Jens Kuhn
Gunboat Number 14
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For Helena
and Pickles
I
would like to thank Ken Powell, UK for his useful comments, as well
as his stoic acceptance of my American spelling. Also the members of
the Sailing Navies forum for some tips about the terminology used on
rowing vessels and British ships in the Baltic at the time. And
finally my wife, Helena for her faith in me. She actually wants me to
write another book...
Jens Kuhn is a
journalist. He lives with his wife and cat in Stockholm, Sweden.
During the summer months he sails his small yacht in the same waters
where the action of this novel takes place.
Preface
May
1808
Lieutenant
Johan Kuhlin stood at the window and looked down on the big inner
harbor of Stockholm. It was crowded with ships and boats of all
kinds. Most were smaller merchant vessels, waiting to bring supplies
to the army which fought for its survival more than defending the
Eastern part of the Swedish kingdom – Finland. Only a few weeks
before, the big fortress at Svensksund had surrendered to the
Russians and the whole Finnish gunboat squadron with it. Now only the
little Stockholm squadron stood between the Russian inshore fleet and
the Åland islands, let alone the Stockholm archipelago and
Swedish capital. Sure, the high seas fleet had managed to blockade
the bigger Russian ships in Estonia, with some help from the British
Royal Navy. But there were enough galleys, sloops and gunboats left
to worry about. Especially now, with the Finnish squadron added to
the enemy’s forces. And those were the best and newest boats.
Kuhlin thought about the commander of that fortress – the traitor as he already had been named by quite a few – Carl Olof Cronstedt. Kuhlin had met him once, long nose and quite small mouth. Aristocratic of course. But a coward nonetheless apparently. If he at least had burned the gunboats before surrendering to the Russians. More than 70 galleys and gunboats had fallen into Russian hands, which was more than the Stockholm squadron could muster altogether. And that did not even include the original Russian boats.
He turned his head and looked to the right. In the distance he could just see the navy yard, where gunboats were built and repaired at this very moment. But the boats were not all. The inshore fleet was formally an army unit. Its primary purpose was to support the army by covering its seaward flank. Thus, while the boats were commanded by navy officers like himself, the rest of the crew was army. An army officer commanded the guns and the men at the oars were all new army conscripts with very limited seagoing experience. He did have a bosun, though, who was a real sailor and would no doubt be extremely useful.
Talking about guns, Kuhlin thought. His boat would have two real guns, a 24 pounder in the bow and one in the stern. Then there were four small swivel guns, two in the bows and two aft. Kuhlin actually never had commanded a gunboat before, or any vessel by any means. He had been a second in command on a navy brig at most. The transfer to the inshore fleet was really Charlotte’s fault. She wanted him to be near her home at Stockholm and not to be away for so long periods as was customary in the navy. Of course he had wanted it too, newlywed and all in love. But then, the war had come and now he wasn’t so sure anymore. Maybe blockade duty off Estonia was better than fighting the Russians in what was essentially a big rowboat. There were two masts with lateen sails alright, but the rig was intended to be taken down during battle. And there wasn’t even a cabin to sleep in!
Kuhlin heard a faint sound behind him and turned around. Charlotte, his wife, was still in bed, awake now, however, and looking at him. At least the boat was his own command, he thought before moving towards the bed and sitting down on the edge beside his wife.
“Good morning, darling,” he said and kissed her softly.
“Won’t you come back to bed?” she asked, lifting the sheet to invite him in. Of course this exposed her naked body. Kuhlin tried to resist, although he couldn’t avoid looking at her shapely breasts, nipples perkily stiffening in the chilly morning air.
“I don’t have time, really,” he tried. But Charlotte took his hand and placed it firmly over her left breast.
Lieutenant
Johan Kuhlin was half an hour late when he arrived at the quay below
the heights of Södermalm. And now he needed a boat that could
take him to the navy yard on Djurgården Island. The only
problem was that the quay showed a complete absence of the small
ferry boats that normally plied the busy waters of the harbor.
Something was keeping them busy somewhere else, he thought. Maybe one
of the bigger merchantmen was about to leave. Suddenly he saw a small
rowboat approaching the quay. An old woman was handling the only pair
of oars and as he shouted to her she turned around and waved in
acknowledgement.
Kuhlin took up the canvas bag with the few belongings he had decided he would need on his voyage and stepped into the dangerously rocking boat. There was no cabin on a gunboat, only some big lockers along the gunwales, the most aft ones big enough for a man to lie down in and sleep, quite like in a coffin. Three of those were reserved for the commanding officer, the gunnery officer and the bosun, while the rest of the crew slept on the thwarts or wherever they could find space. Originally, the gunboats were intended to be moored somewhere during the nights and the crew would then sleep in big canvas tents. This was of course not always possible during wartime use of the boats. Even if long overnight passages were relatively uncommon, they had often to be in a state of alert with crew at their stations. If it was quiet enough, the boat could be covered by the sails to protect the crew from rain and cold.
Kuhlin sat down in the stern of the boat. “To the galley wharf if you please,” he told the woman.
“You on one of those gun shallops? Bloody uncomfortable things I hear. Dangerous as well, not worth much in a gale are they?,” the woman conversed gruffily. “Son of a neighbor of mine was on one of those over at Svensksund. Not heard from him since the...”
“Yes, yes. Hurry up will you?” Kuhlin wasn’t in a mood for talking. He was well enough aware of the disadvantages of a gunboat in a gale. He thought about his canvas bag. He had taken only one extra uniform to be kept clean and used for special occasions. A blanket, his tobacco pouch, a bottle of brandy and the little book his wife had given him. Some poems or something. And his diary of course, which probably would double as a log, or were the gunboats provided with real log books, like real ships? Well he would find out shortly.
The woman had stopped talking and rowed quietly and slowly between the moored ships in the harbor. They were now passing the fort on Kastellholmen with its bare flag pole, indicating that the country was at war. Sailors were exercising on the quay below the fort. Not real sailors, new conscripts without even proper uniforms. They looked more like peasants, which was probably exactly what they were. His own crew would also be made up of these unfortunate souls. Well, it was his duty to weld them into a working crew. If he failed, none of them would stand a chance to get home alive.
The galley wharf had gotten its name from the galleys that originally were built there. Bigger than the gunboats but not as heavily armed, they looked very much like the old galleys from the Mediterranean. There were still a few in service in the inshore squadron, but now they were mostly used as command posts or support vessels for the much more effective gunboats. Right now only one galley was in sight, moored to the wharf and with her masts taken out she was probably about to be fitted out. The rest of the shoreline was occupied by gunboats in different states of completeness. Some were newly built and still unpainted and without guns. Some were of the older type with the gun mounted aft on a field carriage in order to be able to be put ashore easily and used as a land battery. This was the type of gunboat that their designer Fredrik Henrik af Chapman had used in 1776 to convince King Gustav III to have them mass produced. Most modern boats had the gun in the bows, some even had two big guns, one forward and one aft. 24 pounders mostly, except the older field guns who were only 12 pounders.
Even the rigging was different. All boats had two masts that could be stepped or taken down without the boat having to be moored or anchored. In fact, the crew had to be trained to take down the masts very quickly as the boats were not designed to use their big guns while under sail. Instead, the guns were hauled down into the bottom of the boat to act as ballast and improve its ability to sail to windward. Which was bad enough to begin with. As for sails, the boats had either lug sails or lateen sails. Kuhlin preferred the lateen rigged boats. They looked better and would at least theoretically stand a chance to be able to go to windward.
Kuhlin paid the ferrywoman and stepped ashore. The shoreline was bustling with workers and sailors, most of the latter being in the same sorry state as those he had seen at Kastellholmen. Looking around he found a young man in a sub-lieutenant’s uniform and hailed him. “Any idea of how to find Number 14?”
“Not sure, Sir, but if she’s supposed to be ready for sea she’ll be over there.” Pointing to the far side of the wharf.
“Thank you kindly,” Kuhlin replied and moved on. He soon came to a part of the wharf where boats were moored bows-to the quay. Dockyard workers where busy loading them with supplies of all kinds. The quay was littered with crates, barrels and boxes. Heaps of sweeps, spars and rigging completed the picture. Suddenly Kuhlin saw his boat. She was empty except for two men who were working on the aft gun. One of them wore the uniform of an artillery officer and the other one wore a sailor’s rig. That would be the bosun, Carl Tapper, and the officer would be Eric af Klint, the gunnery officer. Kuhlin looked down on the men who would be the perhaps most important part of his crew. Tapper was small and sturdy but looked like a competent sailor. Af Klint, on the other hand, was an aristocratic looking thin figure with a nose that looked like a bird’s beak.
Suddenly the bosun looked up and saw Kuhlin standing there. “Can I help you, Sir?” he asked.
“I think you can,” Kuhlin replied. “I am supposed to take command of Number 14.”
“Oh, lieutenant Kuhlin, Sir. Welcome aboard,” Tapper came to attention and saluted.
“At ease, bosun,” Kuhlin stepped down into the boat and held out his hand. Tapper shook it, then turned to the gunnery officer who had stood silent. “That’s our artillery man, af Klint.”
“Welcome, Sir,” said af Klint.
“Thank you both. Now when do we expect to get any crew?”
“I have no idea,” Tapper replied. “But there is a letter for you, Sir. I put it in your chest aft.”
Kuhlin thanked him and started to make his way aft. His chest, or built-in locker was the aft-most one on the starboard side. He opened it and found the letter on top of some blankets. Sitting down on the aft gun mounting he opened it. The letter contained, as he had expected, his orders. He was to take his boat to Vaxholm Castle in order to meet with two more gunboats, numbers 34 and 35 as well as a supply boat. Taking command of this little squadron, he was to proceed over the sea of Åland to the Finnish archipelago and the main base there. Further orders would be issued after his arrival. Very well, thought Kuhlin. If he only had a crew. He looked up at the sky. It was overcast but would not rain for a while. There was not much wind, but he was sure there would be once they got out into more open water.
“Bosun!” he called. Tapper came aft and saluted. “Yes, Sir?”
“Try to send a messenger to Kastellholmen to find out if our crew is there. I saw some fairly new conscripts there on my way here...”
“Aye,” Tapper replied and turned.
“And Tapper! What’s wrong with the gun forward?”
Tapper hesitated. “I’m not really sure, better ask the gunner!”
Eric
af Klint crouched over the gun mount and poked at it with some kind
of knife. Kuhlin could not see anything that looked amiss with the
piece, but he was no gunner, af Klint was.
“What’s wrong with it?”
Af Klint stopped poking. “It’s dirty like hell, won’t slide down as easily as it could, Sir,” he replied. “Also the gun tackles do look like they have been there since the last war. I would like to have them replaced.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“They won’t let me have any cordage, Sir. Claim there is a shortage and everything they have is reserved for masts and rigging.”
“Oh, I see.” Kuhlin hadn’t expected it to be that bad. But with all the Finnish squadron gone and new boats under construction on literally every boatyard in the country, it probably was right to hold back on the stuff.
“But will it shoot?” he asked.
“It will shoot alright and maybe a few rounds fired will burn away the dirt and let it slide more easily. But I still would want to change the tackles, Sir.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile let’s hope we’ll get our crew soon. We are off to Vaxholm as soon as they are here.”
The
crew however, did not arrive until early next morning. The bosun’s
messenger had not returned until late that evening, and drunk as
well. Apparently, the conscripts had tried to delay their departure
in order to wait for the uniforms they had been promised. Now they
would have to go to war in their own clothes. Kuhlin was just as
angry about that as they were themselves, but he could not do a thing
about it. The uniforms, so he was told, were ordered but hadn’t
been delivered in time. And yes, they would be sent after them to
Finland one way or another. Kuhlin wasn’t so sure about that,
but he had told his crew nothing about his doubts. They were a sorry
enough lot as it were, having been marched from the inland villages
around the capital for days and weeks, without being properly fed
just in order to start rowing the gunboat without even any proper
training. But they would learn on the way. Fortunately, between
Stockholm and the Åland Sea lay one of the biggest archipelagos
in the world. Thousands of islands and skerries sheltered it from the
swell and winds of the Baltic Sea and made it into an easy enough
training ground for the new oarsmen. Or so Kuhlin hoped.
Chapter 2 - The crew
“Let
go forward,” ordered Kuhlin. “Haul in on the kedge.”
Slowly gunboat no 14 moved away from the quay, stern first. 56 men
where seated on the thwarts, 28 to each side, two at each of the 14
sweeps that would propel the boat while under oars. Between them the
two masts and lateen yards were lashed in place above the guns that
had been hauled down into the bottom of the boat in order to serve as
ballast when under sail. Kuhlin stood in the stern of the boat next
to the bosun who had the tiller as long as they were in confined
space – or at least until he had trained someone else to act as
coxswain. Two men where heaving on the stout line that was connected
to the kedge anchor.
“Easy on that line,” Kuhlin ordered when the boat was getting close to the anchor. He didn’t want her to overshoot the kedge, risking making a mess of anchor line and sweeps while in sight of everyone ashore.
“Kedge is up and down,” the bosun reported. Tapper stood, supervising the handling of the anchor, while controlling the tiller with his right foot.
“Haul in the kedge. Ready by the sweeps,” ordered Kuhlin.
Although most of the men never had been aboard a gunboat it had been explained to them by Tapper what was expected of them. Many also had some experience in rowing fishing skiffs or the like. About a dozen men had served on gunboats before, and Tapper had tried to place them as strategically as possible in order for them to be able to help the landsmen. Kuhlin looked around. The kedge was up and currently being stowed in its locker. Fortunately no other boats were around. They might as well give it a go, he thought. He raised his voice.
“Easy now, slowly and one thing at a time, men!”
Then: “Out sweeps.”
Slowly and carefully, like a cat that stretches its paw after a good nap, the long sweeps moved outwards.
“Down sweeps.” The blades dropped into the water. “Give way together slowly!” This was the most difficult part. When rowing a vessel with many sweeps everything depended on the movement of the oars to be simultaneous. If one or several sweeps moved out of stroke they could collide with others and the whole symmetry would be destroyed, the boat would stop moving and in the worst of cases, sweeps could break. Thus every pair of oarsmen had to time their strokes with one specific sweep, normally the aft-most one on each side as the oarsmen sat with their backs to the bows of the gunboat. While they rowed they had to keep their eyes on those leading sweeps and all they had to do was keep the same beat.
Slowly the sweeps started to move and gunboat no 14 started to make way through the water.
“Hard a starboard,” ordered Kuhlin. Tapper moved the tiller and the boat moved away from the shore.
“Midships. Keep her along the shore.”
When underway inshore between the islands and skerries, compass courses normally were not used. It was much easier to order the coxswain to steer by sight.
This was going quite well, Kuhlin thought. Surely, the rows of sweeps did not look like anything that would impress an admiral, but they would certainly get better. Number 14 was now slowly moving along the coastline. When they passed the island of Beckholmen his nose was filled by the strong smell of tar. It was here most of the famous Stockholm tar was produced. Or had been, as the tar came mostly from Finland and with that part of the country now threatened by Russia the supplies had started to dwindle. The boat now turned to larboard, into more open water. Time to try the men some more.
“Oarsmen firm up,” Kuhlin called. The sweeps started to move faster as the men leaned into them with a will. At least they had gotten a decent breakfast. A gunboat was not a fast vessel. Under oars their speed was between two and three knots. Still that was much faster than the old galleys which were happy if the could make one knot at all. Of course the gunboats could be rowed faster, but only for short periods of time. Kuhlin hoped they would be able to sail later, when they got into more open water. Under sails they would both be faster and more easy on the crew. On the other hand, pulling kept them warm and occupied so they did not have time to worry about what lay ahead of them. Kuhlin sat down on the starboard locker, pulled out his notebook and started to write his log.
In
the bows, gunnery officer Eric af Klint stood and smelled the fresh
air. The boat was moving at about three knots, still under oars and
they were now halfway between Stockholm and Vaxholm Castle, their
destination for the day. Af Klint was still not satisfied with the
bow guns sliding carriage. It had been freshly greased and the gun
moved nicely enough when it was stowed in the bottom of the boat
before they cast off. But something was not really right with that
gun. Still, he could not find out what it was.
He heard some shouting and moving behind him and turned. The crew had stopped pulling and was about to stow the oars. Bosun Tapper and two other men where fiddling with ropes and sails. Apparently, the commander had decided to try out the sails.
The gunboat was not a very good sailer, due to its shallow draft and lack of proper keel. However with the guns below it was stable enough to carry a considerable amount of sail on the two masts that were about to be raised by the crew. The rig was designed to be taken down or raised by the crew alone, at sea. As number 14 carried a lateen rig, the masts were quite short, in fact the main yard was longer that the main mast was high. This made rigging quite easy.
Kuhlin stood next to the tiller and watched the masts which now had been raised and steadied by shrouds and, as far as the foremast was concerned, by a forestay.
“Yards ready to hoist,” the bosun announced.
“Hoist main yard! Let fall mainsail.”
The big yard slowly rose up the mast and was secured. Then the big sail unfolded and caught the breeze.
“Haul tight sheets and braces,” Kuhlin ordered. The sail steadied and the gunboat started to move. Soon even the smaller foresail was set and the boat moved along nicely in the southwesterly breeze.
“That worked quite well, bosun,” Kuhlin remarked.
“Thank you, Sir. She is moving along nicely now.”
“She is indeed. Let the men have something to eat and drink, we still have a few hours to go, and I am sure they will have to pull again as soon as we are near the castle. The winds always are very fluky in that anchorage.”
“Aye aye, Sir.” Tapper moved forward and ordered two of the sailors to follow him. Gunboats did not carry a proper galley, which meant there could be no hot drinks or meals at sea. Provisions were carried for two weeks to be cooked ashore, or else there were special supply boats attached to every three or four gunboats. As number 14 still was on the way to her squadron only cold food could be served: salt herring, hard bread and brandy. The men, however gulped it down with a will. Pulling was hard labor and could make a man eat almost anything. Now they rested, with full bellies while the boat was under sail. Some of the men took out tobacco pouches and simple pipes, carved of wood. Others just sat and talked. Some of the conscripts knew each other, although people from the same village were divided between different boats in order to make it less hard on the communities if one of the boats should be sunk.
Gunboat
number 14 neared the narrow channel which formed the entrance to the
big lagoon-like anchorage off Vaxholm. The lagoon looked like an
hourglass with the big castle on its own island in the middle of the
waist, protecting the anchored fleet from any attack. Now there were
not many ships at anchor. Most of the high seas fleet were away
blockading the Russians in Estonia. There were, however a few smaller
ships there, mostly unarmed transports, or, as Kuhlin hoped, supports
for the gunboats. Hopefully his supply boat would be amongst them.
The wind increased and shifted dead astern as soon as they were in the channel. The gunboat sailed very well, thought Kuhlin, at least with a following wind. However, as soon as they were though the channel the wind would drop to almost nothing and they would have to take out the oars again.
“Tapper,” he called “have the masts taken down as soon as we are through. I don’t want to have to fiddle with the rigging while trying to find our squadron.”
Half an hour later, number 14 was moving slowly under oars towards the castle. Kuhlin searched the castle walls for any sign of an officer who could tell him where his squadron was. He did not have to wait long. As soon as they were in shouting distance a midshipman appeared and shouted his instructions.
“Lieutenant Kuhlin of number 14? Your squadron is just around the headland there, in Rindösund! I’ll send a boat for you later, the castle commander invites you to dinner!”
“Thank you, I am very much obliged,” replied Kuhlin. “Tapper, you heard him, Rindösund it is.”
Chapter 3 - Out to sea
Early
next morning, three gunboats left the sheltered cove at Rindö
and moved slowly north. It was a calm, misty spring morning which
promised a sunny day. There would be no wind, though, at least not
until the sea-breeze set in in the afternoon. So the men had a hard
day’s pulling ahead of them. At least the work would keep them
warm in the chill of the morning.
Lieutenant Johan Kuhlin stood on his little afterdeck and looked astern. His boat was leading the squadron with the two others following close behind. As they cleared the headland and moved towards the narrow channel called Kodjupet - “Cow Deep” he saw the little schooner Amelia weigh anchor. Amelia was to be their supply vessel. She was loaded with food, brandy, powder and shot for at least a month. She had only a small crew and could not be rowed, which meant they would have to wait for her somewhere in the norther archipelago before they would venture out to sea together in order to cross to Åland and the Finnish archipelago. Where the Russians were waiting.
The other two gunboats, number 34 and 35 were quite new boats, with lugsails instead of his own boat’s lateen rig. Otherwise they were of the same construction, armed with two 24 pounder guns and four swivels. They were commanded by sub-lieutenants who looked very young and inexperienced, thought Kuhlin. They had all met the evening before at the camp site that had been set up for the crew at the little cove on Rindö. Kuhlin did not, however have time to speak to them very much as he had been called away to the castle for dinner. Which had been an altogether boring affair. The commander of the fort had been drunk from the beginning and most of his men looked like they had not been working physically for a decade. In fact the fort had not really been needed since the Russian’s failed attack in 1719. No enemy had since even come close to it. However this might very well change now. If Russia took Finland the archipelago might easily be in reach for their galleys again.
Kuhlin made himself stop thinking along that line. Finland was not lost yet. Sure, the Russians were advancing steadily and Sveaborg had surrendered, but the inshore fleet was just assembling and with a little luck they would be able to cut off the Russian’s supplies and set ashore troops to halt them. He thought about his orders again. He was lucky to have his own squadron, instead of just being one boat in a long line, mostly occupied with holding his station and not missing any orders or create a mess that could be taken advantage of by the enemy. Still, he wondered what he would have to do, if he was capable of it and if the commanders of his other boats would be of any use.
Suddenly he realized that they had passed through the channel and were in more open water for a while. He might as well put those subs through a little drill.
“Tapper”, he called, “signal the other boats to take station in line abreast. Then let the men ease up to give them a chance to get in place.”
The
three boats performed formation drill for during the best part of an
hour. They formed up in line abreast, stopped, advanced together,
turned in formation, split up and formed again. With only three boats
these maneuvers were not especially difficult, but the crews were new
and the commanders of the other two boats were not very experienced
yet. However, eventually Kuhlin was satisfied that they were able to
do as he wished. Now only one thing remained to make this first
co-ordinated drill complete. He ordered the boats to close up and
called to their commanders.
“Gentlemen, we will advance together and attack that little island over there. We will fire live shots, main guns and swivels alike. Three rounds each. Let’s see some action!”
In the bows of Number 14, the gunnery officer ordered his men to get the gun ready. In order to be fired it had to be hauled out of the bottom of the boat up on its sliding carriage, secured, loaded and run out into the firing position. Eric af Klint was still unsure about the gun carriage. He watched the men hauling on their tackles and the gun sliding up into position, ropes straining and wood creaking when the load shifted. When the gun was loaded and hauled into position he raised his hand to Kuhlin who ordered the attack to begin.
The island, not more than a skerry with a few trees on it was a little more than a cable length away when the boats stopped oars still in the water like giant water spiders. As the guns were fixed the whole boat was moved to train them left or right.
“Fire at will,” Kuhlin ordered. Eric af Klint looked along the barrel one last time, then nodded to the gunner who lowered a glowing piece of slowmatch into the touch hole. The gun went off with a boom. Af Klint watched the cannonball bounce off the water about 300 yards away and then crash right into on of the trees on the island, taking down several branches. Shortly after the other boats shots joined in. Two minutes later the guns boomed out again.
“They are a trifle slow at reloading,” remarked Kuhlin. “Two shots every three minutes is the least thing to expect. We have fewer boats than the Russians, so we must compensate it with a higher rate of fire.”
Tapper nodded. “Yes, Sir, we will have to train more.”
“Indeed. Now secure the guns and let’s make way. We have still some more miles to go until the evening.”
They
stopped for the night in an anchorage north of Furusund. From here
they would start the passage over open water to Åland. As soon
as the weather permitted. They would have to wait for the Amelia
though. Kuhlin wanted to do the crossing in company with the supply
ship. It would enable them to get a good meal when they arrived
instead of the simpler provisions the gunboats carried themselves.
Also, if they went over together they could protect the unarmed
Amelia in case there were any Russians cruising out there. There
should not be any, though, with most of the Russian high seas fleet
blockaded but one never knew if some corvette or brig had been able
to slip out.
The
passage across the Åland Sea is about 25 nautical miles of open
water. At three knots it would take the gunboats a little more than
eight hours – if they could follow the direct route. Of course,
if the winds were favorable the boats could sail faster. If they
turned foul, however, the passage could take much longer. The
gunboats were not very good at going upwind and in open water they
were not easily rowed either, if there was any swell at all.
Fortunately the prevailing winds this time of the year were
southwesterlies, at least until the sea breeze got up in the
afternoon and turned them into southerlies or made them die
completely on the Swedish coast. Until then, however, the boats would
be well out to sea and on the other side the sea breeze would add to
the prevailing winds, making them stronger instead. On warm summer
days thus near gale force winds could easily appear in the afternoons
without any apparent warning.
When Kuhlin gave the order to step the masts and set out to sea, the winds were still light between the islands. He had ordered two of the gunboats to tow the Amelia out of the protected waters in order to keep his little force together. As soon as they reached open waters, the tow was cast off, sails set and the squadron started to sail on an easterly course towards Åland. In fact the real course would rather have been east by northeast, but the gunboats made so much leeway that they would end up farther north anyway.
For the crew this was easy work. They relaxed on the thwarts or with their backs against the gunwales, blinking into the sun and soaking up the warmth of the late spring morning. Kuhlin stood aft, on his usual place besides the tiller and watched the rigging and the sea around them. It was empty, not even a fishing boat was to be seen. Perhaps the fishermen were all afraid of Russian patrols. Or they had all been drafted into the gunboats, he thought.
Two hours later, the wind had picked up some and the boats creamed along nicely. Amelia, who was a much better sailor still had her mainsail reefed to slow her down but Kuhlin was satisfied. If this wind held, they would arrive well before dinner.
“Sail ho! Right on the starboard bow!” A shout from the bows disturbed his thoughts.
“Tapper, get a man up the mainmast,” Kuhlin ordered.
“It’s a ship” a new voice shouted. “Looks like a man of war. One row of gunports, may be a frigate.”
Chapter 4 - The Russian Brig
Lieutenant
Kuhlin ordered his gunboats to form a screen between the Amelia and
the approaching frigate. Of course three gunboats could not do much
against a frigate in open water and with a decent breeze blowing, but
he had to try nonetheless. If the frigate was Russian at all. He
desperately wanted to see her for himself as he did not trust the man
in the mainmast did know very much about frigates and their origins.
Not even Tapper would be of much help in this case.
He got his glass and went forward into the bow of the gunboat. Bracing himself against the foremast he tried to focus on the distant ship that now showed most of her masts. Shortly the hull would be visible as well. The frigate was coming from the southeast, sails sheeted in hard to make the most possible way to weather. The gunboats, however, had the wind on their quarter and were sailing in relative comfort. From time to time spray came up over the bows and drenched Kuhlin, who, cursing for himself, had to wipe his glass clean. After a while he was sure enough and went back to the tiller and bosun Tapper.
“She is British, alright. We will alter course a trifle to the south and see if she has any news,” he told him.
Half an hour later, the three gunboats and Amelia lie hove-to in the lee of HMS Tartar, 32 guns. Kuhlin had been collected by one of the frigate’s boats and was now seated in her spacious cabin. Her captain’s name was Baker and he was one of the younger commanders in the squadron that blockaded the Russian fleet in Estonia.
“I am basically patrolling the entrance to the Gulf of Finland,” Baker told him. “Sailing between the Estonian coast and the Åland islands, back and forth.” Baker took a sip of the port they had been served and Kuhlin forced himself to do the same, gulping down the sweet wine he never had developed a liking for.
“Now, yesterday we sighted this brig, Russian of course. She was trying to sneak in between the islands but we cut her off and chased her for a while. Unfortunately she got away at last. Sailed into waters too shallow for us to follow. Still I think she is just hiding there in order to come out again tonight. She is clearly bound east.”
Kuhlin nodded. “There are supposed to be Russian troops and gunboats on several of the eastern islands. Maybe she is carrying supplies to them?”
“Perhaps so. Anyway we stayed close but then our lookout spotted your little squadron. You are just what we need. Do you have any orders preventing you from going in after her? Like a ferret..ha ha. Baker laughed.”
“Well, I’m on passage to my fleet, they are in the islands so I think it would not make a big difference if I took a somewhat more easterly route.”
Baker smiled. “Agreed then, you just try to rattle the cage, make her come out and I’ll finish her off. No unnecessary risks, she does carry some guns you know.”
“How many do you think?”
“A dozen or so. But not more than six pounders I would guess.”
“Good, that means I won’t even need to get into their range.”
The gunboats, of course, had only three real guns that could be used at the same time, but they were 24 pounders. Those had a far greater range than the Russian brig’s so Kuhlin in fact had an advantage. He also had three boats and a lot of crew, while the Russians probably were thinly manned, at least if the brig really was a supply ship.
When Kuhlin had returned to his boat he ordered Amelia to stay with the British frigate while the three gunboats sailed towards the group of islands that lay scattered to the southeast of Åland itself. Somewhere between them the Russian brig hid, waiting for the short period of darkness. Kuhlin had to find her before then, if she got out when visibility was bad, she could escape the frigate and the gunboats were far too slow to catch them on their own. Everything depended on the timing. Were they able to find the brig before darkness?
Kuhlin looked at the chart. These waters were not very well charted. Normally, ships used marked channels in order to safely navigate the archipelago. Only local fishermen knew the waters well enough to sail them freely. Kuhlin wondered if the Russians had better charts. Or if the Russian captain had a local pilot. Kuhlin had to rely on his boat’s shallow draft and maneuverability. Normally shallows that posed a threat to the gunboats could be spotted by a man in the bows. Also, with their slow speed grounding often did not damage the boats very much.
About half a mile offshore he ordered the masts to be taken down and the boats made ready for action. The guns were hauled into position and loaded, as were the swivels. Kuhlin ordered the other boats alongside and talked to their commanders.
“We will split up and enter the islands through these three channels here. There are really not too many places where a brig can be, considering she draws clearly more water than we. We’ll check all the coves deep enough. Then we will meet here. Do not attack the brig on your own if you see her – try to sneak in undetected if you can, but in any case, if there is an attack, we’ll do it together.”
Gunboat
Number 14 slowly felt her way through the shallow channel. The
islands on both sides were not very high, mere skerries, but they
were covered by trees and bushes which made it impossible to see over
them unless from a masthead. But the gunboat’s masts were taken
down and stowed. This was usual procedure when the boats were cleared
for action, but in this case it filled another purpose as well.
Without masts the boats were so low they were hard to spot. In fact,
Kuhlin hoped the Russian brig’s high masts would give her away
before the boats even had open view of her.
These outer islands were uninhabited. They may have been used by the occasional fisherman for shelter in sudden change of weather, but now, during wartime, there were no fisherman in these waters. There was quite some wildlife though. Seagulls were screeching away as they told each other were fish was to be found. Cormorants were sitting on the rocks, wings stretched out to dry. And they had seen seals on the barren skerries offshore.
Gunnery officer af Klint was in the bows, together with his crew. The big gun was loaded as well as the two swivels and now the men were keeping lookout. For many of them this could very well be the first sight of the enemy. Eric af Klint himself had seen them before, during peacetime when he had visited Saint Petersburg together with his father. They had watched Russian artillerymen exercising in a field outside the town. This had been one of the reasons why he had chosen to join the artillery and not the horse guard like his father. Somehow the big guns made him feel important, or so he thought. After all, what would this boat be without them? A rowing barge, nothing more.
“Hard to larboard,” Kuhlin ordered. Number 14 had passed through the channel and was now in somewhat more open water. To the left of them was another channel, somewhat wider and probably deep enough for a brig. On the other side was some kind of anchorage, according to the chart. Suddenly one of the men in the bows saw a dark shape below the water.
“Shallow ahead!”
“Hold water! Back of all,” Kuhlin ordered directly. But it was too late. The gunboat slowly slid her bow up the uncharted underwater obstruction and stopped. Kuhlin went forward where af Klint already was peering down into the bottom of the boat.
“No water, doesn’t look like there is any damage,” he commented.
“Shouldn’t think so. We were going slowly enough. Now let’s have a look at that shallow.”
Kuhlin looked over the bows and examined the underwater skerry they had hit. It was about twenty yards wide and only two feet below the water. Fortunately it was flat and sloping so instead of striking it head on the boat had slid up onto it like onto a beach.
“Lets try to get her off. Back of altogether,” he ordered. The men pulled with a will, but the boat would not move.
“Af Klint, take your gunners back into the stern and take the first three rows of men with you.”
With the weight of the crew shifted aft, he ordered the rest of the crew to pull again. This time the gunboat slowly moved. They were off the shallow. Kuhlin went aft and marked the obstruction on the chart while the crew started to pull slowly ahead, now giving it a wide berth.
For
two hours the boat continued to creep between the islands and
skerries, checking possible anchorages. They went aground once more
and spotted three more unmarked obstructions.
“Like doing a survey, Sir,” remarked bosun Tapper. Kuhlin nodded. This was not what he had thought of doing when they started to sail this morning. By now he had imagined them safely tucked up in an anchorage alongside Amelia, eating a good meal.
“It will be getting dark in a few hours. If we don’t find her soon, we’ll have to break off and explain our delay to someone, I’m afraid.” Kuhlin had an independent command, but there were still orders to follow and at the local base they were probably wondering were he was.
“Gunshot, Sir,” Tapper said suddenly. Kuhlin had heard it as well. “Sounded like a light gun, but not a swivel. Could be the brig. Were do you think it came from?”
“Hard to say, Sir.”
“There is another, it seems to come from the south, maybe from behind that island over there,” Kuhlin pointed. “We’ll take a look. Hold water. Back of larboard, give way starboard, rudder hard to larboard!.”
With the rudder hard over, oars on one side backing and pulling forward on the other, the gunboat almost turned on the spot. “Give way together. Firm up!” The boat started to move faster. More gunshots where heard but then the firing stopped. Hopefully the reckless gunboat had backed off out of range of the Russians guns.
When they rounded a headland they suddenly spotted Gunboat Number 34. It was laying stopped right in the middle of a bigger cove. Further in was the Russian brig. Her guns were run out and men were swarming up the rigging to make sail while others were heaving on the capstan to haul up the anchor. Kuhlin smiled. “She won’t get away in this wind. It’s far too little and we have bigger guns.”
“Af Klint! Open fire when ready!”
The big 24 pounder roared. They could see the ball bounce off the water and smash right into the Russians decks. Immediately the crew started to reload. Now the other gunboat opened fire as well. Her shot missed by a few yards and threw up a great spout of water.
The Russian six pounders replied, but all shots fell short. They just did not have the range. In the meantime the gunboats continued to fire, two shots every three minutes. With the brig stationary almost all shots found their targets. Splinters flew from the Russian bulwarks and holes appeared in her hull. Men were screaming. The sails were in disarray and the capstan had stopped clicking. Apparently the crew was not obeying orders, or maybe most of them were dead or wounded.
“Cease firing,” Kuhlin ordered. The cove fell silent, only the smoke and smell of gunpowder remained. “Give way together,” he ordered, taking his boat nearer the enemy and into the range of her guns. Kuhlin doubted she would, or could use them though. Even the Russian commander must realize that they had no chance.
“Why won’t he strike his colors?” he wondered.
“Perhaps he rather wants the ship destroyed then let it fall in our hands?
“Lay us alongside, Tapper! I will board her with a dozen men. Keep us covered with the swivels.”
Kuhlin, cutlass in his hand stepped though the brig’s entry port onto her deck, closely followed by his men. But there was no resistance. A few Russians sat on the deck, looking bewildered. Others were tending wounded.
“Where are your officers?” Kuhlin asked. He got no answer. “Search the ship, and signal number 34 to get here and prepare a tow.” Kuhlin looked around. The brig was not too severely damaged, but there was a lot of broken cordage. He would not dare to set sails until those were repaired. And anyway he doubted he had enough people in his crew who could sail a ship of this size, let alone command a prize crew. Also, there was the English frigate. Better tow her out to open water and leave her to the English, hoping their captain would recognize their effort and give them a share of the prize money.
“The captain is dead, Sir. She seemed to have been commanded by a lieutenant who died from a splinter wound and two midshipmen. They are down below with the rest of the Russians.”
“Very well, keep them there. Leave six armed men aboard, the rest goes back to the boat. 34 will tow her until we meet 35. We will keep station on her quarter and cover her with the swivels.”
It
was nearly dark when they reached open water. Both 34 and 35 were
towing the brig, while number 14 kept a watchful eye on the
procession. As soon as they were visible from seaward, HMS Tartar
came tearing down onto them, signals flying. Captain Baker was
extremely pleased.
“Kuhlin, this was very well done. Even if I’m a bit disappointed to have missed out all the action. But I see I wasn’t of any use in there.”
“Thank you, Sir and yes, this was definitely a gunboat job. That’s what we are best at.”
“Yes yes. What do you say about staying for dinner? We could celebrate your victory, surely?”
“I would love to, Sir, but my men have basically not left their thwarts since we departed from Sweden this morning. They need a rest and to be fed. So I think we will go right back to that anchorage, taking our Amelia with us and make a camp.”
“I see. Very well then, all the best and good luck to you and your boats. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”
Chapter 5 - Orders
Sottungarna
is a group of small islands and skerries, forming a sheltered
anchorage to the East of Åland. The anchorage had been used as
a stop-over for boats and ships bound for Finland for centuries.
During the summer of 1808, Sottungarna was the inshore fleet’s
forward base. Dozens of gunboats, several galleys, supply ships and
hospital ships crowded the anchorage. On the islands, gunboat crews
lived in tents.
It was midsummer time, and as usual the June solstice caused unstable, windy and wet weather. Lieutenant Kuhlin’s squadron of three gunboats had been here for three weeks now, essentially doing nothing. The crews lived in their tents ashore and had a relatively easy time, except for the occasional patrol, looking for Russian gunboats. There were rumors of a Russian supply convoy trying for Turku, which had been occupied by the Russians earlier. It would have to be stopped of course. There was a relief plan for Turku, but nobody knew when enough troops would be ready. In any case, they would have to be put ashore from ships, and the gunboats would be used to protect them.
Kuhlin sat in the cabin of the old galley Småland. Slower and more lightly armed than the gunboats, the galleys where mostly used as flagships. They had real cabins aft, something Kuhlin by now had come to envy immensely. After several weeks of sleeping in his coffin like chest or ashore he longed for a real ship with a real galley and a warm cabin.
“Ah, Kuhlin, here you are!” A captain had entered the cabin. Kuhlin did not remember his name, but he knew a member of the staff when he saw it. The captain looked healthy and well fed.
“Keep your seat by all means,” he continued.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Now, Kuhlin, I have orders for your little squadron. As you probably have heard we suspect a Russian supply convoy on its way to Turku. We are not really sure, though, which channel it will be coming through, so we have to keep a good lookout.”
“I see.”
“The thing is, the Russians have put troops on quite a lot of the islands between here and the main channels. Several of our patrols have come under fire from ashore, without even seeing any Russians. And this is not acceptable. You will take your squadron and rout those Russians out. I want them off those islands.”
“Aye aye, Sir.” Kuhlin, knew that the task was no easy one. His crew was not exactly trained in land fighting, and the Russians would see them long before he would see the Russians.
“Sir, do you know if those Russians have any field guns?”
“Probably not, but you never know. All our ships that have come under fire report only small arms. Which is bad enough for open boats.”
Kuhlin left the galley with some new charts and a bunch of intelligence reports about islands on which Russians had been seen. However, he suspected the Russians would probably change their positions from time to time. This would not be an easy task at all. He almost hoped the rainy weather would continue, bad visibility was the only advantage he had. Of course he could move at night, but navigation was always a problem in these rock infested waters, and darkness did not make it easier.
It
had started to rain again when Kuhlin came ashore and walked to the
tents where his crews were living. During the stay at Sottungarna
even the officers lived in tents. Dripping wet, he entered the tent
where the commanders of his other two boats were drinking together
with their bosuns and gunnery officers. Tapper and af Klint were
present as well.
“Welcome, Sir, you look like you need a drink,” sub-lieutenant Dahlberg, commander of gunboat number 35 filled a mug with the strong spirit that was liberally provided to the officers and men of the inshore fleet.
Kuhlin accepted the drink and took off his dripping wet coat. “Gentlemen, I just come from the flagship. We have orders to sail tomorrow morning!”
“Finally,” Tapper said. “We’ve been rotting here far too long. The crew is more drunk than alive most of the time.”
“I know. Now we will send word to the Amelia to make us the most opulent dinner they can provide. For she won’t be with us on this patrol.”
The men knew what that meant. They would have to live on the meager provisions the gunboats could carry themselves. Mostly salt herring, hard bread and porridge. Eaten cold more often than warm as the boats did not have any galley. Warm food or coffee for that matter required them to go ashore on some island to make a fire. And as they were moving within Russian occupied territory this wasn’t going to happen very often. Also they might have to be careful with smoke giving their presence away to the enemy.
“How long is this patrol supposed to last?” Sub-lieutenant Gran of Number 34 wondered.
“Nothing was said about that. We are to rout out those Russians and I guess we will go back when we have done that, are being recalled or run out of food.”
“Ten days then, food won’t last longer than that.”
“Unless we can relieve the Russians of some of their supplies.”
The men laughed.
Chapter 6 - The Cottage
It
was still raining lightly when the three gunboats slipped their lines
and slowly moved out of the anchorage the next morning, Kuhlin’s
boat in the lead, followed by Gran and Dahlberg. The crews were
dripping wet and most of them had a heavy head from the night’s
liberal use of liqueur. Still, they were pulling with a will, thus at
least keeping warm. Kuhlin himself stood in the stern of gunboat 14,
shuddering in his boat cloak. He had ordered the swivel guns to be
loaded with grape shot to be prepared for any sudden encounters with
the Russians. The big guns were hauled up and in place, but not yet
loaded. Kuhlin would not trust the powder could be kept dry in this
weather and the big guns were a nuisance to worm out and reload in
case of a misfire.
There were hundreds of islands in the Finnish archipelago, but Kuhlin had received reports as of from which Russian troops had been firing on passing vessels. These he would have to check out first, although he was aware that the Russians could have been moved long since. They would need boats to move them though, so there could very well be Russian gunboats in the area. Thus he was quite satisfied with the bad weather. At least the visibility was bad as well. The gunboats, low in the water, would not be seen easily between the islands.
A light flared up in the bow. That idiot af Klint was lighting his pipe. Kuhlin shrugged. They would either learn to be more careful or be dead soon enough. For now he couldn’t bring himself to reprimand the gunnery officer in front of the crew. It could be bad for morale. Instead, he took another look on the chart which he tried to keep out of the rain by placing it inside his chest. He lifted the lock and compare the small drawn shapes of islands on the chart with what little he saw though the mist.
“Ease up,” he ordered, slowing the boat down. Then he turned to Tapper. “We’ll turn to starboard after that headland over there. I’ll have number 34 set a party ashore and search the island while the rest will continue slowly enough for them to catch up,” he explained.
“Aye aye, Sir.” Tapper peered through the mist until he saw the headland, a vague shape about two hundred yards away. “I wonder if we’ll get any lunch,” he thought.
Sub-lieutenant Gran hated walking around on damp islands, looking for Russians. This was the third one and he was already wet to the bone. Although it wasn’t raining much his clothes were soaked through and having to make his way through bushes and all kind of wet vegetation, he could of course not wear his boat cloak. He swore when another tree decided to empty a cascade of big wet drops on him.
Gran was leading six men, armed with muskets and cutlasses, while he himself had two pistols and his sword. Which wasn’t of much help either cutting his way through the vegetation, he’d rather would have had a cutlass himself.
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