Biography  

David McCathie was born in Sydney in 1952, and lived there until 1973 when he moved to Gosford after National Service. He then moved to Brisbane in 1994, where he resides there still, with his wife of 30 years, Jann, 19-year-old son Daniel, 16-year-old daughter Rhiannon and border collie cross, Jessie.

David is a part-time writer and Juvenile Sailors is his first book. He drives a truck for a living but spent 10 years working in the Juvenile Justice Department of NSW in detention centres, where many of the experiences were translated into this book. He has a love for sailing and an interest in the 18^th century wars at sea between England and France. Combine this with his work with juveniles and the result is Juvenile Sailors.

Chapter 1

English Channel April 1803

he sloop slid through the waves at a steady ten knots, running with the wind on her quarter, with only half of her sail area up she was making excellent time.

HM Evolution indeed lived up to her name, for she was years ahead of her time. Launched on 10^th March 1803 and classed as a 6^th rate 30 gun frigate by Royal Navy standards, she was 110 feet in length, had a 30 feet beam and weighed in at 540 tons fully laden. Although her armament was considered, ‘heavy’ for her size, with 26, 12 pound long-barrelled Bloomfield pattern guns and four, 24 pound carronade, ‘Smashers’, the radical design not only allowed for the hull strength for the extra guns carried but also, when fully laden, she held her trim extremely well in all weather conditions.

HM Evolution was equal to many 5^th rate warships in firepower but was quicker by a country mile than anything else the Royal Navy currently had in commission. She was long and sleek with a pointed bow and tapered stern and had the illusion of appearing to be moving whilst still stationary. It was a design that was unorthodox for a time when ships were built for bulk cargoes, mobile gun platforms of two, three and sometimes four gun decks but were slow and cumbersome. The Evolution was a one-off experiment by the Royal Navy in an effort to produce a swift, agile fighting ship that could run down her opponents or outrun and outclass them, depending on the circumstances. It was a bold move by the Royal Navy in an attempt to keep control over their far-flung colonies. The importance of such a vessel when all communications and supplies depended on a quick response, could not be judged highly enough. HM Evolution was too light for line of battle, too fast to be tied to a squadron and too well armed to waste on dispatches. She was therefore known as a ‘Cruiser’, a huntress in her own right.

During the previous four weeks since her launch, the HM Evolution had been put through exhaustive sea trials off the coast in the North Sea, pitted against the pride of the Royal Navy in mock battles. She had outpaced, outsailed and outwitted all that came before her, making the other ships look slow, dated and cumbersome. Her main attributes were her speed and agility in all wind conditions, where she could sail under the other ship’s guard, make a few quick decisive volleys in close with her carronades, with maximum effect and then escape before the other ship could mount any worthwhile counterattack. Never once was the Evolution defeated in any of the mock battles and in the few sprint races in which she competed against the swiftest ships available, she performed effortlessly in all weather conditions with not one of her opponents coming within a mile of her at the end. Since the Captain and crew were still adapting to the unique sailing style of the Evolution it made the experiment by the Royal Navy look more than just promising.

In its wisdom the Royal Navy had commissioned the Evolution to make an extended voyage to the convict settlement in NSW, following the standard route and ports of call in an effort to judge her seaworthiness as well as a straight out speed trial. It was an audacious plan considering the state of affairs in Europe and relations with France as well as Spain were a little strained to say the least. The Evolution had departed England on the 8^th April l803, to a tumultuous farewell, for a lot of interest had been generated, firstly by her construction and then the sea trials and so much was riding on her success.

Captain Alexander John Foley was in charge of the Evolution and stood beside the helm on the quarterdeck as the sloop slid south-east through the waves with a south-west wind moving her at a steady ten knots. He was a seasoned Seaman having been at sea for the past thirty years. He had originally been on the HM Supply on her First Fleet voyage of 1787, one of the reasons he had been handpicked for this voyage, and he was the most experienced Captain in the Royal Navy. At that time he had been a Third Lieutenant and only 22 years of age but years of experience and sea miles had put him at the top of the tree as far as the Royal Navy was concerned, and the perfect man for the job.

Captain Foley’s instructions were quite clear. He was to traverse the voyage to New Holland in the most expedient time, match ships and wits with any and every country that he came across in ports of call and on the high seas and, with the superiority of the Evolution, announce to the rest of the world that England was still the master of the sea. It was a straight out propaganda mission by the Royal Navy and they appeared to have the right ship to suit their purpose.

Foley had a fairly broad scope in which to work and had been given a virtual free hand in which to accomplish his mission. The Evolution had started with a full crew complement of 160 of the best available Seamen in the Royal Navy, including 35 Marines and during the sea trials most were brought up to speed with the unique style of ‘The Huntress’.

Since the sail configuration was different to the norm, it was thought that more crew was necessary to extract the very best from the Evolution and she had not been tested fully in heavy squalls during a long voyage. Also it was not known how the ship affected the health of the crew, good or bad, whether the unorthodox sailing patterns contributed to any adverse strain or sickness upon them. Many things needed to be considered but Royal Navy Seamen were a hardy lot and nothing if not very versatile so the sea trials were completed with little fuss and far exceeded expectations.

“Crack open the rest of the sails Mister Jackson and we’ll see what she’ll do,” bellowed Foley as the wind stiffened.

First Lieutenant Nickolas Jackson hurriedly shouted out orders as the crew scurried to obey. Like a nest of spiders they swarmed up the rigging to unfurl the remaining sail as others swarmed over the deck pulling on lines and securing the sails as the wind billowed them out.

The Evolution heeled over as she took up the strain and Captain Foley looked up at the movement of the wind on the commissioning pennant. “Ease her 2 more points to windward Mr Barraclough,” Foley said to the Quartermaster who stood at the double wheel. “We’ll see how close to the wind she’ll stand.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” replied Mr Barraclough as he eased the big double wheel through his hands with the help of his Mate, Jamie Cutty, on the larboard side of the wheel. “It’s like no other ship I’ve handled before Capt’n sir!”

The HM Evolution was a magical sight under full sail. The bow sliced through the waves, peeling them back in a gentle arc only to curl along the sides of the ship and churn smoothly out from the stern as they then continued their relentless journey beyond. The wind was not a strong one, more of a gust than a squall, but the Evolution milked every last puff out of it as she cut through the ocean reaching 14 knots. The Captain, from years of experience, threaded her through the narrow window of maximum propulsion as the Evolution, creaking and groaning, shot due south-south-east in a sea of foam and spray close hauled on starboard tack through the English Channel.

“By the Gods this ship’s alive!” shouted the Captain over the rising wind to the First Lieutenant. “She handles like a dream, accurate and predictable. You can feel every twitch, every movement, right here at the wheel. Is that not true, Mr Barraclough?”

“Aye, Capt’n she’s got spirit all right like ya can let go o’ the wheel and she’d steer ’erself, sir!”

“I wouldn’t be doing that, Mr Barraclough, for if they ever make ships that’d steer ’emselves why we’d all be out of a job,” the First Lieutenant remarked.

“Aye, aye, sir!” answered the Quartermaster, feeling a bit abashed and not quite sure whether Mr Jackson was making a jest or not.

“I’ll leave you the deck Mr Jackson whilst I track down my steward for my tea.” The Captain walked to the private after-companionway ladder, abaft of the great cabin’s coach-top and disappeared into his quarters.

It was now Wednesday and at the rate they were travelling the Evolution would be in the Bay of Biscay by Friday evening.

Midshipman Eric Jorgan stood at the map table near the binnacle cabinet with the Sailing Master, Mr Jerimiah Eaves. Jorgan was rated Third Midshipman by seniority, behind Stains and Rubins  respectively, and although not quite 12 years old, Eric was by far the most intelligent of the three. Jorgan had told the Navy that he was thirteen so that he would be accepted in the service. (Although the Royal Navy used to encourage boys as young as nine to enlist as ‘servants’, the lower age limit was raised to thirteen in 1794.) Orphaned at nine, Eric had been on the streets of London for six months before stowing away on one of the supply ships headed for New Holland. When the young orphan was discovered he had to earn his keep on the privately-owned vessel and became fascinated with navigation. For the past two and a half years the newly appointed Midshipman had served on many ships for nothing more than his keep, for there were always Captains looking for ships’ boys. Not only had Eric shown a keen interest in navigation but he had a natural talent for it.

Jorgan was with Captain Flinders on his epic exploration and circumnavigation of New Holland where he had gained invaluable experience and knowledge. Eric had left Flinders at the north end of the continent where he had joined Foley’s previous ship, HM Eliza, on her way back to England. He had been with Foley ever since. Captain Foley thought very highly of him and had requested his services from the Navy Board on this new commission.

Eric Jorgan was slight of build, dark skinned with thick blonde hair and blue eyes. From his name and characteristics it was obvious that Eric was a descendent of the Vikings and had inherited their passion and skill for the sea.

“Very good, Mr Jorgan,” said the Sailing Master. “You have accurately pinpointed our position within a few cable lengths. I must agree with the Captain that you have an uncanny ability to plot our course. I wish you could impart some of your knowledge into the thick skulls of Mr Stains and Mr Rubins. I’m sure that they could not plot a course to their own hammocks without help.”

“Mr Eaves sir, at the rate we’re travelling we’ll be in the Bay of Biscay by late afternoon, Friday.” Young Eric’s eyes sparkled as he read off their position.

“Capital, young sir, absolutely capital! I think you will make one hell of an officer at the rate you are going. I can see now why the Captain was so anxious to have you on this commission.”

“Thank you, Mr Eaves sir.”

“Carry on, Mr Jorgan,” the Sailing Master said as he headed off amidships.

“Aye, aye, sir, and thank you, sir!

“Mr Jorgan,” a voice called to him from behind making Eric jump. “Walk with me, lad, for I would like a word with you whilst I sink this tea.” The Captain had a habit of appearing quite suddenly when you least expected him and Eric did as he was asked while the Captain walked slowly towards the leeside of the quarterdeck which was quickly abandoned by the few officers that were there to give the Captain the whole area to himself as was his right. “Now then, Mr Midshipman Jorgan, what do you have to say about our position and how much longer should we remain on our present course.”

“Well, sir, I have calculated that we need to change over to larboard tack at four bells of the afternoon watch, sir, in order to make best use of our time.”

“Well then, Mr Jorgan, and what have you to say to the fact that my Sailing Master has informed me the same thing, so explain why your calculations are appropriate.”

“Beg pardon, sir, but continuing on starboard tack till that time is going to allow us to extend the larboard tack, when we change, out further into the western end of the channel so that when we come back onto starboard tack at about midnight we will be able to stretch straight into the Bay of Biscay without any further changes in course, saving both time and distance, sir.”

“I like your confidence, Mr Jorgan. In your estimate, given wind and speed remains constant, when would you expect us to reach the Bay?” The Captain finished his tea in one deep swallow.

“If the wind and speed remain constant then we should reach the Bay by 8 bells of the ’f’noon watch Friday, sir. Although, sir, I believe that the wind will freshen up on our next starboard tack as we catch some of the variables from the North Atlantic and if that’s the case then I would expect that we would actually make the Bay by mid-morning Friday, sir.” All through the conversation Eric had continued to look at the ocean trying to estimate the wind and currents.

“Well, Mr Jorgan, I’ll confer with Mr Eaves and judge the optimum time to change tacks but in the meantime I suggest that you spend more time on some of your other duties. It’s admirable that you take it upon yourself to monitor the ship’s position but I will not have you sacrificing your other duties on this ship to further your navigational studies. You are employed as a Midshipman firstly and foremost and anything else will be done in any spare time you have. Do I make myself clear?”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Eric scuttled back to the main hatch whilst the Captain strutted back to the helm.

“Mr Jackson have the sailmaker and carpenter on deck during these gusts for I’ll not have any accidents if it can be avoided.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” replied the First Lieutenant.

Meanwhile, young Midshipman Jorgan was now in his quarters in the gunroom which he shared with the other Midshipmen and Warrant Officers. He slipped from his pocket a small book that looked like a diary but was actually his own ship’s log covering all the voyages that he had been on in his short career. He had not one but several books that, when combined, were an exact log of all the sea miles he had experienced right down to details of currents, winds, tides and particular items of interest, in a navigational sense, in various parts of the world. No-one else was aware of them, not even the Captain, but Eric quite often referred to them for information and it was this almanac that had given him insight to their current position.

As things turned out, the Captain decided to follow Eric’s advice as he invariably did, and since Mr Eaves’ information was the same it appeared to be the best course to follow. In no way did he mention Eric, for he felt that Mr Eaves’ authority would be compromised if he did and rightly so. A Naval Sailing Master of twenty eight years and in his chosen field would not appreciate being usurped by a thirteen-year-old Midshipman still wet behind the ears.

So it was that the HM Evolution charged into the Bay of Biscay at precisely 10.00 am on Friday and continued into heavy weather at an unprecedented 16 knots. The Captain was pleased, as was Eric and the rest of the crew, for it meant that they would reach the Canary Islands far sooner than expected.

The Bay of Biscay was traversed in rough, heavy seas that took its toll on both ship and crew. The Captain had to limit the amount of sail out of pure necessity, to avoid damage, but she still tore some sheeting and broke lines in the effort to keep up the momentum. The ship took on some water, which is to be expected under the conditions but nothing that couldn’t be handled by the crew.

After the Evolution had cut across the most westerly point of Spain and headed down the coast of Portugal, pitted against the winds and currents of the North Atlantic Ocean, a ship was sighted well south of their position.

“Sail ho!” called the lookout at the mainmast. “Two points of the larboard bow.”

Mr Jackson took a telescope from the binnacle cabinet at the helm, extended it and looked through the scope straight over the larboard bow from his position at the Captain’s left hand.

“What can you make out, Mr Jackson?” The Captain was squinting into the sun.

“Looks like a Spanish Man-of-War, Capt’n. I’d say a third-rater by the look of her guns.” The First Lieutenant made a quick scan around the foreign ship. “She appears to be alone and making good speed due south. She maybe heading for Tenerife.” Mr Jackson dutifully handed the spy glass to the Captain who did his own investigations.

“You could be right, Mr Jackson, she does appear to be making fair speed and if she is headed for Tenerife then there maybe a race to be had.” The master smiled and handed the glass back to his First Lieutenant who continued to observe the movements of the other ship. “Roll up the colours, Mr Jackson, and beat to quarters.”

“Aye, aye, Capt’n!” replied the First Lieutenant. “Beat to quarters, Mr Cantrall,” he shouted to the Bosun.

“Beat to quarters,” the deep baritone voice of the Bosun, Mr Cantrall, boomed. Instantly the boy fifers and drummers belted out the beat that brought the thunder of horny feet to the deck to take their positions for action.

“The ship is Spanish, sir! She has just raised her colours and is sending a signal,” said the First Lieutenant.

“What do you make of that, Mr Rubins?” the Captain asked the Midshipman in charge of signals. “Quickly now, our very life may depend on it!”

“She signals ‘friendly’, sir, and then, ‘farewell’, but I don’t understand, sir.” Midshipman Rubins was pondering over the international signal book.

“Is she raising more sail, Mr Jackson?” asked the Captain.

“Aye, aye, sir, she is!” the First Lieutenant replied.

“Well there’s your answer, Mr Rubins. Our Spanish friend wishes to race and I feel we best not disappoint her,” the Captain stated. “Mr Jackson, set topgallants, release full main topsail and main course and stand down the starboard battery but keep the larboard battery on standby with gunports closed, hands to remain at stations.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” The First Lieutenant issued orders and the hands were stirred to action by the presence of the Petty Officers with their stiffened rope starters, the unspoken threat to the slow and clumsy.

“Mr Barraclough, ease her half a point to larboard, if you please, and we’ll show these Spanish how a well-trimmed, well-manned Royal Navy ship handles the North Atlantic Ocean.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” the quartermaster replied as he and his Mate tweaked the big double wheel with a close eye on the compass bowl.

The Captain was standing at the quarterdeck with his hands clasped behind his back and feet braced for the roll of the ship, watching his crew tune the ship for speed. “Smartly does it now, lads,” he called.

The Evolution took the bit between her teeth, heeled over as she took the strain and headed off in pursuit.

Realising that the Royal Navy ship had increased sail and was preparing to run her down the Spanish ship became a hive of activity as she did her utmost to hold her lead. They desperately moved their cannon from both decks over to their windward side in an effort to adjust the trim and although this gained them an extra one and a half knots it was nowhere near enough to hold off the HM Evolution.

The ensuing race was not all that exciting nor did it last that long for the Evolution streaked down on the hapless ‘Trio Santiago’, as the 74 gun two-decker was called, and rounded up the Spanish Man-of-War quite easily. The Spanish crew were gallant in defeat and fired a salvo in salute for the Evolution as she passed by but they could not disguise the look of disbelief on their faces. The crew of the Evolution returned the salute as she overtook some four to five knots quicker, with all hands at attention on the larboard deck and Captain Alexander John Foley raising a salute with his sword brought up vertically to his chin. The ease and decisive way that the Evolution handled herself was very impressive.

The HM Evolution left the Spanish ship in her wake as she continued to cut a path through the North Atlantic due south, heading for the Canary Islands.

Making excellent time, the Evolution arrived in Tenerife on 22^nd April, crossing the Bay of Biscay in ten days even though sail area had been limited due to the weather. The Captain had instructed that the ship be cleaned top to tail and maintenance was the order of the day, to ensure that the Royal Navy’s latest acquisition was in pristine condition for her first inspection in a foreign port.

A dispatch had been sent from Royal Navy headquarters to all ports of call well before departure of the Evolution, in an effort to both smooth her passage and confirm the restock of supplies. So it was no surprise to find a larger than normal Spanish Fleet in port.

HM Evolution entered the harbour under reduced topsails, jibs and spanker in a light breeze.

“Ready to let go forrund! Hands aloft there! Brail up all! Hands on the braces back the foretops’l back the main tops’l! Lower away fores’ls! Prepare for salute!” the orders from the First Lieutenant rang out in his best quarterdeck voice as HM Evolution slowly cruised to a stop and the sails gradually disappeared. “Let go!” he shouted followed by a roar and rumble as the best bower cable thundered through the larboard hawsehole and the splash of the heaviest anchor plummeted into the depths. “Fire salute!”

And seconds later the deep, blank charge boom of 11, 12 pound artillery pieces let go one after the other in salute to the Governor. Before the last shot had been fired a boat had been hauled to the entry port to row out a kedge anchor from the stern and as the ship slowly came to a stop, when the bow anchor gripped bottom, the HM Evolution swung in a gentle arc facing seaward. Long before the answering salute from the shore battery was finished, the deck hands were putting the final clunk of the capstan-head into place to tighten the kedge anchor and secure the ship in port. When the smoke from the guns had long since evaporated HM Evolution sat quietly at anchor, sails completely furled and gasketed, bound neatly to the jib boom and bowsprit or the lower boom of the spanker, aft on the mizzen.

Along with the boarding party came an invitation for the Captain and selected officers to the Governor’s residence for dinner. The Spanish were very inquisitive about the Evolution’s radical design, as could be seen from the shore, and were looking for an opportunity to grill the Captain.

The boarding party did their usual inspection of the ship and crew looking for any signs of sickness or disease that might endanger their colony’s health as well as checks on any cargo that maybe suspect.

The Evolution of course had no cargo to speak of since she was ultimately a warship and held only enough supplies for the use of the crew. Also travelling alone without the burden of slower moving ships to monitor, allowed any outbreak of disease or sickness to be quite easily controlled and kept in check. Scrubbing of the ship and an abundance of either fresh fruit and vegetables or lime juice, (in their absence) was a daily occurrence to prevent the outbreak of scurvy or anything worse. So there was no reason for the inspection not to go well.

That evening the Captain, his First and Second Lieutenants, along with two Midshipmen dined with Governor Julio Vicardano. He had been briefed by his government to extract what information he could about the Evolution, after they had received the dispatch from Royal Navy headquarters some weeks before. Supremacy at sea was paramount when you had far-flung colonies that needed protection and rivalry was fierce among the foreign powers.

Although the Captain had been given a free hand with his dealings in foreign ports, this was not to say that he had authority to discuss the ship’s specifications in detail. What Foley did do was to make an official challenge to the Spanish for a match race to be organised within the next few days, in order for the Spanish to see for themselves the performance of the HM Evolution and the Royal Navy.

What ensued on the following days was a series of elimination races amongst the Spanish Fleet in order to choose the swiftest challenger for the Evolution. The eventual winner, Toulouse, a Spanish-built 24 gun brig on loan from the French, shone out from the others as a swift, agile and competent adversary with a well-drilled crew.

In Tenerife the Governor had declared a three day festival with the challenge races gaining most of the interest leading up to the final best of three races between the Evolution and the Toulouse.

To make it a bit more interesting Foley had made a wager with the Governor, that if Spain won the race the Royal Navy would pay twice the price for the resupply of the Evolution in fresh fruit and vegetables, freshwater and harbour fees associated with their stopover. On the other hand if the Evolution was the victor then their stopover would cost the Royal Navy nothing.

Interest was high in Tenerife the night before the big race, with both sides anxious for a win to stamp their authority.

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