Chapter 20: The Mediterranean Fleet

March 1804

“All hands! Clear the ship for action!”

The shouted words, accompanied by the drum roll of the Royal Marines drummer boy and the shrill pipes of the boatswains tore Will from his sleep. With a curse, he sat up. Stepping into his pants, slipping on his sea boots, and taking his coat from the peg on the bulkhead took not a minute. Cutlass and pistols were next. Slapping his bicorne hat on his uncombed hair, he grabbed for his strongbox and his Victualling Book and left his cabin. Around him, the officers were all getting ready and cursing just like Will.

He headed out for the companionway and forced his way through the stream of ratings rushing up to the main deck, down to the orlop deck, and further down into the hold. Here was the purser’s locker where he stashed both the strongbox and the Victualling Book, locking the sturdy, iron-clad door with the huge padlock.

Then he rushed up again, forward and to the galley, making quite certain that the galley fire was thrown overboard, and that the cook and his mates put on the aprons they would need to carry the wounded down to the sickbay. Only then could he take a deep breath, ascend to the main deck again and look around.

On the quarterdeck, Captain Erasmus Merle, was watching the ordered chaos on the decks and in the rigging, tapping his foot impatiently. Nothing ever was done fast and well enough to satisfy their new captain. At least thrice a day, the ship was cleared for action, and although the crew had shaken out the rust assembled whilst staying in the receiving ship, Merle had his own, lofty standards of performance.

Now, with the alarm given at two bells in the morning watch, with half the crew torn from their much needed sleep, meeting those standards was even more elusive.

Clearly John Croft expected the worst when he reported to his captain.

“Ship cleared for action, Sir. Eleven minutes and a half, Sir.”

He was not disappointed. “That’s nothing short of shameful, Mister Croft. It took you over two minutes too long.”

“Yes, Sir. I ask you to consider that it was still dark, Sir. We don’t want the hands to be careless.”

“And I don’t allow them to be careless. I only want them to be fast, Mister Croft. From now on, we’ll do this every night until we’ll get it done right. Understood?”

“Aye-Aye, Sir,” Croft answered tonelessly.

“Come now, Mister Croft, more fire! A well drilled crew and seasoned officers are what we need to succeed in any action we might see. You, as the Nº 1, will be the one who benefits.”

For a 1st lieutenant, a successful engagement with an enemy of comparable size was the best chance for promotion to independent command.

“Aye-aye, Sir!” Croft rapped more convincingly.

Will could feel for him. Everybody on board felt the relentless pressure, even Will. When Merle took command, one of the first things he tried to implement was to put the crew on four fifth rations of water, claiming that this would allow Odin to hold the sea for an additional three weeks. For once, Will refused an order by his captain, but it had taken a letter from Commissioner Davenport to convince their new captain that crew rations were mandatory, and short changing the crews except in emergencies was a court martial offence. The episode did not make Will popular with the captain, but his ire soon shifted to new targets.

Samuels, the surgeon, had to justify every man admitted into the sickbay. Tully was under constant criticism, not for the courses he laid, but for the way he calculated them, even though Captain Merle arrived at the same results with his more scientific and time consuming calculations.

Ironically, an inspection of the hold by the captain brought Will into Merle’s good graces again. The way James Evans had taught Will to store and keep track of provisions, strictly oldest up and newest down, satisfied Merle’s scientific rationale, and the way Will and Alwyn kept the Victualling Book resulted in a rare “quite satisfactory” judgement.

Willis and Anson had their maindeck gun crews in a pretty good shape with little for Merle to complain, but poor Midshipman Carlin, a shy 20-year old, could never work his quarterdeck gun crews to the captain’s satisfaction. He simply had not the personality to keep the crews in hand, and they took advantage of his shyness and insecurity.

This lasted until John Croft had a private word with Will, who then talked to Alwyn and to Mayberry, the cook. Suddenly, the quarterdeck crews found themselves with only two thirds grog rations, and their meat allotments shrunk by the same margins. Or course, they complained, but Alwyn told them in no uncertain terms that a two-thirds effort rated only two-thirds rewards. Strangely, this made Will and Alwyn more popular with the lower deck, and soon the lassitude amongst the quarterdeck crews vanished, making Carlin’s life a little easier.

Unfortunately, Carlin, as the senior midshipman, was also the signal officer, and as such, the target of the captain’s constant admonishments for being too slow. This in spite of the fact that Odin was still en route to her new station, and the rare sightings of other ships. They were headed for the Mediterranean Sea, and they were to join Lord Nelson’s fleet off Toulon. With her newly rebuilt hull, fresh coppering and her armament of 26 eighteen-pounders, Odin had the makings of a crack frigate, and Captain Merle was hell bent to show himself and his ship worthy of joining the Nelson’s fleet.

After a quick dash down the channel, past Normandy and across the Bay of Biscay, they sighted only English shipping, but as they neared the northern Spanish coast, the chances of meeting enemy shipping increased. The captain was sailing Odin straight for Santander, an important port on the Bay of Biscay, going quite a bit out of the way from the direct route to the Strait of Gibraltar, but obviously hoping to catch a prize. There were worse things of course than to report to Lord Nelson with a prize in their wake, but the wardroom did not know the captain’s orders. Delaying their arrival off Toulon might just backfire.

Over Will’s musing, the hands had been busy raising the bulkheads and the pantry fire had been lighted. It was almost four bells now, and Alwyn with two ship’s boys were already manning the morning rations up from the hold. The free watch would receive their food at six bells, giving them some time until the watch change at eight bells. Then, the active watch would have their breakfast of hardtack and cheese.

Already, Billy Piper, the wardroom steward, could be heard laying the table, and Will felt sufficiently hungry to look forward to hot coffee and their last cold cuts. Piper was a good man, and Will had used the time in port to have the man learn some cooking under Abigail’s tutelage. Of course, the man had known the simple things, but four weeks under Abigail had taught him the benefits of herbs and spices, and his earlier obstinacy soon changed into eagerness. Now the wardroom enjoyed the benefits. Pedestrian they were by their origins, but they appreciated tasty meals nonetheless.

Indeed, they enjoyed a fine spread of cold cuts, porridge with slices of apples, and hardtack that was not yet heavily infested with weevils. At eight bells, Willis joined them after being relieved by Anson, and the others stayed at the table for a quarter hour to keep him company. The wardroom was growing together quite handsomely, with no rivalries so far.

Will then retired to his puny cabin to get his Victualling Book up to date, but also to catch an hour of much needed sleep. Years of practice made him wake up as the ship’s bell sounded five times, after which he organised the shifting of a few provisions. He knew Alwyn of course, but cooper and cook were still new to him, and the hands detailed to do the lifting and stowing even moreso. He wanted things done right, and the way to ensure this was to have it done under his supervision.

Emerging from the hold, he enjoyed a few moments on the upper deck, watching the distant coast line of Spain over the port bow and engaging in a short exchange with Wallace, the bosun, over the allocation of stowage room in the hold. Then he heard hasty steps from the quarterdeck, and seconds later, the captain emerged from his cabin. Being actually occupied, Will was not worried, but many a man took pains to look busy.

He concluded the discussion with the bosun and climbed the leeward companionway to the quarterdeck where he found James Tully taking bearings of landmarks on the coast, likely to gauge the distance. Peter Samuels, the surgeon, was talking to Lieutenant Cluny of the Marines, and Jerry Anson was receiving orders from the captain.

“ ... to follow the coastline with sufficient sea room until we reach La Coruña. Kindly keep those lookouts alert, too. Once we reach the fleet, our chances to catch something will be nil. Pass this on to your relief, too, Mister Anson.”

“Aya-aye, Sir,” Jerry Anson nodded. “I’ll put it on the slate, too.”

“Yes, do that, please, Mister Anson. Prepare to exercise your gun crews after noon, too. Not that the main deck crews are wanting, but let’s keep them looking sharp!”

“Aye-aye, Sir!” Jerry answered again, this time with true enthusiasm.

Will already knew that Jerry Anson loved gun drill. Even the captain gave a little smile and a nod. Then his look caught Will.

“Mister Potter!”

Will rushed across the deck. “Yes, Sir?”

“You shifted provisions?”

“Yes, Sir. We took as much as we could, Sir, and some barrels did not fit in and had to be stored near the galleries. With what we used up already, we could stow them properly. We also tried to move things aft. Mister Tully asked us, to better the ship’s trim, Sir.”

“Yes, I notice that she’s riding the swell easier.” Merle admitted grudgingly. “She’s a fast sailor. If only some Frogs or Dagos would show!”

“That’s what we all hope, Sir.”

“Well, carry on, Mister Potter,” Merle ended the talk abruptly, already turning around. Inwardly shrugging, Will returned to the leeward side where Mister Samuels gave him a wink. Their captain was not out to win hearts in the wardroom, that was a given.

The easy mood that had prevailed in the wardroom during the fitting out was replaced by wariness, and the talk during their noon meal was stilted and mostly about matters of the ship. Will of course knew this from the short time served under Captain Fitzsimmons, and he understood. With new members in the wardroom, nobody could be certain that there was no spitlicker amongst them, one who would report on his wardroom mates to curry favour with the captain.

The constant pressure from the captain also made tempers short since everybody feared that Merle would express his displeasure in his evaluations. Croft, in particular, was the target of the captain’s dissatisfaction, and his easygoing ways were a thing of the past. He was particularly curt with Willis and Anson, who so far had escaped Merle’s ire, which in turn made both officers irritable. The junior wardroom members and James Cluny were the least concerned, being appointed by admiralty departments outside Merle’s sphere of influence, such as Victualling Board, Board of Surgeons, and the Royal Marines Regiment, but they too felt the tension and were uncomfortable.

The only topic not duty-related of which they could talk with ease was the food and drink they enjoyed, and during that particular meal, talk revolved around their favourite dishes when the lookout in the masthead sang out.

“Ship ho! Bearing two points to sta’b’d, Sir! Two ... no, three masts, ship-rigged!”

Not ten seconds later, the wardroom was empty but for the steward as the officers rushed out. They barely beat the captain, who gave a rare, grudgingly approving look at his officers. Willis had already rushed aloft with a telescope

“Well, Mister Willis?” he asked the watch officer when he came back down.

“Just like Manson hailed, Sir. Full ship rig, sailing on a western course, just like us, Sir. Tops’ls and t’gallants. Hull is still down, Sir, but I’d hazard she’s a small frigate by how her masts are spaced.”

“Thank you, Mister Willis. Call out the hands! Let us show more canvas! Double-reefed courses and mizzen sail if you please!”

A few eyebrows went up. The huge courses meant almost doubling the sail area, and that was cutting it close in the lively breeze. As against that, the leverage of the courses was only half that of the topsails, and Odin was fitted out with new cordage.

Once the additional sails were drawing, Odin lay over with her port side gunports awash, and keeping the balance on deck became difficult. Yet, they also gained quickly on their suspected quarry, and thus far, the rigging was holding up to the strain. Once Merle saw them gain on the strange sail, he turned to Will.

“Mister Potter, we shan’t have a grog hour today. Give the men an early supper instead.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” Will answered. The order was sensible. If they were facing an enemy, the crew needed clear heads.

“The men will get their tots once that Spaniard is flying the White Ensign.”

“Aye-aye, Sir!” Will rapped back. “Runner, rouse the purser’s steward!” he ordered next, already descending to the main deck.

Alwyn appeared not a minute later.

“Sir?”

“Grog hour will be delayed. Prepare to dole out hard tack and cheese, and some extra water instead.”

“Aye-aye, Sir. Will there be fighting, Sir?”

“Depends on what flag that fellow will fly,” Will shrugged. “Get everything ready!”

“Yes, Sir! I’ll find the cook.”

Meanwhile Odin was getting closer to the strange ship, and it was clear by now that she was no British ship. She was not that small either, a fifth-rate and likely shipping twelve pounders. If they caught up with her, she would put up a good fight.

Just then, the lookout sang out again. “She’s setting more sails, Sir! Reefed courses and royals. Changing course, too, heading for the coast, Sir!”

“Confound it!” Merle cursed. “Mister Croft, kindly enter up and see what you can make out of it!”

Croft made for the mizzen shrouds immediated and climbed up with obvious effort. Up in the gallant top, he studied the strange ship through his glass, before returning to the deck, panting heavily. He was not the youngest, and the months spent in Portsmouth had increased his girth noticeably.

“Sir, she’s got 13 gunports to a side, but I don’t think she’s over 500 tons.

“12-pounders, likely as not,” Merle nodded. “Like one of our 32s.”

“That’s my guess, too, Sir.”

“Is she reaching on us?”

“No, Sir, but we’re not gaining either.”

“Well, we’ve cut her off from Gijon. The next safe anchorage for her would be Ferrol. Still, I’d like to catch her before dark. Let’s set the royals and shake out one reef in the courses.”

“Sir, if I may, we’re already showing a lot of canvas. I’ve known Odin for three years. She can’t take much more, Sir.”

“Mister Croft, I gave an order. I am quite aware of the ship’s limits, but risking a spar against the chance of catching an enemy frigate is acceptable to me. We’ll get more damage once we force the Dons to fight.”

Croft realised that his captain had made up his mind. “Aye-aye, Sir! Mister Willis! Main course under single reef, and unfurl the royals!”

Setting the royals was quickly done, but shaking out a reef in the huge maincourse and fore course was dangerous work in the strong breeze. Once the additional sails were set, the well behaved Odin changed into a bucking monster, crashing into the waves, and being laid over whenever a stronger gust hit them. Will had lots of experience sailing in high winds, but he could not help the feeling that something would give before long.

He was not wrong. After perhaps a half hour, the wind veered two points, catching Odin on her beam and laying her further over. Once she righted herself a again, a sudden gust caught them, and a heartbeat later, the nasty sound of breaking timbers came from aloft. Will barely had the time to take cover under the quarterdeck, when the main topgallant mast came tumbling down on the deck. That was only the start, for the mizzen topgallant mast followed immediate. Bereft of the leverage aft, Odin turned before the wind in spite of the desperate efforts of the quartermasters.

“Mister Anson! Take in fore course, t’gallants and royals” the captain hailed from the quarterdeck. “Mister Willis, secure main course! Mister Carlin, secure the sails and yards and untangle the wreckage! Mister Wallace, take down the wreckage and report damages! Surgeon’s mates, to the main deck!”

Those orders came almost in the aftermath of the responses, for the officers were already acting, directing their divisions to the repairs. Within a scant ten minutes, only the fore topsail and one staysail remained on the foremast. It took even less time for the main mast crews to take in the main course, before they recovered royal and topgallant yards and sails from the wreckage in the waist. Even Midshipman Carlin rose to the challenge to recover sails and yards before cutting away the broken spars.

In the meantime, their intended quarry was heading west under reduced sail, obviously content to evade a fight. With no urgent tasks himself, Will helped Willis to coordinate the work in the waist. Soon, the carpenter and his mates set to the construction of a new topgallant top and masthead for the mainmast, and then Mister Wallace took over, rigging topgallant and royal masts from salvaged or spare spars.

It took over an hour, but by sunset, Odin was back to being a full-rigged ship, and the ship’s company was treated to a double rum ration. All during the hectic repair activities, the captain had held himself back, letting his experienced officers perform the work, but when the hands were able to rest a little, he issued an impromptu dinner invitation to the wardroom. It had to be at the start of the evening watch, and the wardroom had to send their steward to help, but when they entered the captain’s cabin, the table was set nicely enough.

“Gentlemen, please be seated!” an almost genial Captain Merle greeted them.

Of course, the captain sat at the top of the table, flanked on one side by 1st, 2nd and 3rd lieutenants, and Lieutenant Cluny, and of the other side by sailing master, purser, surgeon and by the chaplain, Mister Cotswolde. Captain Merle had surprised them by charging Midshipman Carlin with keeping the evening watch, to allow the entire wardroom to attend. A light white wine was served, and the captain raised his glass.

“Gentlemen, today was a failure, no doubt. We ran a risk trying to catch that Spaniard, and it backfired when that gust hit us in a bad moment. I should be disappointed and dishearted over that mishap. Yet, I was given a chance to watch you gentlemen and the men under your command as you reacted to the situation, and I must say that I am proud of my wardroom and of my ratings! Gentlemen, in a situation where it counted, you showed true mettle, initiative and commitment. Of course, we still need to improve in the necessary drills, but today gives me the certainty that this ship, its officers and its crew will rise to the challanges we might encounter.

“I also learned today, that taking calculated risks with this ship is feasible, and I shall continue to take such risks, knowing now that I can rely on your gentlemen!”

Eight wardroom members sat at the table being thunderstruck. With an effort, Croft forced himself to reply.

“Sir, in the name of the wardroom, I thank you for your kind and encouraging words. We are all proud to serve in this fine ship and under you, and we shall all strive to improve in those tasks where we are still wanting. I, too, noticed with great delight how everybody jumped into the fray to help where help was needed, and with that spirit, we shall overcome our shortcomings.”

That was a most unexpected speech out of the otherwise coarse and simple 1st lieutenant, and the other wardroom members were even more surprised.

“Thank you for your words, Mister Croft. I must also ask you to convey my satisfaction to Mister Midshipman Carlin. Now I ask you gentlemen to enjoy what dishes the stewards were able to prepare on short notice!”

The evening turned out to be nice and companionable, but by necessity, it had to end by 4 bells. Once they returned to the wardroom, Croft held up his hand.

“Gentlemen, be prepared for another drill tonight! I suggest that you refrain from any further imbibing.”

“That’s what I suspect, too,” Anson nodded. “I’m having the middlewatch, and I’ll keep the hands sharp.”

“Do that, Jerry,” Croft nodded. “James, the same goes for the morning watch.”

“I’ll see to it that the watch stays awake.”

“Well then, let’s get whatever sleep we can,” Croft concluded. “Will, can you cover that extra rum ration?”

Will had to smile. “Not quite yet, but the delinquent list will cover it.”

He meant the ratings who were being punished for minor infractions by the withholding of their rum rations, usually for a week. Thirty-two sailors had suffered that fate since weighing anchor in Portsmouth, saving over 220 rations already, and Will did not expect those savings to dry up.

“Yes, but those savings are income for you.”

Will shrugged. “The men earned the extra rations today. In the long run, things balance out.”

“Our purser, the philosopher,” Cluny chuckled. “Must be those history books he keeps reading.”

“A worthwhile way to spend one’s spare time,” the surgeon commented.

“And a certain recipe for a good sleep,” Tully added with a laugh.

“What can I say, what I learned from those books earned me over £400 during the Egyptian campaign. That’s more lucrative than saving a tot of rum here and there.”

“Yes, our Will has a damn good head for money,” Anson agreed.

“He also has a pretty savvy wife,” Willis added, surprising them all, for he rarely joined in the banter.

“You mean, savvy and pretty,” Samuels laughed.

“Oh, yes,” Cluny agreed. “However did you catch her? It must have been in some dark place, ugly as you are.”