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| The One That Got Away; At sea; Mail Packet Swift | |
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| Topic Started: 13 Feb 2008, 04:50 AM (416 Views) | |
| Royal Navy & Marines | 13 Feb 2008, 04:50 AM Post #1 |
5th Lieutenant
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The crew of the Navy mail packet Swift were already stirring when the chaos ashore began breaking out. For several minutes, the sailors stared toward town as musket-fire rang out from seemingly everywhere. To them, it seemed beyond madness. Then the packet's captain appeared on deck and the crew were scrambling to their alloted stations, making ready to sail as quick as they could. They hadn't picked up the load of mail that they'd come for, but no mail bundles were worth their lives or their vessel. With the mooring lines cast off and men both in the bow and at the taffrail with long punting poles, the packet was on her way toward the mouth of the bay. Swift's sailing master - ironically once a master's mate with Interceptor - had only a terse explanation to offer for the strange goings-on ashore, and the two words were enough to cause even the packet's captain to go deathly pale. It was only too plain that they should get out of the harbour as quickly as they could. That was not to be an easy task, however, as musket fire was heard coming from not just one, but all three of the Navy ships lying at anchor. The sailing master, Stewart, stuffed a plug of tobacco into his cheek and shook his head. His gaze was on the nearest craft, a trim and well-kept piece of work she looked, but her weather deck was crawling with red-coated marines and plainer-clad seamen. As long as nobody fired on Swift, Stewart would be happy. "Mind the ta'gallant!" He barked, lifting his gaze toward the yards. It was one of the newer hands, as he might've expected. They'd shape up, or else! There was hardly a better time to test their skills than now anyway. Stewart glanced across at the sloop they were gliding past and was mildly relieved to see a handful of seamen waving at them. One of them shouted, "Yonder goes the smartest lads inna bleedin' town. Fair winds, Mister Stewart!" Ah, it must be one of the lads off old Interceptor. Stewart doffed his hat in silent reply, then his attention was back onto the sailors still perched in the rigging. They weren't out of danger yet, and wouldn't be until they were well clear of the harbour. More musket fire struck up from the sloop they were nearly past and someone up forrard called out a warning. Stewart crossed the weather deck in only a few strides, reaching the foc's'le in time to see a blue-and-white painted jolly-boat pulling toward them. There were wounded men in the boat, by the look of it. Armed men, too. Marines and seamen alike... Stewart pushed one of his sailors toward the swivel gun on the starboard rail as he called out for boat hooks. It was a very good bet that the men in that boat were mutineers, since they'd just been fired on by somebody on the Navy sloop. The packet's captain was at his elbow, snapping orders. They had the swivel gun trained hard around to bear on the jolly-boat and men were rigging up the tackles to hook onto the boat so it could be swayed aboard. Fortunately for the men in the jolly-boat, they had apparently had all the fight knocked out of them and gave no resistance when they were dragged aboard and clapped in irons. Stewart noted with a measure of private pleasure that the crew had managed to hook onto and bring the jolly-boat aboard with only a minor reefing of sails to slow the packet. It was something that he'd never known possible until now. Just as well, for they were nearly clear of the bay now. A cannon boomed behind the packet and a waterspout sprang skyward, well off their taffrail. He turned around in time to see smoke drifting up from the third-most Navy ship. Well then. "Hands aloft, set stuns'l yards!" Stewart called out. They'd need every scrap of sail bent, in case that ship tried to pursue them. He hoped dearly she wouldn't. Swift was barely armed, having only four nine-pounders and two swivel guns. She was a fast-running mail packet, not a damned ship-of-the-line! The sailing master spat out the used-up plug of tobacco and joined a pair of sailors heaving on a nearby brace. The sooner they got clear of this blasted harbour and tacked toward open sea, the better! |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 17 Feb 2008, 03:57 AM Post #2 |
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5th Lieutenant
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Their prisoners had little they were willing to tell, so the packet's captain ordered them confined to the tiny brig. Unfortunately for the captured mutineers, the brig had been built by the packet's crew and was located in the hold. Thus, it was perpetually dark, not to mention cramped and uncomfortable. Stewart had seen to it that the wounded men had at least been looked after, but that was the only true comfort offered them. One or two of them he had known from Interceptor and their conduct made him sick to his bones. They would receive nothing from him except scorn. Proserpina had not pursued them, for which he was deeply grateful. While Swift was more than able to outrun larger ships, having to do so at all was naturally a bad thing. The nimble little packet's bow was now pointed toward Kingston and she was making respectable headway, with the wind being largely in her favour. Stewart was mostly pleased with the crew's performance. Except for a handful of repeat offenders, they had done well. For once, he was willing to forgive the slackers their fault, since they had all managed to escape Port Royal unscathed. Now, they were running swiftly toward Kingston, every scrap of sail set and bellied out. Stewart slowly paced the deck, keeping an eye on the compass. Their course was roughly due east, but the winds could change at the drop of a hat. As long as it held long enough for them to get at least half way to Kingston. The closer they got to that port, the greater the likelihood of encountering one of Admiral Heyworth's patrols. The alarm had to be raised, or else Stewart was sure that those loyal lads in Port Royal would end up falling. With the embattled town hours behind them by now, he was alert for any call from the lookouts that would indicate the presence of another ship. He knew from past trips to and from Kingston that Swift was coming within the sea lanes typically patrolled by the Kingston squadron. The sailing master lowered his gaze from yet another study of the yards above and scanned the horizon, almost impatient to catch sight of a distant sail. Part of him was growing restless, wanting to return to Port Royal and fight. His former crew-mates were back there, after all. Scowling, Stewart returned to his slow pacing, sternly reminding himself that the lookouts would call out if there was anything worth reporting. The packet's captain, Tyvan, looked equally impatient, when he appeared on deck only a few minutes later. Stewart only shook his head in response to the captain's questioning glance and that was the extent of their conversation for the moment. The two men had the poop deck largely to themselves, though the captain seemed content to remain stationary whilst Stewart paced. It was a mark of their different methods of handling the tension. "Sail ho!" Tyvan looked up, his expression betraying nothing. "Where away?" The lookout pointed. "Three points off t'starboard, sir!" The entire crew turned to look. Stewart had a telescope at his eye in an instant, peering in the direction the lookout had indicated. There was indeed a sail... three of them... tops'ls... a three-master, it had to be a ship-of-the-line. They'd know for sure when they got closer. "Three points to starboard," Tyvan was saying to the helmsman. "We'll need to get close enough to hail that ship." Swift answered to the change of course beautifully, leaving a thin, graceful wake behind her as her bow dipped just slightly and came up onto her new heading. Stewart kept his glass on the distant ship, trying to pick out a detail in her sail array, anything that could recognise her to him. She was too far off for easy recognition, however. The next few hours would close the distance between the two vessels, enough to allow him to see better what she looked like. He snapped the glass closed with a quick grimace. It always came down to time. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 19 Feb 2008, 02:04 AM Post #3 |
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5th Lieutenant
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The three-master turned out to be HMS Cornwall, the second-rate assigned to Admiral Heyworth's Kingston squadron. With her was a sloop-of-war, Defiant. That was excellent news for Swift. It took most of the afternoon to close with Cornwall, and it was coming on twilight by the time the little packet came within hailing distance. Stewart was one of the first to go across to the larger ship, following of course after Tyvan. Cornwall's captain was surprised at their visit at first but he moved into action quickly enough after the news was broken to him. Swift's prisoners were handed over almost at once, after the report of Port Royal's fate was made. Stewart wasn't surprised to see the second-rate's marine detachment react poorly to the discovery that there were red-coats amongst the captured. Life for the marine prisoners would be very unpleasant now. "Gentlemen," Captain Thurlow gestured toward the great cabin, his face expressionless. The two men from the mail packet followed the post-captain aft. It was a council of war and Cornwall's senior officers were all present. The sloop's officers were in attendance as well, he assumed. Stewart didn't know any of them particularly, but he hardly cared. He sat down at Tyvan's left and gave the officers around the table only a cursory study. Thurlow was the last one into the cabin and the marine sentry closed the door after the captain had entered. "Port Royal is in trouble," Thurlow said by way of preamble. "Captain Tyvan reports that the town's marine battalion is in mutiny." The three red-coats at the table shifted uneasily. Stewart glanced at them, briefly trying to judge their feelings. They'd be angry, certainly, and probably disbelieving. Thurlow let the point sink in for another moment before continuing. "He also reports that at least one of that squadron's ships has been taken, having been fired on as he escaped the harbour." This time, the assembled Navy men were the ones to straighten up abruptly. Thurlow ignored them. "The fate of the senior officers there is unknown, but it is enough to know that the marines, whether as a whole or as elements, have chosen to take up arms against their officers and their King. Whatever causes have induced their action matter little. The base fact is, they have turned against their duty and have therefore violated the Articles of War." One of the red-coats looked cross. "It's a bad mark on their captain, to have been so blind to the discontent of his men. A most ineffectual officer, I've little doubt!" "Ineffectual or not, Major, it is our duty to relieve him and the rest of the town, with all due haste," Thurlow said curtly. "If the situation in Port Royal is still as Captain Tyvan reports, the frigate Proserpina is under mutineer control. The sloop Intrepid has escaped a similar fate, and the fate of their second-rate, Dauntless, remains unknown. Also unknown is the state of affairs at the fort." "What are we to do, with so many unknowns?" A second red-coat asked. "The only thing we can do is our duty, which is to relieve Port Royal." The calm surety in Thurlow's voice impressed Stewart, who could easily imagine the man to be capable of taking practically anything in stride. "Major, your marines will be the first to go ashore, once we reach the harbour. We will put boarding parties on each of the three resident ships, whether or not they're taken. I want the marines to eliminate any resistance they should encounter. They may wear the same red coat as you do, but they've forfeited any protection that they might've enjoyed as marines." The marine nodded stiffly. "Understood, sir." "Captain Simcoe, you will take your sloop into the harbour directly and put the marines - mine and your own - as close to shore as you can. We will engage any ship that makes a hostile presentation while you stand in to shore." "Aye sir." "What about once we're ashore, sir?" Thurlow tapped a finger on the map that had been unrolled on the table. "Sweep through the docks and make your way directly to the fort. There is, I understand, an Army presence in Port Royal? Ah, very well. They would have been called out by now, so any trouble in the town itself will be left to them to sort out. If you encounter any ranking Army officer, you will present them with a sealed letter, which will be prepared for you after we are finished here. Once the ships have been secured, all seaborne traffic will cease. I want this expressed in no uncertain terms to each captain, once control of their respective ships is restored to them. Nothing will go into Port Royal by sea and nothing will leave Port Royal by sea. Is that understood?" Heads bobbed around the table. Tyvan looked grave, for whatever reason. "What about us, sir?" "You will continue to Kingston and report to Admiral Heyworth directly. He will no doubt wish to send additional ships and men." "Directly, sir?" Thurlow nodded. Judging that to be a dismissal, Stewart and Tyvan stood up. "Godspeed, sir," the mail packet's captain said, then he and Stewart quit the great cabin. They collected their boat-crew at once and were back in the packet's jolly-boat in only a few minutes. As he settled into the sternsheets, Stewart reflected that there was one major problem with Thurlow's plan. What did he intend to do if the mutineers had cut their losses and fled the town? |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 17 Mar 2008, 02:21 AM Post #4 |
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5th Lieutenant
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It was nearly dawn when Cornwall and Defiant came within sight of Port Royal. Most of the crew was still asleep, as they would need all their energy for the coming day. The officers, however, had hardly paused all night, discussing the plans for making landfall and making their own individual preparations. The crew had already prepared, as much as they were able, and the marines had been sent across to Defiant, to save time once they got in-harbour. Captain Stevenson in particular was keen to see to it that his marines' role was well-defined, to make the most of their numbers once they were ashore. Out of everyone else aboard, he had taken the news of the mutiny the worst. He knew the marine officers of Port Royal in passing and had regarded them well enough, as gentlemen. As officers he could fully not take their measure, but the simple fact that there had been a mutiny at all did not speak very highly of their suitability to command. His lieutenant, Sullivan, was more sanguine about the affair, but like Stevenson, he was prepared to supersede Port Royal's marine officers with regard to command. At six bells the crew was piped up, as the two Kingston ships neared their destination. Stevenson's marines were divided up into their appointed sections, with the sailors who comprised the boat crews. Defiant's captain watched the proceedings from the poop deck, exchanging the occasional word with his officers but otherwise observing in silence. Apparently, It wasn't his style to address the crew before undertakings such as these. Stevenson checked his sword for the third time and sighed. To say that he was nervous was putting it mildly. The sun was peeking over the horizon when Defiant tacked into the harbour, the shore parties waiting restlessly on her weather deck. Cornwall ran out her guns as she made her slow, stately approach into the harbour and Defiant started her run directly past the Port Royal ships. The nimbler sloop cut deftly past the sleeping bulk of Dauntless, the Blue Ensign streaming out from the halyard. To Captain Simcoe's complete shock, somebody aboard the anchored second-rate spotted them and cheered. The man cheered. Several of the Kingston marines stared at each other in bewilderment as the seaman's "Huzzah!" was suddenly picked up by other men aboard the second-rate, who were apparently drawn topside by the man's cry. "Reckon they ain't mutineers," one marine commented, sounding relieved. The sloop met no resistance as it drew close to the docks, her topmen working expertly in the yards to reef the sails. Several marines whistled at the devastated mess that was the docks, with the blackened hulks of draymen's carts, crates, and the odd building front the most prominent signs that an armed rising had occurred. Sailors leapt the gap between the dock and the sloop's deck and mooring lines were quickly tied onto the dock's cleats. The marines scrambled ashore, hurrying toward the street where they gazed around in wonder at the great mess. "Blimey," somebody muttered. The mass of marines spread out on the street, muskets ready. To everyone's surprise, a group of red-coated men appeared from a side-street. Their tall caps and yellow coat facings marked them out immediately as soldiers, which, taken with the broad grins and offered hands, meant they were loyalists. The two groups shook hands and the Kingston marines were quickly filled in about the previous day's events. To the Kingston marines' relief, the mutiny had been suppressed the same day it had started, which spared them the unpleasant task of fighting against other marines. Further, it seemed that all the traitors had been captured and locked up in the fort's dungeon. The plans to seal off the town were no longer necessary. A runner dashed back to Defiant with this news and the signal was made to Cornwall at once. The main body of marines proceeded to the fort, while a small detachment went back aboard the sloop. The remainder of the day was spent moving supplies and men ashore from Cornwall, as well as assisting the soldiers in cleaning up the mess on the docks. At the fort, the officers met and spent much of the day closeted away in the offices, discussing matters that only the marine sentries outside the door were privileged to overhear. The mutiny was over, but the work of recovering had begun. End of thread. |
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