The Stratagem

[Fruitcake]

Part 1

David Croker was sitting in a dockside tavern near the office where he worked, as was his wont on a Friday evening before going home after a week poring over manifests, receipts, dockyard orders from the Admiralty, and bills of lading.

He sat in his usual place at a bench and table near the door.

He was yet again drinking a tankard of ale and regaling all who would listen, and many who would not have done so had they been able to get far enough away to be out of earshot yet still remain within the tavern, with a fantastic tale of Impressment, cunning, and how with a good knowledge of arithmetic and geometry he had saved a lone British warship from the clutches of two enemy frigates, and how afterwards he had sailed home with the rarest of rare documents in his possession; an honourable discharge from the Royal Navy, having transferring to a sloop-of-war returning to Plymouth with despatches for the Admiralty.

Nobody took the dockyard clerk who wore pontil-sized spectacles seriously, even though he swore each week he stopped by that it was true. His problem was that his eyesight was so bad that he couldn’t describe the supposed action, the explosions, the vivid colours, the frantic activity of the enemy sailors, a burning sail slowly falling to the ocean and the resultant unintentional sea-anchor dragging an enemy ship off course.

He could not describe the fall of shot, the damage caused by two broadsides, and the ensuing chaos. He would and could only say that he was repeating what others had seen and relayed to him at the time.

Each time he retold the tale he would be laughed at and ridiculed, but he never changed his tune.

Then one evening, a junior lieutenant by the name of Clarke and two gun-captains entered the tavern and seeing Croker, joined him at his table. Mocking him as usual, the regular drinkers asked him to tell his tale again for the benefit of the newcomers, expecting them to ridicule him as the locals were want to do, but then the jeers and mocking subsided as the three sailors joined in with the account, describing with sweeping hand gestures how flaming pitch had erupted out of the sea and arced down onto the enemy; and how this mild-mannered man had devised a plan of such preposterous magnitude that it defied credulity, but was in fact true.

“Sir.” No response

“Sir!” The Midshipman turned, surprised that the most unlikely sailor ever to serve in one of His Britannic Majesty’s ships was vying for his attention.

Nearly everyone aboard, including the most junior officer currently being addressed had been looking aft at the two French frigates on the horizon. A stern chase. That’s what it was called. The British frigate Deter was in the Mediterranean Sea with orders to disrupt sea trade and capture or destroy French merchant ships hugging the southern coast of France.

The ship had had some success, seizing several small coastal transport ships and sending then to Gibraltar, including a brigg armed with twelve, six pounder guns that had proved no match for the much faster British warship armed with “long nines”, twenty four pounder cannon that could out-range the smaller ship’s cannon by over six cable lengths.

Now the British ship was at a disadvantage. As dawn began to slowly work its way across the sea, the mainmast lookout had called out, “Deck there, sails fine on the starboard stern!”

The alarm had been raised and then ship’s company were beat to quarters.

Mister Midshipman Clarke had been given command of the four aft waist cannon on the larboard gundeck, and had ordered the guns loaded, ready to be run out. He now stood waiting further orders, although he knew that it would be some time yet afore that would occur.

He was only fifteen, but had already proved himself to a be a capable junior officer in battle. The ordinary seaman who had just spoken was David Croker. He was intelligent and articulate, but it was also quite clear he should not be aboard. He should never have been taken by the press, but had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Sitting in a tavern full of seamen, it was reasonable for the press gang to assume he was a sailor; whereas he was in fact a senior shipping clerk who had simply been taking an ale and a bite to eat before heading home nearby where he lived with his sister and her husband.

The man had been jostled as soon as the other drinkers had realised what was happening, his spectacles dislodged from his head, then knocked out by a deft blow from a belaying pin as he crawled under the table to find them.

When he came to, the ship was already two days at sea. It soon became apparent that the man was as blind as a bat without his spectacles and could do nothing required of him because of his atrocious eyesight. The best he could manage was to haul on a rope when ordered, but only if the rope was placed in his hand first.

When the captain heard about Croker, he had him brought to his cabin and began to asses him, lest he be simply swinging the lead. He discovered instead a well-educated man who could read and write, if only he could see, and who was extremely capable where mathematics was concerned.

The captain was embarrassed to find the man was carrying an impressment letter of exemption. Had this been produced he should have been left alone, but many an over-zealous sailor would ignore it, or as in this case, bludgeon first and ask to see it later.

The captain took pity on the man and had the ship’s carpenter fashion a piece of wood to hold the lens from a broken bring-em-near. With this telescope lens, Croker was able to read and write, and became the captain’s scribe.

When the alarm had been raised, Croker was led to the gun deck and put on the tackles of a twenty-four-pounder. When the order, “gunports open, three-six – heave” was given, the number three and number six men in the gun crew would haul on the tackles to run the gun out ready for firing.

After firing, the gun would leap back inboard under tremendous recoil ready for it to be reloaded and run out again.

Constant practice and discipline meant a competent gun-crew could fire a shot every ninety seconds which was over a minute faster than the best the enemy could produce. Consequently, a British ship could equal the rate of fire of a much larger French or Spanish ship.

The French frigates were slowly but surely gaining on the British ship. Every twenty to thirty minutes the enemy tried a ranging shot from its bowchasers. The last one had landed two cable lengths astern. Within an hour they would probably be within range. Half an hour after that they would start to aim bar or chain shot at the masts and rigging. Knocking out a critical spar and causing a sail to drag in the water, or hitting the rudder or wheel would be all that was needed.

Then the two frigates would stand off either side at an angle so all their guns could bear, but the British ship would only be able to return fire with its two sternchasers. They stood no chance like that and would soon be pulverised into submission. Still, the Captain would order the men to fight, and fight they would.

They could turn and fire broadsides down the throats of the Frenchies when they came close enough, but unless both ships could be quickly disabled, the enemy would be upon them and raking them from stem to stern and back again within minutes. If the enemy had Carronades, then five hundred musket balls fired at once the full length of the gundeck would rip the crew to shreds in seconds. It would be carnage if the British colours weren’t struck before the enemy brought the ugly short snouts of these weapons in range.

They were too far from a friendly, or even a neutral port to make a run for it, and there were no other British ships scheduled to be in the area. They were on their own and destined to be sunk, blown to smithereens, or surrender. The crew were not keen on any of these options.

“What is it Croker,” the midshipman asked.

“Begging your pardon sir, I have an idea sir, a stratagem that might slow yon Frenchies down. ‘Tis dangerous though. It might work, or it might send us to the bottom.”

A brief explanation convinced the officer to take Croker to see the First Lieutenant, who sounded incredulous when he heard what the sailor had to say, but then admitted it was no worse an idea than trying to fight two ships at once.

Midshipman Clarke was sent back to his post, and the Lieutenant led Croker up to the poop-deck where the Captain was studiously watching the enemy through his own very fine bring-em-near.

Apologising for the interruption, the Lieutenant told his superior what the sailor had come up with.

The Captain thought long and hard before speaking. “Well, I don’t see that we have much to lose. We risk destroying the ship and killing everyone on board, or we turn and fight, probably with the same result. Worse still, we could end up handing our ship over as a prize to the enemy.”

“Can you do the calculations Croker?”

“Yes sir, but I’ll need information from the master gunner, and the ship’s sailing master. I could probably use the help of the Young Gentleman as well to check my calculations.”

After a brief moment the captain said, “Have the master-gunner and bosun bring everything on deck that will be needed.”

The log was thrown, the knots counted, and the ship’s speed calculated over and over again.

Measurements were taken to determine the speed of the enemy, and more importantly, the differential speed and the time it would take to catch the British ship as if it were stationary.

[Fruitcake]

Part 2

Calculations were made, checked, and rechecked. Fuses were measured and cut, lit, and the time taken to burn the full length were noted. This was repeated until the fuse would burn for the exact time it would take for the two French ships to cover the distance between them and the British frigate’s position at the time.

A simple pulley was rigged at each end of the mainsail spar, and a rope threaded through with each end temporarily tied off at the railings.

Measured lengths of fuse were carefully fitted to a brace of kegs filled with gunpowder that were then placed inside a pair of empty barrels. The kegs were wedged in place with pitch, sailcloth, and hardwood that hopefully wouldn’t catch afire until the charges ignited.

The fuses were then tacked to the inside of the barrels so they would burn evenly without setting off the charges inside prematurely. The fuses were then poked through the bung-holes before the barrel lids and hoops were tapped into place and sealed with pitch.

Each barrel was then wrapped in a rope cargo net, and weighted so they would float with as little of the barrel showing above the surface of the sea as possible.

The nets were then tied to one end of each previously slung rope and then the other ends of the ropes were pulled until taut. A longer rope with cork floats every fathom was tied to one of the barrel nets, fed around the stern of the ship then tied off to the other barrel net.

Now came the most dangerous part; lighting the fuses whilst the barrels were still aboard the ship, but a distraction was needed so the enemy wouldn’t realise what was happening. For this reason, all the cannon had been run out ready to fire.

The order was given to light the fuses, the gunner having assigned himself to the larboard barrel, and the gunner’s mate ordered to man the starboard barrel.

Once lit, the fuses were then tucked inside the barrel lids before the bungs were fiercely hammered in and covered with pitch, then a strip of wood nailed across the bungs for surety. As soon as the fuses sputtered to life, sand-timers were turned, and every minute recorded.

Two men then hauled on each of the ropes until the barrels were just atop the hammock nettings, then the captain gave the order to fire the cannon. A double broadside, two bow-chasers, and two stern-chasers roared flame and smoke, enshrouding the ship and obscuring it from the enemy’s view.

Simultaneously, random signal flags were hoisted in the hopes that the French would think more British ships were in sight.

As this was being done, the order was given to hoist the barrels then release them so that they swung away from the ship in an arc. As the mines reached their zenith the sailors doing the heaving released them, and everyone hoped the ropes that had been freshly and liberally coated in tallow would run cleanly through the newly and thoroughly greased pulleys.

As the smoke cleared, lookouts at the stern watched for the barrels. Suddenly, first one then the other called out that the barrels and the floating rope were clear to each side of the ship, and slowly being pushed apart by the frigate’s wake.

Now all the crew could do was wait to see if the mines would explode, and if so, how the enemy would react. The two frigates astern were following slightly to either side of the British ship’s wake. The hope was that the barrels would also stay close to the single ship’s wake, and explode when the enemy were close by.

If everything worked, flaming pitch and timber would shower the enemy and set fire to sails or tarred rigging. If the British were really lucky, the rope would snag on one of the French ships and pull the mines alongside.

It was a long shot, but even if no damage was caused, it was hoped the French would be shocked and concentrate on watching for any more jetsam discharged by the British. Anything thrown overboard that floated, especially if preceded by a dummy broadside might be enough for the Frenchmen to steer clear, and lose distance in the process.

The French sailors all stopped what they were doing when they saw, and then heard the broadside from their foe. Lookouts in the fighting tops reported signal flags being run up and down a backstay just before they saw the cannon-fire, but declared they could see no other sails in sight. That didn’t mean there weren’t any beyond their horizon as the Frenchmen knew, but they also knew it could be a bluff.

When the smoke eventually cleared, telescopes were trained on the prey, but nobody though to check the water. Consequently, they were caught off guard when a loud explosion occurred a cable-length to their fore, and a pistol shot distance to leeward. Fiery barrel staves, iron hoops, and burning lumps of pitch were cast into the air where it seemed to hang as if suspended by an invisible hand. Then everything came down in a cascade, narrowly missing the lead ship as the debris plunged into the sea with a hiss, the pitch still burning briefly underwater as it did so.

The Frenchmen were shocked and speechless at the sight and sound of this new and unseen weapon that had narrowly missed them. Then sailors started chattering, pointing and speculating about what had happened. For a full minute they stared at the sea around them, to the British frigate beyond, then back to the flotsam now passing astern.

Suddenly the second mine exploded no more than a musket-shot distant abeam to windward of the second French ship, spewing molten flame and more burning staves skyward. The smashed pieces of the barrel spun lazily in the air, trailing smoke and fire behind them as again, everything seemed to hang in the air.

Warning shouts from the topmen alerted the stunned deckhands below to the danger as bits of burning debris drifted towards the sails and tar-soaked rigging exactly as Croker had hoped. Some pieces of timber missed, or landed on the deck where they were quickly dowsed with sea-water, but a lump of burning pitch stuck to the foresail and a stave caught in the climbing ropes, setting them both alight.

Men hacked at ropes with boarding axes and eventually managed to drop the burning rigging and sail overboard before any serious damage occurred, but the added drag caused the ship to veer widdershins towards the other frigate which had already turned away lest it catch afire as well.

On the British ship, an excited cheer had gone up when the first mine had exploded, but was quickly subdued as it became obvious that it had missed its target. When the second mine exploded, everyone waited until one of the lookouts called down that the Frenchman was caught alight at which point cheers erupted throughout the frigate.

Normally the French preferred to disable its enemy at a distance by aiming for their rigging and sails then standing off and pounding it to pieces, whereas the British preferred to sail in close and smash its opponent’s hull and gundeck to the point where it could no longer fight.

At the current range, a broadside or two would probably have little impact on the French ships if aimed at the hulls, so instead the captain ordered all cannon on the gundeck to be re-loaded with bar-shot and raised to maximum elevation.

The two French ships were in disarray, both now at an oblique angle to the British frigate that was beating upwind to bring its larboard battery to bear in the knowledge that the enemy would not be able to return fire.

The cannon roared in unison, flinging several hundredweight of iron spinning towards the enemy. Most of the ironwork flew too high, but a single bar smashed through the main foretopmast, tearing away the topgallant sail of the ship that had caught fire.

Turning downwind, the British fired its starboard guns at the so far undamaged French frigate. This time their aim was better, but only resulted in slight damage. A ripped foresail and a few stays were cut through, but it was enough to cause a delay.

Turning again until it was sailing as close to the wind as possible, Deter began to pull away from the enemy. It would take several hours for the French to repair damage and again give chase again. Even then they would proceed with caution with extra lookouts tasked with watching for more sea-borne weapons.

To add to their consternation, the British had thrown some more jetsam overboard, causing the two Frenchman to veer away from it, not realising it was harmless rotted timber that had been discarded as opposed to another deadly mine.

The ruse had worked, and come nightfall the French had failed to sight the British ship again so it was now able to slip away before turning back to resume its original task of disrupting coastal shipping.

By the time Croker finished retelling his tale, aided by the former midshipman, now 4th Lieutenant, and the two gun-captains, their fellow drinkers first met the story with stunned silence, then gradually people started to cheer and clap, and offer to buy him drinks. By the end of the evening, he was uncharacteristically drunk, and was sore from the number of times he had been slapped on the back.

He was also late to the point that his sister came to look for him, worried that he had been taken by the press a second time. She had wanted to believe her brother’s story but to her shame, she was never sure that it was true. Confused by the revelry and reverence being shown to her brother, she asked one of the sailors what had happened, and was both pleased and shocked to discover that her brother was a hero, and everything he had said was true.