In the Navy
Copyright© 2005/2020 to Argon
Chapter 59: Hard Work and Sheer Luck
November 1813
The Winter months had brought cooler weather to the Caribbean, spawning increased shipping activities, and the squadron was starting on another, extended cruise to search for French and American ships. First, however, they were escorting three small vessels, a 160-ton brig, a 120-ton cutter, and a 140-ton Bermuda ketch, all armed with six-pounder guns and partly rebuilt at the Port Royal shipyard. They were meant as a gift for the Kingdom of Haiti, and as the nucleus of a Haitian coast guard. They were commanded by Creole captains recruited from the formerly French islands, one of them even a native of Haiti. This had been initiated by Vice Admiral Stirling, after Tony’s initial visit to Haiti, and Rear Admiral Brown had continued that plan. Now, the small vessels would be formally handed over to the Haitian side as a friendly gesture.
Already, the Haitians had started trading with British merchants from Jamaica, and the squadron could expect a friendly reception at Cap Haitien. Brown had initially planned to hand over the coast guard boats himself, but learning about the distance between Cap Haitien and the new royal palace, he had stepped back, ever fearful of the rampant agues against which he was not hardened.
Reaching Cap Haitien, Tony sent his barge, with John Little in command, to hand a letter to the local authorities, explaining the purpose of their visit. Little had over time acquired a fair command of French and Spanish in addition to refining his English, and he was ideally suited for that task.
Indeed, he returned not an hour later, carrying an answering letter. It was sent by Capitaine Chevalier Charles Lerouge, His Haitian Majesty’s minister of naval affairs, welcoming the British friends and inviting Contre Admiral, Chevalier Antoine Carter, to the shore for a welcome reception. Thus, two hours later, Tony, accompanied by Captain Stanfell, and wearing his Nº2 uniform with sash and star, went ashore.
Lerouge was most friendly, and they spent two hours discussing their mutual issues, but also for Tony to explain that the masters of the three vessels would stay behind if the Haitian side wished so,, to sail the ships and drill their crews. His host nodded with appreciation when Tony explained — by interpreter of course — that all three were islanders and one of them of Haitian origin. They agreed to hand over the vessels in a ceremony the following morning. Lerouge would of course need some time to assemble crews, but he explained that there were a number of well-trained gunners who could transfer to the Royal Haitian Navy, and supplement the crews.
They had a very tasty — which is to say spicy — dinner afterwards, which Tony found delicious and Captain Stanfell found taxing, after which they retreated back to the anchored ships.
The next morning’s ceremony was quite nice, and when the Royal Haitian flag was raised in the new coast guard boats, the British squadron fired an 11-gun salute, making Lerouge almost burst with pride. Three officers of the local garrison were made acting commanders, whilst the Creole ship masters were appointed Royal Haitian Navy lieutenants, to serve as first officers.
The squadron stayed for another two days filled with celebrations, and on the second day, His Excellency, the Secretary of State, arrived from the palace and graced Saturn with a visit, praising their British friends and partners. As diplomatic visits go, this one could be rated as a full success.
Salutes were fired by both sides when the British friends weighed anchor in the next morning and continued their cruise. Tony had asked and was granted leave to inspect the Bahia de Gracias, the former seat of a nunnery and pirate hideout, for renewed piratical activity, but when they arrived there at noon of the next day, the natural harbour was empty, and of the former nunnery only overgrown rubble remained.
Only some fifteen miles onward along the coast, at Puerto Plata, things were different. A two-masted ship was anchored in the roads, and the haste with which her crew made ready for sailing was a giveaway. Hazard and Lynx blocked the escape even before the merchantman had hoisted all sails, and through his glass, Tony watched as the stars and stripes flag rose on the mast and was lowered.
“She’s the Pauline, out of Savannah, Sir Anthony. Eight 6-pounders, and a crew of twenty-seven, Captain Morrison. They were trading muskets and powder to the local insurgents. Against slaves, Sir,” Commander Ludlow added with a touch of incredulity. “Aren’t they fighting against slavery here, Sir?”
“In name, at least, but with local insurgents, you can never know. We best distribute those slaves amongst our ships, They can do menial work until we can land them at a safe place. I don’t want to bother with prisoners so early in our cruise, and we cannot spare a prize crew large enough to sail them safely to Kingston. Let’s put them ashore a few miles down the coast, and let the prize follow us with a small crew?”
Andrew nodded judiciously. “That seems to be the best course of action, Sir Anthony. Have you a good man to command the prize, Captain?”
“Yes, Sir. Master’s Mate Jefferies passed his exam in September. He can cut his teeth sailing her.”
“Well, that sounds good, gentlemen,” Tony concluded. “Come to think of it, we better not land the prisoners lest they might get enslaved themselves. Let’s distribute them, too. It’s safer for them.”
Continuing their cruise with the prize, the squadron sailed past the Mona Passage and along the northern coast of Puerto Rico. They sighted a few local fishing boats, and Commander Ludlow, who spoke fluent Spanish, questioned the fishermen about any American or French ships under the pretence of buying some of their catch at inflated prices. They had not seen any larger ships in months, and the squadron sailed onward towards the Lesser Antilles islands.
Here, amongst the myriad of islands and uninhabited rocks, they searched for enemy ships for close to three weeks, but in vain. In the end, Tony had the squadron head for Barbados, hoping for intelligence. It was mid-December when they dropped anchor in the Bridgetown roads.
To Tony, the town looked unchanged at first, but getting closer, they saw quite a bit of storm damage. There was no squadron based at Bridgetown anymore, and the small Navy station had been closed years before. Still, there was a governor, Sir George Beckwith, a lieutenant general of the Army, who, in exemplary amphibious operations with Admiral Cochrane, had taken Martinique and Guadeloupe from the French, and Tony went ashore the next morning to pay his respects.
Beckwith did not look imposing; he was small and slender, but Tony knew that he had spent much of his early service as intelligence officer, and he hoped to gather information from him. Unlike his first arrival at Bridgetown, Beckwith received him without delay and with obvious pleasure.
“My dear Sir Anthony, it is a pleasure to meet you in the flesh. Crewes in Aruba sent me copies of his reports, and they do you a lot of honour.”
“Admiral Crewes was probably too kind, Sir George. It is an honour to meet you, too.”
“Knowing of you, your call is not primarily a social one, and I’ll have a summary of the ship movements during the last three months for you tomorrow.”
“That is exceedingly kind of you, Sir George; not that I expected anything less from an officer of your reputation.”
“I do admit that collecting intelligence is ingrained in me,” Beckwith laughed easily. “We observed that you caught an American ship?”
“Yes, on the northern coast of Hispaniola. I gained permission from the Kingdom of Haiti to operate there, and we made good use of it.”
“The Blacks are cooperative then?”
“Very, the Kingdom at least. The Republic insists on strict neutrality. I sounded them out when I arrived on the Jamaica station, but at least, they won’t side with the Americans. Neither of the Haitis hold with slavery and the slave trade, and the Americans are involved in both.”
“Quite understandable. With Martinique and Guadeloupe in our hands, the Atlantic slave trading is really drying up in Caribbean waters, I hear. That should count for something with the Haitians.”
“Such is my understanding, too, Sir George. For the same reason, we cannot really land the African slaves we found in the American ship here in Barbados. I plan to land them at Port-au-Prince upon our return to Jamaica. We might create some goodwill with the Republic of Haiti that way.”
“A good point, Sir Anthony. I take it that you are not in favour of slavery?”
“No, Sir George; not at all.”
Beckwith nodded. “Anyway, Sir Anthony, I do hope that your squadron will stay for a few days?”
“Yes, Sir George; there are always things to repair in a ship, and fresh water and produce is always welcome. Our pursers will need a few days.”
“Then you and your officers might accept an invitation to a dinner here? I know that you were stationed here in ‘06?”
“Yes, there was a small Navy station back then, and I served as flag captain under Rear Admiral Sir Pierce Fallon, who commanded the station.”
“Yes, I heard of the story from poor Selkirk.”
“Poor Selkirk?” Tony asked, a little surprised.
“Yes; he was part of the troops during the Martinique campaign, and even lived through most of it. A French marksman shot and killed him a day before the French surrendered.”
Tony nodded automatically, digesting the news. Selkirk’s scheming had partly caused the Fallons’ death, but he had been honest in his remorse and a more than equal adversary in that long-ago duel they had fought.
“Brigadier Selkirk was not my friend, Sir George, but I later got to know him as an upright adversary.”
“Ah, yes, he told me of the duel, too. It still smarted him to have been bested.”
“In my perception, it was draw, but his pride certainly suffered even from a draw,” Tony answered drily.
“Yes, he put great store in his sword skills,” Beckwith agreed with a wry smile. “He was a bit vainglorious, when all is said, but a brave man.”
“I agree to both, Sir George. The duel was a lesson for me, too.”
“Enough of unpleasant memories, Sir Anthony. Can we agree on a dinner two days hence? I must give my staff some advance notice to make preparations and send out invitations.”
“On behalf of myself and my officers, I accept most gratefully.”
“Then we are set. My aide will deliver a summary of our observations by tomorrow.”
“I shall study it diligently, Sir George.”
“Wonderful! Now, I would be remiss in my duties were I not to offer you a small repast. Let us relocate to the terrace. It is a very pleasant morning, after all.”
In the end, the squadron stayed off Bridgetown for four days. The officers and volunteers were granted generous shore leave, and the pressed men received pineapples and coconuts from the shore, and a quart of stout each instead of grog. Even their regular food was livened up with sweet potatoes and other fresh produce bought at the local market. Tony paid for all this out of his own pocket, but he felt that the men had earned a little reward.
By now, the rescued slaves had some English, too, and they were allowed to share in the bounty. When the time came to weigh anchor again, six of the African men and two of the American prisoners volunteered to be read in as landsmen, the latter preferring to get paid and fed rather than rotting for months and possibly years in some Kingston prison hulk.
Tony and Andrew felt a bit under the weather, for they had spent the final evening at Government House, having a private dinner with just the governor, his family, and the Chief Justice. Beckwith had indeed a well appointed wine cellar, admitting that most of the wines were war booty from Guadeloupe. Tony had imbibed rather more than usual, and he took the headache as just punishment for his debauch. He eschewed the usual hearty breakfast and drank several cups of strong coffee instead, and by noon time, the headache had receded.
Their next waypoint was Grenada and its sheltered natural harbour at St. George, where Tony paid a call to the acting Lieutenant Governor, Sir Charles Shipley, who had served with distinction under General Beckwith. Carrying a letter of introduction from Beckwith, Tony was received with all honours, leading to another three days of reciprocal dinner invitations, and frankly, debauch. The whole cruise developed into a series of receptions, soirees and festive dinners, without any benefits for the safety of the Caribbean Sea or for British trade.
Sailing from Grenada three days later, Tony therefore decided to eschew visits to Curaçao and Aruba, and rather ordered a general course to Port au Prince, Republic of Haiti. This gave him a week of sailing in which he drilled his small squadron relentlessly, to knock off the rust, as Andrew called it jestingly. The Caribbean winter with its pleasant temperatures was ideally suited for the numerous exercises and frequent readiness drills. On the last day, Tony sent out their prize, with a fortified crew, as decoy to be hunted down by the squadron. The Pauline was given a half hour head start, and her acting master held out for almost the entire day, making use of unsteady winds, but shortly before sundown, Cossack had her at gunpoint with her broadside, and Pauline ‘surrendered’.
The excitement of a day-long hunt and the final ‘success’ made up for six days of drills for the crews, and Tony was certain to have his ships in perfect shape again.
The visit to Port au Prince was disappointing, by contrast. Arriving there, Tony sent a brief letter to the republican authorities, expressing his wish to land seventeen rescued slaves. The answering letter, in just a few words, pointed out a beach where he could land the Africans, but no invitation was issued or any form of thanks expressed. Yielding to the inevitable, Tony had the seven men and ten women landed before weighing anchor and leaving a port where they were clearly not welcome. The implied snub, he let roll off his back.
Rather than returning directly to Port Royal, he had the squadron sail northward in line abreast and through the Mona Passage, and indeed they caught a Boston whaler returning from the South Atlantic. With its hold crammed with whale oil, the Petite Frere, originally a French whaler of 450 tons, but reflagged as American in 1810, was a very valuable prize. At this point, Tony and Andrew were quite happy with the less than friendly reception in Port au Prince, since staying there longer would have made the catch unlikely.
Now sailing with two prizes, one of them quite valuable, Tony reconsidered and ordered a course to Port Royal, once again with the sloops fanning out and Cossack bringing up the rear, whilst the prizes sailed close to Saturn. Entering the Windward Passage, Tony had the squadron shorten sails, to avoid any scattering of the ships, and this garnered them yet another prize.
The large merchantman brig was only two miles forward of them when, after a foggy night, the sun broke through the mist. The American captain must have got intelligence of the squadron sailing the Windward Passage in northern direction and felt safe sailing after them with a day’s delay. The sloops were already in position to cut off any escape, and not an hour later, the American flag rose up and was hauled down, giving the squadron their third prize, this time really by sheer luck.
“Lucky Tony, eh?” Andrew asked under his breath, grinning happily, after Mister Walsh had reported about the captured the brig. She was of 420 tons burthen and only four years old. Her cargo of Cuban sugar made her a real catch, but the fifteen tons of cocoa beans added over £2000 to the tally. Even divided amongst four ships, the three prizes would yield him and the other captains over £1000 each — two years’ salaries for the junior captains.
Tony smiled back, contemplating that his share of £2000, would also be a welcome addition to his already comforting assets.
“Let us not jinx it,” he warned Andrew nevertheless. “Luck can be fickle.”
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