Chapter 9: The Walcheren Campaign

Summer, 1809

Edgar Dumfries was missing at supper in the wardroom, and the doctor reported him to be fast asleep after an extensive bleeding. The mood was subdued and for once there was no evening card game in the wardroom. Thomas had the morning watch and turned in early, but he lay awake for some time before he was able to find sleep.

During the morning watch, Thomas had too much to do to fret over Mister Dumfries. To maintain position in a line ahead was a new experience for him, and he had to try out the tricks used to manage the speed of the ship. The sailing master, Mister Tanner, had given the younger lieutenants some advice, but in the end they had to try and learn from experience.

The wintry morning was only barely dawning when William Ruark relieved him, and when he entered the wardroom, most of his wardroom mates had already finished their breakfast. John Waterton was with the captain Thomas learned, and the surgeon was in Dumfries’s cabin.

After the breakfast, Thomas asked for permission to exercise the 18-pounder upper deck guns which the captain granted without hesitation. This exercise was not so much to train the gun crews, but for Thomas and Shearer to familiarise themselves with their new responsibilities. It was darker there than on the quarter deck, and the long 18-pounders had larger crews, making things more claustrophobic.

The guns on Andromeda’s main deck had been smaller twelve-pounders, and whilst Wolverine had shipped 32-pounders, those had been carronades of only 2/3 the length and weight of 18-pounder long guns.

Two hours later, when the tired gun crews were dismissed, Thomas felt a little bit more confident about his new responsibility, but he resolved to perform more drills over the next days. He and Shearer had not been alone in drilling their crews since Trent Powell had also exercised the lower deck 32-pounders that were his responsibility now.

They had a hasty noon meal in the wardroom before Shearer had to be on deck again for the Afternoon Watch. Mister Ogilvie reported that Mister Dumfries was awake, but weak and confused. Mister Clements opined that Dumfries had already been quite irascible during the fitting out at Deptford, but to Thomas that seemed to be just hindsight. After all, everybody was short of temper when a ship was fitting out.

At 4 bells, flags rose on the flagship and orders were given for the fleet to go about in succession. Captain Hume was summoned and he took command in person. Shortly after, Admiral Brent had them go about again, and Sultan followed the leading ship up to the imaginary point in the sea where Bombay had made the turn, before she went about.

To Thomas, it was amazing how eleven ships of the line, six frigates and two sloops sailed and turned in perfect coordination, like a well built machine. He also noticed the ease with which Captain Hume directed his ship. Raw crew or not, Hume navigated his ship with perfect precision and absolute calmness. Captain Benning who had been Thomas’s role model for years had often shown excitement and even worry in certain situations. Hume, by contrast, projected the utmost trust in his ship and crew with the measured voice in which he gave commands. Perhaps, Thomas thought, Hume would also be a good example on which to mould his own conduct.

When the winter sun set over the short, choppy waves of the North Sea, the fleet was once again on its western course. The admiral ordered sails to be shortened for the night, and life in Sultan quieted down.

Three days later, the sloop Heron was sent to Sheerness with mail and reports. Admiral Brent also gave orders for Mister Dumfries to be shipped back to England to recuperate from his affliction. According to Waterton, everything was blamed on his seizure, and there would be no charges of disobedience. He would at least have his half pay. Captain Hume did not appoint one of the master’s mates or midshipmen to acting lieutenant since he judged them too junior so early in the ship’s new commission. They would get a replacement for Dumfries when Heron would rejoin the fleet. Until then, they would all continue in their new duties. This arrangement had every lieutenant and the master going one watch per day, but even that was less than what Thomas had known before.

The mood in the wardroom improved over the next days. Waterton moved into his own cabin of course, but his self-assured manner was a welcome change after the somewhat strained conditions of the weeks before. He was not shy to delegate tasks to the junior officers, but he also backed them up and took responsibility when something went wrong. Thomas enjoyed the change.

He also noticed that Captain Hume tasked him to handle the ship during manoeuvres when the fleet practiced sailing in formation. Not that he was averse to taking the responsibility, but he was the only junior officer who was treated in this way. Finally, he was able to corner Waterton whilst the wardroom was empty.

“John, why am I getting these extra tasks? You know, ‘Mister Grey, kindly handle the ship for the next hour!’ None of the others get that.”

Waterton made a face. “Listen, Thomas, I shan’t lie to you. Dumfries blamed you for everything. Damn it, even if we got a rain squall, it was your fault. You were too young, too immature, too snotty. It went on like this since you joined the wardroom.”

“The bastard!” Thomas snarled. “To think that I caught him when he fainted. I should’ve let him drop!”

“Well, our Captain Hume is a pretty good judge of people, and what Old Edgar told him did not fit with his own observations. That’s why he’s been giving you these extra tests. He wants to see of what stuff you’re made, and amongst us, he likes what he’s seeing. You’re coming out of this smelling like a rose.”

“Damn Dumfries anyway! Why’d he do this?”

“I wouldn’t know for certain, but to hazard a guess, ‘twas because you’re half his age and you’ll be a captain one day not so far away, whilst he’ll be a lieutenant forever.”

“John, I don’t know anything about being a captain soon. Damn it! I’d rather have the quarter deck guns again!”

Waterton just laughed. “You’ll learn. And with the Frogs always aiming for the rigging, you’ll be safer on the upper deck.”

After a few days, Thomas was not given full responsibility anymore, but now poor Ruark found himself sailing Sultan by himself. Thomas was relieved, but he also had to acknowledge that the experience had helped him and that he had been lucky. Most captains trust their 1st Lieutenant implicitly, but Hume had given Thomas a fair chance. Or perhaps, being an astute captain, he had seen Dumfries as the fussy ninny he was.

The days and weeks crept by whilst the weather became warmer. The fleet sailed along the Dutch and German coasts, always out of sight from the shore, in a never ending pattern. Sail drill alternated with gun drill until the raw landlubbers on board knew their stations even in the blackest night. Thomas knew that this high degree of training lay at the heart of British naval supremacy. The French had better ships to be sure, but the well trained officers and crews of the British men o’war made the difference when push came to shove.

Every two weeks, the monotony was relieved by the arrival of fresh provisions and mail from Sheerness. There was always a letter from his father in the mail bags, but once every four or six weeks, a letter from Harriet-Anne arrived too. She told him of her first forays into London’s society. She was staying with an aunt and attending various salons. She also wrote that most gentlemen attending those salons were useless idlers in her views, but that she had been introduced to a few men of consequence. Thomas had to smile. Harriet-Anne was not at all circumspect about her goals in life. Well, he wished her luck, acknowledging to himself that he would never be of enough consequence for his ambitious friend.

In late April, he received a third letter, written in a hand that he knew, and he ripped it open before the others. It was from Catrina Duncan.

My dear Thomas,

I chance writing to you in the hope that you still remember me and think of me with the same fondness that I feel for you. I have now settled into living with my late husband’s relative, Mister Alistair Duncan, in Dundee. Mister Duncan is an elderly merchant and confirmed bachelor who nevertheless welcomed us with open arms and a generous heart. He has not shown any distaste over my misfortunes, but has rather been very supportive. Eileen and Heather receive tutoring from him but also from an old teacher of his acquaintance, to make up for the years of captivity in which sadly they learned nothing to which a young girl should be privy.

I myself have taken over the reins of Mister Duncan’s household — at his behest to be sure — and I find that my outlook on life, so bleak at times, is now brighter. People have knowledge of our captivity, but so far nobody has held it against me, let alone the girls.

The one thing I never missed about home is the weather. It is cold and rainy here and I find that after over a decade spent in the Mediterranean climates, I am quite disheartened after this long winter. Nevertheless, the girls and I give thanks in our prayers for our delivery in which you, my dear Thomas, played quite a decisive part. From a newspaper arriving from London I learned that you received your proper reward from a grateful Parliament and it warmed my heart envisioning you with your golden medal and your gilded sword. It also comforts me that I was able to reward you a little myself, and these hours also give me comfort in my now lonely nights.

Every day, I pray for your safety in this terrible war and hope that you will return with honour and in good health so that you may find happiness in the arms of a pretty lady of your own age. I also hope that you will not quite forget

Your true and grateful friend

Catrina Duncan

To be sure, reading that letter gave Thomas feelings of fondness, but also fodder for his fantasies. There had been no chance for him to sample the charms of girls whilst lying at anchor in London, mostly because Dumfries had been hounding them all the time. Thus, Catrina Duncan had been his last amorous experience for more than a year. He was acutely aware of this deprivation which left him to his fantasies and his hand, always careful to not be overheard even though he was quite certain that he was not the only officer compensating for the lack of female companionship.

Chances for a stay in harbour were almost nil, now that shipping activity picked up with the warmer weather. Sir John had divided up his forces into three smaller squadrons to cover the important points along the coast, and Sultan was part of the squadron in charge of the northern River Scheldt estuary. There, in the port of Flushing, lay over ten French sail of the line, with more trying to assemble there. More ships were supposed to be fitted out upriver at Antwerp, making the Scheldt estuary the second largest naval base of the French after Toulon.

Then, in early July, the rest of the fleet joined their squadron, but without the St. George and Admiral Brent. More ships joined the fleet until it swelled to over 40 sail. Rear Admiral Sir Richard “Mad Dick” Strachan took command, and the word filtered down to the wardroom that a large British expeditionary force was to land in the Scheldt delta, to take Flushing and Antwerp. There were two reasons for that. First, to capture or destroy the French fleet and secondly, to bind French army units in the Low Country and prevent them from joining Napoleon’s Grande Armee in his campaign against Britain’s ally, Austria.

On July 27, the 40 sail of the line with as many frigates and even more unrated sloops converged on the island of Walcheren, driving away what French or Dutch navy ships were stationed there. Next came a steady stream of transports, hundreds of them, to bring the British troops close to the beach. A flotilla of over 1,000 ships’ boats ferried half the troops, almost 20,000 officers and men, to the sandy beach.

Sultan’s boats, the longboat and two cutters took part in this activity and for a whole day, they brought troops, supplies, horses and ordnance to the beach whilst the landed troops already marched over the dunes to establish forward positions. Once that was accomplished, the army moved to conquer the island. Within a week, only Flushing was still in the hands of the defenders. Meanwhile, a second force had landed on South Beveland, further up the Scheldt, which also fell to them quickly.

On August 13, the attack on Flushing started. Sultan was one of the ships that were part of the first wave. Five sail of the line, with Sultan in the #4 position, sailed into the mouth of the river, her decks cleared for action and her guns loaded and run out. Thomas was on his post on the upper gun deck, ready to direct the fire of the 18-pounders, his ears plugged with beeswax against the din of the guns. For the first time in his life, Thomas would be in a real battle.

His own port side guns would engage the fortifications, but the starboard guns were ready and loaded too, albeit with reduced crews. Shearer was pacing along his side controlling the gear, but probably to mask his nervousness.