H.M.S Valor

  Copyright 2021 Cal Clement

  All Rights Reserved

  The characters and events portrayed within are fictitious.

  Any similarities to real persons, alive or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without express written permission of the author.

  ISBN-9798599464976

  Cover Artist: Juan Padron

  Printed in the United States of America

  This book is dedicated to the brave souls of the 2nd Battalion of the 7th Marine Regiment I had the distinct honor of serving beside.

  And to the heroes who never returned home.

  “A Ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for”

  - William Shedd

  H.M.S Valor

  Treachery and Triumph

  by Cal Clement

  PART ONE

  A Storm Gathers

  'Whereas the Two Houses of Parliament did, by their Resolutions of the Tenth and Twenty-fourth days of June One Thousand eight hundred and six, severally resolve, upon certain Grounds therein mentioned, that they would, with all practicable Expedition, take effectual Measures for the Abolition of the African Slave Trade in such Manner, and at such Period as might be deemed advisable, And whereas it is fit upon all and each of the Grounds mentioned in the said Resolutions, that the same should be forthwith abolished and prohibited, and declared to be unlawful'

  - British Parliament June 24th 1806

  Chapter 1

  Aug 4, 1808

  Office of the Admiralty, London

  Lieutenant William Pike stood in a massive hallway outside of the naval boardroom, stifling, in his dress uniform he awaited his fate. Outside, the dreary London morning had given way to a hot August sunshine and with it pouring into the large windows, the hallway had become uncomfortably warm. William could feel perspiration gather around his collar and beading on his head as he looked across the great passage adjoining the boardroom with the offices of the commanding Admirals of the Royal Navy. Great portraits of Admirals past and present lined the hallway, unsmiling and grave, they all seemed to be looking directly through William’s soul as he anxiously awaited to be summoned into the boardroom. William closed his eyes momentarily, longing for a gust of wind and the spray of the sea to cool him. The sea. She had been both his loving savior from the orphan homes and the cruel mistress who deprived him the joys of typical adolescence relished by so many. It was more to William than a trade, the sea was a living thing as much as any creature with a heartbeat. She was freedom and joy to the skilled sailor and sure death to all who underestimated her. He pictured the bow of a ship, sliding over breaking waves and rolling with wind at beam reach and a spray spackling his cheeks with every slap of water against the hull. That relieving thought was both joy and torture as the minutes dragged on for what felt like forever. Exacerbated by the ticking of a large ornate clock flanking the door on the far end of the hall, William fought his wandering mind, willing himself to maintain his discipline and reserve.

  Inside the boardroom three Admirals of the fleet had deliberated away the morning, reviewing evaluations from commanding Captains and Lieutenants, assessing combat and inspection performance for scores of line officers. Their determinations could make a career or condemn one, in the competitive field of the naval officer corps progression was inextricably tied to the findings of the Admiralty Board. Few officers petitioned in person, fewer still were permitted an audience. Admiral Torren had received petition on behalf of Lieutenant Pike from the young man’s most recent commanding Captain, a man Admiral Torren knew very well and had mentored as a Lieutenant over a decade before. Lieutenant William Pike’s service record was in fact, spotted, several mentions of unorthodox tactical decisions had caused a previous commander to pause before recommending promotion for the lad. But his most recent commander had specifically petitioned for promotion, citing his bravery and leadership ability, noting several instances of such when engaged with both American and French privateers. Still, the board was very hesitant to promote and assign command to anything but an exemplary record. This made battlefield advancement the surest way in a young officer’s mind to advance in rank, thus any assignment likely to engage in combat was a more competitive endeavor.

  After what seemed like an eternity, William was finally beckoned in by a Royal Marine Sergeant who rigidly opened the door and formally called William by his full name and rank. With a deep breath, William mustering the most formal military bearing he could, proceeded into the room and reported to the board. His first step in was like going from the pan into the fire, the room was remarkably hotter than the hallway. Will eyed a fireplace across the room to his right with a robust blaze crackling away. He made a note to himself of how advanced in age the Admirals were and decided perhaps they were warding off the chills of death.

  “Mr. Pike, good afternoon.” Admiral Torren started, appearing oblivious to the oppressively sweltering boardroom as did the other Admirals, “We have reviewed your records, recommendations from several of your previous commanders and your most recent.” The Admiral gave a slight pause, looking to the officers flanking him momentarily before resuming the board findings to the young lieutenant.

  “It is the final opinion of this board, that despite your most recent commander’s insistence, you are not yet ready for a command of your own. However, you are to be assigned to the next open first Lieutenant billet aboard a frigate command. This will afford you a sufficient opportunity to develop further, perhaps command is yet in your future, but not today.”

  The Admiral’s monotonous tone and the board’s collective unchanging demeanor coupled with their dress uniforms and formal wigs conveyed the gravity and finality of their decision. Lieutenant William Pike had been passed over for command. He could feel his face flushing, the perspiration, which was now increasing, utterly failed to cool him. William fought the urge to argue his case, challenging these findings could jeopardize his future opportunities to command. He couldn’t believe it and at the same time had dreadfully expected this outcome. A frigate assignment, however, was far from a dead end, his chances to advance were better on a frigate than just about any other assignment he could have gotten. He thanked the gentlemen admirals of the review board and made his exit from the board room. Retrieving his new orders from the clerk in the front atrium, he barely disguised his haste to leave. William made his way out of the massive building housing the Admiralty offices and began walking. He made his way up the narrow London streets toward an ordinance depot he knew that would certainly have a wagon or cart headed toward the shipyards he could hitch a ride on.

  Reaching the depot, William searched through the dirty window of the front office for any sign of life within.

  “I suppose you want a ride to the navy yards johnny sailor bold?” a voice from behind Will grumbled. Will turned to see a one-legged man driving a cart loaded with heavy shot. A scraggly, unkempt beard did little to disguise the man smiling at his own jest. Though it was far from a comfortable carriage with the company of a beautiful girl, it would be better than walking all night to get to the shipyard.

  “I am. Would you be so kind?” Will asked, hoping the man didn’t demand some form of payment as he had little money after several weeks in London.

  “Climb on up then sailor, er, Sir! My apologies Lieutenant! It’s been too long, I forget myself sometimes.” the driver cackled. William could not quite tell if he was the butt of another joke or if the man was genuine.

  As the cart wound its way through London’s streets toward the naval yard, the sun started edging into the western sky. Evenin
g would soon set in and a breeze from the east was carrying the salty air of the sea mixed with various smells of cooking food and wood smoke. Finished with the formalities of the board, William was grateful to relax, taking off his dress coat and hat, the breeze brought welcome relief from the stifling constriction he had endured most of the day. He eyed the cargo in the back of the cart and asked the driver he had managed to convince a ride from,

  “Those look like eighteen-pound shot. Are you hauling to a man o’ war?”

  “Aye, I am, though it may not be on the same end of the yard as the inn, not sure, you may want to part ways with me before I head onto the pier,” the cart driver explained, simultaneously navigating the street while repacking his pipe.

  “Not to worry, I do appreciate the ride. Which ship?” William pressed, watching apprehensively as the driver fumbled over his pipe, barely paying attention to much else.

  “Ah, Pier twelve I believe, I forget her bloody name, here take these,” the driver said, handing the reins to William. The driver began digging into a shirt pocket that had several pieces of paper, then handed William his pipe and sorted through them one by one. “Here it is,” he exclaimed, “the last foundry order for the H.M.S Valor.”

  William dug into his jacket pocket, fumbling for the envelope containing his orders. He opened the envelope, hearing the name H.M.S Valor brought a skip to his heartbeat. He hadn’t even seen for himself which frigate he had been assigned to yet, the chance he was assigned to the Valor was exhilarating. She had been the talk of town, having just returned from the Americas and recently taking a French privateer sloop as a prize. Her Captain was reputed to be one of the finest commanders a sailor could serve with. Opening the seal, he unfolded the parchment and scanned through the formalities for her name. “I do hereby on this day the fourth of August in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and eight assign Lieutenant William A. Pike to service aboard the H.M.S Valor …” William’s disappointment in being passed over faded in the crescendo of his excitement. This was an assignment any Lieutenant hopeful for promotion would kill for! This new revelation fresh on his mind inflated the young officer’s spirit, he could barely contain it. He slapped the cart driver on the shoulder, almost causing him to lose his grip of the pipe.

  “Well, good man, it happens that you have rated escort from the ship’s new first lieutenant for this load of ammunition! Where is a pub along the way? I feel like having a drink and I’m sure you wouldn’t mind indulging me, if not joining me for one?” William asked overflowing with this new joyful discovery.

  “I don’t suppose we have the time lad; I spoke with the Captain yesterday when I delivered, he is preparing to set off, this is the last load from the foundry for shot. There were barrels of food and water being loaded yesterday when I left and powder the day before. It looked to me like she will be making way soon, perhaps as soon as this last load is aboard.” The cart driver eyed William, kind of leaning away as he spoke.

  “Well, whatever the case, I shall certainly want to celebrate, this is a tremendous assignment!” William exclaimed; his giddiness was apparent though he could see his companion did not share in it. The cobbled streets eventually gave way to dirt and graveled roads as the taller buildings of London faded into the countryside replaced by farmhouses and softly rolling hills. William noted heavy storm clouds lumbering in from the north as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky a beautiful sight. Oranges and violets floated high in the heavens and eventually twilight began to appear. For the last part of his ride, William mostly kept in his own head, questions about the new assignment had him spinning.

  What was the Captain like? Was he a hard man? Was the crew a tough group? William knew they had seen quite a few engagements lately, though he was no stranger to combat himself, there was a nagging sense in his mind that the crew would doubt his capabilities. As William pondered to himself, along the horizon in the fading light he saw masts from the shipyard. Very faintly he could hear bells chiming out the hour and as they drew closer voices giving command and whistles piping. As they pulled in nearer to the shipyard the road became busy, sailors walked about to the shops and inns that lined the road. The briny smell of the tide was hanging low in the dense air and it only served to stoke William’s excitement. Turning at the large naval depot complex, the cart driver clicked his mouth a few times and gave the reigns a slap on the team pulling their cart. The ride was jarring, as it had been much of the way, until they finally pulled onto the wooden pier. Passing several smaller sloops and a brigantine, they finally pulled to the very end of the pier where H.M.S Valor stood, awash in light from lanterns and buzzing with activity. Men were scurrying through rigging, loading supplies up the gangplank, painting, cleaning brass and all manner of preparations. As William dismounted the cart, a sharp looking Midshipman was standing by the bottom of the gangplank. Flanked by two imposing Marines, the young Midshipman looked barely sixteen years old as he was meticulously writing in a logbook while sailors loaded wares onto the ship.

  “Mr. Shelton what have you there?” the Midshipman called.

  Shelton, another Midshipman who looked to be about the same age, was leading a group of sailors carrying goods aboard. “A crate of pistols, three large sacks of flour and three more small barrels of fresh water.” He replied.

  The Midshipman at the gangplank turned and took notice of William.

  “You must be our new First Lieutenant, I am Midshipman Ordman. The Captain is expecting you, Sir.” The Midshipman rendered the customary salute and introduced himself, “He is up in his quarters now, reviewing the new charts for our cruise. Lieutenant Cobb is the watch officer, he will show you to your berthing. He’s up there on the quarterdeck.” William looked aft to see a portly gentleman in a high-collared officer coat, his face was beet red and his tone seemed more than a little irate as he snarled at a petty officer. Will looked back at Mr. Ordman and raised an eyebrow.

  “You’ll have to forgive Mr. Cobb, Sir. He is at his wits end with the fresh crop from the press gang. We were told most would be from the fishing fleet or merchant men. They brought landsmen, twenty-six men and none with experience at sea. Although, Mr. Cobb’s normal disposition is not so different,” said the Midshipman shrugging his shoulders. At that, he turned and went back to inventorying the incoming goods. William donned his jacket and hat before following the sailors up the gang plank. A sense of anxiousness and excitement was in the air and not just for the young officer. They were setting off soon.

  Aug 4, 1808

  Guinea, Africa

  Omibwe hushed his little sister. The pair had been out gathering wood for a cooking fire when they first heard the shots. For hours now, they had hidden in tall grass a few hundred yards from the edge of their small coastal village. Darkness had set in and his sister, Anaya, was restless and scared. Through the trees Omibwe could hear foreign voices and occasionally saw the light from lanterns held by the European men. He knew this was not good. Traders frequented the coast and Omibwe had met European men before, he had even learned some of their words. But the men he had met had come for ivory or hardwood logs, spices and skins. They would carry muskets and sometimes swords but never fired them, these men had. The white men Omibwe had met before sailed into the bay and would come ashore in daylight. No sail had announced the presence of these hostile men. Another shot cut through night air and Omibwe heard a woman’s cry. Anaya squirmed a little and he quickly hushed his little sister, doing his best to hide his own fear. They had to stay silent, he knew, if the men heard her or suspected their presence they would surely come looking and find them.

  Omibwe had been warned about men like the ones now in his village. His father had told him about groups of white men who came in the night to steal people. They didn’t care about trade goods and anyone who resisted these men was killed. When he was younger, Omibwe thought it was just a story to scare him into minding his parents. That was until a neighboring village had been visited by men like these. A battl
e had taken place costing many of the villagers their lives, the white men left defeated that night, but returned several weeks later. They burned the village to the ground and left none alive, not even livestock escaped their wrath.

  Crawling several feet through high grass, Omibwe strained his ears for any indication of what was occurring in his village. He heard voices from the whites and from his people, every few minutes another shot would pierce the darkness and send Anaya into another fit. Omibwe’s arms and back were soaked in sweat and burning from the tension he felt. He could see the edge of the village and through the darkness and intermittent lantern light, his eyes strained for any sign of his parents. Hours went by, the voices quieted but all sounded foreign. Eventually the lanterns started moving around, some came out of the village. At one point a man with a musket and lantern had come close to Omibwe and Anaya, close enough for them to make out features on his face. He was a large man, with a big bulbous nose jutting out from a bushy mustache and his face had scars on it. Most white men wore hats, this one had no hat but Omibwe could make out scars in his hairline, dividing his scalp in several places. He was wearing a sword and several pistols on his belt. The man wandered out, drawing nearer and nearer to Omibwe and Anaya’s hiding place, at one point he was so close they could hear him relieve himself. But he carried on, eventually disappearing into the tree line behind them.

  In the hot African night, Omibwe’s eyelids eventually grew heavy. Anaya had drifted into sleep, still latched onto his leg tightly. Even in sleep her grip on him had not slacked. His ears still straining for any sign of activity, Omibwe finally relented and let his eyes close. He was exhausted from the tense night spent hyper vigilant to any noise, any movement. The dark of night was fading as dawn began drawing a faint glow to the eastern skies. The village had been silent for hours and the smoke from several smoldering huts mixed with a low-lying early fog gathered through the coastal region where the village sat.