Their Lordships Request: A Harry Heron Adventure
Their Lordships Request
Harry Heron 01
(2010)
Patrick G. Cox
Contents
Chapter 1 — December 1801: New Beginnings
Chapter 2 — The Spartan
Chapter 3 — A new ship building
Chapter 4 — 1802: Convoy
Chapter 5 — Accusations
Chapter 6 — 2202AD: An old enemy; a new guise
Chapter 7 — 1802: Sea, sky and stars
Chapter 8 — 2202AD: Interference or espionage?
Chapter 9 — 1802: Corsair!
Chapter 10 — Blooded
Chapter 11 — Landfall
Chapter 12 — The fairest Cape
Chapter 13 — The Southern Ocean
Chapter 14 — Trials and delays
Chapter 15 — The sinking Dutchman.
Chapter 16 — Take her off the dock
Chapter 17 — Tempest
Chapter 18 — Botany Bay
Chapter 19 — Heat, rum and unrest
Chapter 20 — Completing the Complement
Chapter 21 — An expedition of exploration.
Chapter 22 — A Southerly Buster
Chapter 23 — The Coral Barrier
Chapter 24 — Batavia
Chapter 25 — The bustling East
Chapter 26 — New orders
Chapter 27 — A new Commission
Chapter 28 — A Mission to Muscat
Chapter 29 — Matters of diplomacy
Chapter 30 — The broken Peace
Chapter 31 — An excursion
Chapter 32 — The Vihara
Chapter 33 — Outward bound
Glossary:
Book information
Chapter 1 — December 1801: New Beginnings
The pull to the damaged brig from the anchored HMS Bellerophon was a long and wet one. Regular bursts of spray sliced across the rowers, drenching them, and twelve and a half year old Midshipman Harry Nelson-Heron was glad of his borrowed oiled tarpaulin coat. Several of the older hands among the passengers wore oiled canvas jackets, or were huddled beneath pieces of sailcloth and staying reasonably dry. He recalled the First's instruction to equip himself with an oiled coat or cloak for the future from the Purser's store and decided to do it as soon as opportunity arose.
Looking down he saw there was a lot of water accumulating in the bottom of the boat. He glanced at the Boatswain's Mate wondering if the man had noticed. This must have happened during the night while he was in charge of the quarterboat and he had then not seen it. Instinctively he knew it was not a good sign, and should be dealt with. A lesson he and Ferghal had learned to their cost in the small dinghy they had learned to sail on Strangford Lough.
"Coxswain, I think we should set some of the men to work to remove the water we are shipping."
The burly warrant officer looked down at him in surprise and approval. "Aye, aye, sir!" He looked forward to the huddle of spare hands between the rowers, "Blake, Gunn, Wright, Small. Break out the balers and get cracking, I want the boat kept dry you slackers!" He glowered at the rest of the men. "And the rest of you can spell them on the baling." To Harry he said, "Sorry, sir, I should have spotted it."
"No matter." Harry grinned. "At least we are dealing with it now." He nodded towards the brig. "She looks as if she is riding heavily; she must have shipped a lot of water."
The Boatswain's Mate looked across at the now nearing brig and nodded. "That she is, sir. Look at the water they are pumping overside – the pump we carry will be needed I'm thinking!" He gave Harry an appraising look, thinking privately this youngster missed very little. He pushed these thoughts aside, his attention drawn to the need to get their launch alongside the brig and transfer their extra men and the pump. In reality it needed the brig to heave too to achieve this properly, but he could see this was not going to be the first choice of the men now working to bring her to safety. He drew this to Harry's attention. "I'll come up on her lee under the main chains, sir. The men can board her there and we can offload the pump when they bring her to anchor if the lieutenant agrees."
Harry nodded, grateful for the Boatswain's Mate's experience in these matters. "Very good, Smales. I can confer with the Lieutenant or the ship's own officers while the men make the transfer." He stood up and balanced himself by clutching the gunwale as he did so. He called to the men forward, "We will lay as close as we can to her main chains. Get yourselves aboard her as quick as you can – but take care."
The men acknowledged his instruction and began to prepare to transfer to the brig. Smales brought the boat up on the brig's quarter, urging the oarsmen to hold the stroke at a pace which kept abreast of her, gradually easing closer, taking care to avoid fouling his oars on the wallowing hull as he did so. When he achieved the right position, he bawled, to the bowman, "Now, Richards, hook on to her. Quick man, and get the painter on as well!"
From above him, Harry heard the voice of Lieutenant Greenway and looked up, "Good morning, sir! I have brought you some hands and a portable pump to assist, but I fear we cannot unload the pump until you are at anchor."
"Well done, Mister Heron," the Lieutenant began when a shout interrupted him.
On the edge of his vision Harry saw one of the seamen miss his footing as he lost his grip and fall between the launch and the brig. Without thinking, he lunged across the boat to see the man struggling just beneath the surface. He plunged his arm into the water, almost falling overboard himself, and grabbed a handful of shirt. His intervention caused the man to stop sinking and drew him to the surface as the launch continued its forward motion. Harry clung on for all he was worth, slowly being pulled from the boat himself. "Smales," he squeaked, "I cannot hold him!"
Time seemed to stand still as the big Boatswain's Mate released the tiller and reached forward and down to grab hold of Harry and the struggling seaman. With a powerful wrench he pulled the man half into the boat depositing Harry into the bilges as he did so. From this vantage point Harry watched as Smales pulled the man all the way into the boat and once more grabbed the tiller to steady the boat. Gingerly he got up and began to seat himself on the stern sheets, the better to be able to get his breath and collect his thoughts.
The Boatswain's Mate grabbed the winded man and hauled him to his feet again, his anger thickening his accent. "Thought you could run by drownding yoursel' did ye?" he snarled. "Not with Mister Heron to catch you, you don't! Now, get yourself aboard t' brig you clumsy bastard! An' don't try nuthin' as stupid again!"
The man stumbled forward past the grinning oarsmen as Harry realised the lieutenant was once more calling his name. "Sir, I beg pardon." He stood up the better to hear the Lieutenant conscious he was trembling and cold.
"I said, well done, Mister Heron. For a moment I thought you might be trying to inspect our damage!" The lieutenant grinned, his eyes on where the unfortunate seaman was being hauled aboard the brig. "Have your bowman pass a long painter, we will take you under tow until we anchor and can take your pump aboard. Then I shall want you to fetch the carpenter and his mates from the Billy. We have some shot holes we cannot reach; damned French must have fired as she rolled to leeward and exposed her bilges."
The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully for Harry as he ferried seamen and messages back and forth between the brig and Bellerophon. He at least managed to get an oiled jacket from the Purser to replace the borrowed garment. The final task was to fetch Lieutenant Greenway and the spare hands back to Bellerophon. A second launch was sent to fetch the pump and other hands. Among those who boarded the launch for this short trip was the man who had fallen. His journal fo
r the day made interesting reading and his letter home gave a full account of the brief encounter in the channel and the description of the storm, the brief exchange of fire when they had saved the brig from a French sloop, and all that had happened as they brought the ship to the anchorage.
***
The following day, Sunday, saw the storm still blowing hard but once more swinging north and westerly giving the ship an uncomfortable motion at her anchor in Spithead. The ship's routine began in its usual manner with the decks scrubbed, the rigging checked and the hammocks stowed in the nettings. Following breakfast the crew fell in by Divisions with Harry at his station as officer in charge of a group of some twenty men who formed part of the Third Lieutenant's Division. To his surprise he noticed the man he had been instrumental in saving had been assigned to it, moving from another Division to do so. Harry asked the Master's Mate, "I see Small has been transferred to this division, Mister Llewellyn, is there some reason?"
"Aye, Mister Heron, sir, he requested it and the First agreed to it. Thought he might do better in this division with someone he feels obliged to."
"Obliged, Mister Llewellyn?" asked Harry puzzled.
The Master's Mate's reply was lost as the arrival of the Captain on deck brought the Royal Marines to attention with a rattle of drums and then their Fife band. The salute died away as the Captain took his place at the Quarterdeck rail and drew out the Articles of War. These were read with great solemnity before the Captain, accompanied by the First Lieutenant, descended to the gangways and commenced an inspection of each group of men. Reaching Harry's group he paused and addressed the seaman Harry had saved. "Small, is it not?" He continued without waiting for confirmation. "I see you are recovered from your swim. I know your face, what ship were you ere this?"
The man flushed scarlet. "Aye, sir, 't were the Gorgon, sir, in '92."
"I remember. You took a cutlass slash to your shoulder did you not?" The Captain looked hard at the man. "What brought you to the hulks?"
"Hard times, sir." The man looked down at his feet and mumbled, "No Captain wants a man with one arm not working proper, sir."
"And is it now working fully, Small?" the Captain asked softly.
"Well enough, sir," the man replied.
"Well enough you lost your grip boarding the brig?" The Captain nodded. "Mister Brydges, Mister Heron, attend me after Divine Service."
***
It did not take long for the Captain to hear the full story. "Rate him an Assistant Sailmaker, Mister Bell. Mister heron, I shall leave you to inform Small."
"Aye, aye, sir."
***
The interview with Small had been brief, but Harry had been touched and a little embarrassed by the almost tearful gratitude of the old seaman.
***
The February wind was chilly, but for the moment light and the sun, though weak, was at least warm on his cheeks as Harry stood his watch. With the ship at anchor in Spithead his only task was to keep a sharp eye out for any signals from the Port Admiral or a senior ship. It had been a quiet watch thus far. The weeks since the eventful December day the ship first set her anchors down in this anchorage had certainly been busy and he was growing and learning fast.
***
"Mister Heron, a word if you please," called the Third Lieutenant, Mister Brydges.
"Sir?" Harry Nelson-Heron hurried to where his lieutenant stood on the leeside of the quarterdeck. After six months as a Midshipman in His Most Britannic Majesty's Ship Bellerophon, Harry was starting to grow and was tall for his age.
"Captain Cooke is expecting a visitor shortly, Captain Blackwood of the Spartan, and has given orders you are to join him when his guest is aboard." He smiled, adding, "You are to take a luncheon with them and I may tell you that you are being considered for transfer. As you know this ship will be reduced to peacetime manning in the next few weeks and will remain here as a guardship. Spartan is to sail for Botany Bay and the Indies – if you are transferred you will have the opportunity to see the New South Wales territory and the South Seas. You have all the luck my lad, now go and get your best uniform – our Captain will expect you to do our ship credit."
***
Half an hour later Harry was among the side party that welcomed Captain Robert Blackwood aboard the Bellerophon, his best uniform coat freshly pressed and his shirt and trousers clean and neat. The man who came through the entry port to return the salute of the sideboys and Marine band was of moderate height, medium build and angular face. He wore his hair in an old fashioned queue, neatly tied with a black silk ribbon and Harry was startled as the newcomer returned Captain Cooke's greeting in a distinctly Ulster accent.
"Welcome aboard, Robert," Captain Cooke greeted his visitor. "I have arranged a luncheon so you may meet those I suggest are transferred to your command."
"Thank you, James. I understand you have among them someone from County Down. I may well know his family."
"Indeed, young Heron. He has been with me these last six months and shows excellent promise," Harry overheard the Captain say as the two Post Captains walked aft toward the break of the poop and Captain Cooke's great cabin.
"Mister Heron, Mister Tanner." The First Lieutenant beckoned them. "Attend me if you please."
The two midshipmen hurried over to the First Lieutenant and touched their hats to him, "Sir?"
"Gentlemen, you will dine with our Captain and his guest in a few minutes, Mister Greenway and I will be joining you. You already know the purpose of Captain Blackwood's visit, do either of you have any objection to the transfer?" Mister Firebrace studied them both carefully.
Surprised by this question, since the navy did not usually ask, Harry shook his head. "No, sir, if I am ordered to transfer I shall do so, though I would rather remain with the Billy of course," he finished as Kit Tanner added his agreement.
"Good, good." The First Lieutenant considered them briefly and then continued, "I have to tell you the Peace may hold, though many doubt it. Had you elected to remain it is likely you would have been sent ashore on half pay as most of the ships you see about us are to be paid off and laid up. Even this ship will not retain her full complement, as a guardship it is not necessary to do so. You, however, have been recommended by our Captain for this opportunity – make sure you live up to his expectation."
"We shall do our best, sir," replied Kit Tanner. Harry's senior by a half-year, but nearest in age to Harry, he was his closest friend in the Gunroom.
Harry added his assurance and then asked, "Will any of our company be transferred as well?"
Lieutenant Firebrace regarded him quietly for a moment then nodded. "Yes, Mister Heron, as Spartan is new, she has a considerable number of vacancies to fill and will be taking fifty of our fighting complement and some of our senior rates as well." He smiled as he looked at the boy's anxious features. "And your man O'Connor will have the opportunity to go with you, fear not."
***
The Captain's dining table was set out for a feast. One advantage to their being at anchor in Spithead was the fact the ship had access to fresh beef, fresh poultry and other food. After the usual fare of the gunroom the Midshipmen made the most of this opportunity to feast and spent a very pleasant meal listening to their seniors as they discussed the politics of the Peace, the future of the fleet and their own ambitions.
Captain Blackwood studied them from his place next to Captain Cooke and, when the port began to circulate, addressed Harry. "Mister Heron, I believe I know your family. You are a relative of Mister John Heron of Comber are you not?"
"Aye, sir, he is our cousin," replied Harry.
"Indeed, and your father is Major James Nelson-Heron I think, late of the Royal Fusiliers?"
"That is true, sir. Though now he is managing our farm at Scrabo."
"So I am informed. I believe I have the pleasure of his acquaintance. We met in Gibraltar as I recall." He smiled at the memory. "He is well?"
"That he is, sir, I have a letter from him and from
my mother this very day."
"You have a house on Scrabo you say? Was that not where the United Irishmen made their attempt on the garrison at Newtownards? Did they strike at your house and farm?"
"No, sir; although it was a very tense and unsettling night for those there. My father sent my sister and me with our mother and the other women of the house to Downpatrick while they were camped on the Dundonald side of the hill. We lost a few sheep and a horse, but nothing of any consequence." Harry smiled. "They almost ended the fight themselves when they divided their force and marched on the town – only to have each division mistake the other for the garrison." He laughed. "My father still tells the tale and loves to point out that the troops were withdrawn to Bangor to avoid a battle in an undefended town. It was all over within a short time as they were themselves withdrawn, rather piecemeal; I think to support other groups."
"So I am led to believe, I fear though, that the outcome was not a happy one for any of us. There will be bloodshed in the years to come arising from this folly." He frowned slightly, and then said, "I have accepted the transfer of another two midshipmen from the sixty-four Glatton. One of them you may know, though he is somewhat older than yourself. Eamon Barclay of Raholp."