Hazardous Duty: Kinkaid with the Northern Fleet

By Michael Winston

"Hazardous Duty: Kinkaid with the Northern Fleet" finds Kinkaid in command of the 18-gun sloop of war, Ranger, tasked with scouting duties for the Continental Fleet in this third volume of the Jonathan Kinkaid Series. Braving not only the foul and frigid weather of northern waters, Kinkaid must contend with an inexperienced crew, a badly leaking ship, and personality clashes among senior officers; one of them being the bold and aggressive John Paul Jones, in command of the Frigate Alfred, not to mention trying to evade a strong and powerful British force that hopes to trap and destroy them in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Cover art by the author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Winston
• Release date: Apr 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311296825

Michael Winston

Army brat. Served in US Navy as Radarman aboard U.S.S. Cromwell (DE-1014) from 1967-71. BA in Anthropology from Ithaca College; MSW from Syracuse University. Worked in VA clinic and then in U.S. Army psychiatric clinic in Germany for Dept. of Defense. Sailed boats in Caribbean and Mediterranean.Historical fiction novels include the Jonathan Kinkaid nautical fiction series that follows an American naval officer during the Revolutionary War; the epic adventure "Sunset of the Iroquois," about Washington's invasion of the Indian lands of New York State in 1779; and the Sgt. Smith World War II trilogy that follows a squad of 1st Infantry Division soldiers to North Africa, Sicily, and then Europe, based on documented history as well as stories my father told me.Also an artist; paintings and cover art can be seen at www.michaelwinston.org

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Hazardous Duty

Kinkaid with the Northern Fleet

Michael Winston

Copyright 2012

Smashwords Edition

An adventure in the continuing saga of

Jonathan Kinkaid of the American Navy

Preface

When it came to sea power, there were as many problems as opportunities facing both sides during the American Revolution.

For the Americans, aside from the obvious lack of funding, major ships, or even adequate crews to man them, there was the problem of the British Royal Navy blockading major ports, estuaries, bays and gulfs where American privateers and merchant ships might wish to sally forth in order to raid British shipping or trade with European countries willing to support the American cause. But because our extensive coastline from Maine to the Florida Keys offered uncounted hiding places, even the many ships of the Royal Navy could never hope to stop intrepid American captains from partaking in a very lucrative, albeit highly dangerous, wartime seafaring business.

All of which meant that there were always strident calls by private enterprises for the fledgling American naval forces to help and protect them in their endeavors by restraining and hindering opposing Loyalist raiders and merchants, by doing all in their power to keep British ships from coming too close to shore, sometimes by providing convoy escorts, and in a few instances by clearing such places as Narragansett Bay, Massachusetts Bay, Long Island Sound, the Delaware or the Chesapeake of British naval presence, at least for short periods of time.

The American navy had to take on some of these tasks out of necessity, mainly because the bulk of our material to carry on a war effort depended upon a steady flow of essential supplies such as guns, powder and clothing from our mostly silent and passive allies. But it was not what the leaders of our navy saw as their primary mission; in spite of limited resources they wanted to be more than simply a defensive or harassing entity. American naval commanders wanted to go out and attack undefended targets of opportunity, to strike at British convoys and take valuable prizes, to act in a coordinated manner with an overall strategic plan in mind. Even fishing boats were considered fair targets of opportunity, as at that time the British fishing industry was quite lucrative and contributed much to the economy.

Thus, a number of attempts were made over time to form small fleets of the navy’s most capable ships and captains, and these were sent out on various voyages, some of them with resounding success, while others were deployed with little in the way of an overall strategic goal in mind, ending as deplorable failures that showed shameful examples of cowardice and avarice among many American naval captains. But to be fair, many of these endeavors were far too ambitious for the forces and resources available, with goals meant to please too many factions in order that these missions would be supported by a reluctant Congress.

Years before John Paul Jones took command of the Bonhomme Richard and gained fame by defeating the HMS Serapis at the Battle of Flamborough Head, he took part in some of these early voyages, first as a young junior officer on small armed ships and then in command of ships like the Providence (12), Ranger (18) and the Alfred (24), along with other intrepid captains of lesser renown, men like Dudley Saltonstall, Esek Hopkins and John Barry who commanded some of our first frigates such as the Trumbull, Warren, Randolph, Raleigh and Alliance.

Faced with a number of possibilities as to where I could send Kinkaid next, I chose this story in an attempt to portray a more true to life experience by depicting a fictional cruise with a representative group of Continental Navy ships venturing into inhospitable seas, based upon several actual voyages and incidents, purely for the sake of storytelling and to allow our hero to participate in another great adventure, while elucidating some of those strategic goals and missions embarked upon by small fleet actions during the American Revolution.

With this in mind, I also wanted to show how, even in the face of British naval superiority, size and might were not always the decisive factors. Newer, faster American ship designs were changing the nature of naval warfare, these ships lending superior maneuverability, and this was more often becoming the deciding factor in fights with Royal Navy vessels as the war dragged on. That, along with the skill of intrepid captains who knew how to get the most out of their ships, that is, with good old-fashioned ship handling.

Contents

I Demands of the Service

II A Matter of Confidence

III Mixed Signals

IV Reversals of Fortune

V A Real Nor’easter

VI All in the Timing

VII Inglorious Action

VIII A Friend In Need

IX Playing With Fire

X Monkey in the Shrouds

XI A Law of Life

XII Not a Scratch

XIII All Ships; Engage Enemy

XIV Sacrifice

XV Every Captain’s Nightmare

XVI A Damned Close Thing

XVII Redemption

I

Demands of the Service

Kinkaid was standing by the rail, checking the time on his newly purchased pocket watch when the shrill whistle of Chief O’Toole’s bosun’s pipe startled and angered him so much that he almost let out with, Must you blow that damned thing right next to my ear?

But he knew enough to keep his ire in check. After all, it wasn’t O’Toole’s fault that he had to blow that high pitched pipe every time his captain left the ship and then again when he returned, and the only thing his white-haired Chief would have been able to say would be, Sorry, Captain, but the service demands it.

And there was that phrase again; the service demands it, coming from none other than Commander Nathanson after informing him that they’d found another assignment for him, one which couldn’t wait, and which afforded him little time ashore with his betrothed.

Of course he would have preferred to spend more time with Elizabeth, but then his time was not his own, being an officer in the Continental Navy, especially with his country at war, and it had been somewhat disquieting when Commander Nathanson had unnecessarily played upon his guilt by reminding him that Congress was insisting that the naval committee do all in its power to keep up the pressure against their enemies at sea, mostly brought about by the frantic and insistent pleas of privateer captains and merchant ship owners who said they were trying to keep the country supplied with essential goods and war materials so that Washington could continue to carry on the war effort.

Of course their complaints that the Royal Navy was keeping them from providing such valuable assistance to the cause could not go unheeded. But Kinkaid also knew that most privateer captains and merchant ship owners were more concerned with profit than their country’s welfare, and so it was difficult to hear Commander Nathanson admonish him that the demands of the service must come before personal considerations, although he did soften the admonishment by reminding him that it had been his very own brilliant success, most recently in the Caribbean, that made it imperative that he become accustomed to being further called upon by his country. Even so, Kinkaid was still only an acting Captain, and it was another thing that grated on him that Congress and the powers that be could never get around to approving promotions in a timely manner. As it was, he could at least enjoy the title but without the financial remuneration that came with it.

At least they had given him a respectable ship. At one hundred and sixteen feet from stem to stern, and thirty-four feet at the beam, she was the fast sloop of war, Ranger, with eighteen 6-pounders, built by the master ship builder James Hackett at Portsmouth, New Hampshire. With her clean bottom and a well-trained crew she was a fair and sturdy ship, and would be more than a match for the average British ship of her type. However, she did not come with a well-trained crew.

While a full complement would have been 140, he had only 112 aboard, minus the seventeen Marines, and most of those sailors were landsmen with little or no experience at sea. Some of them had even been released from jail if they agreed to serve, a dubious rescue at best, considered Kinkaid, for he knew quite well that life aboard a warship is much like jail, only with a chance to drown, be killed by a fall from a high spar in a stormy sea, or be decapitated by a cannon ball.

But having inexperienced landsmen, whether they came from jail or not, meant that Kinkaid would have to drill them relentlessly before they might measure up to the high standards of Mr. Hill and Mr. Weatherby, not to mention having to deal with possible disciplinary problems of men reluctant to become sailors, a challenge to any man in the best of conditions, for they would have to contend against the best-trained sailors and navy the world had ever seen.

These thoughts and more were with him as he rode in the front of the gig as the six sailors pulled at the oars over the choppy swell, with O’Toole at the tiller, to the point where he scarcely took note of the dull, overcast day; blustery, with a promise of rain.

He did take notice of the Continental Frigate Warren as they approached her, flying her broad Commodore’s pennant, showing a coiled rattlesnake on a yellow field with the words DONT TREAD ON ME underneath. With her new coat of black paint and with the wide yellow bar of yellow running across her gun ports, she looked most impressive and shipshape. Two gigs were already tied alongside her sleek hull.

The flagship Warren was commanded by the forty-year old Captain Dudley Saltonstall. Also aboard her was Esek Hopkins, the Commodore of the fleet of five ships all anchored here in the lee of Thompson’s Island in Massachusetts Bay, with all the captains ordered to report aboard for further orders and a discussion of signals and tactics. There, off to starboard, was Captain Jones of the frigate Alfred, bobbing up and down in his own gig on the rollers coming in from the wide Atlantic.

O’Toole had the gig’s crew smartly ship oars and then made the boat fast alongside, whereupon Kinkaid pulled his hat tightly down onto his head and then carefully stood up before doing his best to bound up the ladder, trying not to look as awkward as he felt. And now there was that infernal blast from the whistle again as the captain of the Ranger was announced by the Warren’s duty boatswain.

The hale and hearty Captain Hoysted Hacker of the ten-gun sloop, Providence, as well as the white-haired Captain Joseph Olney of the twenty-eight gun frigate, Queen of France, were already aboard, and both they and Commodore Hopkins returned his salute as he stood before them on the quarterdeck. The handsome, sandy-haired Captain Saltonstall, after introducing himself, stood aloof by the taffrail, speaking quietly to his First Lieutenant.

Pleased to meet you, Captain Kinkaid, said Hopkins, his hair still coal black at the age of fifty-nine, his face ruddy and healthy; his large eyes dark and penetrating. I am well aware of your resounding success in the Caribbean and am more than glad to have you join us.

Uh, the pleasure is certainly mine, stammered Kinkaid, embarrassed and made uncomfortable by the flattering words.

Captain Hacker nodded and tipped his hat in salute once again, while the elder Captain Olney, looking pale and tired at the ripe old age of seventy-one, merely forced a smile.

Why don’t we get out of this wind while we wait for Captain Jones, suggested the Commodore.

The three captains followed the Commodore to the after companionway that led down to the gun deck and now they all stood there on the stairs in silence while they waited for Jones, and so Kinkaid took a moment to note the Warren’s armament, thirty-two guns in all. Sixteen were the 12-pounders that he expected to see, but then he noticed that the twelve middle guns were very heavy 18-pounders, and would certainly give any comparably-sized British frigate a nasty surprise.

It became immediately apparent that the open companionway was the worst possible spot to wait, for instead of providing shelter out of the wind, actually the wind was being sucked down below as through a tunnel, carrying with it a stinging rain, forcing Kinkaid to turn up the collar of his coat and turning his back to the blow, followed by the other captains doing the same, and as the wind whipped around them Kinkaid could not help but detect a whiff of disquiet in the air.

It seemed to him ridiculous that the Commodore did not take them all to his stateroom instead of having them wait here for Jones. Barring this he should have at least made an effort to relieve any anxieties by indulging in a bit of small talk as they all stood there rather awkwardly on the windy stairs.

Kinkaid was aware that Commodore Hopkins had just led a fleet of eight ships to the Bahamas and with the help of a Marine amphibious landing had taken the forts there, capturing valuable cannons, tons of powder and other munitions for Washington’s Army.

Kinkaid also knew that Hopkins had recently endured a court martial for disobeying orders when he returned from that cruise, since he had been ordered to sail to the southern colonies and assist them against the British Navy. John Adams defended him, and the result was that he was only censured, although the court expected him to resign in disgrace. When he did not resign, Congress strangely appointed him head of the fleet.

So while the Commodore may have had good reasons not to mention something about his Bahamas cruise, he could have at least brought up the nasty weather as a means of inviting his guests to converse. Instead he allowed them all to stand there in somber silence as they continued to wait.

Little did Kinkaid know that Olney and Hopkins were not on speaking terms. It seems that Olney had voiced some strong and vociferous resentment some weeks earlier at the fact that Hopkins, his junior in seniority, had been made Commodore of their fleet and not himself, especially after being court martialed. As for Hopkins, he had heard some very unflattering words about him spoken by Olney, heard through Jones, who should have known better and kept his mouth shut, but then he had designs of his own which might be furthered by a bit of dissention in the ranks. As for Saltonstall, he had heard the story ad-infinitum from his Commodore, hence his aloofness.

Kinkaid knew that Hopkins had been a brigadier general commanding all military forces in Rhode Island before being appointed Commander in Chief of the Continental Navy, and that he had obtained his commands and present position through family influence; his older brother was Stephen Hopkins, the Governor of Rhode Island. And it came as no surprise that even Esek’s younger brother, John, had been given command of the 14-gun brig Cabot. Even Captain Saltonstall had received his captain’s commission through the recommendation of his brother-in-law, Silas Deane, who served on Connecticut’s Naval Committee.

In spite of Kinkaid’s intuitive misgivings, it was not his prerogative to question the position, common sense or hospitality of a man he scarcely knew, let alone his own Commodore, and so he took what the situation offered and kept his silence as they all continued to stand there waiting for Jones to come aboard. After all, Kinkaid was an outsider, with little in the way of political connections, and junior to all of them. In fact the only reason he had been selected to join this expedition was because he’d impressed Commander Nathanson with some success so far, which to Kinkaid meant that he had been extremely lucky.

What can be keeping Jones? asked the Commodore impatiently.

I’ll check, Sir, said Kinkaid, bounding back up the stairs to the deck, eager to move his stiff body; to do something, anything, except stand there any longer on the stairs, enduring an unnecessary contest with the elements.

Jones’ boat was just then drawing alongside and Kinkaid made certain he kept well away from the bosun’s pipe when Jones was piped aboard, the man darting up the ladder and onto the quarterdeck with surprising quickness and giving his salutes even before the piping died away, presenting an energetic figure in his tailored blue coat with the striking red facing, trimmed in gold, which the brash Jones had designed himself. The other captains wore the standard uniform adopted by the Continental Navy, blue coat with a white facing, trimmed in gold.

Welcome aboard, Captain Jones, proffered Commodore Hopkins when Kinkaid brought Jones to the companionway where the others waited. And allow me to say that your bold exploits have preceded you.

As have your own, Sir, answered Jones diplomatically.

Stiff introductions were made up and down the stairs, except there had been only brief eye contact between Jones and Saltonstall on the quarterdeck, with no exchange of salutes, which did not go unnoticed by Kinkaid.

Only now did the Commodore say what he should have said long before.

Gentlemen, I propose we retire to my cabin.

Captain Saltonstall remained on his frigid and windy quarterdeck while the others followed the Commodore to his warm stateroom where after shedding their coats and being shown to their chairs a Negro steward brought out an elaborate tea service and a tray of freshly-made biscuits. As they waited for their cups to be filled and as the biscuits made their way around the cramped table, Kinkaid found himself thinking of various bits and pieces of things he’d heard about these men who knew one another better than he ever would, things that were well known in naval professional circles; such as Saltonstall being no fan of Jones, who had once served under him as his First Lieutenant, and thought the supercilious Jones beneath him.

As far as Jones was concerned, he had actively fought Saltonstall’s ship for him, but then had his name left out of any reports that may have given Jones credit. Therefore it was not surprising that Jones thought Saltonstall might be good to look at but was less than ordinary as a naval officer. Furthermore, Jones was never shy about sharing his opinions. Once, at a meeting of navy captains, Jones had the temerity to ask Saltonstall about a rumor that Saltonstall had accused Jones of disloyalty, and while Saltonstall admitted that he had discussed such a thing with Commodore Hopkins, he denied that he was the originator, which caused the over-sensitive Jones to suspect Hopkins. All of which made Kinkaid feel rather uncomfortable as he sat between them.

A good day for hot tea and cranberry biscuits, observed Commodore Hopkins cordially enough.

Kinkaid tasted one and had to admit that the moist and still hot muffin was up to even Cato’s high culinary standards. After the obligatory murmurs of approval, Hopkins came right to the point.

Now then, I know that you are aware that our first order of business will be to head straight to Long Island Sound and see if we can scare off some of those British raiders and Royal Navy ships there that some of our merchant ship captains have been complaining about.

Instead of waiting for the Commodore to finish, the impatient Jones asked, How long do you see us in the Sound, Commodore?

I was just getting to that, said Hopkins with some irritation. The latest reports have confirmed that the Royal Navy has only a limited and sporadic presence in the Sound, and that the chief threats there are from British privateers. However, I believe we should necessarily conclude such a mission with all haste if we are to avoid being chased off by forces greater than our own. And while I consider that such a mission may help our profit-minded friends for a limited period of time, I do see some advantage to us in that it will give us a chance to work our crews into shape and maybe even provide us a few prizes. Oh, and I have instructions by the Marine Committee to send all of any prizes we take into Providence if at all possible.

Hopkins paused as if expecting the impatient Jones to interrupt him with another unnecessary question. When he did not, Hopkins went on. Afterwards we shall sail to the coast of Newfoundland and there we will make attacks against the British fisheries. With plenty of open water up that way it should be relatively easy for us to avoid major British naval forces, and so I anticipate that the weather will prove to be our most dangerous foe on this cruise at this time of the year.

Well, I’m glad they’ve at least provided us with some of our fastest vessels, said Olney, making an effort to show some support.

Aye, not a hulk among us, said Hacker, although the Providence has a rotten bottom, but I guess she’ll stand another cruise.

Jones, however, knew that his Alfred was probably the poorest sailor among them. In spite of her figurehead of a man in armor with his sword raised as if in challenge, with her square stern and high sides the Alfred looked and sailed more like a merchant ship, which was what she once was. But at least he had a ship, and he would make up in seamanship for any deficiencies in his vessel, was the way he thought about it.

And there will be plenty of work for our Marines, continued Commodore Hopkins, for we shall also pay a visit to the port of Sydney, Nova Scotia. It seems some of our very own captured American sailors have been forced to work in the coal mines there, and we are tasked to rescue them.

An honorable endeavor, said Jones, and one which might fill our complements of able seamen.

No doubt, that would be nice. But it is not only our Marines that will have all the fun and a chance at glory, said Hopkins, beginning to warm to his briefing. We have also been given the task of cruising the Gulf of Saint Lawrence with the hope of encountering and taking any inbound shipping to Quebec or any vessels of the Hudson Bay fleet.

Now that is what I call prize cruising ground, exclaimed Jones with genuine enthusiasm.

And certain to make us all rich men if we enjoy even a modicum of success, enjoined Hopkins.

I gather we shall be out all winter, then, groaned Olney, putting a damper on the enthusiasm.

What else would you be doing except lounging about in your warm home with your wife, looking out to sea and wishing you were doing exactly what has been proposed for us? said Hopkins with a friendly grin.

Aye, you have a point, Olney had to admit.

Kinkaid was surprised at the smorgasbord list of missions, meant to please, no doubt, any and all factions that might support naval operations, and was perhaps inevitable, given the current state of politics, but he couldn’t help but feel that such a list might result in diluting a concentration of effort.

We have some considerable force and weight of cannon among the five of us and should give the British pause. And of course, because of his speedy vessel, Captain Kinkaid here will be tasked with scouting duties to ascertain what lies ahead, and will have to remain alert to situations that may require messenger service.

It was disconcerting to hear Commodore Hopkins speak of him as if he weren’t in the same cabin with them, and although he grinned and nodded his head in the affirmative as duty required, it occurred to Kinkaid that Hopkins was one of those men enamored of position and wealth to the point where he looked down at anybody who hadn’t attained to his own level.

Now then, in the event that our fleet should have to scatter, we will have to plan in advance likely places to regroup. And of course it will be imperative to make certain we are in agreement as to our signals. I understand that Captain Jones has some ideas along these lines, if you would be so good as to share them with us, Captain.

Jones was more than good to his word about sharing his ideas on signals. He also had more than a few ideas on formations and how they might support one another in various and sundry tactical situations, so many in fact that Kinkaid was soon tasked with taking notes and keeping track of the imperious and quick-talking Jones as he went on and on and on, with Captain Hacker adding an occasional suggestion, while Captain Olney, who seemed a languid character next to the restless Jones, huffed and puffed beside him in obvious exasperation, even rolling his eyes in evident dismay, all of which seemed to escape the notice