In the Navy
Copyright© 2005/2020 to Argon
Chapter 56: Cruising
July 1813
Seeing that the two bomb vessels were rather slow sailers, Thomas sent them back to Port Royal after the successful attack on Mobile, whilst the rest of the squadron headed for the Florida Strait. Tony planned to run another patrol from the Bahamas down, looking for enemy shipping and possibly pirates.
Driven by the north-eastern trade winds, the three men-of-war made short work of the first leg of the patrol cruise, reaching the Florida Strait in just four days of sailing, with Saturn sailing under full canvas and keeping pace with her consorts which had reefs in their courses in the fresh breeze. Her low centre of gravity, wide beam and her sturdy masts and rigging made the 4th-rate a fast ship in high winds.
Beyond the Florida Strait, they kept to their east-southeast course, close to the Northeastern Trade Wind and patrolled the eastern Bahamas islands, the Caicos and the Turk Islands without encountering enemy shipping. Staying on their course, they reached the northern coast of Hispaniola, which they followed until they reached Cape Samana. By then, the weather glass was dropping, and after conferring with Andrew, Tony had his squadron change course to south. It was the early hurricane season, and Tony thought it prudent to steer west. The large Bahia de Samana, immediately to the south, had been a known refuge for Spanish and French privateers, but with Spain having lost control of Hispaniola, power, if not control, rested with a Spanish Creole junta. It was likely therefore that American privateers might use the bay as base.
Indeed, rounding Cape Samana, Hazard signalled sighting a strange sloop, and Tony signalled back, ordering Cossack and Hazard to investigate. Shortly after, Saturn’s own masthead reported a number of small boats casting off the unknown sloop and heading for the shore. Obviously, the crew was abandoning the sloop, but Tony had a bad feeling.
“Captain, kindly signal to Cossack and Hazard to stay clear of that sloop!” he addressed Andrew, and three minutes later, the signal flags rose along the halliards whilst Andrew had a forecastle gun fired to alert the captains.
“Kindly have your ship anchored two cable lengths away from that sloop, Captain,” Tony ordered next, and Andrew sailed his ship into the bay. The sloop was anchored in the Bahia Clara, some two miles east of the small town of Samana, and that was where Saturn dropped her anchor, with Cossack and Hazard hove-to close by.
“Another signal, please: Commodore to Cossack and Hazard: patrol the bay to the west!”
The Bahia de Samana stretched another fifteen miles to the west, and Tony wanted to know what other vessels were sheltering there. Quickly, the two smaller ships of his squadron squared away.
“What about that sloop, Sir Anthony?” Andrew asked.
Tony pulled his fob watch. It showed almost 2 o’clock pm, or 4 bells in the afternoon watch.
“Let’s wait until the first dogwatch. If she hasn’t blown up until then, she won’t.”
Andrew nodded, but then he issued his own orders.
“Lights out and clear the ship for action, Mister Macallis! No need loading the guns. Fire buckets and deck wash pumps ready!”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” Macallis rapped eagerly, and almost immediately, the pipes shrilled through the ship and the warrant officers were heard.
“All hands, all hands! Clear the ship for action!”
Macallis had developed into a very good Nº1, and it took less than eight minutes for the crew to get the ship ready. Once that was accomplished, Andrew issued the next orders.
“Have the sails wetted!”
Using bucket chains up and down the ratlines, the sails were doused in seawater, to protect them against burning debris. That finished, Andrew nodded to his Nº1.
“Mister Macallis, there’s no reason to delay the grog hour. Have Mister Mulliner look to it!”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” Macallis nodded, and the hands had their tots of rum whilst they waited for the foreign sloop to blow up or not. Even slightly drunk, the crew could handle any small fires caused by flaming wreck parts.
Feeling a little reckless, Tony had Grimm set a small table on the quarterdeck, offering some light red wine to the officers. Five and six bells were sounded without anything happening, and seven bells was near. Tony began to feel a bit silly for having ordered the cautionary measures when the two-masted sloop suddenly erupted in fire, smoke and flying wreckage. The pressure wave reached them almost immediately, making them stumble a little, and one of Tony’s wineglasses fell victim to the cunning of the sloop’s crew.
After everybody had picked themselves up, Tony looked around with a grin.
“That was lucky, wasn’t it?” he said with a straight face, causing chuckles on the quarterdeck.
A burning piece of tarred wood had landed in the waist, but the pump was already going, extinguishing the glowing ember.
“It pays to be cautious with those Yankees, doesn’t it?” Andrew remarked with a grin. “Devious devils, aren’t they?”
Mister Macallis was clearly shaken and he stared at the floating debris two cable lengths away. Tony could understand him. As the first lieutenant, Macallister would have been tasked with taking possession of the abandoned sloop, and even alerted to the possibility of foul play, they might no have found the slow fuse that had likely set off the detonation.
Tony looked up. “Masthead, can you still see those boat crews?”
“Yes, Sir Anthony. They standin’ ‘round on the beach an’ hangin’ them’s heads.”
“How about sending them our appreciation, Captain?” Tony asked his brother-in-law, who nodded grimly. The distance to the small beach was less than five cable lengths, an easy reach for the main deck 32-pounders and even for the spar deck 18-pounders.
“Sta’b’d batteries, load with round shot, don’t run out yet!” Andrew commanded. “Mister Mallard, weigh anchor!”
In the rather shallow water, it did not take long for the crews at the capstan to weigh the bow anchor, and already, the topmen were up in the rigging, loosening the topsails. Saturn gathered speed and, upon Andrew’s orders, slowly turned to West, as if to follow the rest of the squadron, and only three cable lengths away from the beach.
“Mister Walsh, run out and send ‘em our love!” Andrew shouted.
The gun crews threw themselves against the big guns, running them out. The gun captains, admonished by the officers, took a few seconds to train their guns, but then, the starboard broadside went off in thunder and smoke. Saturn heeled over, and the smoke was quickly blown to leeward.
“We’ve hit ‘em.!” The lookout yelled from the masthead. “I see three ... no four of ‘em. They’re deaders ... no, make that five Sir!”
The guns were reloaded in a hurry and soon, a second broadside roared out, adding another two of the sloop’s crew to their tally.
“I believe we have expressed our annoyance sufficiently, Captain,” Tony said calmly. “My felicitations on the exceptional gunnery.”
“Thank you, Sir Anthony. Cease fire, cease fire!” Andrew shouted. “Quartermasters, two points to port! Mister Macallister, set the t’gallants!”
Saturn was getting under way now, following the other ships of their squadron. Far ahead, the lookout spotted them, near the northwestern end of the bay, and seemingly engaged in a fight of some sort. Listening carefully, they could hear Cossack’s 9-pounders in the distance. Tony was not really worried about his ships, but he wanted to see what was going on.
“My glass, Mister Little!” he ordered his coxswain, who rushed aft and returned with his commodore’s private telescopic spyglass.
Hanging the glass over his shoulder, Tony climbed up into the rigging. He was badly out of practice, but he made himself climb steadily. Pride made him scorn the lubber hole in the fighting top and he hung backwards in the futtock shrouds for a few seconds until he could clear the top. Then up the top shrouds to the crosstrees and further up the topgallant shrouds. His muscles protested, but he did not give in until he sat astride the main royal yard, trying desperately to fill his lungs and steady his hands.
“Are you orl right, Sir?” the lookout anxiously asked.
“Yes, my man, just haven’t been up here in years,” Tony panted, but the question made him set his teeth and force himself to calm down. Taking the spyglass from his shoulder, he extended it and looked forward. Some eight miles ahead, Cossack and Hazard were firing into three smaller vessels, two ketches and an armed cutter most likely, who returned fire. Just as he watched, Hazard’s main top collapsed, fortunately to fire-lee and not impeding her engaged side. Cossack had not yet sustained any visible damage and kept a lively fire on the opponents, her 9-pounders likely the heaviest guns in action. Tony bent over.
“Captain Lambert, kindly set more sail! We are needed!”
Below him, the hands rushed into the rigging, and soon, the huge courses billowed in the breeze, and Saturn was lying over perceptibly now. Tony made his way to the windward shrouds and started his way back down to the deck, arriving there in creditable time, at least in his own perception. He should have really sent one of the midshipmen, he realised.
“Cossack and Hazard are fighting off three enemy sail, Captain.”
“I shall have the royals set, too, Sir Anthony. Please see to that, Mister Macallis!”
“Aye-aye, Sir!”
A few topmen raced up the ratlines again and to the masthead, where they unfurled the royals. The effect on Saturn’s speed was negligible, but Andrew also had additional staysails set between the masts, adding to their speed. Still, it took them close to an hour to reach the scene of the fight, and when they did, Cossack and Hazard had prevailed. All three opponents had been reduced to dismasted wrecks, and their guns had seized firing, but they were still flying their American colours from the stumps of their masts.
With Saturn now joining the fray with her heavy guns run out, however, reason prevailed, and the flags were lowered. The three Navy ships sent out prize crews, but only one of the American vessels was salvageable, a Bermudan ketch with pretty lines. On Tony’s orders, the other two had to be scuttled after the surviving American sailors had been ferried to the squadron, with almost half of them sent below and into the surgeons’ cares. Hazard, too, had casualties, with three dead and twelve wounded. Cossack had fared better, with seven wounded men and no fatalities.
The remaining prize was hastily repaired by a work party from Saturn, and before the sun set, the squadron was on its way out of the bay, to continue their cruise. They shortened sail during the night, continuing the ongoing repairs, but also to give the surgeons better working conditions. One more British sailor and three of the Americans succumbed to their wounds, and in the next morning, burials were held on the three British ships.
Saturn’s wardroom was hosting the lieutenant commanding the Bermuda ketch, a Mister Devereaux, who hailed from Savannah, Georgia. He readily gave his word not to act against his captors whilst on board the Saturn. The small vessel had fought bravely enough, and the wardroom treated him with respect and even a bit of compassion, for he had lost his younger cousin in the fighting.
By noon, the squadron reached Punta Cana at the start of the Mona Passage, which separates Hispaniola and Puerto Rico, and the squadron fanned out, with the prize used to relay signals between the ships. The weather was clear, and the four vessels covered a sixty-mile area as they sailed through the passage. They met two British merchantmen sailing without escort and exchanged information, but they learned nothing of American shipping in the Caribbean.
Having sickbays with wounded Americans and a prize sailing with them, Tony decided to head for Port Royal, there to rejoin with the Lynx sloop and coordinate their next cruise with Admiral Brown. They could also search the busy waters along their route for American and French shipping.
Once again, the weather glass dropped the further to Jamaica they got, and they decided on darting to southwest. Indeed, that seemed to be the right course, as the air pressure climbed up again. After two days in calm weather, Tony had his squadron take course to Jamaica again.
Reaching Port Royal, they saw at once that a hurricane must have passed through the island. Roofs were damaged or gone, and several ships in the protected Kingston Bay had grounded, one of the bomb ketches amongst them. The waters of the bay were fouled by debris and even animal carcasses.
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