Soon they were rowing silently toward the stern lanterns illuminating their new ship. As the unusual flotilla approached, Harry saw four Marines on the frigate’s weather deck serving as the deck watch, which was the number that he had been told to expect. Half of the boats approached the starboard side of the ship, and the rest approached the larboard side. Soon sailors were climbing up the starboard side of the ship, trying to keep from being heard by the Marines of the deck watch, who had no idea what was about to happen to them.
When Harry heard the first loud splash, he gave a short whistle, and he and the crew on the larboard side of the ship climbed up toward the deck. Harry heard two more splashes, and he had just cleared the railing on the quarterdeck when he saw the fourth Marine of the deck watch go over the side.
As the crew moved across the deck, Harry saw one of the cabin doors beneath the quarterdeck open, flooding that part of the deck with lamplight. “What’s going on here?” a voice demanded.
Harry hurried down the stairs and approached the man holding the lamp. “I’m Captain Hastings. I believe you were told to expect me.”
“Captain, I had no idea. We didn’t expect you until noon tomorrow. Sir, I’m Connor Chisholm, sailing master and one of the designers of the Peregrine Galley at your service.” Looking around, he added, “I see you brought the entire crew with you.”
“Yes, Mr. Chisholm,” Harry responded. “Now please help us make preparations to get underway.”
“Now, sir?! An untried crew on a new ship in the middle of the night? That’s highly irregular, sir!”
“I know, but it’s necessary. Take us out of the harbor, if you please.”
“Yes, sir. What heading?”
“Take us westerly toward Cornwall, and then turn north towards Ireland until sunrise.”
“Very good, sir.” Chisholm turned and shouted orders to his mates, who took charge of the seamen and led the way with lanterns up the rigging to the yardarms to set the sails.
“Raise the anchors, Mr. Hamilton,” Harry said to the lieutenant standing next to him.
“Yes, sir,” Hamilton responded. “All hands, weigh anchor!” he shouted to the crew and Marines on deck who weren’t helping to set the sails.
Harry watched as the Marines stacked their muskets and ran to retrieve the four shipping bars from where they were kept at the base of the quarterdeck. They then fit them into the sockets on the capstan just behind the mainmast. Twenty men grabbed the shipping bars and began heaving the capstan around clockwise to raise the anchors.
Harry moved forward and heard the stowing party in the starboard cable tier coiling the rope as it came in. The veering party was in the larboard cable tier getting ready to coil the rope from the other anchor, and Harry knew they’d soon be groaning since there was always more tension on the second anchor being raised than on the first.
Harry watched in the low light of the lanterns as another team of crewmembers stood ready on the forecastle to help with the anchor once it broke the surface. Two more teams prepared to handle the messenger cables and nippers used to secure each anchor for sailing. Harry felt a sense of pride in his new crew. In near-total darkness on a strange ship, their training took over and they were able to get their jobs done with no problems. It looks like they picked a good crew.
He turned and looked up as he heard a fluttering sound above him. The first sails on the mainmast and the mizenmast had been set, and he saw the outline of more sails unfurling in the moonlight.
Harry turned back to the capstan and saw the youngest of the cabin boys, a ten-year-old named Anthony Defoe, sitting in the middle of the capstan, keeping the rhythm by beating a small drum with a short stick. He heard the anchor teams shouting forward and knew that the starboard anchor had broken the surface. Soon the first anchor was secured, and the second anchor was quickly being secured as well. The ship started moving toward the mouth of the harbor.
Chisholm continued shouting orders. Soon the wind caught the sails, and the ship picked up speed. By the time the four Marines who had been tossed overboard had reached the shore to report what had happened, the Peregrine Galley was out of the harbor and sailing west.
When Admiral Shovell heard the news that his newest ship had been stolen, he shouted for Admiral Leicester to be brought to him immediately. Twenty minutes later, looking somewhat disheveled, Leicester entered Shovell’s cabin.
“What happened, sir?!” he asked, playing his part the way he and Shovel had rehearsed it.
“Someone has pinched the Peregrine Galley! She’s our newest frigate, and someone tossed the Marine guard overboard and just sailed her right out of the harbor!”
“At night, sir? Where do you think she’s been taken?”
“Where else?” Shovell shouted. “France, of course. Get four ships ready, and go after her, Leicester. Do what you have to do, but don’t let the damn French get her home.”
“Yes, sir!”
Leicester left the flagship trying hard to hide his smile. So far, the plan was proceeding on schedule. He issued orders for the captains of his four fastest ships to get underway as soon as possible. He transferred his flag to the Bedford with Captain Haughton, and within the hour his small squadron left Portsmouth harbor and headed east under full sail toward Calais on the coast of France.
Make Your Course West-Southwest
Harry wanted to make a full inspection of his new ship with the sailing master, as was customary when taking command of a ship, but he knew that it would need to wait until after the crew had been briefed on the rest of the mission and everything was squared away for sea. He walked the length of the weather deck several times, encouraging the crew and watching as they worked out the differences between this ship and the other ships on which they had served.
He had just climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck when Chisholm the sailing master approached. “We’ve just passed Cornwall and are ready to turn north, sir.”
“So soon?” Harry asked. He had sailed past Cornwall many times and estimated it should have taken another twenty to thirty minutes before the ship had cleared the coast.
He saw Chisholm smiling in the lamplight. “She’s a fast ship, sir.” Harry heard the pride in the older man’s voice.
“I’m beginning to understand that, Mr. Chisholm. Hold your course for now. I need to address the crew first and relay the rest of the mission details. Then I’ll give you our new heading.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Mr. Pemberton,” Harry shouted, turning away from Chisholm.
“Yes, sir,” Pemberton responded, crossing the quarterdeck to stand next to Harry.
“Time to brief the crew, lieutenant,” Harry said.
“Yes, sir.” Turning to the Marine drummer standing on the quarterdeck, Pemberton shouted, “Mr. Lee, beat ‘all hands.’”
Private Edward Lee immediately beat the Navy cadence that signaled for all hands to report to the weather deck. On a ship as large as a frigate, it was difficult for voices to carry below deck, but a drum could be heard clearly in almost every part of the ship, making it the most effective way to pass action commands to the crew.
The crewmembers, most of whom were already on the weather deck, were soon standing in their