Powder Monkey (26 page)

Nelson's Navy: The Ships, Men and Organisation 1793–1815
by Brian Lavery (Conway Maritime Press, London, 1989)

The Wooden World: An Anatomy of the Georgian Navy
by N.A.M. Rodger (Collins, London, 1986)

Sea Life in Nelson's Time
by John Masefield (Leo Cooper, 2002 – first published 1905)

The Star Captains: Frigate Command in the Napoleonic Wars
by Tom Wareham (Chatham Publishing, London, 2001)

The Sea Warriors
by Richard Woodman (Constable Publishers, London, 2001)

The Merchant Navy
by Captain A.G. Course (Frederick Muller, London, 1963)

Real enthusiasts could trawl the second-hand book shops for:

The British Tar in Fact and Fiction
by Commander Charles N. Robertson (Harper and Brothers, London, 1911)

Memoirs of a Seafaring Life
by William Spavens (facsimile edition published by the Folio Society, London, 2004 – originally published in 1796)

Books aside, there's nothing like a trip to a real fighting ship from the era to get a flavour of what life must have been like aboard. British readers can visit the frigate HMS
Trincomalee
in Hartlepool – upon which the
Miranda
is closely based (see
www.hms-trincomalee.co.uk
), and Nelson's famous flagship HMS
Victory
in Portsmouth. The
Victory
's excellent website (
www.hms-victory.com
) includes a list of all 820 men serving on the ship during the Battle of Trafalgar, together with their age, nationality and position.

North American readers can visit another frigate from the era, USS
Constitution
, berthed in Boston, Massachusetts (see
www.ussconstitution.navy.mil
).

And finally. . .

Peter Weir's
Master and Commander
film (2003), starring Russell Crowe as Patrick O'Brian's character Captain Jack Aubrey, painstakingly recreates a frigate similar to HMS
Miranda
. It's a rip-roaring action adventure too!

 

The Adventures of Sam Witchall in reading order:

Powder Monkey
Prison Ship
Battle Fleet

Paul Dowswell
is a former editor as well as the author or co-author of more than fifty acclaimed nonfiction books for children on historical and scientific topics. He lives in Wolverhampton, England, with his wife and daughter. Powder Monkey is his first work of fiction.

Read on for a sneak peek at
Prison Ship
, a thrilling new Sam Witchall adventure!

A mere six weeks after Sam Witchall's ship wrecked off the Cornish coast in March 1801, Sam has rejoined the Navy as a powder monkey. But his hopes for a second chance at sea are dashed when he and his friend Richard are framed for cowardice during battle. Will they be able to prove their innocence? Or will Sam and Richard find themselves facing a more terrifying future than the hangman's noose? Find out in this exciting new adventure that details every nail-biting moment of Sam Witchall's life as a young sailor.

That night my sleep was constantly disturbed by the sound of ice bumping against the hull of the
Elephant
. The temperature was so cold that when a man carrying a lantern made his way through the deck you could see his breath curling like smoke from his nose and mouth. Water dripped from the low wooden ceiling and condensation settled like dew, chilling me to the marrow.

Breakfast burgoo and scotch coffee never tasted better. I wondered why the body craved sweet things when it was cold. James had told me about a dried fruit and brown sugar delicacy the Scots called ‘black bun', which they fried in batter in a deep pan of oil. It sounded just right for a day like this.

As we ate I asked Tom what he thought our tactics would be. He paused between mouthfuls then said, ‘We've all seen that row of Danish ships. I reckon we're gonna squeeze up next to them and slug it out. We'll be so close we won't be able to miss.'

I lost my appetite. But James offered me a crumb of comfort.

‘We're used to fighting, whereas the Danes aren't scrappers. Whatever happens I'll bet we'll be firing at least twice as quickly as them. So our 74s 'll be like 148 gun ships to them. And their 74s, if they've got any, will be like our frigates. I think we'll make short work of it.'

John Giddes looked sceptical and put in a rare word. ‘Most of those Danish ships 've had their masts taken down. They're probably grounded in the mud, so there's no retreat for them. We might 'ave better ships, better guns and better commanders, but we're still foreigners here. The Danes are fightin' for their lives and for their city so I don't think they're gonna be a walkover.'

Giddes was acting as though the incident last night had never happened, but he refused to meet my eye. I wanted to talk to Tom and Richard about him, and what I had heard, but so far I hadn't had the chance.

* * *

Talk around the table dried up. As I finished my burgoo knocked back the dregs of my coffee I wondered if this was the last meal I would ever eat? After breakfast we were called out on deck so the Reverend Eaves could hold a brief service. I peered through the cold morning light at this short, thickset man in his clerical robes, and strained to hear him speak.

Almighty and everlasting God, mercifully look upon our infirmities,

And in all our dangers and necessities,

Stretch forth thy right hand to help and defend us;

Through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.

The words consoled me, although I couldn't help but wonder whether the Danes were reciting exactly the same prayers too, and whether their infirmities, dangers and necessities would be looked upon any less mercifully by the Almighty.

The ship was called to quarters and we scattered sand on the decks to soak up the blood that was sure to be spilt. Richard pointed out that much of our fleet were still at their anchor to the North, and wondered why they were not closer. ‘Too many ships, too little space,' I said. I was glad Richard would be close to me in the battle. I liked to think we would be able to look out for each other. I hoped I would not be called upon to throw him over the side if he were terribly injured.

We waited in silence by our gun, growing tense and numb. Being out in the open the quarterdeck was much colder than the gun decks, and I longed to be down there under cover. The wind rattled the netting that had been placed above our heads to protect us from any yardarms that might fall when fighting started. It was an uncomfortable reminder of how dangerous it was out here. My experience of battle had taught me first hand that enemy ships always aimed at our masts and rigging to try to cripple us. And here on the quarterdeck we were also easy targets for snipers up in the enemy's fighting tops – something we had never had to worry about on the gun deck. Worst of all, with all those disadvantages, we were close to the middle of the ship – the spot where the enemy always concentrated his fire. During any battle, I'd heard it said, most of those killed were from the middle of the ship. My eyes began to water in the face of that wind. I hoped no one would think I was crying in fear.

Just after ten o' clock the rumble of cannon fire rolled across the water. The battle was finally beginning and I would soon be able to forget about the wind and the cold. At once we were called over to the larboard guns and waited for our ship to move into action. The harbour guns were flashing in the middle distance, although their shot was falling short. Gun smoke began to drift across the water towards us and catch in our throats.

For the first time, I could see what a battle looked like rather than just hear and feel it. On the gun deck of my old ship, the
Miranda
, we could only tell what was happening by listening to the commands of our officers. Once the firing started, with the roar of the cannons and the ringing in our ears, even that became impossible.

For now, seeing events unfolding from the quarterdeck was thrilling – like watching a forbidden play or hearing a fascinating conversation not meant for our ears. But I also felt terribly exposed. It was like a dream I sometimes had where I stood naked in the congregation at a christening or wedding.

We watched our ships slowly move towards the Danish line. HMS
Edgar
was first to edge forward along a narrow stretch of water in front of the enemy. I did not envy them their task. As soon as she reached the Danes their muzzles flashed in the grey morning light. There was something random and ill-judged about the Danish barrage. Their gunners were obviously not men who had trained every day, as we had.

In reply the
Edgar
unleashed a thunderous, ordered broadside. Splinters flew into the air and peppered the sea, as the first ship in the Danish line was ravaged by her cannon fire. But as the
Edgar
sailed down the enemy line she began to take fire too. Before she dropped anchor in front of the fifth ship in the line, several of the Danish guns had found their target. I could barely bring myself to look as splinters burst from the
Edgar's
wooden walls. It was easy to imagine the carnage left in the wake of the shot as it tore through her decks. Two more of our ships followed behind the the Edgar to take up their positions opposite Danish vessels.

As two further 74s followed, disaster struck. On their approach to the narrow channel, they grounded in the shallows. But they carried on firing from where they had halted and their shot was hitting home. Then another of our ships moved forward but she too was caught on the Middle Ground before she could even reach the channel. I wondered if Spavens had taken the wrong soundings on our trip the night before. Now, all of a sudden, the battle was turning against us.

‘Let fall' came the order. Our sails filled and the
Elephant
edged forward. It was our turn to brave the fire of the Danish line and I struggled to keep my fear at bay. It was time to stop watching and start taking part. We sailed before the wind and I wondered if we too would be grounded. But the
Elephant
carried on moving forward and we were soon within range of our enemies. Shots from the shore batteries began to scream down around us. They landed fore and aft, throwing up plumes of water or whistling close by the sails and rigging. The fire was fierce but none hit home and we sailed on without damage.