Chapter 5: Tomcat

January 1801

Days before the orders for Cormorant were sent over from Sir Hyde Parker’s flagship, the officers and crews knew what awaited them. Ship by ship, a convoy of West Indiamen was assembling in Kingston Harbour, already counting eighteen and growing by the day. The escort consisted of the Gorgo frigate, an ageing 32-gun fifth-rate sent back to England for a major overhaul, Cyclops, 28, and Cormorant, 16. Given the growing activity of Spanish and French privateers, one of the better frigates, HMS Medusa, 32, Captain Edward Fanning, would join the escort for extra protection until they reached the Carolinas before returning to the Caribbean. Fanning was a well respected captain, already of three years seniority, and Medusa was a crack frigate, making the owners and underwriters of the convoy breathe easier.

Whilst the number of merchantmen grew, Cormorant was taking provisions, water and fresh gunpowder barrels. In the hot climate of Jamaica, gunpowder was quickly fouled by the moisture in the air and had to be replaced. She was also still shipping 12-pounder carronades on the quarterdeck and in the waist, and Theodore Grey liked his ship fine this way.

Captain Fanning sent out his final orders to the convoy on January 19, a Sunday, and early in the next morning, Cormorant left Kingston Harbour, leading the way for a convoy of 49 merchantmen and two Navy transports. It took until noon before the convoy had formed the three columns out at sea, but then they started on the eastward leg to the Mona Passage.

This time, the passage to London was entirely uneventful. The Spanish privateers at Samana Bay had learnt their lesson, or perhaps were deploying elsewhere, and the British ships crossed the Atlantic in good order and unmolested. Command of the convoy devolved to Captain Woodworth of the Diamond frigate after Medusa turned around off Cape Hatteras on the Carolina coast. It was still February when they entered the English Channel, with a freezing Northwester blowing, and Theodore Grey was quite happy that he had special orders to escort the Navy transports into Portsmouth, rather than the long way around to London. Releasing the transports, Cormorant anchored off Gosport on March 2, and Commander Grey reported to the Commander in Chief, Portsmouth.

He brought back bad news. Cormorant was only allowed three days in which to take water and provisions and would then escort a small convoy of seven Navy transports to Bermuda. Father and son had hoped for a chance to visit Guildford, but it was not to be. Thomas spent an hour that evening, sitting at his father’s desk and writing letters to his mother and grandfather, but during the rest of their harbour stay, he was kept busy much like the rest of the crew.

On the second day, they still made use of their stay when Theodore Grey took Thomas to the shore, and there to visit the Royal Naval Academy. After all, Thomas would complete two years of seagoing service a year hence, and his father hoped to have him join the academy then. Indeed, the headmaster, Mister William Bayly, a noted astronomer, received them and interviewed Thomas to gauge his knowledge. Thomas did not get all his answers right, but most, and pending his return in time, he was tentatively accepted for the class starting in the summer of 1802. He was handed a list of items to bring and knowledge gaps to be filled until then before father and son bade their thanks and their farewell.

As the son of a commissioned Royal Navy officer, Thomas would benefit from one of fifteen full scholarships at the Academy, receiving his education for free, even with an allowance of 1s per week, all from the coffers of the Crown.

“You did well, Thomas, and until this time next year, you’ll do even better, You’ll be thirteen then, and the way you’ve grown since last year, you’ll fit in well by then.”

Indeed, Thomas had grown to five feet tall, and he had filled out a little, too; enough to merit longer pants which they found at a ship chandler on their way back. He would need larger sea boots soon, but his old boots would do for another passage, and Kingston had shoemakers, too. Thomas also asked and was allowed a blue- and white-striped neck cloth. He thought he looked very seamanlike when they boarded the gig and returned to the Cormorant.

Two days later, the sloop weighed anchor and escorted the transports out of the harbour, first into the calm waters of Spithead, and then past the Isle of Wight and into the Channel. Things quickly returned to normal, with Thomas being busy in the after cabin, attending classes with the sailing master, more practice under Mister Hanson, and writing dictation under Clifton’s care. Besides all that, he also had to find time to spend with his friends. He was so occupied, he would have forgotten his own twelfth birthday, had not his father gifted him a reefer jacket for him to wear when ashore. Using some flour, sugar, eggs from the dwindling supply and a heavy helping of rum, Bartleby had also baked him a cake which he shared with his mess mates. Wilkerson, as captain’s coxswain, got his share, too, and more to pass on to Tim O’Leary and Al Burton.

Being the tallest and strongest of the ship’s boys, he was still assigned as powder monkey to the main deck carronades when at stations, and that happened often in the first two weeks as Mister Simms drilled the gun crews unrelentingly. When one of the larboard carronade crews was laid up in the sick bay, Thomas was included in the gun drills and had to swab the carronade breech with a wet sponge on a stick to clean it of glowing paper residue after firing. It involved Thomas leaning out of the gun port to insert the wet sponge and running it the length of the breech and back before clambering back in. It made him realise the dangers which the gun crews faced in battle, being exposed on the outside of the bulwark.

During sail drills, he also had to help out aloft sometimes, mostly clearing cordage stuck in a block. With the deckhands heaving on braces and bowlines, he had to watch his hands lest they be caught in the blocks once a line was cleared. Yet, being involved in those tasks made him feel more grown up and more part of the crew.

He still had his duties in the after cabin, but he did those much quicker now, knowing his way around the ship and planning his tasks better. The boatswain included him with the young seamen now, teaching them the more advanced tasks in the rigging. Mister Hanson was a thorough but patient teacher and Thomas enjoyed those lessons, feeling that they made him a more worthwhile crew member.

Over those drills and lessons, the small convoy proceeded steadily, first beating up the Channel and then sailing close to the western wind on a southwest by south course until they reached the northeastern trade winds after passing the Portuguese Azores islands, pretty much the halfway points of their voyage. The transports held up well enough, the commanding lieutenants showing for the most part that they were commissioned Navy officers, and they were fortunate not to encounter adverse weather or enemy shipping.

The remaining 700 miles took them just seven days to sail before the trades, and it was April 3rd when they cast anchor in St. George’s Bay, Bermuda. The small town located on St. George Island had been British for almost 200 years, and the merchants were heavily involved in the trade with the Americas. Being an important trading place and waypoint for ships to and from the Caribbean, London had decided to fortify the island against French attacks, and the transports brought much needed materials and ordnance for the garrison.

It took the crews and the soldiers of the garrison over ten days to unload everything. Another week was spent at another settlement, Hamilton, where the rest of the cargoes was landed. At Hamilton, they were also able to replenish their water stores for the return passage.

Given the small size of St. George’s Island, even the involuntary crew members were given a few hours of shore leave during the first days, and given a small advance on their pay, they spent it on ale, spirits and women, the latter in short supply and great demand. Except for two sailors who simply passed out after too much enjoyment, they reported back the worse for wear but in time. The two men who overslept their deadline were given a week of cleaning duty in the heads, yet even they had smiles on their faces in the days after.

At Hamilton, the volunteers on board had a chance to indulge in their vices. Even Will was given shore leave, together with two other ship’s boys, Marty Crows and Jamie Dougal, and the admonition to stay clear of ale houses, women and trouble. They only managed two of the three.

The ten volunteers, upon landing, split up immediately, with the grown sailors flocking to the ale houses for drink and wenches, and the three youngsters setting out to explore the settlement which was, after all, growing faster than St. George’s Town. The trade with the former American colonies made the merchants of Bermuda flourish, mostly trading salt, the white gold, harvested from the salt pans on the Turk’s Islands to which they had prime access. Thus, the houses of the merchants were quite a sight to behold for them, as they wandered along the lanes.

One thing they found curious were the many people of American Indian extraction, the offspring of the enslaved Indians from the New England colonies. Many of those were now indentured servants — slaves for all practical purposes — and the only saving grace of their subjugated existence was the pleasant and healthy climate of the islands.

A few of them, free, plied minor trades, such as cobblers, tinkers, or weavers. Yet others, also nominally free, were hired workers and servants for the Bermudian traders and ship owners and subject to their whims, as the boys found out when venturing into a narrow alley. There, a hard-faced man in costly clothing was beating upon a servant girl no older than eleven or twelve years. He was hitting her most brutally with a cane, and the boys, even used to the hard shipboard discipline, eyed the spectacle with distaste.

“What’s that you’re looking at, ye louts?” the man shouted rudely.

Jamie Dougal, unable to curb his tongue, shot back. “A sorry spectacle ‘tis we see, wit’ a growed man beatin’ about a helpless girl. Fie!” he ended, spitting out.

“Oh yes, is it? How ‘bout me beating on helpless boys?”

“You’d be ill-advised trying so, Mister Bully,” Thomas answered, his righteous ire raised, for the girl was bleeding from a wound to her face. “We are of the Cormorant’s company, a King’s sloop, and we’ve learned to fight.”

“Did ye? And I learnt to punish insolent louts!” the man screamed, turning on them and raising his cane.

Quick as lightning, Jamie bent down and picked a handful of the white coral dust, throwing it into the attacker’s face and blinding him. Marty Crows, not one to stay idle, kicked the man in his privates with good success. Hesitating only briefly, Thomas joined the fray with a wicked elbow into the man’s lower back, sending him to his knees, crying with agony.

“We better split, lads,” Jamie hissed, already taking off, with his two mates not far behind.

They ran for the quays where they found the ship’s boats, but none of the other Cormorants.

“It’s got to be the alehouses,” Thomas urged them, and together they ran to the nearest establishment, where indeed, they found three of their mates, one of them the boatswain, Mister Hanson.

“Are ye daft, boys? You were expressly forbidden to enter the establishments, were’nt you?”

Thomas took the lead. “Yes, Mister Hanson, but we had a fight. A mean man was beating on a small girl, with her bleeding, and when we gave him our minds, he attacked us with a cane.”

“Yes, Mister Hanson. We only fought back,” Jamie added.

After hearing their story again in more detail, Hanson stroked his beard.

“So you beat up a merchant, boys? That’s a fine kettle of fish ye’re in now. Let’s find the boats, lads. Trouble’s a-brewing as sure as not!”

In some haste, the men emptied their mugs, not without cursing the boys, and after finding the rest of their group, headed for the boats. A few minutes later had them on deck, where they were ordered to wait, whilst Mister Hanson sought out Mister Simms to report the incident.

The worthy first lieutenant appeared then and heard their account, and Thomas would have sworn that his mouth was twitching. He then left them to report to the captain, and they had to repeat their tale once more. By now, Thomas felt bad for his father cast him a reproachful look. Theodore Grey considered matters but for a few heartbeats.

“‘Tis was a most disorderly conduct you all showed and only barely mitigated by that man coming for you first. You evaded his cane, but you’ll not evade the bosun’s. Mister Hanson, have them hug the gunner’s bride!”

“Aye-aye, Sir. How many?”

“Three dozen!” The hands on deck gasped involuntarily and the boys froze in shock. “Divided evenly between the rascals, of course,” he added with a smile as the boys exhaled.

“Come on, ye!” Hanson ordered them roughly. “Hug those carronades!”

There was naught to be done but comply, and in a fit of derring-do, Thomas came forward first to bend over the carronade breech. A boatswain’s mate appeared with a knotted stick and rolled up his sleeves.

“A-one!” the stick came down hard, and Thomas had to fight down the scream.

“A-two!” and Thomas expelled his breath with force.

“A-three!” the stick came down, but Thomas had discovered the benefits of sharply exhaling to counter the sting, and so he endured his dozen strokes without screaming, but with his eyes certainly brimming with the fierce pain that lanced through his buttocks when he stood again.

Jamie came next, nodding to Thomas as he bent over the brass breech. He, too, repressed the screams of pain when the boatswain’s mate caned him twelve times, and he, like Thomas, had a hard time of it.

When it was Marty’s turn, he had no choice but to be brave, too, but being the slightest of them, he was trembling with the effort to suppress his screams, and after eight strokes, the captain interceded.