Chapter 35: Chasing Jenny Girl

(May 1814)

Thomas was pacing on his quarterdeck just so he could have a diversion and get out of his cabin. It was already quite hot during the noon hours in Valetta harbour. It was Rope Yarn Sunday too, a chance for the crew to wash and mend their clothes, to chat idly and to doze on deck. The purser had seen to it that the oldest water casks were hoisted up on deck, allowing the men to rinse their clothes in freshwater – a rare luxury for sailors.

Bartleby had identified a woman on shore who washed and pressed Thomas’s shirts, stockings and breeches against small pay. Also, guessing from the long time it took Bartleby to collect the washed items, she might even perform other services. Thomas neither knew nor cared, but his freshwater-washed shirts were infinitely more comfortable and dry than before.

Their stay in Malta so far had been light duty. After an initial flurry of activities and visits, Thomas now spent most of his time catching up on his reading. He also kept his reports and ledgers current, for he expected to be relieved any day. Clyde was one of the preciously few fourth-rate, 24-pounder frigates in the service, and he imagined many a senior and well connected captain to vie for her command. Thomas had a paltry 2 1/2 years of seniority in rank and his posting in Clyde would be corrected soon. At least, his pay and his future half pay were calculated from his current posting, a small but welcome increase over the captaincy of a fifth-rate.

Of Hastings Thomas saw very little. The admiral had taken quarters on shore, no doubt enjoying the company of his young wife in less crowded conditions than those found in the frigate. Thomas did not begrudge his admiral the pleasures. After all, he had enjoyed his own honeymoon in Gibraltar whilst Hastings and the other officers had kept the vigil off Toulon. Yet, he was looking forward to being relieved and to having a chance to return to England.

Mirabel had written him twice already, or rather he had received letters twice from her whilst further letters had to be on their way already. She had settled comfortably in Angela’s home, in the Mayfair district of London and close to Piccadilly where she had lodged during her time as Lady Norton’s companion. She reported to be in excellent health and in good spirits. She was even reunited with Florence Darby who had also been invited to stay with Angela whilst waiting for the return of her husband.

Darby still commanded the Sparrow brig-sloop, and he expected his command to last since the war against America was still going on, and escorts were still in demand for the West Indian convoys.

Mirabel had also found a tutor for Teresa. The girl missed Thomas, but also Bartleby, but she was also excited over the big city and took the lessons willingly. Angela had an old forte piano too and Teresa was learning to play it under Mirabel’s teaching. She had been taught the hapsichord by Thomas’s mother, but during her time with Lady Norton she had also acquainted herself with the piano.

Mr. Egerton was also sending his greetings. He and his wife would soon shift to their Guildford house, but at the moment he was still attending Parliament sessions and he let Thomas know that he was waiting anxiously for his permanent return to England.

Mirabel had also met Harriet-Anne who was approaching the end of her mourning year and moving in society again. As a rather wealthy and beautiful young widow, she raised considerable interest amongst the eligible gentlemen, but according to Mirabel, she was leery of giving up her precious new independence after having been cooped up by her jealous husband for almost two years.

The letters from Mirabel made him acutely aware of how much he missed his young wife, but also his friends. He felt that his fellow captains who had been ordered to sail home and pay off their ships were getting a head start on him with regards to re-entering their private lives. There was not much he and his ship could achieve anymore, now that the war was finally over, especially not with Hastings preferring his married life on shore to working his small squadron out at sea. With a sigh, he abandoned the quarterdeck and retreated towards the main cabin where Bartleby had served a noon meal for him.

A few days later and against all expectations, Hastings took his squadron to sea. Leaving behind the Clotho, 22, under Captain Weaverley, Clyde, Diana, and Kingfisher sailed east to patrol the Barbary Coast from Benghazi to Tunis. It was a point of pride for Thomas and his crew that Clyde, in spite of her size and armament, outsailed the smaller men of war. Grudgingly, Thomas admitted to himself that his new ship was faster even than his cherished Tempest, at least in moderate to strong winds. There was something to be said for French shipwrights.

Nothing of note happened during the three-day crossing to Benghazi. They encountered a solitary Egyptian merchantman returning from Tunis under ballast. From Benghazi they followed to coastline to Surt, Misrata and then Tripoli. Off Tripoli, they anchored, and Hastings received the British consul on board, a Mr. George Presley, who briefed them on the current developments inside the Beylik. The end of the war with France had caught the Bey unprepared, and his important trade in food and other supplies with the British was dwindling away. Hence, the corsair captains became important again as a source of revenue. With the American Navy largely blockaded in their ports, those corsairs were bound to flourish again. It would pay to keep a close look at Tripoli.

Sailing again from Tripoli, Hastings detached Diana and Kingfisher to inspect the Tunisian coast between Gabes and Sfax whilst he had Clyde head directly for Tunis. After another uneventful crossing, they anchored off Tunis and were met by Thomas’s old acquaintance, Mr. George Mahoney, the British consul. They received him for dinner in Clyde‘s cabin.

What he had to report was similar to Mr. Presley’s findings. The vacuum left by the American frigates and the reduction of trade with the British side was forcing Tunis to look into other revenue streams, i.e. piracy, again. The Bey of Tunis was still reluctant to give the corsairs his official backing, but the lower level officials accepted the bribes and let the corsair captains act with impunity.

Whilst informing Hastings and Thomas of the situation, he also contrived to devour three sizeable helpings of piglet roast, accompanied by some of Thomas’s last stout ale. Thomas felt magnanimous however, seeing how Mahoney had alerted him to the Dey of Algiers’s enmity. Before long, Mahoney spoke about that too.

“Your friend, the Dey, is not a happy man. Worse, his Janissaries are enraged. Too many of them perished in that An-Nasr fiasco and more were captured. His hold on them is getting weak.”

“Is that a good thing?” Thomas asked.

“Maybe, maybe not. His military strength is weakened, but also his control over the soldiery. His rivals in Tunis and Tripoli may profit from that, but it is anybody’s guess how it will affect the situation in Algiers. Yet, your action has given them all a stern lesson, and I know that the Bey that Tunis wants to stay on our good side if possible.”

“That is something,” Hastings opined. “Naples and Sardinia are asking us to support them in the freeing of their enslaved countrymen and -women. D’ye think the Bey may be amenable to a ransoming?”

Mohoney wagged his head.

“It would have to be somebody from our side, Sir Harold. Even better, somebody with a sizeable Navy force, say, a few 74s to let them know that we mean business. Also, somebody high enough in rank to flatter the Bey.”

“Somebody like Lord Exmouth,” Hastings nodded. “He’s being recalled, though. I’ll pass this on anyway, although I doubt there will be many 74s left in the Mediterranean before long.”

Mahoney nodded sagely. “Nine out of ten laid up, eh?”

Hastings nodded. “The Channel Fleet may be exempted in part, but the foreign stations will be frigates only.”

From there, talk returned to the situation on the Barbary Coast and Mahoney relayed more of his knowledge. He obviously entertained a vast network of informers, not only in Tunis, but also along the coast, and he was in frequent contact with his counterpart in Tripoli. It was after dark when their dinner ended, and then it was too late for Mahoney to return. A small cabin was readied for him and he stayed for the night.

On the next morning, after a hearty breakfast with fried eggs, Sardinian ham and sausages, Mahoney was picked up by a pinnace from the shore and returned to Tunis whilst Clyde weighed anchor for the return to Malta.

An hour later saw them on a northerly course aiming to steer clear of Cap Bon, the easternmost tip of the Tunisian coastline. They rounded the cape just before noontime and changed to a east-southeast course. Thomas planned to pass Pantelleria island, a small Sicilian possession some 60 miles to the east, on its northern side, but given the fickle, four-knot breeze they would not reach it before dark.

A little over two hours on their new course, the lookout hailed from the mast top.

“Ship ho! Two masts, heading due west, one point to port!”

Thomas was on deck anyway, but Mr. Harvey showed immediately.

“May I trouble you, Mr. Harvey?” Thomas asked, acutely aware that Harvey was 37 years-old.

Harvey just nodded and strode forward to the main shrouds. He may not have beaten the topmen, but he made it up to the crow’s nest in a creditable time. Once up there, he took another two or three minutes before he hailed down.

“Tops’l schooner, Sir Thomas! Two raked masts. A Baltimore clipper most likely!”

Thomas had read about those vessels. Built on a deep keel and with a narrow beam, they were supposed to be some of the fastest ships afloat. They could not carry much cargo however, and mostly shipped perishable freight. In the unsteady southern breeze, that schooner had to be faster than Clyde, exceptional sailor though that she was. He needed to get close to her, but she would be leery of a large frigate, unless...

“Mr. Leeds!”

“Yes, Sir Thomas?” Leeds answered from the wheel. He was doing a watch as acting midshipman.

“There should be a French flag in the flag locker. The new one, not the Tricolore. You know, white, with the Fleur de Lis in gold. Find it and hoist it! Runner, my compliments to the admiral, and we’ve sighted an American ship!”

Hastings was already making his appearance.

“I overheard Mr. Harvey, Captain. D’ye thing he’ll fall for your ruse?”

“He might, Sir Harold. Those clippers are mostly shipping perishable cargo. He can’t sail around us, here in the Strait of Sicily; he can only run away from us on an easterly course for God knows how long. He’ll be faster than us, but not by much, so it’ll take him a day or two to run us out of sight. He’d be tempted to believe we’re French. The way Clyde is built may also sway him.”

Hastings nodded. “Valid points, Captain. We shall see I suppose.”

The foreign sail was soon visible from the deck, and Thomas ordered his ship cleared for action. Of course, the guns were not run out, and the gun crews of the forecastle and quarterdeck were sent below so as not to give away their hostile intent to the presumably American lookouts. The schooner changed its course slightly to south in a subtle attempt to gain the weather gage on Clyde. Thomas decided to follow suite, as any captain of a man of war, British or French, would do if meeting a foreign sail. Of course, the schooner could lie closer to the wind than Clyde, but the American would be leery of being caught against the eastern side of Cap Bon.

If the American captain, always assuming he was American, was alert, the weathered appearance of Clyde‘s sails would give away of her true nationality, for a French frigate would sport a spotless canvas after being blockaded for years. Thomas could only hope that this would be overlooked.

The schooner abandoned her attempt to gain the windward position and steered a more northerly course now. Thomas could also see that additional staysails appeared, increasing the sail area and the speed.

“Mr. Harvey, let’s follow suite. Main and mizzen stays’ls, if you please, and let’s run out the stuns’ls. The charade will be over soon.”

Indeed, the American captain smelled a rat when Clyde spread more canvas in very short time. He wore ship, obviously trying to maintain his speed, but ignoring that this was positioning him further to north and closer to the Sicilian coast. In his place, Thomas would have gone about to the wind, making use of the superior weathering abilities of a fore-and-aft rigging. It all now depended on how much faster the schooner was compared with a Clyde under full sail. The additional press of the stunsails was an advantage of the British, for the schooner did not have that option, and to Thomas it seemed as if they were barely losing ground to their prey.