The Invasion Year

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The morning after their assault on the mouth of the Somme river, Reliant and Fusee were forced to return to Sheerness. Lt. Johns had made an inspection of the remaining torpedoes and found that their clockwork timer’s inner workings were so corroded by salt-air damp that they would not run; likewise for the fire-locks of the igniting pistols. A lack of mineral oil to protect them from rusting would have guaranteed a failure. In private, Lt. Johns had also confided to Lewrie that both the clocks and the pistols were of the cheapest manufacture, cast-offs or rejects of such low quality that they appeared to be the first failed efforts of new apprentices. “Trust Scots to pinch and bemoan a groat, sir, a penny bedamned,” Johns had muttered, most sadly disappointed.

MacTavish and McCloud, he’d also reported, had gone off on each other, each blaming the other for the failures, and the artificer sent off in a huff, sacked from his position. MacTavish would have to see to the construction of new torpedoes himself, find a new artificer to oversee the work, and most definitely not spare HM Government’s money this time on the timers or pistols!

Lewrie had begun his report to Admiralty the morning after the trials off the Somme, and completed it just before Reliant had come to anchor in the Great Nore. He dis-passionately described the complicated method of priming and activating, the difficulty with the tompion and the use of them in the total dark, along with the risks involved if deployed during the day; the shoddy materials used in the first place, and the great risk of damp getting to the powder no matter how snugly the torpedoes were sealed, due to being stored above-decks exposed to weather, then slung over the side and towed long distances all but submerged. It was no way to treat gunpowder, if one wished it to stay dry and go Bang!

His clerk and one of his Mids with a good copper-plate writing had made copies, one for MacTavish. Lewrie expected he would hear the fellow’s screeches all the way down-river from Woolwich once he read his copy!

In the meantime, though…

“Excuse me, sir, but I wonder if I might have a word?”

“Aye, Mister Merriman?” Lewrie said, looking up from his stroll of Reliant’s quarterdeck to savour the Summer sunshine.

“It’s about the torpedoes, sir,” Lt. Merriman began.

“Those bastards!” Lewrie said with a dismissive snort.

“Indeed, sir,” Merriman said with a wry grin of agreement. “I and Mister Westcott were talking things over last night, and we were wondering if there would be any more trials with them. If so, we think we’ve come up with a way to improve them. Sea-anchors, sir!”

“Sea-anchors?”

“One uses a sea-anchor to keep a ship’s head to wind in stormy weather, but… was a sea-anchor used in a strong tideway, would not a drogue pull the torpedo shoreward faster? Just bobbing about like they did, we had to get within a mile, with the timer set for fourty-five minutes, but… if we could launch from farther out, we could almost do it in daylight, and be out of range of most shore guns,” Lt. Merriman said, bubbling over with enthusiasm.

“Might as well put a mast and a lugs’l on ’em, sir,” Lewrie rejoined, feeling gloomy of a sudden to imagine that there would be one more round of trials with the damned things! “Or, just shove tons of powder into a fireship and let it sail itself in.”

“The First Lieutenant brought the idea up, too, sir,” Merriman replied, falling alongside of Lewrie’s in-board side as he paced aft to the taffrails. “If the drogues won’t improve the torpedoes, then perhaps a small fireship, a fire-boat, might serve the purpose.”

“There’s the problem of damp, though,” Lewrie pointed out.

“Aye, sir, and on that head we asked Mister Mainwaring the Surgeon if he knew of any earth or element that would absorb damp,” Lieutenant Merriman rushed on, all eagerness. “He cited sodium chloride, sir… whatever that is.”

“Fire-boats… as in ship’s boats, Mister Merriman?” Lewrie asked, pausing in mid-stride.

“Exactly so, sir! Every dockyard’s full of them, or they can be readily bought,” Lt. Merriman continued. “One could place a floor above the ribs and keels, a bulkhead forward in the bows, and deck it all over, with just a cuddy to allow for setting the timer and priming the pistol igniter just before the crew abandons it. Perhaps even construct interior beam partitions to form a box cabin which would secure the powder charge, sir? Fill the voids between the hull and partitions with this sodium chloride whatever to soak up the damp, perhaps even line the entire box with tin, or lead, or… something… to keep it all dry, and a cheaply purchased fire-boat could sail in under its own power. Why, they might not even have to be set alight, and could sail in in the night with the French none the wiser ’til they explode… and a cutter or barge could carry a lot more gunpowder than one of the cask torpedoes, sir!”

“You’ve sketches, Mister Merriman?” Lewrie asked, beginning to be intrigued. Anything would beat MacTavish’s casks all hollow!

“Uhm, Mister Westcott said he would essay a sketch or two, sir,” Merriman explained. “He did not wish to present them to you ’til he and I were perfectly satisfied, but he also said that I should speak to you about the possibility.”

“Hidin’ his light under a bushel basket, is he?” Lewrie japed.

“Well, sir, if our idea seems plausible, Mister Westcott thought that the fire-boats should be deemed as secret as the torpedoes, hence we should show them to no one else but you, for now, sir,” Lieutenant Merriman said in a more guarded way.

“When you and the First Officer deem ’em ready, bring ’em aft to the great-cabins, Mister Merriman,” Lewrie told him. “And mum’s the word ’til then. Carry on.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Merriman said, doffing his hat in salute.

Gawd, another daft idea! Lewrie thought once Merriman had gone; Even more gunpowder… a ton or so? Brr! Still… an explosive boat doesn’t depend on the tide alone. Lash the tiller and it’ll steer itself. I wonder…

He heaved a sigh, realising that if Admiralty found Westcott’s and Merriman’s concept practical, both officers might be sent off to develop the boats, costing him two damned competent men. If he wrote too enthusiastically, Admiralty might even think him clever enough to oversee the project and take Reliant away from him and give him a shore post at some dockyard!

Admiralty thinkin’ me clever? Lewrie scoffed, though; That’ll be a cold day in Hell! I’d fight that, even did “all night in” with Lydia come attached!

It was mid-afternoon before Lewrie heard back from Lieutenants Westcott and Merriman, and he was, in point of fact, writing a letter to Lydia Stangbourne and looking forward to a good nap once that was done and sent ashore to be posted-in emulation of his cats-when his Marine sentry loudly announced their arrival. “Come!” he bade, and Westcott and Merriman trooped in, cocked hats under their arms and a packet of drawings in their hands, carefully rolled up and bound with twine to guard against their contents being revealed prematurely.

“Tea for all, Pettus, and then take yourself a long idle hour or so on deck,” Lewrie called out. Pettus poured them all tumblers of Lewrie’s patented cool tea from a pitcher, set out lemon slices and a sugar bowl, then departed, taking wee Jessop with him.

“Quite refreshing, sir, thank you,” Westcott said after a sip.

“What have you come up with, then?” Lewrie pressed, shifting with some eagerness in his chair as they sat round his dining table. “If it ain’t torpedoes, it’s welcome.”

“Oh, aye, sir!” Lt. Westcott laughed, baring, his teeth in a wide grin. He un-did the knots in the twine and un-rolled a short stack of folio-sized sheets. “The first, sir, is the overall outer design with ends, overhead, and beam views. Mister Merriman and I reckon that we’d need at least a twenty-five-foot cutter to get the job done, though a thirty-two-foot barge could carry more sail on its two masts, and more gunpowder, depending…”

“On how big a bang you wish, sir!” Merriman finished for his companion, with a laugh. “You’ll note, sir, that the decking-over to keep the powder charge safe from spray and slop is slightly arched. To channel a heavy sea off like water off a duck’s back.”

“How’d the sailors hoist sail, then, if it’s arched?” Lewrie puzzled, frowning over the drawing, which was as fine and detailed as any he’d seen in a dockyard office. “Wouldn’t they slide over the side, with the water?”

“Ah, you’ll note that the decking ends just inside the gunn’ls, and two inches below them, sir,” Lt. Westcott explained with another grin. “So the cap-rail of the gunn’l forms a low rail to brace their feet as they tend the sheets and halliards.”

“Uh-hum!” was Lewrie’s comment to that thoughtful provision. It appeared that his two Lieutenants had given the matter more thought than the recently departed and un-lamented Mr. MacTavish had his casks.

“The decking-over extends right aft, almost to the stern-sheets, sir,” Merriman said, taking up the explanation of the plans. “There’s the cuddy-like hatch to allow access to the box cabin, through which the powder kegs will be loaded, and the clockworks and pistol can be set.” He used a pencil to tap the pertinent parts.

“That way, sir, the kegs could be kept dry and safe from accidental discharge in the tender’s magazines ’til needed,” Lt. Westcott added. “Now, the next sheet, sir, depicts the interior appointments, and the lining and beam partitions to hold the dessicant.”

“Dessicant?” Lewrie puzzled.

“That’s Mister Mainwaring’s ‘break-teeth’ word for blocks, bags, of sodium chloride… salt, sir!” Merriman said, chuckling. “Very scientific, that, for stuff that’ll soak up humidity and any leaks.”

“There’s another… humidity,” Westcott stuck in, winking.

“See how much we’re learnin’?” Lewrie japed right back.

Damned if the interior sketches were not merely fine builders’ plans, but they had done three-quarter-view drawings, too, shaded in varying tones of light and dark, as meticulous as a wood-cut illustration printed in a reference book, or a serious newspaper article!

“I did not know that you two were such talented artists,” Lewrie praised them, leaning far over the table to admire their work.

“Well, sir, the rough preliminary sketches were my work, but Mister Westcott is the real draughtsman,” Merriman confessed.

“Indeed he is!” Lewrie exclaimed, leaning back. “I once asked if he was musical, and when he said ‘no’ I assumed his true talent lay in seafaring.”

And women, Lewrie reminded himself; most definitely women!

“But, I s’pose we all have our side-lines t’keep us occupied in our off-watch hours,” Lewrie went on.

“Thank you, sir,” Lt. Westcott said, grinning and bowing at the waist whilst seated. “George here, though, wrote the proposal, and I dare say that you will find it equally meritorious, Captain. Merriman has a way with words.”

“It’s included, sir,” Merriman said, almost shyly.

“I look forward t’readin’ it,” Lewrie said. “But, once cocked and all, what happens to the boat’s crew… and how many men?”

“As to the second sir, if I may, we estimate that only one Midshipman would be required to command and steer the boat in, sir,” Lt. Merriman replied, shifting in his chair to scoot closer. “Each of the boats would need two hands to tend the sails, then spell the Mid for as long as it would take for him to start the timer and cock the pistol, then… as to the first matter, sir, we envision that each explosive boat would need a gig or jolly-boat to trail it in, then take off the crew… once the tiller is lashed and the sails trimmed for the last time,” Lt. Merriman explained. “Though it is possible that if a flotilla of boats are launched, only three or four oared and masted barges could recover all the hands from a round dozen.”

“A Lieutenant or two to command overall, sir, and take charge of the recovery boats,” Lt. Westcott added with a shrug.

“Um-hmm!” Lewrie said in appreciation, looking up at the overhead and deck beams for a moment. “Given the risk of losing the both of you to this proposal, should Admiralty approve it, it must be sent on to them at once. Secretly, but speedily. I’ll read the proposal this evening, then call upon the dockyard Commissioner, first thing in the morning, to have the drawings and all forwarded to London by the fastest, most secure courier… along with my own strong recommendation for the plan’s urgent consideration.

“What bloody good my backin’d do, well…,” Lewrie scoffed as he patted his hair and tossed his shoulders and hands up in a shrug of his own. “At least we’ll get it put forward and see what they’ll make of it, one way or the other.”

“All we ask, sir!” Merriman enthused.

“Thank you for approving, sir,” Lt. Westcott seconded. “We’re sure that this is a much more useful idea than what we’ve seen so far.”

“Good God, Mister Westcott!” Lewrie barked in amusement. “What ain’t? And, congratulate Mister Mainwaring on his jape about… salt!”