Chapter 10: Tempest

Autumn, 1809

Over the next week, Sultan stayed at anchor waiting for orders to proceed further upstream for the planned attack on Antwerp. There were rumours that the commander in chief of the land forces, the Earl of Chatham, was delaying the decision whilst Sir Richard Strachan wanted to press the attack. Both nullified the other’s authority, and the result was that no action was taken. By late August, after the French had had time enough to shore up their defences of Antwerp, Chatham finally decided that an attack on that major port was not promising.

At that time, the number of casualties from what was by now known as the Walcheren Fever had become appalling with almost a third of the troops too sick to do duty and an ever increasing number even succumbing to the debilitating fever. With no further offensive actions planned, it was decided to pull back two thirds of the troops and leave only 12,000 to hold Walcheren.

Why, nobody understood. The island was a pestilent swamp without even usable fresh water. The Navy had to bring in hundreds of barrels of fresh water every day for the soldiers, plus food and other supplies, but also to evacuate sick and dying men by the dozens. Mister Ogilvie, the Sultan’s surgeon, was of the opinion that the fever was a form of the debilitating ague called mal aria in Italy, a fever contracted by breathing the bad air of swamps, but he admitted that other surgeons contested that idea.

The embarkation of the troops, at least, went smoothly since the quays of Flushing were now available, but the transports had to be escorted back to English ports. That task was largely handled by the frigates of the fleet, with some assistance from smaller vessels.

As it was, officers and crews of the ships of the line were confined to inactivity. Tempers in Sultan were flaring up due to boredom, and the wardroom was busy keeping up the discipline on the lower decks. Admiral Strachan was looking at ways to restore morale in his fleet and so he instituted reconnaissance missions upriver in the ships’ boats. Sultan’s cutter was armed with a 4-pounder gun and sent upriver after darkness, together with boats from other ships. Command of the ships’ boats alternated to give each officer a chance to distinguish himself.

Over the next two weeks, the British boats explored the River Scheldt and captured a number of small vessels laden with merchandise to or from Antwerp. They must have become a nuisance for the French in Antwerp who positioned field artillery along the river. The British countered this with raids on the gun positions, spiking the guns and rolling them into the river, where they sank deeply into the mud.

One night in early October, Thomas was on yet another such raid in the cutter. They had travelled upriver with the incoming tide without encountering any opposition and Lt. Pendergast of Eagle, who was in command of the boat flotilla, had them anchor at slack water across from the village of Lillo to wait for light and the ebb tide. Thomas was the second in command of the flotilla of twelve boats. It was a cold morning and the wait was uncomfortable. In the pitch-black darkness, even the bows of the cutter were but a dark shadow before a dark river. Rubbing his arms against the cold, Thomas still watched the darkness around them carefully, in particular in the upriver direction which was bearing south-east. Here the first light would show.

Suddenly, Thomas froze. Upriver, perhaps two cable lengths away, something was glowing red. It was only for a second or two, but Thomas was almost certain that it was a glowing fuse, a linstock probably. Carefully checking the bearing, he determined that it could not be a gun emplacement on the river bank. Somewhere upriver from them a ship was lying in wait, ready to fire upon the British boats. It was sheer luck than they had anchored where they were.

“Watson, get in the anchor. Do it quietly!” Thomas whispered to the coxswain. “Up! Get the oars into the locks! No sound! There’s a French ship ahead. Not a sound if you want to live!”

Even with the boat anchor free, the cutter barely moved in the slack water. Using only the first two oars, Thomas inched his cutter to where Pendergast’s longboat was anchored. Using boat hooks, they brought the sterns together.

“Sir, there’s a ship upriver, perhaps two cable lengths. I could see a glowing fuse.”

Pendergast grasped the situation immediately. “Think they’re lying in wait for us?”

Thomas shrugged in the darkness. “Their river bank guns didn’t work, did they? Maybe they anchored a small man-o’war up there.”

“We better get under way. It’ll be hard work without the ebb tide, but we’ll be out of range before dawn,” Pendergast mused.

“Sir, the reports say the French have no large frigates in Antwerp, only sixth-rates and smaller. Less than 150 crew if at all. We...”

“By Jove! We’ve more than that! We could board them!”

Thomas nodded in the dark. “Yes, Sir. We should be able to see her masts against the eastern sky before they can see us.”

“And attack from her bows where she can’t bring her guns to bear!” Pendergast whispered excitedly. “How long before dawn then?”

Thomas stared upriver. He thought he could see a little grey. “Not long, Sir. A quarter hour should see the first light.”

“Better move fast then! Let’s alert the other boats. Grey, I’ll let you lead. It’s the least I can do for you, and I’ll make it clear in the report that you saw her first.”

“Thank you, Sir. We can all use a mention in the Gazette,” Thomas whispered back. “I shall move for’ard and get the other boats ready.”

“If possible, attack from the land side! Once you’ve engaged them, we’ll attack from the river side!”

“Aye-aye, Sir!” Thomas whispered back. “Cold steel?”

“Yes! Loading those pistols in the dark ... No, too risky! Good luck, Grey!”

“Good luck, Sir!”

It seemed like an hour before they had quietly alerted the boat crews, but the light on the eastern sky was still barely visible when Thomas ordered his crew to bend over the oars. They pulled easily until Thomas could clearly see the masts of a ship ahead in the near dark.

“Ohé du bateau!” came the hail from the dark shadow ahead.

“Pull now!” Thomas hissed. “Pull!”

The cutter covered the remaining distance in less than a minute, too short for the ship’s crew to mount any defence. Thomas steered the cutter between ship and river bank. They could hear alarmed shouts from the deck, but now they had reached the main mast chains. The bowman hooked on, and then the men from the cutter swarmed up the side. Still no shots had been fired when Thomas himself reached the deck, sword in his right hand and pistol in his left.

His men were already struggling with shadowy figures in white shirts — the French had been caught with most of the crew asleep. Thomas pressed forward. There! A man lunged at him with a boarding pike. Thomas parried and hacked at a pale face that turned dark under his strokes.

Aft! They had to take the quarter deck! “Take the quarter deck!” he yelled, and some of his men obeyed, following him as he stormed up the companionway. There was the officer of the watch with a sword in his hand. Thomas attacked immediately, striking high with his excellent 50-guinea sword. The French officer was able to parry the first two strokes, but the third was a lunge to the belly which came through, and the man crumpled to the deck groaning in agony.

More of the cutter’s crew was now on the quarter deck, and the after watch was struck down quickly. A man burst from the after cabin in his shirt with a sword and a pistol in his hands. He raised the hand with the pistol, but Thomas had his own pistol already up and fired first, and the man sank down, a dark stain spreading on his shirt. That had to be the captain of the vessel.

More boats had disgorged the crews and the British sailors were gaining the upper hand, when first one then three more guns discharged on the main deck. Cries were heard from over the side, so they must have hit at least one of the boats. It was time to break the resistance.

“Let’s clear the gun deck, men!” Thomas shouted.

Leaving a dozen men to guard the quarter deck, he led the larger body of men along the gun deck, driving the French sailors away from the guns and herding them against the forecastle.

Now more British sailors swarmed over the side from the river side, and Thomas looked for Pendergast.

“Eagle’s launch was hit and sunk, Sir,” a young midshipman from Bombay reported. “We could only pick up three men, Sir, but Mister Pendergast was not amongst them.”

“Bloody...!” Thomas exploded, but then he controlled his emotions. “Very well, Mister Carlisle. Get your men up to the main top and make sail. You there, Higgins, take the wheel! Brompton, take two men with axes and cut the bow anchor cable, Wilson, take the stern anchor! Let’s get her under way!”

Fortunately, the boat crews were all seamen and able seamen. In a mere five minutes, the ship was under way under it’s main topsail. The ebb tide was now setting in, aiding them greatly, and the ship was gliding downriver almost without noise. Thomas had posted sentries on each side to search for survivors from Eagle’s launch, but they never saw Pendergast again.

Thomas had to concentrate now to avoid the shallows along the river. Fortunately, the light from the east was getting stronger now, and the men in the mast head had a good view. The river was getting wider too, and Thomas forced himself to let go of the taffrail that he had held in a white-knuckled grip.

“Very well, then. Has somebody found out what we captured here?” he asked the deck at large.

“She’s the Le Tempest, 24 guns, Sir Richard,” Thomas reported to Sir Richard Strachan whilst Sir Everett Hume stood at his side with a proud smile that would have rivalled that of his own father had the elder Grey been present.

“Lieutenant, just to be clear — you sighted an unknown vessel in the dark of a new moon, and based on a few reports you read, you decided to attack rather than withdraw?”

Thomas swallowed. This was moving in an unexpected direction. He could have blamed everything on Pendergast, but he sensed that shifting the blame on a dead officer would further infuriate Mad Dick Strachan.

“Mister Pendergast gave the order, Sir Richard, but I concurred with his assessment and I accept equal responsibility for the action.”

The furious look on Strachan’s face made place for a wide grin.

“By Jove! And right you were, young Mister Grey! Thank the Almighty that at least our young officers have not caught that dreaded sleeping sickness that has befallen the Army leadership. Bravo, Mister Grey! I salute you and poor Mister Pendergast!” He looked at Hume. “What’s your opinion of the young man? Think he’s able to sail her to England?”

“Mister Grey is one of my most promising officers, Sir Richard. I would trust him with my own ship.”

Thomas blushed fiercely as the new direction of this interview became clear to him.

“Well, Mister Grey, I can give you a bare bones crew to sail her to Sheerness. Of course, the prize money will be shared by all ships that contributed boats, so they all have to contribute to the prize crew. D’ye have any interest at court or at Parliament?”

“Mister Bartholomew Egerton has promised to look after my interest, Sir Richard. He represents Guildford in Parliament. Mister Houghton had promised his support, too.”

“Egerton, huh? Let’s delay your sailing then. Write your report. Sir Everett will submit it to me, and I shall send it to their lordships, with a copy to Mister Egerton for him to act upon. Inspect your new ship, gather a crew, and sail in two or three weeks. That’ll give your Mister Egerton some time to set things in motion. Good luck, Mister Grey!”

“My humble thanks, Sir Richard,” Thomas was able to reply before a grinning Captain Hume led him out of the admiral’s cabin and onto the quarter deck.

“Well, Mister Grey, you had better get your gear over to your new ship,” Hume smiled.

“You’re not angry, Sir? By rights it should be Mister Waterton to get this chance.”

“By rights, yes, but then again, I need Mister Waterton. You are an able young officer, but I can find an adequate replacement for you. Mister Waterton, not so much. Yet, I am proud of you, Mister Grey. Let’s just hope that they won’t send you back to Sultan with a pat on your shoulder!”

They soon found out that Le Tempest had once been HMS Tempest, 24, a small sixth-rate built in 1776 in Chatham for the Revolutionary War. The French had caught her off Crete in 1801 and at first moored her in some harbour to rot away. With the French navy needing replacements for their many losses, however, she was given an overhaul and commissioned again. She shipped 20 eight-pounder main deck guns and four six-pounders on quarter deck and forecastle. She even sported a freshly coppered bottom and shiny white sails, much in contrast to the weather-beaten appearances of the British men-o’-war.

Eighteen days after the capture, Thomas sailed her for London. He had a crew of 20 and 10 Marines to sail her, and he was almost grateful for the north-westerly gale that hindered his journey, allowing him a few extra days in command of his pretty little ship. Once in the Thames estuary, they had to anchor off Sheerness for three days, until the wind abated enough to continue the journey upriver. It was November 4th, 1809, when Thomas anchored his ship in the pool of London and went ashore in his gig to report.

His first visit at the Admiralty was disappointing to say the least. A harried-looking undersecretary received his reports and sent him back to his ship to wait for further orders. For three days, Thomas had to wait before an Admiralty agent showed up to assess the prize. Thomas and his men had spent the days at anchor bringing the small ship into perfect outward condition, with white-scrubbed decks, chalked running rigging, and freshly tarred standing rigging. She could have been a prince’s yacht the way she looked, and the Admiralty agent was duly impressed.

Then they had to wait for another four days. Thomas did not even dare to go ashore for fear of missing an important visitor or messenger. In the end, he was summoned to the Admiralty by flag signal from the shore, and on November 22 he presented himself again. The same tired-looking secretary received him, but now he was led upstairs and to an office where Thomas was introduced to Mister Polwheal-Adams, assistant secretary to their Lordships. Polwheal-Adams was all polite.

“Good morning, Mister Grey.”

“Good morning, Sir,” Thomas replied.

“Let me first congratulate you for your daring exploits. They do you a lot of honour.”

“Thank you, Sir. You are being kind,” Thomas answered automatically.

“Now before I get to the specifics, let me first elaborate a little on the dilemma we faced. Sir Richard Strachan asked that you be posted to that small ship you captured, and his request was further supported by Mister Egerton whom you know.”