Issue IX

ContentsPART ONEThe Fighting Ship

PART TWOInvasion

PART THREEA Tradition of Victory

PART FOURDouglas Reeman

The Bolitho Newsletter is published andcopyrighted by Highseas Authors Ltd.

This issue was originally released in 1981.

Douglas Reeman / Alexander Kentwith Cutty Sark in the background.

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Part OneThe Fighting Ship

The square-rigged fightingship of the 18th century

and early 19th century hasoften been described as themost beautiful thing evercreated by man. But in her dayshe was seen very differentlyby those who served,commanded and depended onher. To the citizen ashore theoccasional sighting of a man-of-war making sail, droppinganchor, or tacking gracefullyaround a headland beforeheading out to sea representedsecurity, pride and a suredefence against the country’senemies, and in those troubled times there weremany. To government planners and the strategists atthe Admiralty a fighting ship was a floating gunplatform which had to be in the right place at theright time to be of any use. Theirs was a differentwar from that faced by the men who served in theKing’s ships, an endless struggle to maintain thebalance of weapons, supplies and, above all,competent captains to take command. To the trained seaman and marine the fighting

ship was something familiar, demanding and hard,but one which could be mastered and used to goodadvantage with a certain amount of luck. In thefrightened eyes of a man dragged from his homestreet or tavern by the press gang a ship-of-warwith its towering and mysterious web of riggingand shrouds, spars and canvas might be seen as anightmare. And what of each captain, be he the juniorcommander of a brig or the godlike figure incharge of a ship-of-the-line, did he have any

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‘A Tradition of Victory’ by English marine artistChris Mayger

qualms at the trust invested in his skills andexperience? We only have to consider the complete self-reliance needed to sustain a fighting ship from dayto day to answer that question. For whether thevessel was attached to a squadron or fleet andunder the direct orders of an admiral, or makingher lonely passage across the breadth of some greatocean, each captain knew that he must use hisresources to the best of his ability, to make thehull, masts, sails and weapons respond as onewhenever required. In those days there were notraining depots ashore for either officers orseamen. Only the Corps of marines had theirseparate bases and divisions where they could betaught the additional rudiments of being a soldierand sailor too. Men who volunteered for service in the King’sships, or were pressed into it by force andnecessity, had to learn the hard way, from the deckupwards. A ship might touch land for a matter ofhours only before putting to sea again with newly-recruited hands barely able to believe what washappening to them. The experienced seamen had tobe spread amongst the untrained ones, ropes andhalliards thrust into their hands until they learnedwhat each piece meant, how it played its vital partto make the ship work and live. On the dizzilyswaying yards above the deck, and gropingfrantically for hand and toe holds while the winddid all it could to hurl them to their deaths, thelessons had to be forced home with little thought ofsentiment. Every sailor knew that his security

depended on the whole company working as ateam. One false move, a brace or halliard parting ina full gale, and a life could be lost to no purpose. The master’s mates and petty officers were tooconscious of their first lieutenant’s watchful eye tohesitate in using a fist or rope's end if they thoughtit would hasten the process of learning. The officers too learned by example until theyknew and understood the miles of rigging andcordage, the stress and use of each sail, and how tostand a watch with the best of them. The youthfulofficers usually began their careers around the ageof twelve and even less; the midshipmen, or‘young gentlemen’ as they were nicknamed, soondiscovered it was a far step from gunroom toquarterdeck. Strangely remote from the packed humanityaround them, the ship’s specialists, the realstrength in any fighting ship, saw their floatinghome as work rather than duty. The boatswain wasmainly involved with the care and maintenance ofall the vessel’s rigging and day to day seamanship.The carpenter with his crew knew he was expectedto repair anything once the ship was away fromland and other friendly craft. From putting stormand battle damage to rights to constructing newboats from the fragments of old ones, the carpenterwas fully employed. Like the sailmaker, whosework was concerned with anything from stitchingup rent canvas to sewing hammocks around deadseamen. He was not averse to putting his needleand palm to the other skill of making clothing forthe sailors.

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And all the while, as the ship held on her setcourse, and the men worked, trained and drilled,the vessel’s real worth lay waiting with thepatience of the sea itself. The guns, which werepart of every man’s daily life, were her purpose forbeing, and her company there to serve them.Powerful three-decker or lithe frigate, her value layin her armament and the ability to use it andemerge as a victor. To each captain the sense of responsibility was aheavy one. For no matter how his gun crews weredrilled until their movements were automatic andtimed to the second, he never really knew whatthey would be called upon to face. When sailingwithout company and confronted by a foreignvessel there was always an additional worry for thecaptain, especially when he had been away fromhis home port or squadron for any length of time.Was the vessel he was approaching still an enemy?Or had a peace treaty been signed while he was onpassage? To a patrolling frigate captain almost anyalien sail was an enemy. A scouting corvette fromsome French fleet, a privateer or pirate, smuggleror renegade, each represented danger if treatedunwarily. In a fleet at sea a captain's problem was differentin respect. At least he did not have to worry aboutthe identity or intentions of approaching ships.That was the admiral's problem, the Flag woulddecide. But the strain on the ships’ companies could beterrible. If the wind was light it sometimes tookhours or all day for two enemy fleets to draw near

enough to each other to join battle. To a new andbarely trained seaman as he stood at his gun withhis companions it must have been awesome to seethe enemy sails spreading out on either side untilthey hid the horizon. So slow to embrace, so dead-ly, yet strangely magnificent. On such occasionsroutine aboard the fighting ship continued. Sailswere trimmed, meals issued, tots of spirits con-sumed. Perhaps the marine fifers would play livelyjigs to keep the hands occupied and stop them fromstaring too long at the approaching menace. Theolder seamen knew what was coming and enviedthe raw hands their ignorance. At the order to clear the ship for action the realtransformation took place. Their floating homewith its tiny individual messes separated by thegreat guns they were soon to serve in battle wasexposed for what it was. Screens were torn down,furniture, chests and unnecessary clutter carriedbelow the waterline where they would be safe untilafterwards. The ship’s boats were usually droppedastern, loosely moored to a buoy so that they couldbe retrieved. Again that word, afterwards. If therewas to be one. A ship-of-war was cleared from bow to stern sothat there was nothing to impede the cannon whichfired through their ports on either side. Ship’s boyssanded the decks to give each crew a betterfoothold. The boatswain’s party rigged chain slingsand nets above the gun decks to protect the menthere from falling spars and blocks. In his heavilyprotected magazine the gunner checked hischarges, his feet safely covered in felt slippers as a

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guard against sparks. Hammocks were tightlypacked in the nettings around the gangways andquarterdeck, protection against musket balls andwood splinters, the latter as lethal as any lead shot. The enemy is a little nearer now, but only anoccasional hoist of bunting from the flagship and acurt acknowledgement from each vessel in the lineof battle betrays any obvious reaction. The marines are in position behind the nettings,muskets ready, their sergeant and corporals ready

to call the time to reload and fire when the pacequickens. Above the deck in the fighting tops othermarines train their swivel guns and wait for theorder to load. The captain is aft at the quarterdeck rail with hisfirst lieutenant, the other key members of his teamnearby, the sailing master with his mates andhelmsmen by the great wheel, the youthfulmidshipmen in charge of the signalling party, themarine officer in his scarlet coat making a splash

A private of the British Royal Marines, circa 1815A British Royal Navy midshipman

of colour against the blue jackets and checkeredshirts of the seamen. If the captain is troubled by the efficiency of hisgun crews he must not show it now. It is too latefor doubts. Only discipline, and what a famousAmerican once term ‘the surly British pluck’, willhave any value now. It is nearly time. The men at each gun glancequickly across the deck to the opposite side. Therestands another gun with a depleted crew. That toothey must serve if they are engaged on both sidesat once.

‘Load!’

It is almost a relief after the waiting. The chargesare thrust home down every black muzzle,followed by a wad, a round shining ball, and afurther wad to ensure the shot stays put if the shiprolls. The port lids are opened as one, and at the order‘Run out!’ every gun is hauled to the open port, itsprogress checked and guide by handspikes andtackles. Each gun-captain peers along his barreland trigger lines tighten. On quarterdeck and forecastle other weapons areprepared for that first bombardment. Carronadesand swivels, all now loaded and primed. After thefirst two or three aimed broadsides, the pace willslacken, the timing falter as the range shortens. A whistle shrills and all at once the deck iscrushed to a confined world of smoke and noise,the crash and roar of cannon fire, the squeal of gun

trucks as they are sponged out and reloaded andhauled back to the waiting ports. So devastating is the effect of close action thatvessels are often damaged severely within minutes,their rigging shot away by langridge and chain-shot, their steering useless, until they drift likehulks within the bedlam of battle. But evendismasted they are still fighting ships until theenemy strikes or the combat turns against you. Grapnels soar above the smoke, men fallunheard or unheeded in the hail of canister-shotand grape. Muskets seek out individual targets onthe enemy's poop, but the old hands grit their teethand look to their friends as the real moment oftruth arrives. Swords are discarded by most of the lieutenantsand curved hangers have replaced them. Cutlassesare snatched up from between the smoking guns,pikes seized from racks around the masts. Dirks,clubs and boarding axes are the tools now. With a wild cry the first boarders leap towardthe other ship. Many fall between the hulls, but theclash of steel on steel, the screams and cursesbeyond the smoke are proof that the footing hasbeen gained on the enemy’s deck. Through thechaos go the marines, boarding the other vessel ina scarlet bridge, the bayonets glittering, the harshdiscipline and regular drills taking charge andholding them together as they divide the enemy’sresistance with no quarter given or expected. Then it is over. The new men stare dazedly atwhat they have survived. The older hands breathedeeply and seek out new friends. The specialists

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prepare to clean up the debris and the filth ofbattle. One of the King’s enemies has been beaten. Theprice of victory may be high. But it is the lot of thefighting ship, the one that the citizen ashore willnever see.

Part TwoInvasion

I n 1801, after eight years of war, the Britishpeople were still living under a constant threat

of invasion from across the Channel. On a clearday and aided by a telescope from the cliffs ofDover it was possible to see the great tented campsof Napoleon's Grand Army. In Boulogne and mostof the neighbouring ports and inlets the scoutingfrigates of the Royal Navy had reported a growingassembly of invasion craft. Napoleon often claimed it would take him twodays, maybe less, to invade England and force herinto submission once his army had been ferriedacross the Channel. His mounting fleet of invasioncraft ranged from gunboats to agile transportbarges for artillery and cavalry alike. There wassome justification for Napoleon's optimism, exceptfor one glaring obstacle, the English Channel.Despite all his experience as a master strategist andtactician, and despite the fact that he was himselfborn in a seaport, Napoleon was intimidated bythat placid strip of water. The crushing Britishnaval victories at St. Vincent, the Nile and

Copenhagen left him no doubt as to what wouldhappen if his invasion armada was attacked in mid-channel. A volunteer militia was raised to protect theshores and villages of Britain’s south coast, a 19thcentury forerunner of the Home Guard of the1940’s, and to give this untried force a strength itdid not otherwise possess, Horatio Nelson, the heroof Copenhagen, was ordered to take command. Asusual, a static war of wait-and-see was not the littleadmiral's style. He organized patrols to harass andattack the moored invasion craft in a fashion whichwould have done credit to Drake himself. Still the soldier to his fingertips, Napoleoncontinued to dream and plan for the invasion hewas doomed never to launch. He even designed amedal for his conquering troops to mark theoccasion. After several daring raids on French ports it wasgenerally accepted that the best way to kill thechances for an invasion was to continue what theBritish fleet had been doing so successfully foreight long years. That was to keep the enemybottled up in their ports and only attack them if andwhen they attempted to move out. The English Channel and the ever-vigilantpresence of those weather-beaten ships was enoughto force a stalemate which led to the short-livedPeace of Amiens. By 1803 the old enemies were at war again, butthat brief respite had given the Navy thedesperately needed breathing-space to refit andprepare for the decisive rendezvous at Trafalgar.

Part ThreeA Tradition of Victory

R ichard Bolitho is now acclaimed throughoutthe world as the most popular hero in

historical naval fiction created by a living writer.This fourteenth Bolitho novel has the epic scenes

of action, the powerful characterization and theauthentic period detail that have made AlexanderKent a bestseller wherever sea stories are read. After eight years of war between Britain andFrance there is at last a rumour of peace. But theold enemies are well aware that any settlement willonly be a breathing space in which to recover fromtheir terrible losses. To obtain the best terms theFrench muster a show of strength from Biscay tothe Channel ports. At the British Admiralty thereare some who see a daring opportunity to even thescore at any negotiation table - and who better toundertake it than the young Rear Admiral Bolitho? In June 1801 Bolitho’s small squadron is stillrepairing the scars of battle earned at Copenhagen -and as he receives his orders from London Bolithois, for the first time in his life, torn between thedemands of duty and his real desire to marry.When the squadron sails it is joined by anadditional ship, a frigate with many memories fromthe past. But where Bolitho's flag leads so hiscaptains must follow, if necessary to the brink ofdisaster – for theirs is a tradition of victory.

Part FourDouglas Reeman

F or me at least one of the great pleasures increating each new book is the research which

precedes it. On these occasions I am able to meetthose who share my maritime interests and arewilling to help in any way they can to produce

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whatever material I need. Writing is essentially alonely profession, so that these breaks into theliving world of ships and the sea are very welcome. People sometimes ask me when I am going towrite a book about so-and-so, or why I don’t givemore attention to places not yet visited ordescribed. It is all a tremendous spur to the writer.Over the years one theme has prevailed like abright thread through many of my stories, the

exploits of the Royal Marines. And so, after manymonths of research and the co-operation andenthusiasm of the Corps to support it, I am about towrite the first book in a saga of the Regiment ofthe Sea. It will be entirely separate from the RichardBolitho series, although I do of course hope forsome help from Alexander Kent!

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