Chapter 2: HM Sloop Wolverine

April 1806

HMS Wolverine was holding her position to windward of a small convoy of eight sail sailing from Kingston to London. On her quarter deck, a very nervous watch officer was constantly checking her course, the wind, the trim of the sails and the horizon beyond the convoy. Mister Midshipman Thomas Grey was entrusted with the watch for the first time, and a more conscientious watch officer would not be found in the entire Royal Navy.

On the outward journey to Kingston, Wolverine had escorted four Navy transports with soldiers for Jamaica and six merchantmen, and she had proven to be an exceptional sailing ship. Due to her narrow beam and her sharp forms, she was lively in rough weather, but she showed a very good turn of speed under all but the roughest conditions.

Mister Wainbridge had given Thomas many opportunities to command sail manoeuvres under his supervision, and whilst Thomas had made a few errors, none of them had been in any way dangerous to the ship or her crew. Towards the end of the journey, those errors ceased completely, and so four days into the return voyage, Captain Benning had appointed Thomas as additional watch officer. This Forenoon Watch was his first, and although his fellow officers, including the captain and first lieutenant, were conspicuously avoiding the deck, he was nevertheless certain that his performance was watched closely.

The first three hours of bearing the responsibility were uneventful, yet entirely nerve-wrecking for the sixteen year-old on his second journey. Then, towards the last hour, Thomas could not help but notice that Wolverine was slowly overreaching and moving ahead from the position exactly to windward of the centre ship of the convoy. He had to clear his throat before he addressed the runner.

“My compliments to the captain, and I wish to shorten sail.”

The runner disappeared aft and two minutes later, Captain Benning appeared, obviously coming from his lunch table. Thomas cringed for a moment, but the Captain merely nodded after a quick look around.

“One reef in the main tops’l, Mister Grey,” he ordered, leaving Thomas alone again.

“Mister Morton, a reef in the main tops’l,” he passed the order to the boatswain’s mate of the watch. A few moments later, ten topmen climbed up the ratlines to reef the huge topsail. For the rest of the watch, Thomas took repeated bearings of the convoy to ascertain that their speed was now matching that of the merchantmen.

Thus, his watch ended without mishaps of any kind, and he gave a concise report to his relief, Mister Carruthers. Not surprisingly, Thomas had to report to Mister Eckleson afterwards. The first lieutenant was a grey haired man of 42, with thirty years of sea-going experience and possessed of a quiet temper. His cabin was a mere stall off the wardroom, with a cot, a desk and a single stool on which he sat. He looked up when Thomas reported and gave him a smile.

“Relieved, Mister Grey?” he asked, enjoying the double meaning.

“Yes, Sir,” Thomas exhaled.

“Well, the next time will be easier. You did well, and the Captain was pleased.”

“Thank you, Sir. I was worried when...”

“ ... you called the captain? No, that was necessary. And even if he’d disagreed with the reef, he’d not hold it against you. You’ll stand another morning watch tomorrow, and then another few daylight watches before we’ll assign you to the Middle Watch. We’ll make a watch officer out of you by the end of the voyage.”

“Aye-aye, Sir!” was all Thomas could think of.

Of course, with John Carruthers having passed the lieutenant’s exam, it was only a matter of time before he would be appointed as a lieutenant. Then Thomas would have to stand watches on a regular basis. Being a watch officer had its perks too, such as not having to do the rounds or to rouse the hands during all hands manoeuvres. In a larger ship, he would be years away from being a watch officer. Also, being watch officer in a bigger ship would be frightening in the first place. Therefore, Thomas was very happy with his posting.

The gunroom steward, a skinny chap named Pillard, had lunch ready when Thomas joined his mess mates. Wainbridge grinned and raised his coffee cup.

“Gentlemen, to the youngest watch officer!”

Thomas blushed a little, but his mess mates cheered him and he had to smile.

“Pillard, I need you to wash my shirt and my breeches,” he ordered with mock embarrassment, making the gunroom explode in laughter.

The meal was shared in excellent humour, with even Pons thawing a little bit. Mister Warner held back as usual, but that was how the man was Thomas had learned. He was helpful enough when needed, but not forthcoming at all. By now, Thomas knew his gunroom mates well enough and he was accepted in turn. Sometimes they still teased him about his academy schooling, but that was all in good humour and he gave back as well. Life was good he decided.

True to Mister Eckleson’s promise, Thomas had been assigned all watches by the time they approached the English Channel. Going the Middle Watch was still unnerving to him, but he slowly grew accustomed to that, too. The summer had turned into autumn by now and the winds at night were cold, tempting the men of the watch to seek shelter and the lookouts in the mast tops to huddle low. Wainbridge had taught Thomas how to keep them awake, and he had them relieved every two bells.

On this particular Middle Watch, the wind was packing a cold drizzle, and conditions up in the mast head were miserable. At least, there was a moon behind the clouds, giving a bit of visibility. At 4 bells, Thomas sent up the relief lookouts. The new man in the foremast, Grimm, was still rated as a landsman, but he showed promise. It was Grimm who urgently hailed from the foremast, not a minute after climbing up.

“Sail ho! Two points west of the convoy an’ mebbe four miles beyond. Looks like a ship!”

“Rouse the captain, Mister Prideaux!” Thomas snapped, already running for the foremast shrouds. A minute later saw him in the crow’s nest trying to train the telescope on the distant sail that Grimm pointed out to him.

“What do you make of her?” hailed the captain from the deck below.

Thomas looked very carefully. He thought that he could make out three masts and certainly a ship rigging. It looked a little too small for a big ship, a frigate or even a ship of the line. It could be a ship-rigged sloop.

“It looks light a ship-rigged sloop to me, Sir!” he hailed down.

“Very well, Mister Grey! Come back down!”

In his haste to return to the deck, Thomas almost missed a ratline and he checked himself. Easy! More carefully, he climbed back down to the deck. He found Captain Benning on the quarter deck and saluted.

“Rouse the free watch, Mister Grey. Have the reefs taken out and the t’gallants set!” Captain Benning ordered. “Quartermaster, three points to starboard! Man the braces!”

Wolverine turned before the wind, racing towards the convoy under the added press of sails.

“Mister Grey, have the six pounder fire!”

Thomas sent Prideaux to collect the gun crew for the starboard bow chaser. A powder charge had to be brought up from the magazine, the gun had to be cleared and the port opened. It took three minutes before the gun was ready, but then the discharge alerted the ships of the convoy.

Meanwhile, Wolverine was about to break through the line of merchantmen. Mister Eckleson appeared on the quarterdeck, a bit out of breath.

“Mister Grey was right, Sir. It’s a ship-rigged sloop, or p’raps one of those French corvettes. Looks a touch French to me, Sir.”

Captain Benning nodded. “Very well, Mister Eckleson. Clear the ship for action!”

Wolverine’s crew had gone through untold drills in the past months, some of them done in the middle of the night, and they were prepared. In eleven frantic minutes, Wolverine transformed from a home for 120 men into a fighting ship. Bulkheads were torn down, the cabins cleared, the bundled hammocks stuffed into nettings as simple breastworks against flying splinters, the deck strewn with sand, water buckets filled and placed on the deck, and the guns cleared.

Captain Benning watched from the quarter deck, but Mister Eckleson was everywhere, directing the crew and cursing laggards. Thomas did what he could to bring order into the chaos. His station was on the gun deck as second in command under Carruthers, and he carefully inspected every gun and its equipment before Carruthers reported them to be ready.

By now, the foreign sail could be seen from the deck, a dark form before the dimly lit sky, and approaching on a convergent course.

“Mister Eckleson, have the night recognition signal hoisted!” Benning ordered.

Three red lanterns were produced by the boatswain and lit, and three topmen brought them up to the fore topsail yard. The lamp shades were opened, but the other ship did not show any recognition.

“Mister Carruthers, a shot over the bows!” Benning ordered.

A minute later, the six-pounder barked, and a few moments later the foreign ship turned into the wind with wildly flapping sails. It took another five minutes, but then the correct pattern of blue lanterns showed, the British night recognition answering signal.

Carruthers slapped his thighs whilst almost laughing his head off.

“Oh, dear! Oh, damn! Thomas, you know what that was? They didn’t sight us until our bow chaser scared them awake! Oh, damn! I bet there’s a free wardroom berth on that sloop come the morning!”

Thomas released the breath he had kept holding. They had avoided a night battle by a hair’s breadth.

Meanwhile, Wolverine was closing in on the vessel.

“Ship ho! What ship?” Mister Eckleson’s stentorian voice boomed through the speaking trumpet.

“His Majesty’s Sloop Fortune, Captain Mayhew. What ship?”

“His Majesty’s Sloop Wolverine, Captain Benning! Why’d you ignore our signals?”

“Inattention on the part of the watch officer!” came the reply. Even distorted by the speaking trumpet and the noise of wind and sea, Thomas could hear the mortal embarrassment in the answer.

“Told you,” Carruthers laughed. “Ouch!”

“Very well, have a safe journey! You have a convoy of six sail ahead, Sir!” Mister Eckleson hailed.

“Thank you, Sir!”

“Mister Eckleson, have the guns run in and the bulkheads raised again,” Benning ordered. “Mister Grey, return the ship to windward of the convoy.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” both officers replied.

“And Mister Grey?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Well done.”

“Thank you, Sir. Landsman Grimm spotted the sail, Sir, and it wasn’t easy to make out.”

“Seaman Grimm will receive a Sovereign as reward tomorrow,” Benning answered calmly. “Now let us return to our position.”

Ten days later, the convoy was sailing upriver towards London. Wolverine accompanied them since she carried the mail from Kingston. Thomas had been to London before, but this was his first time reaching it by ship. They anchored in the Pool of London, a little downstream from the Tower of London, and Captain Benning announced that leave would be granted to all officers, warrant officers, mates and volunteers.

Travelling all the way to Guildford and back was not feasible for Thomas. He wrote and posted a letter to his parents telling them of the safe conclusion of their first voyage, but also of his own advancement to watch officer. He thanked his father for the tutoring he had received and his mother for her love and care. He also added a small aside, thanking Little Mirabel for the handkerchiefs which were giving him good service.

With this out of the way, he and the other junior officers were planning mischief. The Port of London was huge, and behind the waterfront lay a myriad of temptations. Wainbridge, Carruthers and Thomas were granted three days of leave at the same time, and together they set out on a tour of debauchery. Thomas, still aged 16, had enjoyed the charms of the ladies at the Sea Rover club in Portsmouth for almost two years, but he had gone without female company for over six months, but when they returned three days and nights later, he had sampled what vices London had to offer. What meagre pay he had received for 5 months of service was gone, and even a part of the funds from his father had been spent. Not that he had over imbibed in ales or spirits. Those he had consumed in moderation. Yet his enjoyment of carnal desires and their satisfaction had made his funds melt like butter in the sun. His companions in vice felt equally drained, and for days the gunroom was filled with exaggerated stories of their exploits.

The second wave of warrant officers released upon London fared worse. Whilst Mister Warner had obviously focussed his attention on drink and returned only slightly the worse for wear, Prideaux and Pons reported back only a day later, with bumps on their heads and having fallen amongst the wolves. In the first establishment they had entered, both were lured upstairs and then bashed over their heads and relieved of all their valuables. Both were in the sick bay for three days before their headaches abated.

The gunroom was of a mind to pay a visit to the establishment where Prideaux and Pons had been robbed, but Captain Benning wisely refused to give them more leave. However, he had to let go John Carruthers who received a lieutenant’s commission and a posting to a frigate. In return, a new midshipman, Mister Peter Boyd, who had two years seniority in rank, was assigned to Wolverine.

After a few more days of victualling the ship, Wolverine sailed for Sheerness where a convoy bound for Antigua was assembling. They waited for a week for the last stragglers before they put to sea for their next voyage.

Over the next 11 months, HMS Wolverine made three more voyages to the British Caribbean possessions and back, always escorting transports or merchantmen. It was the usual fate for a brig sloop in the Royal Navy, and they never met an enemy.

Other ships and officers were fighting the French and Spanish, winning battles and honours, whilst they were chaperoning merchantmen on their way instead of fighting the French. Yet, as Captain Benning always told them, they contributed to the war effort by ensuring that the vital trade with overseas possessions remained uninterrupted. The wealth coming in from overseas was the foundation for Britain’s ability to continue the fight. Bringing in a convoy of eight sail laden with trade goods did more for the country than capturing a French brig of war.

This was certainly true, but the officers were chafing under their inability to capture enemy shipping whilst escorting convoys. Only the capture of an enemy ship could win the prize moneys of which they all dreamt. This was not such a pressing matter for Thomas whose family were landowners, but other officers were living off their pay.

Of course, such issues were irrelevant for the Lord Commissioners of the Admiralty who needed the brig sloops to guard the convoys, thus freeing up the precious frigates for other duties, such as cruiser warfare. They even built more of the brig sloops to meet the demand. Wolverine and the other sloops of her class were condemned to sail back and forth between the homeland and the colonies.

After the latest return voyage, this time to Bristol, there was no convoy bound for the Caribbean to escort, since the Hurricane season was close and the merchantmen were waiting it out in British ports. Instead, Wolverine was ordered to join a convoy to Gibraltar. To be sure, this convoy was sailing under the escort of two ships of the line that were headed for the Mediterranean, but their lordships knew that ponderous two-deckers were a poor protection against the fast and handy corsairs out of Saint Malo.

One of the ships under their protection shipped the new governor, Sir Hew Dalrymple, and this led to a lively to and fro between the battle ships and the convoy. Of course, the visits and invitations did not include Commander Benning, let alone his officers, and Wolverine spent many a lusty hour hove to and waiting for the convoy to continue its journey.

At least after their arrival at Gibraltar, Commander Benning was invited to a reception at the Governor’s Residence, together with “two officers of his staff”. Since both Mr Wainbridge and Mister Warner had started before the mast and were not officer candidates, Benning took along Lieutenant Eckleson and Midshipman Grey. They had but a day to have their uniforms cleaned and pressed, and to receive stern warnings against misbehaviour at the Governor’s Residence.

At the beginning of the Second Dogwatch, Benning, Eckleson and Thomas took the captain’s gig to the shore and walked the short distance to the Governor’s Residence. They had to wait for some higher ranking guests to enter before they were allowed in. Captain Benning, as a commander, was seated somewhere in the centre of the long table whilst Eckleson as the senior lieutenant present was placed three places further down.

Thomas found himself seated at the very end of the table. He was the last to be served the various courses of the dinner and the last whose plate was cleared. Yet, when the toasts were offered, he had to toast the King, being the most junior officer at the table. He then stood, waited for the table to fall silent, raised his glass and spoke the prescribed three words.

“Gentlemen, the King!”

Then he sat down again and waited for the evening to end. Yet, after a short while, the air in the room became quite stuffy. He saw several guests leave the hall for what appeared to be a garden, and he decided to explore. Walking through the doors, he found himself in the Convent Garden, and he decided to explore. Several gentlemen and some ladies were strolling in the garden and enjoying the fresh air. There were some benches too, and Thomas decided to sit and enjoy the balmy air. He had been sitting for a while, when a captain of the Army and his lady approached. They were obviously looking for a place to sit in privacy, so Thomas rose from the stone bench and bowed to them.

“Oh, we did not mean to drive you away, Lieutenant,” the lady said. Thomas noticed that she was decidedly older than her partner, yet undeniably attractive.

“Midshipman Grey, at your service, Madam. Since you made no request, you did not drive me away. I could see that you were looking for privacy, and I have been sitting here for a while. It is time for me to return to the hall lest my captain leaves me behind.”

The lady smiled at Thomas.

“Thank you, Mister Grey. My son and I indeed need to discuss things. Thank you for your politeness!”

“My pleasure, Madam, Sir,” Thomas answered, returning to the dining hall. He found Mister Eckleson in an animated discussion with a gentleman whilst Captain Benning had secured the company of a young lady. He bowed to the First Lieutenant and pointed to himself and to the garden entrance. Eckleson nodded and returned to his conversation.

Leaving the hall, he almost collided with the Army captain whose face showed a big smile. The discussion with his mother must have gone well, Thomas mused. Stepping out into the garden again, he saw that the lady was still sitting on the bench. She saw him too and motioned for him to come over.

“I forgot to introduce myself, Mister Grey, which was admittedly uncouth on my part. I am Angela Pelham.”

“Enchanted, Madam. Your son must have been happy with the discussion you had.”

“Oh, yes,” she giggled. “I gave him permission to woe a certain young lady. And you, young Mister Grey? Have you a bride yet?”