Joseph L. O'Steen's

Falcon's Revenge

Chapter One

Orders for Home 

    Nathan Beauchamp sat on the hard oak bench in the Admiralty Clerk’s Office with a group of young lieutenants waiting to receive his orders.  A few had received their orders but the clerk had been called away before the remaining orders could be issued.

    Nate pulled the crumpled letter from his coat pocket and again read his father’s words.  Captain Sir Achilles Beauchamp wrote of his appointment to HMS Namur, 90 guns, and his appointment as Admiral Lord Dunharrow’s Flag Captain.  He had hoped that Nathan’s recall from Jamaica would see him home in time to join the squadron now forming in Portsmouth.

    God, I hope I don’t get an appointment with my father’s ship, Nathan thought to himself.  I would relish the chance to serve with father.  He is one of the better captains in the Fleet.  I could learn more from father than any man afloat. No, it would surely be an uncomfortable situation which could bring accusations of favoritism.  It is better that I serve elsewhere.

    Several officers shifted in their seats and others fidgeted with their hats or swords, each anxious to get on with his next assignment.  One young officer, a Lieutenant Porter, had just received orders to command the Ajax sloop of 14guns. Another, Lieutenant Foster, had received an appointment as First Officer of the frigate, Culloden, 38 guns. Lofty appointments for sure.

    Lieutenant Porter paced back and forth between the bench and the clerk’s desk, deep in thought, as though he were on his new quarterdeck.

    All right, Nate, calm down, think of something else; anything to get your mid off this waiting.

    Captain Beauchamp had not said what the new squadron’s mission was to be.  There were rumors all over Kingston and through out Jamaica Station.  One rumor had the new squadron blockading the French Atlantic Coast.  Another said the squadron would be sailing past Gibraltar to stop French aggression in the Mediterranean and another said the squadron was being formed to protect the channel and the home waters of Britain.  Whatever the reason, Nate knew it must be important, as other officers had received recalls and were awaiting transport when he and sailed from Kingston.

    Had the clerk started with the most important appointments?  Surely he had. Lt. Potter had received a command and Foster, a First Lieutenant’s position on a frigate. Perhaps not.

    He hoped his action of the last four months would count for something.  A good position like First or Second Officer in a fast frigate on even a small command. Even a cutter.  Oh, if the clerk had only saved the best appointments for last.  Most likely not.  Nate allowed the waiting to stir his mind and his mood.  All the possibilities of different assignments were too numerous to worry about. He needed to clear his head.

    Nate stood, turned his hat in his hands, then walked to the hat rack near the office door.  He caught a glimmer in his left eye and turned to see himself in the mirror beside the coat rack.  He sized himself as he looked into the glass.  Tall like his father, coal black hair like his mother.  The dark skin betrayed him as being half Spanish.  Even his green eyes could not deny his Spanish heritage.  His father had met and married his mother while a young lieutenant stationed in Mahon, Minorca. Beatrice de Silva was the youngest daughter of a sea captain home ported in the Spanish Island under British occupation.  She had never quite lost that Spanish accent even though she had not returned to Spain these past twenty years.

    Nate moved to the front window of the clerk’s office, dodging the new sloop commander’s pacing.  He gazed out the window at the carriages and the pedestrians.  Wealthy merchants, fine ladies in their fancy dresses and hats, naval and military men and officers, vendors and beggars, all going about their daily business unaware of the eight nervous lieutenants awaiting orders that might give them fame and fortune with long careers or disaster and death.  How had he come to this?  His mind drifted back four short months ago.  Back to Lt. Nathan Allen Beauchamp, Third Lieutenant and His Majesty’s Ship, Lion.  A lieutenant with three and one half years seniority.  He realized he should have been happy but, he longed for something more.  Oh, he still did his duties to the best of his abilities and did them very well but he still dreamed of the freedom enjoyed by those who served on smaller ships. Cutters, brigs, sloops or even frigates; independent from the fleet most of the time.

    Often off to all points of the compass on their search and scouting missions and prize money too.

*******

    Nathan had been overseeing the loading of cask from the water hoy when First Lieutenant Vickers summoned him to the quarterdeck.

    "Lt. Beauchamp, it seems you won’t be accompanying us on this voyage after all.  You have been recalled to Britain." Lt. Vickers handed Nate the brown envelope with the Admirals seal.         "You are not the only one, they are plucking lieutenants from most of our ships.  The Admiralty is commissioning new ships every week in Portsmouth now that we are at war again with the frogs." Vickers, smiled, "Could be some opportunities for a good young officer like yourself."  Vickers placed his hand on Nate’s shoulder, "Nate, you are a good officer and I’d be proud for you to serve in any ship I’m ever in."

    "Thank you, Sir," Nate replied as he took Vickers’ offered hand.  "I’d be proud to serve with you again, Sir, anytime."

    "Be off with you now, young sir, and pack your kit.  The mail packet has already sailed so Lord knows what the mode of transport they will provide you."

    Nate reflected as he turned to go to his cabin.  This had been a comfortable position for any young officer. He had come aboard as Fifth Lieutenant three and one half years ago.  Over time he had been promoted first to Fourth Lieutenant then Third Lieutenant.

    Luck, that’s what it was, for him to move upwards so fast was luck.  Good luck for Lieutenants Harper and McDade; both previous third Lieutenants had been promoted into other ships. Lieutenant Harper had been given command of a prize Spanish privateer sloop taken when she was attacking the Kings’ own mail packet in the summer of Nate’s second year aboard and then in March of Nate’s third year lieutenant.  McDade had been promoted as First Lieutenant in a brig of war returning to Portsmouth.  Bad luck for Fourth Lieutenant Howard who had died of the topical yellow fever.  One officer died or transferred and another moved up in seniority; such as it was in the Navy.

*******

    Nate could not conceal his excitement as he rushed below decks to his tiny cabin.  The cabin was not much as far as space; six feet by eight feet, with low headroom.  There was a hanging cot with room underneath for his sea chest, a hook to hang his clothes on, a small desk and stool for studying and writing letters.  The walls were made of canvas stretched over a wooden frame.  This was to facilitate quick removal when the ship was called to battle.  The cabin did provide him some privacy from the other officers and the gunroom, small as it might seem, was quite a step up from his midshipman quarters in his previous ship.  His only decoration was a small painting of Virginia Crampton.

    Virginia was the daughter of Sir Nigel Crampton.  Sir Nigel was the local squire and owner of Southgate, the estate that adjoined Nate’s family estate, Rockshire.  Nate had grown up with Virginia and called on her each time he returned home on leave.  Nate had always thought that perhaps one day they would marry.

    Once inside his cramped cabin he lit a candle.  His hand shook slightly with nervous anticipation as he forced himself to slowly break the Admiral’s seal instead of ripping it open like the anxious young man he was a few months ago would have done.  He eased himself onto his stool to read his orders.

    They started off typical as all orders before them.

            From the office of the Vice Admiral and Commander-in-chief of His Majesty’s Ships and Vessels             upon Jamaica Station.

    You are directed to report without haste to His Majesty’s Ship, Sampson, and serve in the post of "Acting First Officer" until arrival at His Majesty’s Naval Station, Portsmouth, at which time you will report directly to the Admiralty, London to await further orders.

 

E. Brown, Clerk

Vice Admiral Sr. Pilcher Skinner

Jamaica Station

*******

    The sun was so hot that the water from the mornings rain on the quay rose like steam. It was early June and already the heat had set in.

    Nate had come ashore to obtain additional foodstuffs and spirits for the voyage home before reporting to the Sampson.  He had purchased some fresh fruits, a small keg of salted beef, as well as a small keg of the local rum to add to his personal foods, which had been sent directly from the Lion to the Sampson.  Nate had visited the cutlery closest to the landing to find a replacement sword for the one he had lost while boarding a slaver near Antigua last month.  He was fortunate to have found a suitable cutlass for only 30 pounds.  Normally a cutlass was not a weapon for an officer and a gentleman, it being the choice of common seamen but, he had on occasion used one in the past and found that he had acquired a certain skill and admiration for the weapon.

    When he finished with his purchases he had 16 pounds remaining of his prize money from HMS Lion’s actions over the last year not counting what was owed him for the capture of the slaver last month. His latest pay voucher was in his sea chest already onboard the Sampson.  He was due his annual allowance of 1,000 pounds from his father when he reached home.  He reckoned that financially he was better off than most his age and rank, and would be able to purchase a new uniform when he reached Portsmouth.

    Nate made arrangements with the shopkeeper for sending his purchases to the Sampson.  He then walked to the end of the quay in search of transport out to where the Sampson lay anchored.

    After haggling with a Negro boatman on the price of the short trip to the Sampson, he settled in for the ride. As the boat approached the ship Nate could see that she had been built in a French yard.  She had stylish lines and much more ginger bread work around the aft lights than British built ships.  She was probably a prize from the last war. She was pierced for 12 guns and was small for a brig by today’s modern standards.  The closer he drew the more he understood why she was being sent home. She was in bad condition.  The paint was weathered and peeling. The ginger bread was cracked and pulling away from the hull.  That appeared to be only the surface of her condition. The sails, or that portion which was visible in the furled position, were almost brown with several patches.  The cables and lines were well worn. He could see where frayed lines had been repaired. The lines could use another covering of fresh tar.  He would see to it in time. It was amazing that a King’s ship would be left to this condition.

    As they pulled along side, the watch called out, "What boat be that?"

    The boatman answered, "First lieutenant, HMS Sampson!"

    Nate could see that the Sampson was a clean ship so her condition was neither due to abuse nor neglect.  She was weathered and worn as though she had been on station for several years without benefit of a refitting.  Nate could not remember ever seeing a King’s ship in such need of a shipyard’s attention.

    He pulled himself up the side and stepped onto the deck with all the dignity befitting a first officer.  Thank God the waters of Kingston Harbor were calm today.

    Once while reporting on board the Flag Ship, Bedford, in rough seas he had mistimed his jump from the barge to the ship’s ladder and taken a dip in the North Sea.  He was transferred to the Celeste sloop shortly after. No room in a flagship for a clumsy midshipman, he thought.

    Nate looked about him as a thin young man with long blonde hair tied in a cue and not much

older than himself greeted him.  "Welcome aboard, Sir. Name’s Fauth, Sir, Martin Fauth, masters mate. Capt’n’s been spect’n you ever since yor personals arrived from the Lion."

    "If’n y’ll follow me aft, Sir."  Fauth half turned and with his left thumb pointed over his shoulder to a stocky red faced man whose dark brown hair was matted with streaks of the tar common to most sailors.  "Boson Edwards," Fauth continued, "will see to lift’n your gear aboard".

    The boson knuckled a salute and gave a grin that displayed his few remaining yellow teeth.  Should have applied some of that tar on the lines instead of his hair, Nate chuckled to himself.

    Fauth led the way down the aft ladder towards the Captain’s cabin.  Nate removed his hat and ducked below the deck beams as he followed.

    Martin Fauth knocked on the Captain’s door and announced, "First Officer, Sir!" Fauth stepped aside as he motioned for Nate to enter the cabin.

    The cabin was small and dark, there were few amenities; a cot and a desk with what seemed to be a handmade chair.  It was common for ship’s carpenters to fabricate furnishings for captains of these small ships. There was a sword with a beautiful handle trimmed in gold and brace flintlock pistols hanging on the starboard bulkhead.

    The captain rubbed his eyes as the light from the open cabin door struck his face.  He stood up from his desk where he had been attending to the ship’s ledgers and gestured to where Nate had fastened his stare.  "That sword was given to me by His Majesty in the last war."

    While the captain moved around the desk to greet him, Nate continued to survey the cabin. 

    Like on many of the larger ships a black and white checkerboard canvas covered the deck.  The two aft six pound cannons lashed on the larboard and starboard sides made the cabin seem even more crowded.  With this stifling heat, Nate wondered why the gun ports were not open to let in fresh air and light. A curtain fashioned from canvas covered the aft windows blocking the sunlight.

    If Sampson was small and in a poor state of repair, the Captain looked all the worse.  He was small and frail and looked to be in his mid fifties. It was rare for an older lieutenant to be in command of one of His Majesty’s Brigs of War.  Normally a man his age, in command of a brig, would be a Commander.  Perhaps he had been given command of this small ship for some past well performed service or deed.

    The Captain’s eyes were gray, set back in his head and were surrounded with dark circles; definitely a man under recent stress or he suffered from exhaustion.  Perhaps both. Nate thought he sensed a touch of illness in the Captain’s mannerisms as he extended his hand but it was with a surprisingly strong grip that he announce himself.

    "Captain Kenneth Dexter," the Captain said as he smiled, "Happy to have you aboard Lieutenant Beauchamp." The Captain continued, "It is not normal for such a small ship as the Sampson to have a Lieutenant as a first officer even on a temporary basis.  Our master, Mr. Hobbs, has taken ill and will not be making this voyage home with us. So here you are."

    Nate nodded his head in concurrence.  "I was very fortunate you had a berth open for me, Captain. It is a long wait till the next packet." 

    "Well, Sir, I had asked the Port Admiral for a good navigator and from what I hear the Fleet needs you at Portsmouth. So, we shall both be served, what?"

    "Yes, Sir, it would seem so," Nate replied.

    Captain Dexter stepped behind his desk, pulled his chair out and sat down as he motioned for Nate to do the same.  "Mr. Beauchamp, the Sampson is a tired ship."  The Captain spoke as if the Sampson were a family member.  "She has served His Majesty out here for four hard years with minimum yard attention. She has earned this trip home."

    "I shall do my best to help you get her there, Sir."

    "I’m sure you will, Mr. Beauchamp.  My steward will show you to your cabin so you can settle in.  Then you had better get familiar with the ships particulars; Mr. Fauth will assist you. He has been acting Master in Mr. Hobbs absence.  He has performed admirably in that position.  I think you will find him more than adequate."

    Captain Dexter returned to the paperwork on his desk.  "We will sail at first tide in the morning, Mr. Beauchamp."

    Nate realized the interview was over.

*******

    Nate stood on the quarterdeck just larboard and forward of where the quartermaster and the two helmsmen awaited the order for leaving harbor.  All hands were at their assigned stations awaiting the command to weigh anchor.

    Nate’s whole body ached with fatigue.  His eyes felt as if they had been through a sand storm, like the one he had endured with that landing party in Morocco while a midshipman in the Celeste Sloop back in ‘97.  He had been up most of the night with the Masters Mate, Martin Fauth, inspecting the ship and reviewing her books and ledgers.  Normally the ship’s master would have briefed him, but since he was ashore with the fever, common to these tropics, his mate, Mr. Fauth, had performed the task well and had shown himself to be most helpful.

    After inspecting the mast, sails, guns, lines and cables, they reviewed the Sampson’s books and ledgers. There were enough provisions and water for a three month stay at sea.  Enough shot and powder for several engagements with the enemy.

    Mr. Fauth had shown Nate a bowed rib on the starboard side just aft of the forecastle.  The Planking seams at the rib produced a leak that required a twenty minute pumping every three hours.

    "How did she get this?" Nate asked.

    "We was chase’n a blackbirder off Trotola and hit a sandbar."  Mr. Fauth continued, "Damn thing, beggin’ your pardon, Sir, but it weren’t on no chart.  Lucky it weren’t no coral reef or we’d still be sit’n there with our bottom ripped out."  Fauth rubbed his head as if deep in thought, "Took us four hours ta get her off the bar; by then the Black Birder were long gone."

    "Can’t the carpenter repair it?" Nate inquired.

    "No, Sir," replied Fauth, "Mr. Underhill done looked her over real good like and e’ thinks the rib be sprung where it attaches to the keel. Can’t be fixed without haul’n her out."

    "I suppose." Nate thought aloud, " We will just have to keep pumping her till we reach home and hope the sea does not work the planking loose."

    Nate learned from Mr. Fauth that the Sampson had spent the first two years in the Caribbean serving as a scout and dispatch vessel between Barbados, Antigua and Jamaica.  The last two years were spent chasing slavers and an occasional pirate.  Lately, Spanish privateers had been very active. Now he thought, the French would jump into the privateering business.  Mr. Fauth thought that now was a good time to be taking the Sampson home.

    The Sampson was a very small ship to be brig rigged. Most English brigs started at ninety feet and ran up to well over a hundred feet.  The Sampson was a mere 81 feet long with a beam of only twenty-three feet; small indeed. She carried twelve six-pound cannons and a few swivel guns.  The larger English brigs carried fourteen to sixteen nine pounders.  Some English brigs would have two guns of a larger caliber with most having bow and stern chasers.

    The crews for English brigs would number near one hundred or better.  The Sampson’s normal compliment would be a crew of 65 officers and men, however, the fever and action against smugglers, pirates and of late, privateers, had reduced all ships crews on Jamaica Station.  Replacements were slow in coming from the Admiralty back home.  Now that Britain was at war again, the press gangs would eventually fill the rosters of all her ships.  The Sampson now carried a reduced crew of 53 officers and men. There were also six passengers returning to Portsmouth on this trip.

    A review of the passenger manifest told him little of the passengers. Mr. Fauth volunteered what little he had learned about each one.  There was a Mr. Henry Raitt who owned a sugar plantation northwest of Kingston and his daughter, Susan.  Mr. Raitt was taking this trip to tend to business with his marketing agent in London.  Miss Raitt was going to visit relatives while Mr. Raitt conducted his business.  Both expected to return to Jamaica in the fall.  Nate thought that Mr. Raitt must be a gentleman of some influence to book passage on one of His Majesty’s Navel vessels.

    The next name on the list was, Lieutenant George Farrant, late commander of the 16 gun brig, HMS Bouncer. Lieutenant Farrant was enroute to Portsmouth to stand court marshal.  Rumor had it that Mr. Farrant, while in command of the Bouncer had falsified the ship’s books by entering the name of his one year old son as an able bodied seaman and drawing his pay.  He also was charged with failing to mark ‘R’ against men who had deserted and drawing their pay as though they were still aboard.  An additional charge against him was shortening provisions issued to the ship’s company and drawing it onshore for use on his own table. Nate wondered what would cause a King’s officer to fall to such actions; perhaps gambling debts or greed.  This one would bare watching.

    Sergeant Charles Windfield seemed to be exactly what he was, a Marine returning home from the Kingston Marine Barracks for a new assignment.

    Lastly there was the recently promoted Quartermaster Byron Proctor of the frigate Hazard of 32 guns.  No doubt an experienced sailor but he would be eager to prove his new worth.  Nate would have to treat Mr. Proctor with care to keep down his ego without dampening his enthusiasm.

    He learned that Captain Dexter, who looked fifty-five, was in fact only forty-seven.  He had worked his way up to lieutenant from masters mate and had held various positions in small ships until obtaining command of the Sampson. He also indicated that the captain expected to be made Commander at the end of this voyage, however, Fauth reckoned that his would be Captain Dexter’s last voyage. Fauth thought the captain appeared to be ill, his eyes were faltering, he seldom came on deck during daylight hours; when he did he always shaded his eyes.  He must be sensitive to the sun’s brightness. Fauth’s other reasoning was the constant demands of commanding a ship in this isolated tropical region were hard on a man.  Captain Dexter had battled the tropical storms, hurricanes, slavers, pirates, sickness and disease as well as served a fleet assigned to cover thousands of miles with too few ships and supplies.  This command had prematurely aged him.

    Nate still had not met the senior warrant officers.  He was anxious to get to know them and get to know them well. The ship’s life depended on how well each performed his duties.  He decided he would call a meeting in the gunroom after the ship was safely at sea.

    The remaining passengers were returning for reassignment to ships preparing for the new war with France. Mr. Midshipman William Brown had been recently assigned to Vice Admiral, Sir Pilcher Skinner’s staff.  A midshipman serving on an admiral’s staff could either learn much about the navy and its ways or become smitten with himself and his false importance. Nate would keep an eye on this one also.  He wanted to see what kind of sailor Mr. Brown would turn out to be.  

    

    "Weigh anchor, Mr. Beauchamp!" Nate startled from his thoughts as he turned to see Captain Dexter two paces behind him.  He made a mental note to have the watch warn him in the future when the captain comes on deck.

    Nate raised his voice so all could hear, "Weight anchor, Mr. Fauth!"

 

Back to josephlOSteen.com