Chapter 25: A Fruitless Effort

“All hands to witness punishment!”

The pipes shrilled through the ship whilst Thomas was standing on the quarter deck, overseeing the preparations for the flogging. A day before, the court martial under Captain Benning had found Able Seaman Ballard in violation of Article 22. He was disrated and sentenced to four dozen lashes with the cat, the worst flogging in Thomas’s personal experience. Captains could only mete out up to two dozen lashes, but a court martial had a wider latitude.

Ballard and Healey were now brought on deck, Ballard’s arm bandaged and both men shirtless. Both were stout men, not overly tall, but heavily muscled. Two gratings had been set up to which they were tied. Healey would be the first, and Thomas announced the reason for the flogging, namely provoking Ballard with offensive language.

Healey took the twelve lashes without a sound. The dozen hits were not enough to break his skin, and he refused to go below to see Dr. Fox when he was untied, claiming he was fit for duty. Obviously, he did not want to miss Ballard’s punishment.

Ballard’s four dozen were another matter. After Thomas read out the verdict of the court martial, the drummer of the Marines started a roll and a bosun’s mate began with the first dozen. Halfway through the second dozen, the first of the welts on Ballard’s back broke open. From this point on, every hit was followed by an agonised scream from the delinquent. At one point, he lost the leather strap between his teeth and Thomas ordered a pause, allowing the bosun to put the strap back between Ballard’s teeth. Once the fourth dozen was delivered, Ballard’s back was a mess of criss-crossing, bleeding welts, and he was carried below and into the sickbay. The deck was hosed clean and the hands were dismissed whilst Thomas fled into his cabin to settle his stomach with a glass of brandy.

Later on this day, Hastings invited his captains over and gave orders to prepare the ships for sailing. Having spent close to two months around Sardinia, they would resume their task of worrying the trade along the Italian coast on the next morning. Back in Unicorn, with Dr. Fox’s help, Thomas wrote a billet in which he thanked Colonel Gaetani and his family for their hospitality and wished them the best for their future. He sent this message ashore with Bartleby.

It was over two hours later before Bartleby arrived back and he brought the answering note by the colonel, wishing them luck and expressing the hope of future meetings.

In the meantime, Thomas and the purser went over the list of their provisions. They had plenty of fresh water. In fact, every hogshead and every barrel was filled with fresh spring water from a small run-off to the east of the city.

Newnam had been very diligent in cleaning and charring the old barrels before refilling them, so the water would stay fresh a while longer. The meat barrels were also filled. Pork and mutton had been bought from a local land owner, and there were salt flats along the west coast of the island from where they had been able to obtain salt brine.

Hard tack was another matter, but Newnam had found a local baker who produced something very similar, working night and day to make use of this wind fall of British gold coins. The cheeses available were different from the crew’s usual fare, but after eight weeks they had become accustomed to them. Of course, pea soup would be in short supply, but then Newnam had been able to buy a quantity of beans that would suffice. Unicorn was well provisioned for another three months at sea.

Early on the next morning, the watches were roused to get the ship under way. As soon as the sounds of bosuns’ pipes could be heard from the flagship, one hundred and twenty sailors and marines manned the windlass to weigh anchor. It must have been wedged tightly in the rocky bottom, for Thomas had to order another thirty men to join the effort before it broke free. Unicorn‘s bows had dipped down for almost two feet under the strain of the anchor cable before she righted herself, sending out a ripples over the calm water of the harbour.

By now, the dawn was upon them and the contours of the other ships were easily seen in its light. Thomas could see the topmen pouring up along the shrouds in Northumberland and he gave orders to set the topsails as well. One by one, led by Northumberland as was proper, the ships sailed past the citadel of Cagliari, exchanging salutes. Their delightful stay, almost a vacation for the officers and crews, had come to an end.

Once again, HMS Unicorn was forming the vanguard, followed by Northumberland, Caroline and Circe, whilst Thisbe and Dido flanked the line, each of them two miles athwart from the flagship. They were sailing up along the Italian coast from Anzio in north-westerly direction and about to reach the estuary of the River Tiber of Roman fame. That ancient city’s port, Ostia, had long since been surrounded by marshes, and the river mouth was of no consequence in naval terms. Still, it tickled Thomas to be in close proximity to the ancient capital of the then known world. In his book chest rested a dog-eared copy of Gibbon’s History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire which he had perused frequently in his young years, and he would have enjoyed a close-up look at the ancient city.

Since leaving Cagliari, they had not encountered enemy shipping on the way across the Tyrrhenian Sea. Now, sailing up the coast, they hoped to pick up merchant ships on their way north to supply the French heartland. So far, nothing of the sort had materialised. Watching the coastline with his fine glass, Thomas could guess at the reasons. All along the coastline, the French had installed semaphore masts at regular intervals. As soon as the British squadron made its landfall, those signalling masts had been busy, probably passing on their position along the coast and making all the little coasters in their path seek shelter.

What had worked so well along the Adalusian and Catalan coasts of Spain, namely sailing along the coast as a large dragnet, was ineffective here. In Spain, the armed resistance against King Joseph did not allow the creation of a semaphore signalling system. In Italy, however, the general population was mostly in support of their French masters. Napoleon, for all his faults in the eyes of the British, had given comparative freedom to the people who had been under the yoke of the Papal reign or under the strict rule of the Sicilian Bourbons, a branch of the Spanish royal house. Thus, a signalling system consisting of numerous small posts could be maintained.

Their earlier cruise had given them some success because their Sardinian pilot had led them directly to the hideouts. Now, sailing along the coast, they were giving ample advance warning to the French shipping. Something had to be done, Thomas mused. Something different. Something that either disrupted the signalling chain or confused it.

Apart from the lack of prizes and French shipping in general, the cruise along the coast in the gentle summer weather of the Tyrrhenian Sea was almost like a pleasure trip. The breeze barely rippled the surface of the sea, and even under full sail, the ship was barely lying over. Four knots was all they could achieve unless they ran out the studding sails, but then they would leave behind their flagship. As it was, Northumberland was showing every stitch of canvas she could possible hoist to keep pace with the frigates. Conversely, the two sixth-rate frigates had to shorten sail lest they left the squadron behind. At least, the weak breeze was stable.

Thomas shrugged. Fretting about the weather was useless. They had to make the best of any weather, and right now, another gun drill seemed in order. Lying at anchor at Cagliari, they had not been able to do much of that, fearing to offend their hosts. Now, in this calm weather, there was simply nothing better to do.

“Pass the word for Mr. Darby,” he ordered a young volunteer who was serving on the quarter deck.

Darby showed less than a minute later like the good Nº1 he was.

“Sir?”

“Let us exercise the gun crews, Mr. Darby. Once they perform satisfactorily, we shall let them fire two rounds each at an old cask. Two cable lengths distance.”

“Aye-aye, Sir!” Darby answered quickly. “Ready for action or just fires out, Sir?”

“Let’s do it right, Mr. Darby.”

From the corner of his eyes he saw Bartleby rushing aft to get a headstart at stowing away his captain’s belongings. Most of Thomas’s cabin decorations had been stowed away already when they weighed anchor, but it was Bartleby’s ambition to not let any sailor touch Thomas’s possessions.

The Marine drummer boy came running already, and a second later, the roll of the drum ended the leisure of the morning. The men were just a little rusty Thomas thought, an impression that was verified when he checked his watch after Darby reported the ship ready for action.

“The current weather conditions will give us time to correct this,” Thomas said mildly to his chagrined second-in-command.

“Aye-aye, Sir. Time to tighten the discipline again.”

“Carry on with the gun drill, Mr. Darby!”

At least the gun drill went without mishap. After five simulated broadsides which were completed in good order, the cutter was launched. The crew could easily keep pace with the crawling ship until they dropped the target over the stern sheets. It was an old, leaky 100-gallon water cask which the cooper had deemed dispensable, and the cutter dragged it along on a fifty-fathom line. At a distance of two cable lengths, it was a true challenge to hit it with a smooth-bore gun.

The starboard guns had the first chance. The crew who could hit the target would get an extra ration of rum, causing the gun captains to go to inordinary pains whilst laying their guns. One after one, the main deck 18-pounders went off. Most rounds came close enough to the target, but three gun captains received a dressing-down from Lt. Hearn for their poor aim.

Next came the starboard six-pounders and 32-pounder carronades. In general, the Royal Navy six-pounders were fairly accurate guns, but none of the shots fell close to the barrel. The carronades needed more elevation at this distance compared with the long guns, but they also had a lower windage, giving them better lateral accuracy. This was proven when all three carronade shots landed in line with the barrel, one wide and one short, whilst the last shot from the aftermost carronade reduced the floating barrel to kindlings.

Of course, the gun crew were cheering each other in triumph as if they had just shot away the enemy flagship’s mizzen mast, and Thomas let them enjoy their success.

“Well done! You men have earned a Rope Yarn day and a double ration of spirits!”

“Thank’ee kindly, Sir!” the gun captain grinned, showing his tobacco-stained teeth.

Of course, the cutter had to pick up a fresh barrel before the larboard side guns got their chance. Still, the crew was excitedly watching the grim sport and placing bets. Groans and curses greeted the misses, and there were a lot of those. Not one hit was recorded with the first broadside and a second round was ordered. This was ended when the lucky hit of the larboard Nº7 gun smashed the second barrel. Another gun crew got the rest of the day free and enough rum to make it a celebration.

For the rest of the afternoon, the two gun crews celebrated on the forecastle, much to the envy of their mates who went through another five rounds of simulated broadsides.

Come the evening, Northumberland signalled to heave-to and as the ships turned into the wind, another signal called the captains to the flagship. The usual mad scramble started to launch the captain’s gig, the crew tumbled down into it whilst Bartleby came running with Thomas’s hat and sword. Three minutes after the signal, the gig was on its way. Melrose must have started at the same time since they arrived together. Thomas had to wait a few moments for Melrose to climb the ladder before his own gig was able to hook on.

On deck, Thomas was received with the usual ceremonial before he was led aft to the commodore’s cabin on the upper deck. Hastings, Benning and Melrose were already standing, bent over a large chart on the table.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” Hastings greeted him. “Do come in. I trust you are familiar with the charts?”

“I happened to study them again this afternoon, Sir Harold,” Thomas replied with a straight face.

“Why, Sir Thomas, that is fortuitous,” Hastings grinned. Hastings had started the jest a week earlier, mockingly addressing his captain as Sir Thomas and he took the riposte in good humour. Of course, they were both knights now, but the question remained whether the Royal College of Arms would recognise the titles and grant them the honorific ‘Sir’. Continuing, he pointed at the open chart. “We must deliberate upon a change of our strategy.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” Thomas answered, joining the other two captains at the table.

Benning gave him an amused nod whilst Melrose shook his hand briefly. A few minutes later, Captain Murtaugh joined them, followed quickly by Muir and MacAuliffe. Hastings did not begrudge his captains a glass of very fine red wine before he started the council of war.

“Gentlemen, as you have noticed, there is not a single French sail in sight, and chances are that will not change, thanks to those blasted semaphores. Captain Benning and I have discussed the option of detaching two of the frigates to the South to catch any coasters that may show themselves once we have passed their hiding holes, but those French will notice immediately and send messages before we can cover any distance in this weak breeze. Any suggestions, gentlemen?”

Thomas waited for Benning and Melrose to offer ideas, but neither spoke up. He raised his hand.

“Sir, if I may, I have been contemplating this conundrum. I believe we have several options. For one, we could go about during the night. New moon will be in two days and it’ll be dark enough to fool those lubbers. We run the land under and then make a landfall anywhere along the coast in an athwart formation spread out over 30 miles. Alternatively, we could attack two suitable semaphore positions and burn those things to the ground to disrupt the signalling chain. That should give us two weeks at least until the French can rig new masts. Thirdly, we could sail far enough from the shore and in close formation. That should make it difficult to tally our true numbers, so one or two ships may break formation undetected.”

Thomas ended without further elaboration. Hastings and the other captains had enough experience to fill out the gaps.

“Interesting ideas, Captain,” Hastings nodded. “Any comments or additional suggestions, gentlemen?”

Muir raised his hand. “If I may, Sir, I also thought about the situation. My idea was similar to Captain Grey’s first, only that we split up in pairs and attack three of their hiding holes at once. Begging your pardon, Sir, but it seems wasteful to have a squadron like ours chase down single coasters.”

Melrose sucked air through his teeth. “I agree that we should move to seaward, but not to return to this coast. Whether in pairs or with the full squadron, if we find the nest or nests empty, we have the same problem again. I respectfully submit that we continue the northward cruise but out of sight from the shore. We could head straight for the Genovese coast, then split up into two groups. One group can sweep up the coast from this La Spezia port, the other can hit the coast at San Remo, and we meet somewhere near Genoa.”