. However, time is fleeting, and we have another matter to dispense with.”

Phillips called his ship’s officers as well as the sailing master over and ordered them to individually examine Landsman Willis and express their opinions on his ability to stand punishment, because of the refusal of the ship’s doctor.

All officers stated after a brief glance at the prisoner they could see no reason that Willis could not withstand punishment.

Phillips addressed the bosun. “Very well, do your duty!”

The prisoner was tied to the upright grating, his face toward the mast and a leather apron strapped to his lower back to protect the kidney area. Then a petty officer stood behind the victim with a cat-o’-nine tails in his hands. The lash had been made specifically for this task and would be discarded overboard as soon as the punishment had been inflicted.

The Marine drummer stood nearby and began to slowly beat his instrument. At Phillip’s nod and order. “Do your duty” the bosun’s mate drew his arm back and struck Willis’ back with full force, leaving nine red stripes where the lash had landed. Willis winced but made no other expression of pain. The other eleven lashes were laid on. The victim made not a sound during the punishment. At the end of the dozen, the petty officer backed away, and said, “Punishment inflicted, Sir.”

Willis was unstrapped from the grating and a bucket of seawater was thrown over his now bloody back. This time he did let out a howl as the salt water burned his wounds.