Pirates and Prisoners 11 Battle Off Boston

[Jeff Thomas]

“What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, captain. You’re thinking out loud again.” Cunningham replied, “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you did anything wrong.”

“Agree,” O’Reilly added, “a bit of bad luck, coincidence, whatever you wish to call it.”

“No. I think not. They sent one ship to intercept us outside this channel and another to follow us out and keep us from retreating to the safety of Boston Harbor. It’s like they knew my plans.”

Cunningham frowned. “Are you serious? Do you think they have a spy?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Benjamin snapped, “they have us in a perfect trap. We must fight our way out.”

“Captain,” O’Reilly said without his usual salutation, “Don’t we have to plan on fighting in this line of work?”

“Well, yes. But we’ll have to fight two ships at once.” Benjamin looked over the rail, taking in the sight of wind and waves, trying to see a way out of the trap. “I don’t see a way out.”

“So, we fight them,” O’Reilly said, “I’ve planned for just this situation.”
Benjamin, Cunningham, and Garibaldi turned toward O’Reilly, who grinned fiendishly.

“I have a good idea from time to time.” O’Reilly clearly enjoyed the moment. “I’ve been practicing with my gun crews—some experienced men on each gun, landsmen working at the less demanding tasks. I can fight both sides of the ship; it won’t be handsome; some of the men are a bit rough. But they can do it.” O’Reilly pointed toward the Royal ship off the bow. “The best part is, they won’t think we can do it. I expect we can come as quite the surprise for them.”

Benjamin looked at the ship approaching the bow and then at the one astern. Finally, he took another long look at the wind. He thought furiously, estimating angles of approaching and closing courses. Then he started giving a string of orders. Garibaldi would fight the Venus’ port side, O’Reilly the starboard. Cunningham to prepare a boarding party. He ordered the helmsman to turn the ship to engage the schooner. O’Reilly jumped to setting the sails to catch the wind on the new course.

“A bit clumsy,” O’Reilly remarked as men climbed the ratlines, “but I’ll get her turned.”

“I knew you would. With luck, those Brits will think we don’t know what we’re doing or have too many landsmen aboard.”

“We do have too many landsmen,” Cunningham said, smiling. “Fortunately, you have me to keep them in line.”

“Captain, with your permission, I would like to throw Mr. Cunningham over the side at the first opportunity.”

“Permission granted. Now we need to get to work. We may have an hour to prepare, but not much more.”

The three officers quickly began preparing the ship and crew for a tough fight. Benjamin climbed into the mizzen mast ratlines and perched about ten feet above the deck, giving him a better view of his opponents. When his boarding party was organized, Cunningham climbed up next to him. The schooner was now just aft of the port beam and closing. When closer together, both ships could fire full broadsides.

“Have our friends reacted to our change?”

“Yes, this fellow behind us has turned slightly to take advantage of the wind. Of course, if we stay on this course, we will all end up in England. Or maybe France.”
Cunningham digested this for a minute. “He expects us to turn again and try to get around him into the harbor.”

“That’s what I think.”

“The sloop is off the port bow; he’ll intercept us before we get to Europe.”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Cunningham announced, “this should be entertaining.”

“Aye, it will,” O’Reilly announced as he climbed the ladder. “I’ve talked to the gun captains and Mr. Garibaldi. When yonder ships get within pistol shot, I will stop firing solid shot and give them grapeshot, then switch to canister. They will be expecting
Mr. Cunningham’s boarders, not a hailstorm of musket balls.”

“Well, I guess now we wait.”

The light breeze gradually pushed the three ships closer. Benjamin watched his crew trying to stay calm. Many of Cunningham’s boarding crew sharpened knives, swords, or pike blades. A few paced the deck or talked to friends trying to act nonchalantly. Harrowstone sat with his back to a gun truck, carving a piece of wood.
O’Reilly stepped to the ship’s bell and rang it seven times; the morning was almost over. At that moment, the schooner opened fire with six guns. Benjamin estimated they were no larger than twelve-pounders, possibly only nine-pound guns. The cannonballs screamed overhead, tearing through sails and rigging, but caused slight damage.

“Our opponent seems nervous,” Garibaldi remarked. “He can’t possibly fire accurately at this range.”

“Maybe he’s bored,” Cunningham said. “Shall we liven up his morning?”

“Not yet. No need to make the same mistake he did.”

Off Venus’s bow, the Royal sloop fired a broadside of about ten guns. He fired at an
even greater range than his companion. All his shots fell short.

“If I were in command, I’d have that schooner hit us with a boarding party,” Cunningham said, “he’s more maneuverable, and his lighter guns will not damage us all that much.”

Benjamin looked around. “And how would you consult the other captain? Attach a note to a seagull?”

O’Reilly and Garibaldi snickered. Then O’Reilly turned serious.

“They may have standing orders for how to manage various situations. We should be prepared for any eventuality.”

As if to punctuate O’Reilly’s words, both British ships fired again.

“Gentleman, open fire. Mr. Cunningham, keep your boarders out of sight. Mr. O’Reilly, show me how well-trained your gun crews are. Let’s get to work.”

The starboard guns, under Garibaldi’s command, fired almost as one. A ripple of orange flame erupted along the ship’s side, immediately followed by a smoke cloud.

For a minute, Benjamin could see nothing. Then the wind blew the smoke away from Venus. The crew could see the effects of their shooting. The schooner’s sails and rigging were damaged, and the hull pierced several places. The cries of wounded men sounded across the water.

Then Venus’s starboard battery fired at the sloop, which was pressing closer. The enemy’s angle of approach made shooting difficult, but the gun crews noted a few hits. O’Reilly ordered his gun captains to fire one at a time to allow the smoke to dissipate so the men could aim their weapons.

The gun crews on all three ships went to work, reloading as rapidly as possible. The men working the guns clearly knew their business, although they had to perform slightly slower. Benjamin made a mental note to congratulate O’Reilly on his training of the gun crews. He turned to watch the schooner, whose crew seemed to have its own troubles. As he watched, a cannon amidships fired, but instead of sending an iron ball crashing into Venus, it flung a ramrod a dozen yards to land in the water.

Several crewmen laughed at the sight as Venus got off another full broadside toward the schooner. At the same time, O’Reilly’s battery fired off a string of shots at their target. This time they had an easier time of it. Their target had turned, evidently expecting Venus to turn as well. Instead, the two ships passed each other, traveling in opposite directions; Venus’ guns had clear shots at the sloop. Blinded by smoke blowing into their faces, the Royals found their aim spoiled.

The sloop began the complicated task of a major course change under fire. But the commander had no choice; without making the turn, the fight would come to a quick end. After completing his turn, the three ships plowed headlong into the swells, sailing on parallel courses perhaps fifty yards apart. In the middle of the row, Venus took fire from both sides.

For twenty minutes, the two ships traded shots. All three attempted to change course to gain an advantage without success, as their opponents blocked any such move. No ship was able to land a crippling blow. Suddenly, the schooner turned. For a minute, Benjamin thought he was turning to get into a superior firing position.

But then he saw deckhands resetting the sails and the helmsman spinning the wheel. Incredibly, the enemy was returning to Boson. “He doesn’t seem to have the nerve for a fight.”

“Right, you are, sir,” Venus’ helmsman remarked. “The man lacks courage.”

“Cunningham,” Benjamin cupped his hands and yelled, “prepare to board. This one is running away.”

“Understood. Lay us alongside, and I’ll take him.”

“Helmsman, two points to starboard, lay us alongside him.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

Venus heeled over as she turned, approaching the sloop, which fired another broadside, trying to discourage the boarding team. It didn’t work, as O’Reilly fired another broadside. This time he had loaded his guns with bags full of musket balls.

The air above the sloop’s deck filled with whistling lead. Men screamed and fell, bleeding, to the deck. Officers tried to organize a defense with little success. There had been too many wounded in too short a time.

Cunningham stood on the railing as special teams looped ropes over the railings, tying the vessels together. He presented a dramatic figure leaping from one ship to the other, sword raised high. “Follow me,” he bellowed unnecessarily; Venus’s crewmen poured over the railings wielding their weapons without let up. It was over in five minutes, the British captain yelling at his men to stop fighting.

Benjamin climbed into the ratlines and looked wistfully at the schooner escaping to the north. “I wish we could have taken them both,” he remarked to no one. He jumped over the railings and looked around for Cunningham. Then he took in the sights and smells of battle. As always, his senses overwhelmed him.

Then he thought of his father imprisoned, his brother fighting who knew where his involuntary servitude in the Royal Navy. If the enemy didn’t like fighting, they were welcome to go somewhere else. Cunningham walked up to him, stepping carefully on the blood-stained wood.

He and Cunningham quickly completed a survey of the sloop, ending up at the stern on the gun deck. “So, Captain, what do we do now? There is plenty of loot here; should we Return to Boston? I’ve never even heard of a privateer taking a prize the day he leaves port.”

“I don’t want to turn around and go back. That schooner will undoubtedly alert the blockading ships that we’re out here. Organizing an ambush would help them overcome the shame of breaking off action against us.” He looked down at the enclosed deck and the rows of cannon, many still serviceable. “I have an idea. Set course for Plymouth. I want to look up one of my father’s business associates.”

Venus and her prize (HMS Scorpion) slipped into the harbor at Plymouth just as the sun rose above the eastern horizon. Benjamin scanned the harbor and pointed toward a rock jetty extending into the water. “Over there, it’s perfect. Venus on one side, Scorpion on the other.”

“Perfect for what?” Cunningham muttered.
Garibaldi broke into a grin. “I think I know, but I will let our captain have his little surprise.”

“You gentlemen are scaring me,” O’Reilly chimed in, “Maybe I’ll have a drink and watch.”

“Where is your faith in your leader?” The crews of the two ships secured them to the jetty, and in an hour, Benjamin was ready to go ashore.

“Follow me; we’ll go see Mr. Tidbury.” Benjamin led the shore party into town; after stopping once to get directions, they found Mr. Tidbury’s office strategically located near the harbor. Mr. Tidbury was an older gentleman, well-dressed. His waistline announcing his success; in the current state of financial affairs, it took considerable money to look that well-fed.

“Benjamin, my boy, I have not seen you in some time, although I’ve heard rumors of some adventures you have been having.” He turned suddenly serious, “I’ve also heard about your father. My sincere condolences. It must be hard on all of you.”

“That is why I’m here, Mr. Tidbury….”

“Theodore, please.”

“Theodore, then. We unexpectedly took a prize yesterday; I need help settling my accounts.”

“Certainly, if you want an agent to represent you, I’m available.”

“That’s partly why I’m here.” Benjamin went on to describe his plans. When he was done, his audience stared in shocked silence. Finally, Cunningham broke the silence.

“You want to do what?”

“We’ve done it before; you were there.”

“And I was drunk at the time.”

Theodore nodded, “I can round up some men. I think it can be done.”


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[jemhouston]

Sounds dangerous.

[1Big Rich]

Thank you Jeff!