Powder Monkey (9 page)

I lay in my hammock listening intently, wondering what would happen next. Shortly after, Ben came again to see me.

‘You've picked a fine time to be poorly,' he teased. ‘We've spotted a French ship. Mandeville's chasing after her. We might catch up with her by late afternoon.'

I buried my head in my hands. Of all the bad moments . . . and us only two weeks out at sea. I felt consumed by my own misery. ‘Ben, I can hardly stand up without feeling sick, and my jaw is throbbing . . .'

‘Y' wont notice so much when y' get hit by a cannonball,'
he said with a wink. ‘C'mon. Out on the deck. Some fresh air'll bring the colour back t' your cheeks.' So I staggered up on deck and wandered around the forecastle in the damp, cold afternoon, holding on to Ben's arm to stop myself falling over.

Ben pointed to the enemy ship – a distant silhouette heading away from us towards the coast of Brittany. ‘Looks like a corvette. Quite a bit smaller than us. Maybe twenty guns, maybe less. She's been out looking for British merchant ships, I shouldn't wonder. Didn't bank on having us chase her, did she? There's a couple of small fishing ports round this part of the coast, so she's probably heading for one of them.'

I tried to take all this in, but the effort and the swell of the ship just made me feel sick. It was lucky we were so near the heads. I ran over, and retched up a stream of bloody vomit through the netting and into the wake of the ship. Ben swiftly followed on, and held one of my arms to stop me toppling in.

‘You've swallowed a lot of blood, Sam. Never mind. Now that's gone, you'll feel a lot better.'

Sadly not. After that I could barely stand, and began to shiver uncontrollably. Lieutenant Spencer had observed the whole scene. ‘Best take him back to sick bay, Lovett,' he said to Ben. ‘We can leave him there until we're called to quarters.'

I returned to my hammock and listened out for the
commands of the officers, as the
Miranda
tried to gain on her prey. If we made the most of the south-easterly wind, it was possible we would catch the corvette before she reached the safety of the shore.

I wondered if I ought to feel more afraid. After all, this ship was trying to outrun us, rather than eager to fight us. But then I thought of our own battle with the
Isabelle
. We'd only had a single gun, yet we'd inflicted considerable damage on our enemy. When we attacked, would it be me who was floored by grapeshot, or felled by a sniper in the rigging? Our victory was almost guaranteed, but that didn't mean some of us would not be killed.

Although these anxious thoughts circled round my head I still felt weak and drowsy. Soon I drifted off into a half sleep, and woke feeling a little stronger. When one of Dr Claybourne's assistants came to give me bread and water, I found my appetite had returned. Claybourne came round to inspect his patients shortly before supper.

‘Off y' go, laddie,' was all he said to me.

Down on the mess deck I was surprised to find the whole crew in a state of excitement. They seemed to be looking forward to the coming battle.

‘There'll be prize money in this,' said Edmund Ackersley.

‘If we catch them,' said Ben.

This was something I knew only a little about. Ben filled me in. ‘Prize money's what the Navy pays for a captured ship. It can add up to thousands of pounds. The captain gets a quarter or more. Then the rest of the ship's officers get a quarter between them. Then the midshipmen and some of the petty officers get an eighth. What's left, that's the last quarter, is split between the rest of the crew. It's not much when it's divided between hundreds of us able and ordinary seamen, but it's certainly better than nothing.'

Richard, canny as he was, knew exactly why the prize money was divided as it was. ‘It's the people on the ship who make the decision to attack that get the most money. They've got the most to gain by facing up to a fight rather than avoiding one.'

James Kettleby was more upbeat about the prize money. ‘Sometimes a crew gets lucky,' he said. ‘We do get much less than the officers, but it can still add up to a year's pay! Me brother told us one lot got a hundred pounds each when their ship captured a French brig full o' treasure. That'd keep a man drunk for an entire six months, and still leave him enough change for a good funeral.'

Tom was more cynical. ‘Hundred pounds? Never! That's about six years' pay. But whatever it is, the prize money should be split better than that. We all stand an
equal chance of getting killed or maimed. And most captains are wealthy men, anyway – they hardly need the money . . .'

‘Don't go counting your chickens,' said Ben. ‘It'll be dark in an hour, and I don't think we're going to catch this corvette before nightfall. By the morning she'll have scurried off into port.'

Ben was right. By nightfall we were approaching the coast and the
Miranda
was still too far away from the French ship for us to be called to quarters. But Mandeville was not done yet. When the light was too poor to see our quarry, he had the ship drop anchor, and wait until dawn.

We spent a restless night, with the threat of combat still hanging over the crew. Despite their bravado, I noticed that far more of the men than usual were visited by nightmares, and our brief rest was frequently punctuated by the cries of tormented sleepers. I could barely sleep, anyway. My jaw was throbbing horribly, and I was too anxious.

The following day we took the morning watch from four till eight. When the first light of dawn crept over the horizon we peered through drifting pockets of mist and were surprised to see that the French corvette was no more than a mile ahead of us. Her sails were furled, she was listing slightly to starboard and going nowhere.

Ben peered through the gathering light. ‘She's grounded, Sam, or maybe caught on the rocks. I wonder what Mandeville's got up his sleeve now?'

Throughout those groggy early hours, we edged nearer and nearer the corvette. A sailor was placed on the
Miranda
's bow, to take soundings with a lead weight. He called out the fathoms with a dull regularity, his voice piercing the silence of the grey autumn morning. Although we too were in danger of running aground, Mandeville and his lieutenants seemed coolly confident as they piloted their frigate forward.

Ben looked worried. ‘These are treacherous waters, with shallows and rocks to navigate. We get too close in and we're really done for.'

Over on the quarterdeck Mandeville peered though his telescope. Then he called over two of his lieutenants. They both looked too. Ben guessed what was coming.

‘I'll bet that ship's been abandoned. Mandeville'll keep us just out of range of her guns, and send a boat over to check.'

A minute later, Middlewych came over to us. ‘Mr Lovett. I want your gun crew to join myself and four marines. We're going to take one of the cutters and see what's happening.'

The boat, kept in the waist of the
Miranda
, was swiftly lowered into the water. We clambered aboard – Ben, Tom, James, Oliver, Edmund and me. All six of us
shivering in the breeze that blew over the water. It was so cold I almost forgot about my aching jaw.

We each took an oar. Fortunately the sea was still, with almost no swell. ‘You'll warm up soon enough, Samuel,' said Oliver Macintosh, ‘once we start this rowing.' Then four marines joined us, sitting stiffly in the stern, each carrying a musket. Middlewych squeezed himself into the bow, telescope in hand.

‘Slowly does it, men,' he cautioned us. ‘We could easily be heading into a trap.'

As we rowed away, I heard the
Miranda
's drummer boy call the crew to quarters. Mandeville was taking no chances, and had decided to rouse the men who were still sleeping. There was now a frenzy of activity aboard the ship. Within five minutes, the gun ports had been opened, and the
Miranda
began slowly to close the distance between herself and the corvette.

It was an eerie feeling, pulling away from the
Miranda
through the mist, especially as we were looking down the barrels of all her starboard guns. We rowed with our backs to the corvette, so we relied on Middlewych to let us know what was happening. Standing in the bow and peering through his telescope, he kept up a reassuring commentary to no one in particular, partly perhaps to keep his own fear at bay.

‘Nothing going on on deck,' he said. ‘She looks completely deserted. Gun ports open, but can't see anyone
manning the guns . . . Now the mist's closed around her . . .'

As we grew nearer, my trepidation increased. I desperately wanted to look round and see the ship we were approaching, but if I did this I would break my stroke and incur the wrath of Middlewych and my fellow oarsmen. The tension was unbearable. For now, all I could hear was the splash of oar in water, the laboured exertions of my fellow rowers and the faint crash of waves on a distant beach. At any moment I expected the crack of a musket. I was convinced the French were lying in wait for us aboard their ship and even now a marksman was training his musket on the back of my head.

The mist cleared again and Middlewych began his leisurely commentary. ‘Still can't see a soul . . .'

The blast of a couple of guns cut short his next words. I nearly jumped out of my skin. James let go of his oar and cursed both our luck and his clumsiness. Tom lost his too. Middlewych ducked instinctively as cannon shots whistled low over our heads, so close we felt the turbulence in the air.

Seconds later, two plumes of water shot up in the sea, halfway between us and the
Miranda
. The corvette had fired too soon.

‘Lie as flat as you can,' shouted Middlewych urgently. We all knew what was coming. As we tried desperately to squeeze into the bottom of our cutter, all ten of the
Miranda
's starboard 18lb guns roared out in a single broadside. It was an awesome sound and it produced an awesome result. As soon as our shots had whistled over our heads to crash and splinter into their target we peered over the gunwale to survey the damage. Judging by the still settling plumes of water, only three shots had fallen short. The rest had mauled the upper deck, leaving ugly holes all along the length of the ship.

‘Keep down, keep down,' shouted Middlewych impatiently. ‘We're quite near enough for musket shots.' Then he peered cautiously over the bow. ‘We'll just have to wait here, and see what happens.' He sounded not a little rattled. Then he picked up his telescope and trained it again on the corvette.

Much to my surprise, I heard him laugh. ‘They're scuttling off! They're going over the larboard side. Probably still got a boat there!'

Relief swept over me. If this was true, we might all live to see the end of the day. ‘Keep down, though. There'll be another broadside from the
Miranda
any second now.'

But that broadside never came. Mandeville must have been able to see the French gunners abandoning their ship too. He didn't want to inflict too much damage on his prize, and the
Miranda
held her fire.

We waited another few minutes, then Middlewych stood up with his telescope to get a better view. ‘There
they go, heading for the shore.' We had drifted nearer to the bow of the corvette, and I could see a packed launch pulling away. ‘Right, then, let's go in and have a good look at her.'

In the panic that followed the first shots, we had lost two oars in the water. I was proud to say I'd kept a hold on mine, but James, who'd lost his, took over my oar anyway.

‘Brawn over brains,' he said with a wink.

Free from the oars, I now had the chance to have a good look at the ship. She was a beauty. Like us she had three masts, but she was much shorter in length. Sleek and low in the water, her hull was painted a fetching green, with a band of gold above and below the gun ports.

‘She'll make a handsome prize,' said Edmund.

‘That depends on whether we can get her moving,' Middlewych sighed.

But as I gazed at this beautiful ship the bright flash of an explosion burst deep inside her, sending black splinters high into the air. The noise rolled like dirty thunder across the waves. At first I wondered if the
Miranda
had fired again, but Middlewych called on us all to lie flat again.

Almost at once another much louder explosion rent the air, and we all felt the heat of the blast on our backs. Something crashed into the sea right next to us, large
enough to rock our boat and drench us with freezing water. When debris stopped falling, I dared to take a look. Part of a yardarm, sail still furled around it, bobbed nearby. A large plume of black smoke was billowing up from the wreckage of the corvette, and flames were beginning to gnaw at what was left of her upper deck.

‘Damn it,' said Middlewych. ‘Rascals have blown up their ship.'

Ben spoke glumly. ‘I'll bet they put a fuse on gunpowder barrels in the magazine. There goes our prize money.'

‘Cheer up, Ben,' I couldn't help saying. ‘At least we weren't on the ship when it blew up.'

With the merest shrug Middlewych turned us round, to head back to the
Miranda
. It had been quite a morning, and it was not yet eight o'clock.