The War of Wars (30 page)

On some ships there were only two masts but on a larger ship three. The sails on the latter were divided into the jibs at the front of the ship, the foresails on the foremast, the staysails also on the foremast but
behind them, the mainsails on the mainmast, the staysails also on the mainmast but behind them, and the mizzen sails on the mizzen (rear) mast, with the spanker billowing out behind. In turn, the sails were on three horizontal levels, main, topmast and topgallant. The topmen, whose work was the most dangerous and skilled, were the strongest and bravest of the men, and respected as such aboard ship. Their main job was to loose sail or furl it or, more commonly, ‘reef’ it, that is shorten it by gathering a section up to the ‘yard’ and tying it with lengths of ropes sewn into the sail called reef points or let out reefs. The yard was the spar or the crossbeam to which the sail was secured.

Next in the pecking order came the fo’c’s’lemen, who were usually older, often former topmen who had lost their agility. They had charge of the jib sails at the front of the ship as well as the anchor there and the guns. The third group of seamen, also usually older, were the after-guard, handling the spanker, the guns at the stern and, most importantly, the braces, the ropes to which all the sails in the ship were attached. The waisters were usually the dullest-minded in the middle of the ship, handling the foresail and mainsail, as well as pumping the bilges. Lowest in the hierarchy were the idlers, not because they were idle but because they did menial tasks. They included the carpenter and his mates, the cook and the officers’ servants, usually ship’s boys. In addition each ship usually had around fifty marines, to fight on land and enforce order.

The men were divided into two watches for each side of the ship, the larboard (the left or, in today’s term, port) and starboard (the right). There were inflexible routines aboard ship – the 4 a.m. call with the idlers being called to scrub the decks and prepare the galley, the off-watchmen being woken at around 6 a.m., the stowing of cots and tidying of quarters. Breakfast was at 8 a.m., divisions at 9.30, when the men went on parade, followed by the various ships’ tasks and drilling at 10.00. At 11.30 there was a break to ‘up spirits’ – have a ration of beer or grog – with lunch at noon. After the afternoon work, the day ended at 4 p.m. with another up spirits and evening meal. The two main drills were gun practice and setting sail, which most well-ordered ships could do all at once in from four to six minutes, a remarkable achievement for around 15,000 square foot of sail in a medium-sized 31-gun frigate.

Ships would practise zigzagging into the wind or away from it, tacking from one side to the other because they could not sail directly into it, no more in fact than 67.5 degrees on either side of the wind direction. Tacking was a skilful and difficult manoeuvre, which involved briefly facing the wind and risked missing stays and falling astern on the original tack or being unable to catch the wind on either side. The equivalent manoeuvre away from the wind – wearing – was much easier and faster, although more dangerous in heavy seas or before a strong wind because of the speed of the ship. A ship tacking into the wind travelled, of course, much more slowly than one wearing away from it.

Ships would average a speed of around 6 knots, but they could go as fast as 14 knots for short stretches, which was essential when a smaller ship was being chased. James Gardner, a lieutenant aboard ship, described sailing in a gale and under chase from two French battleships:

We should have been captured for a certainty if the Frenchman had possessed more patience. And so it happened: for a little before six, when he was within gunshot, the greedy fellow let another reef out of his topsails, and just as he had them hoisted, away went his foreyard, jib-boom, foretopmast, and maintopgallant mast . . . We immediately let two reefs out of the topsails, set topgallant sails and hauled the main tack on board, with a jib a third and the spanker. It was neck or nothing. For my part I expected we should be upset and it was with uncommon alacrity in making and shortening sails between the squalls that we escaped upsetting or being taken.

The ship had covered 120 miles in twelve hours before getting away. By such superb seamanship as this were ships won or lost.

In gun drill powder and shot was rarely used because captains were anxious to conserve this as they were responsible for its costs as a contemporary naval officer observed: ‘It is customary in many ships in a general exercise to go through the motions without loading or firing once in a year, and in others to exercise a few guns every day, and seldom to have a general exercise or to fire the guns.’

The twenty-eight guns of most sloops were on a single deck, and the
crew was trained to clear for action in five minutes (fifteen minutes on a ship-of-the-line because the lower deck had to be stripped of more cumbersome material) and fire three broadsides in ninety seconds, although this varied according to the pitch of the sea, because the cannon had to be rolled forward from the recoil. The guns were the smallest large ones, 9-pounders (that is they fired cannonballs (shot) weighing 9 pounds). These went up to 12-, 18-, 24-, 32- (the most common, 9½ feet long) and 42-pounders (then almost obsolete). Carronades were increasingly in fashion as both shorter and with a larger ball.

The heaviest guns on a battleship were mounted on the lower deck. Doors covered the gun ports when not in use, to keep out spray. The guns could be moved slightly to right or left and raised or depressed, but could not be aimed, except by judging the roll or pitch of the sea in relation to the enemy ship. The first broadside of all the guns on one side of the ship was usually fired together: then firing was at will, depending on the speed and skill of the gun crews, usually at least eight men.

Round shot was the most common type, and was used by the guns on the lower deck against the enemy’s hull. Double-headed or chain shot was used against the enemy’s rigging. Grapeshot from the upper deck was used against the men on the enemy’s deck. Roundshot was extremely effective at close range. A 24-pounder was capable of penetrating a wooden hull 2 foot 6 inches thick. But the ranges fell away sharply. Such a gun had a range of 200 yards, or 2,200 yards if elevated before falling to the ground; at these distances it would do little damage. A carronade had a range of around 340 yards. The ship thus had to get in close to fire effectively, and sometimes collided with the enemy.

Accuracy was, of course, extremely limited, rendered more so by the smoke of battle and the effect of reloading under fire. The British were traditionally believed to aim during the downroll of the ship at the enemy’s hull, to kill their gunners. The French traditionally fired high, to disable the masts and rigging, which would inhibit the enemy’s manoeuvring and allow them to move in for the kill, or get away. In practice these decisions were taken on the spur of the moment, as
circumstance dictated. The British were certainly much more effective, the number of ships they captured or disabled being vastly higher than the French score.

After each shot the hot gun had to be sponged out to remove debris. A cartridge of powder in cloth was then rammed down, followed by the shot, and then a wad of ripe yarn to fix it. A priming iron was then inserted into the touch-hole on top of the gun along with a quill of powder which was lit by a flammable wick.

There were two standard types of small arms – long-barrelled muskets used to fire across at enemy ships, and pistols used in hand-to-hand combat when the ship was boarded. Boarders would be issued with cutlasses. An officer wrote: ‘According to the custom prevailing from the earliest period of naval history to the present day, in boarding or opposing boarders, the pistol is held in the right hand, and in the attempt to board is fired and thrown away to enable the boarder to draw his cutlass, which yet remains in the scabbard or left hand.’

According to another officer: ‘Eagerness and heat in action, especially in a first onslaught, ought never to be the cause of a man putting himself so much off his guard . . . as to lift his arm to make a blow with his cutlass . . . But on the contrary, by rushing sword in hand straight out and thereby the guard maintained, and watching his opportunity of making the thrust, the slightest touch of the point is death to his enemy.’ Pikes and tomahawks were also used, as were hand grenades, smoke bombs and ‘stink pots’, largely to confuse the enemy.

Most ships had a marine complement. This dated back to 1664, when they had the role of forming boarding parties as a sea-going infantry. However it was later realized that sailors made more skilled boarders. Instead the marines fulfilled two functions: as a kind of military police, separated from the sailors and used to suppress mutinies and be at hand during punishments; and in amphibious operations, when they usually took the lead.

Navigation was done by compass and the use of seamarks to estimate the position of a ship off the land, as well as the use of log lines – dragged behind the ship – to estimate the ship’s speed, and lead lines to work out the depth of the water in dangerous inshore navigation. Although courses were meticulously plotted, navigation was at best
more of an art than a science, as Captain Basil Hall commented: ‘The ship’s place each day, as estimated from the log-board, is noted on the chart; and also the place, as deduced from chronometers and lunar observations. The first is called the place by dead reckoning, the other the true place. The line joining the true places at noon, is called the true track; and that joining the others is called the track or course by dead reckoning. As it happens, invariably, that these two tracks separate very early in the voyage, and never afterwards come together, unless by accident.’

Life at sea was confined, essentially, to four variables for most of the time: the sea; the wind and the sky; the ship; and the crew. The sea was the most unpredictable, and the one that took most getting used to. The disrespect for the sea manifested by those who travel aboard large ships today, or even humble ferries, was never displayed by those in sailing vessels. It was their potential killer at all times, except in extremely fair weather, and a sailor had to grow accustomed to subdue his own initial fear of it and to understand it in all of its moods – gently swelling, growing, mountainous, calming. The construction of these vessels, with their relatively shallow draughts and rounded hulls, which were designed to make them more manageable and manoeuvrable under sail, meant that they were much more sensitive to the movements of the sea than a large ship of today, and finding one’s sea-legs took a considerable time for a newcomer aboard. The sea in all its moods provided, day after day, the only scenery for those aboard, always changing, yet always the same. Similarly, the wind and the sky, of relatively little importance to those on dry land, were a real menacing presence to those aboard ship. Experienced sailors could tell what slight changes in the direction or strength of the wind, or in the height, shape and speed of the clouds overhead, or even in the light, portended.

The ship itself – confined, cramped, creaking, leaking, smelling, uncomfortable, crowded and in constant sickening motion, yet simultaneously home and the very daily means of survival to the crew – loomed much larger in the lives of those aboard. Although most aboard regarded their tasks as a matter of routine, the furling and unfurling of the sails, the handling of the ship, the navigation with only primitive
compasses and leads for sounding depths, the judgement of the winds and sea, the techniques of sailing and tacking all required the constant exercise of skills and seamanship.

The strains of living so closely to other men in that confined space, far closer for most than the most crowded of schools or factories, were intense. It mattered hugely whether one’s immediate superior or subordinate or crewmates were pleasant or harsh, fair-minded or vindictive, friends or bullies, cheerful or resentful. To a great extent the intensely formal, layered and disciplined structure of life aboard had evolved to make sure the human parts worked smoothly alongside each other. The little community would have been utterly strange and alien at first, at times even alarming and depressing. But it could be exhilarating: for the challenge was the freedom of roaming the whole world, with strange ports and alien cultures as destinations. A sailor was simultaneously a confined prisoner aboard ship and had the freedom of the entire globe.

There were six principal tasks for the British navy in the war that began in 1793. The first was to blockade the French by watching their principal ports for any sign of movement and giving chase if they emerged and bring them to battle: that the French did not blockade Britain’s ports was a sign of the British fleet’s acknowledged superiority – a curious feature of the war; for French crews were their equals as seamen, and the French ships were actually better built and faster. There seemed to be some curious British mystique both of flair and the sheer courage to engage aggressively in fighting that caused even the French to avoid fighting them wherever possible, break off engagements at the earliest opportunity, and adopt defensive rather than aggressive tactics.

The second task of the British fleets was to deter French invasion; the third to enforce the economic embargo against the French empire; the fourth to provide escorts to convoys bringing vital supplies to Britain and generally to protect Britain’s huge and life-supporting maritime trade; the fifth, to attack the enemy’s trade; and the sixth to transport British military forces and supply them when these engaged in overseas expeditions. Of these tasks, blockade duty was wearying and relentless, while convoy duty was equally tiresome. Raiding enemy ships and
coastal ports was glamorous and exciting, if dangerous, and offered the opportunity for advancement and prize money.

The principal admirals of the time have not come down in history as attractive figures. They are usually portrayed as crabby old men with a disciplinary streak, reining back the talents of the dashing young captains of the age – apart from Nelson, of course, who somehow brought the glamour of youth to his admiral’s epaulettes. Yet they had far greater responsibilities, for the safety of whole fleets, and a more difficult task: that of preserving a semblance of tactics and order in battle when winds and seas, the strong personalities of the individual captains, and the sheer difficulty of receiving and reading signals, sometimes at a distance of a few miles, all conspired against order.