Issue IV

ContentsPART ONEBetween Decks

PART TWOA Decisive Year

PART THREESignal – Close Action!

The Bolitho Newsletter is published andcopyrighted by Highseas Authors Ltd.

This issue was originally released in 1974.

Douglas Reeman / Alexander Kent1968

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During the closing years of the eighteenth century,when the war against France and her allies had

reached a new height, there was still little change in thegeneral appearance and equipment of the fleet. Theheavy units in any squadron, the great three-deckers orfirst-rates, and the more prevalent seventy-fours, madeup the line of battle whenever required. Faster, moremanoeuvrable ships, ranging from frigates to sloopsand brigs, were as much if not more in demand thanever. With vast sea distances to patrol, and a communi-cations system to the ends of the earth, any captain, nomatter how junior, was expected to perform feats ofnavigation which in today’s world of radar and spacesatellites seem incredible. Weapons, too, varied little from those which hadmade the pace in the last great confrontation of theAmerican Revolution and the battles against thecombined fleets of France and Spain. The short-rangedbut deadly carronade which had first made its appear-ance in 1779 had barely changed, and no new weaponsof any real significance had been invented. Theheaviest, and by far the most popular weapon, was thethirty-two pounder, or ‘long nine’ as it was nicknamed,being nine feet in length, was used in most of the lowerbatteries of ships-of-the-line. It had a crew of fifteenmen, and at close range could penetrate three feet ofsolid oak. As the extreme reach of such cannon wasonly one and a half miles, rapid fire was generallyfound to be more important than individual accuracy.A fully skilled crew could fire three rounds every twominutes, despite all the demands of manhandling threetons of wood and metal under the most desperate

Circumstances. Above deck the sail plan had barely altered from thetime when Admiral Rodney had won the Battle of theSaintes in 1782 and thereby restored some of thenation’s pride after the setbacks of the AmericanRevolution.    It was generally held throughout the fleet during theNapoleonic Wars that the French ships were better builtand more able to withstand punishment during closeaction. A view further enforced by the several heavyships seized as prizes from the enemy and put intoservice in our own squadrons. Nevertheless, the Britishcontinued to win battles, usually against odds, andwhile much of the enemy’s naval strength stayedbottled up by continuous blockade in all weathers, ourown men became expert, perhaps because of theirforced times at sea.    But as year followed year, and the growing might ofFrance probed from the Atlantic to the Eastern Mediter-ranean, another thing which had changed little, andwhich brought anxiety to politician and sea officeralike, was the shortage of men to serve the fleet. First-

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Part OneBetween Decks

rate or bomb-ketch, frigate or schooner, the need topreserve a full complement, to work the sails andcomplicated rigging, to manage and fire the guns, andwhen required to fight at arm's length with cutlass andboarding pike, was paramount.    Providing their hulls could be protected from rot, andas free of weed and growth as possible in the variousconditions faced, ships lived a long time. They neededstores and fresh water, powder and shot, canvas andhemp, but apart from the chain pumps to keep even theleakiest bilge clear of water, they were free ofmechanical breakdown and the need for refit andregular overhaul in a dockyard unlike ships insucceeding centuries.    Because of this they spent lengthy periods at sea,many on commissions in all parts of the world.Somebody who had volunteered as a ship's boy, a merechild of twelve or so, could find himself a seasonedable seaman before he saw his home again. A mansnatched up by the dreaded press-gangs, or taken fromthe hulks or Assize courts to serve his country ratherthan face prison or worse, would discover that nomatter what his trade or calling might have been, asailor he had become.    To the casual onlooker a ship of the line breakingfrom its anchorage and beating out to sea, or one justvisible hull-down on the horizon with all sails set andbeautiful in the sun's path, was something ratherspecial, but beyond that, completely unknown. Sherepresented security and pride, and at any sort ofdistance held a touch of romance which is never farfrom any seafaring nation. Little thought was given forthe harsh discipline, the backbreaking drills required tomake men overcome their fear of heights, to workabove the deck in the shrouds and on the vibratingyards. Or for the times when these same men had to

stand by their guns and watch the oncoming menace ofan enemy, when but for this same rigid discipline theymight turn and run.    The sailor had long been a figure of romance andmystery.  Few ordinary folk, apart from the military,travelled more than a dozen or so miles from theirvillages and farms. The sight of a homecoming ship,her company tanned, swaggering seamen in their bluecoats and brass buttons, their pigtails and tattoos, wasenough to get the hearts beating, the ale flowing.  Inseaports and harbours it was common to catch sight ofan officer in cocked hat and white breeches, with swordon hip and probably a lady on his arm. Nothing then toshow the inner problems of the fleet’s greatest need.

Men

For this and other reasons, the world between decks ofa large fighting ship, a seventy-four for instance,became as much like an overcrowded town as it did ahome for those more used to better things.    It was possible for men to work with older hands, totake their places when eventually they were dischargesbecause of age or health, or when they were killed orcrippled in action.   In every ship between decks there was a backbone ofprofessional men without whom the vessel would be ashelpless as if she had been denied a keel.    A man-o’-war had to depend on the inner resourcesfor everything. Every sail, and there were many, had tobe replaced or repaired, the scraps saved for anythingfrom patches to spare hammocks.    The sailmaker and his mates were always busy, forno ship was spared losses from storm-force gales whichripped canvas from yards even before the breathlesswatch below could be called to reef and so to save the

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sailmaker more hard work.    The same sailmaker had many other talents. He couldmake clothing for the seamen, rough, wide-leggedtrousers and jackets, for which they paid in rum ortobacco. He could be called aft, to the great cabin, andbe expected to produce a canvas carpet for his captain'squarters, the finished article picked out in black andwhite squares to give the austere deck a look of home.    Likewise the cooper. With his own band of mates hehad to fight a constant battle against rotting or rancidcasks, repairing and replacing with whatever woodcame his way. He was well aware that it was prudent tostay a friend of the ship's carpenter who with theboatswain were two of the most important warrantofficers in any vessel. The carpenter had to service thehull, attend to leaks which were caused more by stressof weather than by cannon shot, plug holes after a fight,and keep an eye on every piece of gear from spars toboats, gangways to cabin furniture.    The boatswain, responsible for rigging and sails,anchors and cables, was the key man between seamenand quarterdeck, twixt company and first lieutenant,who in turn was answerable to the captain.    A lifeline of inter-dependence, a chain of command.    Master's mates, midshipmen and petty officers.Marine sergeants and corporals, quartermasters andboatswain's mates, all seemed very aloof and remote tothe newly joined men, and upon their skill, theirpatience, or lack of them, could depend the wholeship’s company.    In spite of the demanding conditions in civilian lifeashore, to many of those going into a King’s ship, bethey volunteers or pressed men, their new world musthave seemed confusing and not a little terrifying.    Guns made up the staff of any fighting ship. Saildrill, and the endless work on rigging and canvas,

splicing and sewing, tarring and caulking were all vital.But their real purpose was to carry a floating platformto anywhere in the world as their lordships demanded,and once there to use these weapons with authority.    This one hard fact was never allowed to escape theship's company. The bulk of the seamen had theirmesses between each pair of guns, so that when theylowered their tables from the deckhead and consumedtheir spartan meals of salt beef or pork, iron-hardbiscuit and a mug of rum or wine, the guns were therewith them. When they turned out of their hammocks,and each man was allowed only twenty inches betweenhis and the next one, the black-tethered muzzles werean ever-present reminder of their function.    To make or reef sails in all weathers, to work theguns, to steer and splice, none was achieved withoutsome pain and hardship, and yet the ordinary ‘jack’ wasstill able to amuse himself. Hornpipes during theevenings, fishing and competition between messes inintricate rope and scrimshaw work filled in much oftheir off-watch hours. The more artistic made delicatesnuff boxes from scraps of wood, and some which arestill on display in maritime museums were created fromchunks of salt beef from casks so old that the surface ofthe shot-hard meat gleams like polished mahogany.    Apart from the hard core of seasoned warrantofficers and their mates, there were others who stoodout from the mass which made up the ship’s company.Men like the captain’s personal coxswain and themembers of his barge crew were such as these.Surprisingly enough, they were seen more often byvisitors and casual onlookers than the bulk of thecompany, and in the eyes of their captain often came torepresent not only his ship but his own standard ofefficiency.    It was common for a captain to purchase, even

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design a uniform for his barge crew, and to supplyspecial buttons and other adornments for his coxswainand personal servant. It was a saying in the Navy untilrecent years that a ship could be judged by thesmartness and turnout of her boats’ crews.    In the eighteenth century, this was even more so, andwhile most of the ships’ companies dressed in roughissue clothing from the purser’s store, or purchasedcloth from their meagre pay and had it made up by theubiquitous sailmaker, the various barge crews presenteda fine spectacle as they vied with each other to ply backand forth between ships and shore.    It is true to say that after the first year or so of warthe Navy was forced more and more to use the press-gangs for recruitment.    There were, during those times, many who wereexempt from service, and as in all wars, there werethose who abused their rank or privilege to avoidrisking their own skins.    Any captain in search of fresh hands would find hisway blocked by many such exemptions. Seamen of theEast India Company, licensed watermen, and those whoferried stores up the winding canals, the very sort whowould have been welcomed with open arms in anyKing’s ship were amongst those so protected.    Harassed lieutenants sent ashore in search of menwould rarely dare to return empty-handed. To make uptheir number they would sometimes seize a man tooold, or a child so young that the party of sailors wouldbe chased by an irate populace back to the safety oftheir longboat.    Boarding house crimps were another source. Awhisper to an officer of the press-gang, a quick handfulof coins, and the seafarers, imagining themselves quitesafe in a lodging house or inn, would awake to the cry,‘Stand, in the King’s name!’

    Unfair, brutal, it possibly was. But there was noproper census, no real way of spreading just recruitmentaround the land and in towns far from the sea and itsneeds.    Because many ships originally commissioned inPlymouth or Portsmouth, at the Nore or in Scottishseaports, their companies brought their own traditionsand superstitions with them and gave separate char-acters and personalities to their floating homes. Even aslate as the last war there was real competition betweenPompey ships and those from Guz (Portsmouth andDevonport). Many of the traditions, too, came fromones originally quite detached from maritime life. Eventhe custom of Crossing the Line Ceremony, sharedtoday amongst passengers of cruise liners, and which issaid to have originated with the Carthaginians whenthey sacrificed to their gods on passing ‘the limits ofnavigation’, may have begun much earlier as religiousrites for a safe harvest ashore.    Men torn from the arms of their loved ones by thepress, never knowing how their families were going tofend for themselves, or whether they would ever meetagain. Others who faced deportation or the degradingexistence of a debtors’ prison. Criminals, and thosehiding from some attempted felony, old seamen whohad sworn never to return to any ship but had found thatthe land had rejected them. The boys from villages andfarms, urged on by the local girls to show their daring.Volunteers who had lost friends in the war, or whohoped to make their way in a naval career. Country folkand townsmen, fishermen and ostlers. Once crammedinside the great oak hull they had to be of one company,no matter how rough the union might be.    Some were taken by force, others followed the drumof a recruiting party or ‘listened’ round-eyed to a posterwhich a captain had had printed at his own expense to

invite volunteers to his command. Unfortunately muchdepended on the man who read the proud words to thecrowd. Most of the lower orders could not read orwrite, so a badly delivered oration could deprive acaptain of quite a few hands.    And there were those who went to their bedspeacefully, or fell into a drunken sleep in somealehouse or inn. These unfortunates might awake sickand dazed in a ship already standing out to sea, theirheads half cracked by a cudgel.    However they came, no matter what they hoped togain or avoid, they became part of the ship. And whenat last the drums rolled and they hurried grim-faced toquarters, to tear down screens and run out their guns,they knew the full meaning of being one company.    As the guns roared and hurled themselves inboard ontheir tackles, and the crews yelled for more powder andshot in a world of earsplitting noise and chokinggunsmoke, they stood together and did their best. Menfell and died, others were dragged wounded to thesurgeon on the orlop deck below.    But the firing went on until the enemy’s flag hadstruck and above the din came the cheers. Fromordinary men who had suddenly become Britishseamen.

Part TwoA Decisive Year

After five long years of war 1798 opened on a noteof uncertainty, and yet left neither Britain nor her

main enemy, France, in doubt that it was to be one ofvital importance.    Militarily speaking, Britain had done little butreinforce her overseas possessions and garrisons and

dig deep into the nation’s treasury to equip and man herarmy at home. It was generally accepted that this was tobe the war which would settle things once and for all,but, unlike previous conflicts, there was the addedhorror of a peoples’ revolution, the beheading of a kingand his queen and all the bloodshed of the Terror whichfollowed.    As was too often the case, our own Navy was takenfor granted. The fleet which stood astride the ‘Moat’, asthe English Channel was trustingly named, was morethan a match for any insolent, would-be invader.Especially a French invader.    Indeed, there was much to back up this belief. Thevictories against the King’s enemies at sea werenumerous and inspiring.  Howe’s triumph over theFrench in 1794, the Glorious First of June, and Jervis’splendid victory at St. Vincent in 1797, quite apart fromsingle ship and frigate actions, added to the belief thatthe Navy would stop anything which an enemy mightattempt.    The experts knew well enough that a war could notbe won by staying put behind the fleet and the island'snatural defences, any more than by blockading theenemy’s ports and patrolling the trade routes in searchof valuable convoys and essential war supplies. Theywere necessary tactics, part of the larger pattern, butnone was final.    Perhaps the British ability to beat enemy ships at sea,often to win against impressive odds, gave bothParliament and public an over-confidence which withinthe fleet was seen as criminal neglect.    For the ships which made up the relentless blockadeon every major enemy port were in a sad way.Between the wars many had lain idle, rotting even,while the harbours and fishing villages around ourcoasts were thronged with men who had been cast aside

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by an ungrateful nation. A nation whose own securityhad been saved by the very same veterans.    Tacking up and down in all conditions, theweatherbeaten ships kept watch over every importantanchorage. Brest and Cherbourg, Lorient and Nantes, itmade no difference as far as the ships' companies wereconcerned. They existed on foul food and in discomfortwhich would kill many men today. Wearing ship,tacking back and forth across French estuaries andinlets, knowing all the while that their enemies layprotected and unreached by weather under the guns oftheir shore batteries.    There were some senior officers within the fleet whoeither did not appreciate the value of their men, or whowere such tyrants they did not care. The newer breed ofsea officer had yet to assert himself, and most were soconcerned with their part in the war that they did notfully appreciate what was happening where it was leastexpected, in England.    In 1797 two mutinies broke out in the fleet. The firstat Spithead and a few smaller commands, rocked thenation to its heels. Admiral Howe, ‘Black Dick’ as hewas affectionately known on the lower deck, was quickto se the trend of events and acted accordingly.    A seaman’s pay was a mere pittance, and what he didactually earn could be lost in mysterious debts andpayments to his purser. His living standards andconditions of service were abysmal, and there wereplenty of officers willing to give testimony to the fact.Others saw the seamen’s plea for justice as wilfulrebellion and demanded hangings by the hundred, andenough savage punishment to deter anyone in thefuture.    Lord Howe did his best for the seamen, and after theremoval of a few known martinets from authority themen returned to duty.

    Elsewhere, however, the lesson of Spithead had beenstudied, and when the next and far greater mutiny brokeout at the Nore, the country was appalled by itscompleteness. Professional agitators and lower decklawyers found ready ground for their speeches andrevolutionary disruption.    The Medway was blockaded and guns trained onnearby towns. The army marched to guard theapproaches, and admirals hurried back and forthbetween London and the mutineers’ councils in aneffort to seek a compromise.    At sea, Duncan defeated the Dutch at the Battle ofCamperdown, and elsewhere the blockade continued.Across the Channel the French watched the unrest intheir enemy’s fleet and tried to plan for a quickinvasion.    But the British ability, need even, for compromisebrought the mutiny to an uneasy end. Some of theleaders were hanged, others flogged. A few officerswere taken from their ships, and better conditionspromised for the future. The ordinary British seamanhad shaken the nation from King to farm worker withhis brief display of independence and power.    And so, at the beginning of 1798, both mainantagonists stood facing each other once again.    Napoleon Bonaparte was just twenty-nine, andalthough under the control of the Directory, he wasseen as a man of individual talent and superior militaryability.    Unlike many of his countrymen, he had little respectfor the British Navy, a fault for which he was to paydearly.    As a soldier he had much to back up his confidence,and that of his proud army.    He had watched the Royalist coup fail in Toulon,even though it was backed by British sea-power under

Lord Hood, and he had used his own exertions to makethe victory final. He had organised a devastatingcampaign against the Austrian forces in Italy, and hadforced the Treaty of Campo Formio in 1797.  TheAncient Republic of Venice had been wiped out infavour of Austria, and in exchange Austria had handedher Dutch interests to France. France had taken theislands of the Adriatic, while throughout the Mediter-ranean she had made her name feared, so that eventhose who wished to favour Britain were afraid to doso.    Napoleon could see only one effective enemy in thewhole of Europe: Britain.    With his usual stamina and sense of timing,Napoleon set about preparing for the next stage of hiscampaign. He was a land animal, and used the Frenchfleet as transport for his army rather than as a weapon.Again, it was to act against him.    While he made visits to the Channel ports, just togive spies and agents the impression he was stillconsidering a sea invasion of England’s south coast, thepreparations at Toulon and neighboring ports gatheredmomentum.    By the spring the French had mustered a force ofsome thirty-five thousand men, three-hundredtransports, and a fleet to protect them under Admiral deBrueys, the best officer in their navy. With all thenecessary stores and weapons, horse, fodder andequipment, this great colossus poised on the edge of theMediterranean and awaited the signal.    Even by today’s standards it was impressive,especially as Napoleon’s gaze was firmly fixed onEgypt, which to him meant one thing, the gateway toIndia and the East Indies, and all the trade andpossessions France had lost in the previous war.    The British, on the other hand, were uncertain as to

the French intentions. Denied of bases, our fleet had notpenetrated the Mediterranean in strength for months,and apart from rumour, knew little of Bonaparte’smovements.    It was decided to send a British squadron toinvestigate, and Jervis, now the Earl of St. Vincentbecause of his great victory, chose a young rearadmiral, Horatio Nelson, for the task.    To break out of Toulon and seize Malta, and possiblythe Kingdom of Sicily.  To steer west and force theStrait of Gilbraltar and join up with the combined fleetsof France and Spain and thence onto England.  Ireland,too, was considered, as the French had alreadyattempted an invasion of that unhappy island earlier inthe war.    And of course there was Egypt.    But what a decision for a fleet commander. Nelsonwas thirty-nine at the time, and still suffering badlyfrom the loss of his arm the previous year at Teneriffe.But his strength came from the men about him, hisBand of Brothers as he called them, young captainswho had grown to know and respect his qualities ofleadership and accept his tantrums when things did notgo to his liking with a kind of love.    Many of these captains were to distinguish them-selves later, and had already blazed a trail of enduranceand courage which had done much to restore the Navy'smorale. Men like Saumarez and Foley, Berry andTroubridge, and of course not forgetting the one whowas perhaps to be the best remembered, CaptainThomas Hardy, who walked the deck with Nelson atTrafalgar seven years later.    Nelson was beset by misfortune at the start, mostlyfrom perverse and savage weather. His own flagshipwas dismasted, his frigates, due to a misunderstanding,quit the squadron and returned to Gibraltar, and to top it

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all, the French fleet sailed from Toulon. The very galeswhich had driven the British away and dismasted theirflagship were favourable to de Brueys and his armada,which within days had vanished into the Mediterraneanas if it had never been.    It was a terrible dilemma for Nelson.  To sail west onthe understanding that the enemy was indeed makingfor the Atlantic?  To steer for the eastern Mediterraneanand thereby allow the French to escape and attackEngland in strength?  Or to do nothing? Meanwhile, the elusive French fleet sailed ontowards Egypt, joining with other vessels which hadbeen sheltering in the Greek islands and awaiting themoment to attack.    After one abortive cruise along the Egyptian coast,and discovering Alexandria to be empty of Frenchshipping, Nelson returned fretting to Sicily. Unbe-known to him, he had passed the French fleet in thenight, and when at last he received information of theenemy’s movements to the south-east, Bonaparte'sarmy was already ashore, his ships anchored outsideAlexandria in Aboukir Bay.    De Brueys had no doubt that the British wouldeventually arrive. He took no chances. His fleet wassuperior in size and quality to the one which Nelsoncommanded, and contained the largest man-o’-war inthe world at that time, de Bruey’s massive one hundredand twenty gun flagship, L’Orient. He anchored hisships in one long line, and to further reinforce it hadeach linked to the next by stout cables.  He then waitedto see what would happen.    Characteristically, Nelson’s first reaction at beingtold the French were at Alexandria was one ofhappiness. The doubt and frustration were over.  Heknew well enough of the danger and the great oddsagainst his ships attacking a prepared and anchored

enemy.    He remarked, unabashed, ‘By this time tomorrow Ishall have gained a Peerage or Westminster Abbey.’    The action began at half-past six, just prior to sunset.It raged all through the night, the fierceness of thebattle only faltering when the giant L’Orient took fireand exploded, the sound of the blast being heard manymiles away.    Near five o’clock in the morning the firing ceased,some of the gun crews so dazed and exhausted theycould hardly stand and fight.    Of all the French fleet which had joined in the battlethe previous evening only two had survived destructionor capture, and they had slipped out to sea, the Britishships too crippled to give chase.    The whole Bay of Aboukir was covered with deadbodies, mangled, wounded and scorched.    ‘Victory,’ said Nelson, ‘is not a name strong enoughfor such a scene.’

Battle of the Nile, 1798

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    But victory it was. The French army was marooned,and Bonaparte’s hopes of an Indian Empire smashed.He had lost his fleet and some five thousand men,nearly six times as many as his enemy.    The Mediterranean was an English lake again, Egyptand Malta became ours.    The Battle of the Nile taught several lessons. Thatproperly led, and treated with the humanity theydeserved, the Navy could still surprise even its mostardent believers.    Later to be overshadowed by Trafalgar, the Nile wasNelson’s greatest fight, and his example was toencourage one more step to make the life of a seamansomething free of fear and to give it back its pride.

Part ThreeSignal – Close Action!

In January 1798 as Richard Bolitho hoists his broadpendant for the first time as commodore of a small

squadron, he realises from the start that his newcommand is not an easy one.    His orders are to take all steps to discover the Frenchintentions in the Mediterranean and report back to hisadmiral. The enemy are said to be on the move again,but to where? West to the Atlantic, or to seize Maltaand the Kingdom of Sicily? Or further to the south-east,to the making of a French dream and the capture ofEgypt?    In Toulon and neighboring ports a French armada isalmost ready, poised to break past the British patrols atthe first right moment. It is a heavy responsibility forthe commodore, and one which will cost his countrydearly should he make a wrong decision.    But he discovers that there is much more to hoisting

his own flag than the planning of strategy. Within hissmall squadron there are men no less dangerous thanthe enemy. He is unable to show favour even to old anddear friends, and is forced more and more on to his ownresources.    He has to use everything at his disposal to seek outthe information he needs. From daring exploits onhostile territory to facing bloody broadsides in openwater where his broad pennant rallies the little squadronbut also invites constant attack from the enemy.    It is a far greater step from captain to commandingthe destinies of several ships and their companies thanhe had ever imagined, and no easier to decide who livesand dies merely because he flies his flag above the endresult.

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