Zealand

54. First Prize

As a respite from my morning chores in the great cabin, I frequently ascended to the quarterdeck to watch our prey rise above the horizon, each time pleased to see her closer and still broad the bow. Gallants and topsails rose first, and when her hull began showing, I knew we were at eight miles. About an hour. Concentrate on finishing the waxing, then come up uninterrupted to watch the action.

My next visit was not long past four bells of the forenoon, the ship now much closer but still at the same angle on our bow. She was deeply laden and slow, boding well for both her capture and for the quantity of plunder. But quantity is not so important as quality – perhaps she has both.

Her appearance similar to Zealand and Delfe, an East-Indiaman, as well. Surely not also taken by their Navy and finished as a man-of-war. What if she had been? Might she also be playing a ruse? Then, why so deeply-laden? But it is unwise to dismiss the possibility of deception.

Such thoughts filled my mind as I watched the ship grow bigger, then wondering the distance, I remembered Richard showing me how gunners use fingers to measure. I raised my right arm with a crooked hand and sighted. A bit more than the width of one finger, so a little under a thousand yards.

From Captain's tales, we need to be much closer – allowing them to think our approach is to hail and greet. How soon will we be sufficiently close? Two hours to reduce sixteen miles to a thousand yards. A hundred and twenty minutes for thirty-one thousand yards. About two hundred and sixty yards a minute. We will strike them in four minutes if we maintain this course – and these sails. Is that Captain's intention? In his tales, he had mentioned other ships attempting to ram. Would he ...

A loud call from forward took my attention, and I watched hands rise all along the port bulwarks, lift swivels and set their pintles into the gunwale sockets. Port? Why on the port? Our prey is to starboard.

I looked again at the ship, seeing it now moving toward our bows. Oh! Do they suspect our intentions? As Master called sail adjustments, I realised the movement was not them altering a-port; rather, it was Zealand coming a bit to starboard, and I sighed in relief. Of course, cross close under her stern, foul her air and take the windward advantage – just as in Captain's tales.

So much more vivid with it unfolding in front of me, rather than in my mind. Swivels to port now make sense – and with that side hidden from their view, they will not have seen them until too late. I rushed across to the port rail and looked down and along Zealand's side to see all the ports opened and the guns hauled forward.

As we passed, I read Naarden on her stern board. Then came Captain's loud call, "Strike Dutch colours. Hoist English."

When our ensign reached the masthead, the sharp clap of a gun sounded, and white smoke billowed forward in the wind.

Master called a series of orders to ease sails and spill wind, and in short order, we settled into a parallel course about fifty yards off Naarden with all our portside guns brought to bear.

Captain raised a speaking trumpet and called, "Overgave of vergaan. Surrender or perish. Overgave of vergaan."

I watched the confusion on their quarterdeck as Captain called again, "Jullie zijn krijgsgevangenen. You are prisoners of war. Surrender to remain alive. Geef je over om in leven te blijven."

Then one who, from his dress, appeared to be the captain spoke to a man beside him and pointed up. I followed his raised arm, and it was not long before their Dutch colours were hauled down. A prize. Our first prize. And so easily won.

But that was the easy part, as Captain so often said. Boarding, disarming, searching, sequestering them under guard – those are more difficult and dangerous. But all essential before taking the prize in tow.

Captain spoke with Master Forbes and Mister Angus for a while before he called again in Dutch and English, ordering our prize to let fly and furl all but their forestaysail and mizzen. I pondered the fore-and-afts for a while before thinking it would be for them to maintain steerage [1] and prevent rolling in the seas.

As Naarden complied, Master barked orders to our crew, reducing our sails to maintain our position alongside Naarden and continue threatening our broad side.[2] All this while, hands remained manning the swivels. Of course, showing that we offer no trust.

While we lost way, our longboats were swung over the sides and lowered to the sea, both of them filled with stout seamen armed with pistols, dirks and truncheons. And each wearing a bright green neckerchief, reminding me of Captain's tales.

A long while later, I assumed this was after Naarden's crew had been sequestered below and were under guard, hands lowered a hawser from her bows to a waiting longboat. With it bent to the boat's bitts, hands on the sweeps pulled it across to our stern. With no crew up here ready to receive it, I leant over the taffrail [3] to watch what the hands did.

Below, one of the chaser gun ports was open, a line was passed out and bent to the hawser, and it was heaved aboard. Of course, the stern anchor is handled from the officer's gunroom, and bitts there would be for towing.

Then, while the longboats were being hoisted, Master called, "Let fall the gallants and sheet."

Why only the gallants? Why not all? Then, seeing the course yards still being used to hoist the boats, I understood why not them. But why not the topsails?

As we slowly gained way, I watched the towing hawser snake out astern before it skewed to port toward Naarden's bow. Of course, small sails pulling until the hawser loses its slack and begins towing her to not hazard parting it.

When the hawser went taut, and most of it rose from the water, Naarden's bows swung slowly toward us, and it was only then that Master called for the topsails. So much yet to learn.

After the longboats had been lowered to their chocks and the yardarms were rerigged, Master called for the course sails.

While we gained way, I watched Naarden settle in astern, following in our wake as Delfe had. Oh, where is she? My quick scan of the horizon failed to sight her, and then I realised she would have seen our easy capture and sailed off to find other prey. With a slower search, I sighted sails hull-down. But that could be any ship. No, of course not; it would have been reported, and ...

My thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of all hands.

Notes:

[1] Steerage, in this sense, means sufficient way (progress through the water) to allow the rudder to have effect.[2] Broadside was written as two words until the late 18th century. In this context, it means the guns on one side of the ship all fired at once. [3] A taffrail is the railing around the top of a ship's stern.