07-11-2025, 12:30 PM
1
“Full sail directly ahead!” the lookout shouted.
“Mr. Bennett, please go up and take a look,“ Lieutenant O'Connor addressed Stephen.
”Aye, sir!” he replied automatically, grabbed a telescope and climbed up the yard. There were sails on the horizon. Stephen had to strain to see the distant ship on the swaying mast. Slowly he could make out more.
“Three ships, sir! They're heading straight for us!“ Stephen shouted down. He couldn't make out any more than that yet. He looked on tensely. The Phaeton was in front of the sun, the small squadron could not have seen it yet. Slowly he could see more.
”Deck! Two merchant ships, one corvette. French design, sir!” Stephen now shouted to the officer on watch.
“Understood, abandon boarding, Mr. Bennett!“
Stephen climbed back down and left the lookout to keep watch alone.
”Mr. Bennett, please call the captain and have the French flag raised on our side,“ Lieutenant O'Connor ordered and went over to the master.
”Aye, sir!”
Stephen hurried to the signal midshipman and raised the French flag – a permitted stratagem to raise a false flag first, as long as one's own flag is raised before the first act of combat.
Then Stephen made his way to the captain.
“Mr. Bennett, midshipman of the watch, Captain!” the marine guard reported to the captain and left the room again.
“What is it, Mr. Bennett?” asked Captain Stevenson, looking up from the papers he was working on at his huge oak desk. A little nervously, Stephen took off his hat and saluted his commander, a broad-shouldered man of about 35 with a huge nose.
“Sir, Lieutenant O'Connor reports that a squadron of three ships is heading our way, probably a French merchant convoy with a corvette as escort. We've hoisted the French flag, sir!” Stephen reeled off his report.
The captain put his papers aside and stood up. He was an imposing figure. You could tell from the tone of his loud voice that he was used to giving orders. Stephen never felt entirely at ease when he had to see the captain; he felt a little intimidated, in fact.
“Thank you, Mr. Bennett. I'll come with you right away!” the captain said, putting on his hat and following Stephen back to the quarterdeck.
Stephen liked being on the Phaeton. It was a maneuverable 38-gun frigate with excellent sailing properties. Although it was clearly inferior to a ship of the line, it had the size and sailing properties of a frigate but a larger armament than most frigates. It was therefore ideally suited to disrupting enemy trade and taking on pirates. And Captain Stevenson was an excellent captain. He kept his ship in good condition and led the crew very effectively and to high standards. Nevertheless, he was well liked by the crew because he didn't push them too hard and led them fairly.
“Sir, the convoy has spotted us. The corvette is continuing to approach us, the merchant ships are falling back!“ reported Lieutenant O'Connor, which has now happened.
”Make a few signals, Mr. Bennett. We want to confuse the French a little!"
Captain Stevenson took a pair of binoculars and looked over to the French frigate.
Stephen ran back to Christian Summer, the signal midshipman, and told him to set a few signals. The Frenchman will look at the flags and wonder what the ship of the line is signaling him. That will confuse him a little and the Phaeton can get closer before he realizes that this ship of the line with the French flag is actually a British warship.
Stephen chatted a little with Christian. Christian had come on the Phaeton around the same time as Stephen and the two had become friends quite quickly. By now, Christian was Stephen's best friend. Stephen grinned when Christian told him how the first lieutenant had half-sleepily run into the mast and then apologized to the mast. Stephen's grin quickly infected the little boy with the jet-black hair and hazel eyes, and Christian couldn't help but giggle.
The shrill whistles of the bosun's mates interrupted the two. The trilling passed on the captain's command to “clear ship.” The crews who had been on watch so far poured out of the companionways onto the deck and hurried to their battle stations, and everything was prepared for a battle.
Stephen now hurried back to the quarterdeck. His station was with the master of the ship, who was responsible for navigation and had to implement the captain's orders during the battle in terms of sail and rudder.
The captain stood next to the first lieutenant on the starboard side of the quarterdeck, while the other two lieutenants had their stations at each battery.
“Ah, Mr. Bennett! There you are at last,” said Mr. MacGregor, the master of the ship, welcoming him.
“Take over, please, I'll just take a quick look at the chart,” he told Stephen and hurried down the companionway to the chart room. Stephen let his gaze wander over the ship. The Phaeton was well laid out with full-breeze but reefed sails and was making good headway, having a slight wind advantage over the corvette. Stephen wrapped himself in his warm pea jacket and felt comfortable. He loved standing on the quarterdeck and feeling the wind in his face in good weather. These were the moments when Stephen was sure that becoming a naval officer was the right decision.
“The corvette is turning... the French seem to have noticed...“ Stephen shared, looking over to the ships with his binoculars.
”It's getting close, sir! He could still get away from us. The corvette is fast and the merchant ships are still far away!” the first lieutenant shared his assessment.
The captain rubbed his chin. “But they have to take care of the convoy and can't go that fast,” he thought aloud. “But for now, let's go after them! Mr. Bennett, what would you recommend?”
Stephen hadn't expected the question. It wasn't as if the captain would really ask a young midshipman for advice. The captain wanted to know if Stephen was up to his station. This was the first time he had really stood at this position after passing his exams as a mate four days ago on the Victory, the flagship of the Channel Fleet. But he enjoyed navigation and was quite good at it. Nevertheless, it made him nervous that the captain was testing him in a real battle.
“The wind is not too strong, I would recommend taking the reef out of the sails and moving one stroke to port to gain more windward side.”
“Sir!” Stephen quickly added. In his nervousness, he had almost forgotten the correct form of address.
“Excellent, Mr. Bennett. I agree entirely. Please make the necessary arrangements."
Now Stephen was really frightened. The captain asking for his opinion was a test and not unusual. But that he should also give the commands was indeed unusual. After all, the first lieutenant was also there and the master was just coming back to them.
Stephen confirmed to the captain that he had understood his order and wiped his hands on his uniform jacket. He started sweating terribly with nervousness. Finally, the captain, the first lieutenant and the master paid close attention to see if he made any mistakes.
He shouted his orders, and these were repeated by the boatswain's mates. In contrast to shouted orders, the various whistle signals could be heard very clearly throughout the ship, and so they could be passed on to the crew very effectively.
The sailing crew boarded the dizzying heights of the mast to loosen the ropes that pulled the sails together to reduce the sail area. Stephen had to board the mast often enough... he remembered how poorly he felt when he first had to climb up the swaying mast. “That was a long time ago,“ Stephen thought to himself. But there wasn't much time to dream. He glanced briefly at the helmsman and the crews on the three masts.
”Mr. Robinson, don't dawdle. Make sure your people get up the mast!” Stephen shouted to the bosun's mate, who was supposed to be in charge of the sailing manoeuvre on the mizzen mast.
A snarl echoed back to Stephen in reply. “I didn't understand you, Mr. Robinson!”
“Aye, aye, SIR!” he growled louder.
Stephen didn't like Mate Robinson. He treated his people badly and always emphasized his rank in front of them. And he only allowed himself to be told something by the “young gentlemen”, as the midshipmen were also called, because the officer candidates were ranked higher, even though they were significantly younger. But he was certainly not someone he would want to meet in the dark or to whom he would entrust his life.
And there the brawny mate with the greasy hair was already slapping the end of a rope over a sailor's back again. Stephen sighed. If he reprimanded the mate now, he could complain that his authority among the crew was being undermined. He felt really sorry for the crew at the mizzenmast.
As the sails fell, Stephen quickly passed on a few corrections to the helmsman. The Phaeton tilted gently to port and turned smoothly onto the new course, picking up speed significantly with the larger sail area.
Stephen smiled contentedly.
“Maneuver executed as ordered!”
“Good work, Mr. Bennett. You're turning into a good officer,” the captain praised him.
“I've checked everything again, Mr. Bennett. We have enough sea room to do all the maneuvers we need to do. Never forget that. If we run aground somewhere because you overlooked a sandbank, you can forget about flying the flag,” the master instructed Stephen. ”But you did an excellent job of the sailing maneuvers. I'm proud of you, Mr. Bennett!”
Stephen had a penchant for navigation and was pleased that he was able to learn more about it from the master. He wasn't so keen on gunnery duty, which is why he hadn't gone to sea in the first place. After all, you could have guns on land too. And he was even more pleased to receive praise from his captain and especially from the master, who hadn't often praised a young gentleman before.
The Phaeton was now traveling much faster than the corvette and was getting closer and closer. On the captain's command, the chase guns at the bow fired the first shots, and the Phaeton was only 50 meters short.
Stephen checked to make sure he had his pistol and cutlass. Everything was in place.
They were getting closer to the frigate. Stephen now concentrated fully on the sails, the wind and the rudder. He had to make sure that any deviations from the ordered course were corrected immediately.
Now they were very close behind the French corvette, although a little to leeward. Stephen could already distinguish the people on the aft deck with the naked eye.
“Jibe!” the captain's command resounded across the deck.
The captain shouted commands, and in a flash the crew was back at the sails. Stephen corrected a few minor details here and there, but the crew worked well together. The Phaeton turned and went cleanly with the stern through the wind. Now they were lying with their broadside directly behind the stern of the Frenchman, the most vulnerable point of the ship.
“Hoist the flag! Double charge! Fire on target acquisition!“ the captain shouted at the battery officers. The flag was hoisted and the first volleys from the port battery thundered out. The bullets whistled through the ship from stern to bow, leaving a bloody trail.
”Upper battery with chain projectiles into the rigging!”
The two hemispheres, connected by chains, shot through the enemy's sails, shredding the ropes and sails. Stephen saw some spars fall on the Frenchman. When the Phaeton was past, the captain turned and then repeated the same game with the starboard battery.
Then the Phaeton pushed itself up against the broadside of the corvette and the two ships exchanged gunfire. Stephen ducked his head as a bullet whistled just above him.
“Look out!“ someone shouted. Stephen leaped to one side as a yardarm crashed onto the deck next to him. But the guns had already done a lot of damage to the enemy, and not much more resistance was to be expected.
”Fire grapeshot and canister! Prepare to board!” Mr. Adair, Mr. Bennett, lead the way!”
The cannons fired their small balls and shot over the enemy deck, Stephen ran to the captain of the marines, the marines and some sailors gathered around them. Stephen's nervousness and excitement had vanished – and then it started. Shrouds flew and pulled the Frenchman closer, and the first commando was able to swing onto the other ship. The captain and Stephen followed, shouting commands. The Phaeton's crew split up. Captain Adair's group moved to the stern, while Stephen fought his way to the foredeck with his group. A defender charged at Stephen. He dodged his opponent's blows and then, with a swift turn, stabbed him in the back with the cutlass. He whirled back, shot the pistol into the chest of the next opponent, and fought his way forward with the cutlass. There was no doubt that the Phaeton's crew had the upper hand, and not just in terms of numbers. The opponents soon realized this and surrendered.
The captain of the corvette handed his sword and the ship over to Captain Adair. Stephen took the speaking trumpet and reported to the Phaeton that they had everything under control. The frigate immediately set sail to catch up with the other ships in the convoy.
Stephen looked around first. The ship didn't appear to be badly damaged. None of the masts were damaged, which was important for the time being; only a few spars and the running rigging had suffered significant damage. Stephen hurried off with a carpenter's mate to inspect the damage below the waterline and ordered a bosun's mate to start repairing the running rigging. Water was not entering the ship anywhere. Stephen breathed a sigh of relief. A leak would have been a lot of work.
The 'Liberté', as the French sailing ship was called, was a good ship. But with a motley crew – but no wonder, the revolutionaries had dismissed most of the officers and it would take time to grow an experienced crew. It was not surprising that the Phaeton had such an easy game.
Stephen went to the captain's cabin to look through the documents. The captain had thrown the signal notebook and the orders overboard in an iron-weighted envelope, as was customary in all fleets.
He carefully looked through everything, but it wasn't really that exciting. As far as he could see, it was normal escort protection for a trade convoy.
But a captain's cabin was something Stephen could definitely get used to. He leaned back in the comfortable armchair behind the desk. But if at all, it would be a few years before Stephen would get his own command. He wasn't even a real officer yet. A sailor's report pulled Stephen out of his reverie again.
“The Phaeton is sailing with the two merchant ships again and signaling. Mr. Adair asks you on deck."
Stephen reported to the captain, who was signaled by the Phaeton to come back to report. Stephen quickly reported what he could deduce from the documents and handed the marine a notebook with documents.
There was a lot to be done. With the small crew, the sails could not be operated and all the guns manned at the same time in an emergency. Stephen therefore had all the guns loaded and run out first. In an emergency, two gunners would then run along the row and fire the guns one after the other.
The carpenter's and boatswain's mates immediately set to work replacing yards and sails and whatever else needed to be done. Boats with some sailors set off from the Phaeton so that the ship could be sailed back. Some marines were also able to return. Only a few remained on board to guard the captured French.
Stephen liked life at sea, although it wasn't always easy, of course. The accommodation was very cramped; the midshipmen all lived in one small room, where they simply hung their hammocks in the evening. What's more, the food wasn't really tasty. But Stephen loved the calm of the sea. He could look into the distance and see nothing but endless expanses of water, peacefully rushing past the ship.
And the service at sea did the 18-year-old Stephen good. Through the physical work, he was well-trained and, despite his 180 cm, did not appear too scrawny. Serving on the ship's deck gave him a healthy complexion that went well with his green eyes and light blonde hair. Stephen looked down at himself and realized that he would have to visit the uniform tailor again in the next port. The sleeves of the dark blue uniform jacket were just about sufficient and the vest was a little tight – and the white trousers also just reached below the ankles. Well, the sentence was a bit old, too.
“I'll make a fool of myself if I leave the ship like this. And I only have one more set with which I can show myself ashore,” thought Stephen.
“Phaeton signaling, sir!” Hugh shouted. The 14-year-old had only been at sea for a year and was still a ‘captain's servant.’ Like midshipmen, servants were officer candidates, but they did not yet have enough years of service. Until then, they served on board as ‘servants,’ doing similar duties to midshipmen, but without an official rank. After two years at sea, they could then be appointed midshipmen. Midshipmen were then classified as something between the mates and the deck officers.
“Mr. Roberts, what are they signaling?” Stephen asked impatiently. Hugh rummaged through the signal notebook. He didn't yet know the flags by heart. He assumed that the 25-year-old Oliver Picken, the only midshipman who was senior in rank and had also passed the examination for the mate's certificate, was assigned as commander to a merchant ship, that a mate took over the other merchant ship, and that the four midshipmen junior in rank would be assigned in part as deputies and in part would remain on the Phaeton. Stephen wondered who he would get as a prize commander, because the corvette is a real warship and would certainly not be left to a midshipman who, although ranked second in the ship's seniority ranking, was still very young compared to the officer candidates, and so he was only relatively one of the older ones.
“Mr. Roberts, what's taking so long?“ Stephen asked, now slightly annoyed.
”Stephen, I can't do it that fast yet,“ Hugh replied.
”Mr. Roberts, please address me as sir when I'm on duty!” Stephen reprimanded Hugh. It was not desirable for officers to address each other informally when on duty, and if a superior officer had heard it, there would certainly have been trouble again.
“Aye, aye, sir!” Hugh replied eagerly. ‘I've got it. Phaeton orders line formation, our number at position 4.’
At that moment, a cannon thundered on the Phaeton.
“Excellent, Mr. Roberts. Now they're already firing a signal cannon because you're taking so long. See that you set the confirmation signals.“
”Aye, aye, sir! Set the confirmation signal!“ stammered Hugh timidly and rushed off. Stephen sighed.
”Sir! Phaeton signals: expect boat!”
“Thank you, Mr. Roberts. That was much faster!” Stephen praised. He was sorry to have to criticize one of the short ones. But if he didn't react quickly to the signals, he would have to explain why he hadn't carried out the orders correctly – and he had no desire to do that at all. The Phaeton's boat was already coming alongside.
Phaeton's third lieutenant climbed up the accommodation ladder and hurried in Stephen's direction.
“Lieutenant Andrews looks really cute,” thought Stephen. The twenty-year-old third of Phaeton was rather small, about 165 cm, slim, and had medium-blond hair, which he had tied into a neck plait, as was customary in the Navy. Underneath his two-cornered hat, his eyes sparkled bright blue and he had a contagious smile on his face. The uniform also looked very good on him. The white knee breeches with white stockings, the white vest over the white shirt formed a nice contrast to his sun-tanned face. Over his vest, he wore the dark blue skirt of naval officers. In contrast to Stephen, the edges of the lieutenant's open uniform jacket were decorated with braid, and it had a skirt lapel, a kind of buttoned lapel. Stephen, on the other hand, wore a simpler uniform jacket. It lacked the cuffs, the buttons were simply arranged in a vertical line. Added to that was the white collar tab that distinguished midshipmen from all other officers and deck officers.
“Cute? What is wrong with me?” was Stephen's next thought. That couldn't be right. He couldn't find a man cute. He was quite confused. So far, he hadn't really met the new third mate, who had only been on the Phaeton for a week. He had just passed his lieutenant's exam on the Victory and was lucky that a position had become available on the Phaeton due to the promotion of the then first lieutenant.
“Well, Mr. Bennett! I see you have everything perfectly prepared. Then we can get started right away!” said Lieutenant Andrews. ‘The captain wants to return to England. We want to be in the roads at Spithead. Bring us to the ordered position.’
But Stephen looked the lieutenant in the face and didn't even register that he had spoken to him.
“Mr. Bennett. Are you still there?” grinned Lieutenant Andrews. Stephen realized that he had been staring at his superior the whole time and blushed.
“Excuse me, sir! I didn't mean to... well... er... move the ship into position, aye, aye!” Stephen stammered and rushed off. ‘Just get out of here quickly,’ Stephen thought. Lieutenant Andrews looked thoughtfully at Stephen. When he realized that his orders were being carried out properly, he disappeared to do his paperwork.
Stephen took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was totally confused. But now he had to pull himself together. If he gave the wrong commands, he would make a fool of himself in front of the entire crew, especially the captain and the master, who were surely watching his maneuvers.
They didn't have enough men to be fast, but the Liberté lined up perfectly at her designated position and followed the Phaeton and the two merchant ships. Now Stephen could smile again.
“That went wonderfully well,” thought Stephen, pleased, “nobody can complain about that.”
“We should reach Spithead in two days,“ Lieutenant Andrews informed his second-in-command. The eight strokes of the bell reminded them of the changing of the guard.
”I'm going to lie down for a bit. Wake me if there's any news!” said Lieutenant Andrews, heading for the companionway.
“Good night, sir! Sleep well and dream sweet dreams!“ replied Stephen.
”I will, I'm sure!” Another brief grin and William Andrews disappeared into the captain's cabin.
Stephen sighed. What were these feelings that plagued him? Why did he constantly feel the urge to look Lieutenant Andrews in the eye? He didn't know... or rather, he didn't want to know. He preferred to plunge back into his work. The sails had to be checked, and here and there a few men had to be reprimanded. Being on watch duty was also something new for Stephen. He had never been in charge of a watch before. On the Phaeton, a lieutenant was always on watch duty, with the assistance of a midshipman. Until now, Stephen had not had enough service time and experience to be considered for such a position on a prize.
On the one hand, it was great fun to finally be able to make some decisions on his own. On the other hand, it was a little frightening to think that the 50 sailors currently serving on the Liberté were dependent on the decisions he made. But it was simply an uplifting feeling to stand on the corvette's aft deck, while she plowed through the waves, and feel the wind in your face.
The ship's bell rang, signaling the eight bells of the evening watch, and at the same time Lieutenant Andrews came up the companionway. Stephen briefly recounted what had happened in the past four hours. Wind direction, sails set, course, incidents, etc., and then, under the astonished gaze of his superior, hurried below deck. Quickly into the bunk, get some sleep first. Stephen was sure that everything would be clear again after he got up. He hung his skirt neatly on the hook next to his two-cornered hat, his white vest and white neckcloth over it. Dressed only in trousers and shirt, he quickly washed, then these garments also disappeared and Stephen lay down in his bunk. He lay awake for a long time, thinking constantly of the smile and the eyes of Lieutenant Andrews. Stephen sighed. What were these unfamiliar thoughts plaguing him? But eventually, after the exhausting day, he was overcome by tiredness and he fell asleep.
The next day was more or less uneventful. Of course, Stephen always had a lot to do when a ship is so drastically understaffed, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Captain Stevenson enjoyed his role as squadron commander and pestered his “squadron” with signals and simple sailing maneuvers. Lieutenant Andrews and Stephen took turns keeping watch every four hours. During the times when both were awake, they talked a lot. There was not much entertainment and variety when only a quarter of the 200 men were on duty. The Phaeton could not provide more. Above all, he missed Christian, his best friend. Perhaps he could have explained to him what was going on.
Then at dawn, the signals on the Phaeton flew up.
“Deck! Land ahead!” the lookout shouted down. Almost simultaneously, Hugh Roberts came running. ‘Sir! The Phaeton is signaling: Prepare to enter the roads off Spithead!’
So they were back at British shores. Stephen had already memorized the charts last night so that nothing embarrassing would happen to him.
“Mr. Green, please wake the lieutenant,” he ordered a standing around mate. ‘Mr. Hanniford, would you please whistle for all hands?’ The bosun's mate pulled his silver pipe out of his pocket and the signal that called all hands on deck for sailing maneuvers started shrilling.
The sails had to be reefed so that they didn't gain too much speed, they often had to adjust their course, and a lot of preparations were made for entering the harbor.
Lieutenant Andrews then took over. He stood with Stephen on the aft deck and calmly gave the sailing commands. The ship glided silently through the entrance.
“Brace the sails lively!” Lieutenant Andrews commanded from the quarterdeck. The Phaeton's crew was very well trained and the sails were quickly turned so that they no longer offered the wind a surface to catch on. Stephen was already on his way to the cannons to fire a salute.
It looked wonderful. The four ships entered the harbor one behind the other in bright sunshine, the sailing commands were almost synchronous, the distance always remained the same. Then the salutes went off. The Phaeton, the two merchant ships and the Liberté fired their 11-gun salute simultaneously. Stephen walked along the cannons and gave the commands.
BOOM!
“And if I hadn't been a gunner, I wouldn't be here today either. FIRE!” Stephen murmured the old saying that was used to determine the distance between two shots.
BOOM!
And Stephen was sure that the same words were murmured on the Phaeton, the merchant ships and in the harbor.
BOOM!
Lieutenant Andrews had meanwhile dropped anchor and the Liberté had anchored exactly 10 cable lengths away, as the signals from the Phaeton had ordered.
“That went incredibly well!” praised Lieutenant Andrews. “The captain can't have any complaints about that.”
And the signal flags were flying again on the Phaeton. Commander on board for a meeting, instructions for disembarking the French prisoners, etc., etc. And then the prizes had to be handed over to the port admiral so that he could hand them over to the prize court. The captured ships are then sold together with their cargo and the proceeds distributed according to a prescribed key. Stephen was also looking forward to the money. The salary of an officer cadet wasn't particularly good.
“Mr. Bennett, then you can ship the prisoners, I'll go to the meeting!” Lieutenant Andrews ordered, patted Stephen on the shoulder and went to the waiting boat that would take him to the Phaeton. A smile flitted across Stephen's face again when the hand touched his shoulder.
As ordered, Stephen had the French prisoners assemble on deck, divided them into groups of ten men, and had them brought ashore, escorted by marines. As much as he had enjoyed feeling a new kind of responsibility aboard the Liberté, he also longed to be back aboard the Phaeton, where he could finally be with the other midshipmen again. Standing watch after watch on deck alone was fine for the next two days, but it didn't have to be much longer.
“Sir, Phaeton is signaling that officers of the harbor admiral are coming on board,” reported Hugh, who had learned a lot about signaling during his two days on the Liberté.
“Confirm, Mr. Roberts. You're getting quite good at that,“ Stephen praised the young servant.
Shortly thereafter, the officials' boat came into view, heading purposefully for the Liberté.
”Request permission to come on board!” one of the officials addressed Stephen.
“Permission granted, sir! Welcome aboard!” came the reply from Stephen. This was followed by a rather boring comparison of lists of what was on board, and after a few hours the handover was complete. Stephen boarded the boats with the remaining crew and crossed back to the Phaeton.
“Full sail directly ahead!” the lookout shouted.
“Mr. Bennett, please go up and take a look,“ Lieutenant O'Connor addressed Stephen.
”Aye, sir!” he replied automatically, grabbed a telescope and climbed up the yard. There were sails on the horizon. Stephen had to strain to see the distant ship on the swaying mast. Slowly he could make out more.
“Three ships, sir! They're heading straight for us!“ Stephen shouted down. He couldn't make out any more than that yet. He looked on tensely. The Phaeton was in front of the sun, the small squadron could not have seen it yet. Slowly he could see more.
”Deck! Two merchant ships, one corvette. French design, sir!” Stephen now shouted to the officer on watch.
“Understood, abandon boarding, Mr. Bennett!“
Stephen climbed back down and left the lookout to keep watch alone.
”Mr. Bennett, please call the captain and have the French flag raised on our side,“ Lieutenant O'Connor ordered and went over to the master.
”Aye, sir!”
Stephen hurried to the signal midshipman and raised the French flag – a permitted stratagem to raise a false flag first, as long as one's own flag is raised before the first act of combat.
Then Stephen made his way to the captain.
“Mr. Bennett, midshipman of the watch, Captain!” the marine guard reported to the captain and left the room again.
“What is it, Mr. Bennett?” asked Captain Stevenson, looking up from the papers he was working on at his huge oak desk. A little nervously, Stephen took off his hat and saluted his commander, a broad-shouldered man of about 35 with a huge nose.
“Sir, Lieutenant O'Connor reports that a squadron of three ships is heading our way, probably a French merchant convoy with a corvette as escort. We've hoisted the French flag, sir!” Stephen reeled off his report.
The captain put his papers aside and stood up. He was an imposing figure. You could tell from the tone of his loud voice that he was used to giving orders. Stephen never felt entirely at ease when he had to see the captain; he felt a little intimidated, in fact.
“Thank you, Mr. Bennett. I'll come with you right away!” the captain said, putting on his hat and following Stephen back to the quarterdeck.
Stephen liked being on the Phaeton. It was a maneuverable 38-gun frigate with excellent sailing properties. Although it was clearly inferior to a ship of the line, it had the size and sailing properties of a frigate but a larger armament than most frigates. It was therefore ideally suited to disrupting enemy trade and taking on pirates. And Captain Stevenson was an excellent captain. He kept his ship in good condition and led the crew very effectively and to high standards. Nevertheless, he was well liked by the crew because he didn't push them too hard and led them fairly.
“Sir, the convoy has spotted us. The corvette is continuing to approach us, the merchant ships are falling back!“ reported Lieutenant O'Connor, which has now happened.
”Make a few signals, Mr. Bennett. We want to confuse the French a little!"
Captain Stevenson took a pair of binoculars and looked over to the French frigate.
Stephen ran back to Christian Summer, the signal midshipman, and told him to set a few signals. The Frenchman will look at the flags and wonder what the ship of the line is signaling him. That will confuse him a little and the Phaeton can get closer before he realizes that this ship of the line with the French flag is actually a British warship.
Stephen chatted a little with Christian. Christian had come on the Phaeton around the same time as Stephen and the two had become friends quite quickly. By now, Christian was Stephen's best friend. Stephen grinned when Christian told him how the first lieutenant had half-sleepily run into the mast and then apologized to the mast. Stephen's grin quickly infected the little boy with the jet-black hair and hazel eyes, and Christian couldn't help but giggle.
The shrill whistles of the bosun's mates interrupted the two. The trilling passed on the captain's command to “clear ship.” The crews who had been on watch so far poured out of the companionways onto the deck and hurried to their battle stations, and everything was prepared for a battle.
Stephen now hurried back to the quarterdeck. His station was with the master of the ship, who was responsible for navigation and had to implement the captain's orders during the battle in terms of sail and rudder.
The captain stood next to the first lieutenant on the starboard side of the quarterdeck, while the other two lieutenants had their stations at each battery.
“Ah, Mr. Bennett! There you are at last,” said Mr. MacGregor, the master of the ship, welcoming him.
“Take over, please, I'll just take a quick look at the chart,” he told Stephen and hurried down the companionway to the chart room. Stephen let his gaze wander over the ship. The Phaeton was well laid out with full-breeze but reefed sails and was making good headway, having a slight wind advantage over the corvette. Stephen wrapped himself in his warm pea jacket and felt comfortable. He loved standing on the quarterdeck and feeling the wind in his face in good weather. These were the moments when Stephen was sure that becoming a naval officer was the right decision.
“The corvette is turning... the French seem to have noticed...“ Stephen shared, looking over to the ships with his binoculars.
”It's getting close, sir! He could still get away from us. The corvette is fast and the merchant ships are still far away!” the first lieutenant shared his assessment.
The captain rubbed his chin. “But they have to take care of the convoy and can't go that fast,” he thought aloud. “But for now, let's go after them! Mr. Bennett, what would you recommend?”
Stephen hadn't expected the question. It wasn't as if the captain would really ask a young midshipman for advice. The captain wanted to know if Stephen was up to his station. This was the first time he had really stood at this position after passing his exams as a mate four days ago on the Victory, the flagship of the Channel Fleet. But he enjoyed navigation and was quite good at it. Nevertheless, it made him nervous that the captain was testing him in a real battle.
“The wind is not too strong, I would recommend taking the reef out of the sails and moving one stroke to port to gain more windward side.”
“Sir!” Stephen quickly added. In his nervousness, he had almost forgotten the correct form of address.
“Excellent, Mr. Bennett. I agree entirely. Please make the necessary arrangements."
Now Stephen was really frightened. The captain asking for his opinion was a test and not unusual. But that he should also give the commands was indeed unusual. After all, the first lieutenant was also there and the master was just coming back to them.
Stephen confirmed to the captain that he had understood his order and wiped his hands on his uniform jacket. He started sweating terribly with nervousness. Finally, the captain, the first lieutenant and the master paid close attention to see if he made any mistakes.
He shouted his orders, and these were repeated by the boatswain's mates. In contrast to shouted orders, the various whistle signals could be heard very clearly throughout the ship, and so they could be passed on to the crew very effectively.
The sailing crew boarded the dizzying heights of the mast to loosen the ropes that pulled the sails together to reduce the sail area. Stephen had to board the mast often enough... he remembered how poorly he felt when he first had to climb up the swaying mast. “That was a long time ago,“ Stephen thought to himself. But there wasn't much time to dream. He glanced briefly at the helmsman and the crews on the three masts.
”Mr. Robinson, don't dawdle. Make sure your people get up the mast!” Stephen shouted to the bosun's mate, who was supposed to be in charge of the sailing manoeuvre on the mizzen mast.
A snarl echoed back to Stephen in reply. “I didn't understand you, Mr. Robinson!”
“Aye, aye, SIR!” he growled louder.
Stephen didn't like Mate Robinson. He treated his people badly and always emphasized his rank in front of them. And he only allowed himself to be told something by the “young gentlemen”, as the midshipmen were also called, because the officer candidates were ranked higher, even though they were significantly younger. But he was certainly not someone he would want to meet in the dark or to whom he would entrust his life.
And there the brawny mate with the greasy hair was already slapping the end of a rope over a sailor's back again. Stephen sighed. If he reprimanded the mate now, he could complain that his authority among the crew was being undermined. He felt really sorry for the crew at the mizzenmast.
As the sails fell, Stephen quickly passed on a few corrections to the helmsman. The Phaeton tilted gently to port and turned smoothly onto the new course, picking up speed significantly with the larger sail area.
Stephen smiled contentedly.
“Maneuver executed as ordered!”
“Good work, Mr. Bennett. You're turning into a good officer,” the captain praised him.
“I've checked everything again, Mr. Bennett. We have enough sea room to do all the maneuvers we need to do. Never forget that. If we run aground somewhere because you overlooked a sandbank, you can forget about flying the flag,” the master instructed Stephen. ”But you did an excellent job of the sailing maneuvers. I'm proud of you, Mr. Bennett!”
Stephen had a penchant for navigation and was pleased that he was able to learn more about it from the master. He wasn't so keen on gunnery duty, which is why he hadn't gone to sea in the first place. After all, you could have guns on land too. And he was even more pleased to receive praise from his captain and especially from the master, who hadn't often praised a young gentleman before.
The Phaeton was now traveling much faster than the corvette and was getting closer and closer. On the captain's command, the chase guns at the bow fired the first shots, and the Phaeton was only 50 meters short.
Stephen checked to make sure he had his pistol and cutlass. Everything was in place.
They were getting closer to the frigate. Stephen now concentrated fully on the sails, the wind and the rudder. He had to make sure that any deviations from the ordered course were corrected immediately.
Now they were very close behind the French corvette, although a little to leeward. Stephen could already distinguish the people on the aft deck with the naked eye.
“Jibe!” the captain's command resounded across the deck.
The captain shouted commands, and in a flash the crew was back at the sails. Stephen corrected a few minor details here and there, but the crew worked well together. The Phaeton turned and went cleanly with the stern through the wind. Now they were lying with their broadside directly behind the stern of the Frenchman, the most vulnerable point of the ship.
“Hoist the flag! Double charge! Fire on target acquisition!“ the captain shouted at the battery officers. The flag was hoisted and the first volleys from the port battery thundered out. The bullets whistled through the ship from stern to bow, leaving a bloody trail.
”Upper battery with chain projectiles into the rigging!”
The two hemispheres, connected by chains, shot through the enemy's sails, shredding the ropes and sails. Stephen saw some spars fall on the Frenchman. When the Phaeton was past, the captain turned and then repeated the same game with the starboard battery.
Then the Phaeton pushed itself up against the broadside of the corvette and the two ships exchanged gunfire. Stephen ducked his head as a bullet whistled just above him.
“Look out!“ someone shouted. Stephen leaped to one side as a yardarm crashed onto the deck next to him. But the guns had already done a lot of damage to the enemy, and not much more resistance was to be expected.
”Fire grapeshot and canister! Prepare to board!” Mr. Adair, Mr. Bennett, lead the way!”
The cannons fired their small balls and shot over the enemy deck, Stephen ran to the captain of the marines, the marines and some sailors gathered around them. Stephen's nervousness and excitement had vanished – and then it started. Shrouds flew and pulled the Frenchman closer, and the first commando was able to swing onto the other ship. The captain and Stephen followed, shouting commands. The Phaeton's crew split up. Captain Adair's group moved to the stern, while Stephen fought his way to the foredeck with his group. A defender charged at Stephen. He dodged his opponent's blows and then, with a swift turn, stabbed him in the back with the cutlass. He whirled back, shot the pistol into the chest of the next opponent, and fought his way forward with the cutlass. There was no doubt that the Phaeton's crew had the upper hand, and not just in terms of numbers. The opponents soon realized this and surrendered.
The captain of the corvette handed his sword and the ship over to Captain Adair. Stephen took the speaking trumpet and reported to the Phaeton that they had everything under control. The frigate immediately set sail to catch up with the other ships in the convoy.
Stephen looked around first. The ship didn't appear to be badly damaged. None of the masts were damaged, which was important for the time being; only a few spars and the running rigging had suffered significant damage. Stephen hurried off with a carpenter's mate to inspect the damage below the waterline and ordered a bosun's mate to start repairing the running rigging. Water was not entering the ship anywhere. Stephen breathed a sigh of relief. A leak would have been a lot of work.
The 'Liberté', as the French sailing ship was called, was a good ship. But with a motley crew – but no wonder, the revolutionaries had dismissed most of the officers and it would take time to grow an experienced crew. It was not surprising that the Phaeton had such an easy game.
Stephen went to the captain's cabin to look through the documents. The captain had thrown the signal notebook and the orders overboard in an iron-weighted envelope, as was customary in all fleets.
He carefully looked through everything, but it wasn't really that exciting. As far as he could see, it was normal escort protection for a trade convoy.
But a captain's cabin was something Stephen could definitely get used to. He leaned back in the comfortable armchair behind the desk. But if at all, it would be a few years before Stephen would get his own command. He wasn't even a real officer yet. A sailor's report pulled Stephen out of his reverie again.
“The Phaeton is sailing with the two merchant ships again and signaling. Mr. Adair asks you on deck."
Stephen reported to the captain, who was signaled by the Phaeton to come back to report. Stephen quickly reported what he could deduce from the documents and handed the marine a notebook with documents.
There was a lot to be done. With the small crew, the sails could not be operated and all the guns manned at the same time in an emergency. Stephen therefore had all the guns loaded and run out first. In an emergency, two gunners would then run along the row and fire the guns one after the other.
The carpenter's and boatswain's mates immediately set to work replacing yards and sails and whatever else needed to be done. Boats with some sailors set off from the Phaeton so that the ship could be sailed back. Some marines were also able to return. Only a few remained on board to guard the captured French.
Stephen liked life at sea, although it wasn't always easy, of course. The accommodation was very cramped; the midshipmen all lived in one small room, where they simply hung their hammocks in the evening. What's more, the food wasn't really tasty. But Stephen loved the calm of the sea. He could look into the distance and see nothing but endless expanses of water, peacefully rushing past the ship.
And the service at sea did the 18-year-old Stephen good. Through the physical work, he was well-trained and, despite his 180 cm, did not appear too scrawny. Serving on the ship's deck gave him a healthy complexion that went well with his green eyes and light blonde hair. Stephen looked down at himself and realized that he would have to visit the uniform tailor again in the next port. The sleeves of the dark blue uniform jacket were just about sufficient and the vest was a little tight – and the white trousers also just reached below the ankles. Well, the sentence was a bit old, too.
“I'll make a fool of myself if I leave the ship like this. And I only have one more set with which I can show myself ashore,” thought Stephen.
“Phaeton signaling, sir!” Hugh shouted. The 14-year-old had only been at sea for a year and was still a ‘captain's servant.’ Like midshipmen, servants were officer candidates, but they did not yet have enough years of service. Until then, they served on board as ‘servants,’ doing similar duties to midshipmen, but without an official rank. After two years at sea, they could then be appointed midshipmen. Midshipmen were then classified as something between the mates and the deck officers.
“Mr. Roberts, what are they signaling?” Stephen asked impatiently. Hugh rummaged through the signal notebook. He didn't yet know the flags by heart. He assumed that the 25-year-old Oliver Picken, the only midshipman who was senior in rank and had also passed the examination for the mate's certificate, was assigned as commander to a merchant ship, that a mate took over the other merchant ship, and that the four midshipmen junior in rank would be assigned in part as deputies and in part would remain on the Phaeton. Stephen wondered who he would get as a prize commander, because the corvette is a real warship and would certainly not be left to a midshipman who, although ranked second in the ship's seniority ranking, was still very young compared to the officer candidates, and so he was only relatively one of the older ones.
“Mr. Roberts, what's taking so long?“ Stephen asked, now slightly annoyed.
”Stephen, I can't do it that fast yet,“ Hugh replied.
”Mr. Roberts, please address me as sir when I'm on duty!” Stephen reprimanded Hugh. It was not desirable for officers to address each other informally when on duty, and if a superior officer had heard it, there would certainly have been trouble again.
“Aye, aye, sir!” Hugh replied eagerly. ‘I've got it. Phaeton orders line formation, our number at position 4.’
At that moment, a cannon thundered on the Phaeton.
“Excellent, Mr. Roberts. Now they're already firing a signal cannon because you're taking so long. See that you set the confirmation signals.“
”Aye, aye, sir! Set the confirmation signal!“ stammered Hugh timidly and rushed off. Stephen sighed.
”Sir! Phaeton signals: expect boat!”
“Thank you, Mr. Roberts. That was much faster!” Stephen praised. He was sorry to have to criticize one of the short ones. But if he didn't react quickly to the signals, he would have to explain why he hadn't carried out the orders correctly – and he had no desire to do that at all. The Phaeton's boat was already coming alongside.
Phaeton's third lieutenant climbed up the accommodation ladder and hurried in Stephen's direction.
“Lieutenant Andrews looks really cute,” thought Stephen. The twenty-year-old third of Phaeton was rather small, about 165 cm, slim, and had medium-blond hair, which he had tied into a neck plait, as was customary in the Navy. Underneath his two-cornered hat, his eyes sparkled bright blue and he had a contagious smile on his face. The uniform also looked very good on him. The white knee breeches with white stockings, the white vest over the white shirt formed a nice contrast to his sun-tanned face. Over his vest, he wore the dark blue skirt of naval officers. In contrast to Stephen, the edges of the lieutenant's open uniform jacket were decorated with braid, and it had a skirt lapel, a kind of buttoned lapel. Stephen, on the other hand, wore a simpler uniform jacket. It lacked the cuffs, the buttons were simply arranged in a vertical line. Added to that was the white collar tab that distinguished midshipmen from all other officers and deck officers.
“Cute? What is wrong with me?” was Stephen's next thought. That couldn't be right. He couldn't find a man cute. He was quite confused. So far, he hadn't really met the new third mate, who had only been on the Phaeton for a week. He had just passed his lieutenant's exam on the Victory and was lucky that a position had become available on the Phaeton due to the promotion of the then first lieutenant.
“Well, Mr. Bennett! I see you have everything perfectly prepared. Then we can get started right away!” said Lieutenant Andrews. ‘The captain wants to return to England. We want to be in the roads at Spithead. Bring us to the ordered position.’
But Stephen looked the lieutenant in the face and didn't even register that he had spoken to him.
“Mr. Bennett. Are you still there?” grinned Lieutenant Andrews. Stephen realized that he had been staring at his superior the whole time and blushed.
“Excuse me, sir! I didn't mean to... well... er... move the ship into position, aye, aye!” Stephen stammered and rushed off. ‘Just get out of here quickly,’ Stephen thought. Lieutenant Andrews looked thoughtfully at Stephen. When he realized that his orders were being carried out properly, he disappeared to do his paperwork.
Stephen took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was totally confused. But now he had to pull himself together. If he gave the wrong commands, he would make a fool of himself in front of the entire crew, especially the captain and the master, who were surely watching his maneuvers.
They didn't have enough men to be fast, but the Liberté lined up perfectly at her designated position and followed the Phaeton and the two merchant ships. Now Stephen could smile again.
“That went wonderfully well,” thought Stephen, pleased, “nobody can complain about that.”
“We should reach Spithead in two days,“ Lieutenant Andrews informed his second-in-command. The eight strokes of the bell reminded them of the changing of the guard.
”I'm going to lie down for a bit. Wake me if there's any news!” said Lieutenant Andrews, heading for the companionway.
“Good night, sir! Sleep well and dream sweet dreams!“ replied Stephen.
”I will, I'm sure!” Another brief grin and William Andrews disappeared into the captain's cabin.
Stephen sighed. What were these feelings that plagued him? Why did he constantly feel the urge to look Lieutenant Andrews in the eye? He didn't know... or rather, he didn't want to know. He preferred to plunge back into his work. The sails had to be checked, and here and there a few men had to be reprimanded. Being on watch duty was also something new for Stephen. He had never been in charge of a watch before. On the Phaeton, a lieutenant was always on watch duty, with the assistance of a midshipman. Until now, Stephen had not had enough service time and experience to be considered for such a position on a prize.
On the one hand, it was great fun to finally be able to make some decisions on his own. On the other hand, it was a little frightening to think that the 50 sailors currently serving on the Liberté were dependent on the decisions he made. But it was simply an uplifting feeling to stand on the corvette's aft deck, while she plowed through the waves, and feel the wind in your face.
The ship's bell rang, signaling the eight bells of the evening watch, and at the same time Lieutenant Andrews came up the companionway. Stephen briefly recounted what had happened in the past four hours. Wind direction, sails set, course, incidents, etc., and then, under the astonished gaze of his superior, hurried below deck. Quickly into the bunk, get some sleep first. Stephen was sure that everything would be clear again after he got up. He hung his skirt neatly on the hook next to his two-cornered hat, his white vest and white neckcloth over it. Dressed only in trousers and shirt, he quickly washed, then these garments also disappeared and Stephen lay down in his bunk. He lay awake for a long time, thinking constantly of the smile and the eyes of Lieutenant Andrews. Stephen sighed. What were these unfamiliar thoughts plaguing him? But eventually, after the exhausting day, he was overcome by tiredness and he fell asleep.
The next day was more or less uneventful. Of course, Stephen always had a lot to do when a ship is so drastically understaffed, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Captain Stevenson enjoyed his role as squadron commander and pestered his “squadron” with signals and simple sailing maneuvers. Lieutenant Andrews and Stephen took turns keeping watch every four hours. During the times when both were awake, they talked a lot. There was not much entertainment and variety when only a quarter of the 200 men were on duty. The Phaeton could not provide more. Above all, he missed Christian, his best friend. Perhaps he could have explained to him what was going on.
Then at dawn, the signals on the Phaeton flew up.
“Deck! Land ahead!” the lookout shouted down. Almost simultaneously, Hugh Roberts came running. ‘Sir! The Phaeton is signaling: Prepare to enter the roads off Spithead!’
So they were back at British shores. Stephen had already memorized the charts last night so that nothing embarrassing would happen to him.
“Mr. Green, please wake the lieutenant,” he ordered a standing around mate. ‘Mr. Hanniford, would you please whistle for all hands?’ The bosun's mate pulled his silver pipe out of his pocket and the signal that called all hands on deck for sailing maneuvers started shrilling.
The sails had to be reefed so that they didn't gain too much speed, they often had to adjust their course, and a lot of preparations were made for entering the harbor.
Lieutenant Andrews then took over. He stood with Stephen on the aft deck and calmly gave the sailing commands. The ship glided silently through the entrance.
“Brace the sails lively!” Lieutenant Andrews commanded from the quarterdeck. The Phaeton's crew was very well trained and the sails were quickly turned so that they no longer offered the wind a surface to catch on. Stephen was already on his way to the cannons to fire a salute.
It looked wonderful. The four ships entered the harbor one behind the other in bright sunshine, the sailing commands were almost synchronous, the distance always remained the same. Then the salutes went off. The Phaeton, the two merchant ships and the Liberté fired their 11-gun salute simultaneously. Stephen walked along the cannons and gave the commands.
BOOM!
“And if I hadn't been a gunner, I wouldn't be here today either. FIRE!” Stephen murmured the old saying that was used to determine the distance between two shots.
BOOM!
And Stephen was sure that the same words were murmured on the Phaeton, the merchant ships and in the harbor.
BOOM!
Lieutenant Andrews had meanwhile dropped anchor and the Liberté had anchored exactly 10 cable lengths away, as the signals from the Phaeton had ordered.
“That went incredibly well!” praised Lieutenant Andrews. “The captain can't have any complaints about that.”
And the signal flags were flying again on the Phaeton. Commander on board for a meeting, instructions for disembarking the French prisoners, etc., etc. And then the prizes had to be handed over to the port admiral so that he could hand them over to the prize court. The captured ships are then sold together with their cargo and the proceeds distributed according to a prescribed key. Stephen was also looking forward to the money. The salary of an officer cadet wasn't particularly good.
“Mr. Bennett, then you can ship the prisoners, I'll go to the meeting!” Lieutenant Andrews ordered, patted Stephen on the shoulder and went to the waiting boat that would take him to the Phaeton. A smile flitted across Stephen's face again when the hand touched his shoulder.
As ordered, Stephen had the French prisoners assemble on deck, divided them into groups of ten men, and had them brought ashore, escorted by marines. As much as he had enjoyed feeling a new kind of responsibility aboard the Liberté, he also longed to be back aboard the Phaeton, where he could finally be with the other midshipmen again. Standing watch after watch on deck alone was fine for the next two days, but it didn't have to be much longer.
“Sir, Phaeton is signaling that officers of the harbor admiral are coming on board,” reported Hugh, who had learned a lot about signaling during his two days on the Liberté.
“Confirm, Mr. Roberts. You're getting quite good at that,“ Stephen praised the young servant.
Shortly thereafter, the officials' boat came into view, heading purposefully for the Liberté.
”Request permission to come on board!” one of the officials addressed Stephen.
“Permission granted, sir! Welcome aboard!” came the reply from Stephen. This was followed by a rather boring comparison of lists of what was on board, and after a few hours the handover was complete. Stephen boarded the boats with the remaining crew and crossed back to the Phaeton.