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USS Ranger vs. HMS Reliance
June 1st, 1784
John Paul Jones
"Mr. Simpson, what is she doing?" demanded John Paul Jones, commanding officer of the
Ranger. Around him everything appeared chaotic, with men running in every direction across the sloop. An experienced eye would have known better though, would have seen the underlying organization behind all that running about. Men swarmed up the rigging as
Ranger packed on sail after sail, eager to be away from the Brit.
Lieutenant Simpson didn't answer for some moments, staring at
Reliance over the slowly widening gap. "They're signaling again, sir. Ranger...you will...." He slapped his glass shut and turned, pale. "Stand by to be boarded!"
"I'll be damned, first! Mister Simpson, we will clear for action. Mister Hall!" This to his second lieutenant, bellowing over the thundering drums: "You will signal
Reliance. Tell them they may follow us, or they may leave. Any provocation will be dealt with severely, sir!"
"Sir," Simpson said, "May I say that they have turned in pursuit, and I believe they're moving one of their guns forward?"
"Our Mister Heyward must be some prize indeed."
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"American signaling, sir!" cried the midshipman, a boy of ten. He frowned at the complex series of flags and rifled through his book. "They say..."
"Never mind," Bristol replied, glaring at
Ranger with real dislike. "I can read them myself. Mister Marshal, how are our preparations?"
"All watches report ready, sir." Marshal touched his hat.
Captain Adam Bristol inhaled sharply. If he attacked, it would be an act of war. If he did not attack, it could mean his career. Clearly that would be the lesser of two evils, if not for the fact merely picking up the man from Georgia against his will might already qualify as a casus belli if the Americans felt belligerent.
"Captain, your men are waiting," Foster told him.
Damn her and damn her cat-like eyes. He returned her gaze. "Madam, this is no place for a lady."
"I will stay until General Heyward is recaptured, Captain."
"This is
my ship," he snapped, then broke off. Now was not the time. He turned to the midshipman. "Mister Wash, prepare a hoist. Tell them we wish to parley."
Foster gasped, then stormed away, onto the main deck.
"Thank God," Marshal breathed, before recalling himself and stepping away.
Bristol continued to glare at
Ranger. A sleek ship, a little larger than his with three masts(1). Well handled she could be formidable, but the Americans had no naval heritage to speak of. Any training that crew had would be in coastal revenue cutters or galleys and gunboats on Lake Champlain. Certainly they could be no ma...
"FIRE!"
Reliance's bowchaser, an eight-pounder, leapt back and belched smoke, filling the air with pungent gunpowder. Its shot slammed into
Ranger's side.
"Who gave that order!" shouted Bristol. "Who the devil gave that order!?"
The gun captain turned, his face ashen. "Sir, I'm sorry, I heard the order and didn't think who...'
Anne Foster stood six feet from him, smiling up at Bristol.
"Sergeant! Take her into the forehold and
keep her there!" he snarled. It wasn't
quite a punishment, the forehold really was the safest place on his ship. Of course, the rats knew that too... "Lieutenant, run out the starboard guns and...."
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"Parley?" shouted Jones. "That sounded more like an ultimatum! Mister Simpson, are our port guns ready?"
"Ready, aye!"
"Fire as they bear, fire at will. Mister Hall, I want stunsails and royals in." He pointed at the billowing canvas. "If they want to fight, by God I'll give them a fight to remember!"
Neither ship changed course, and now that the question of whether they'd fight had been resolved, the two crews fought in earnest. Only a handful of cannon on each side could bear, with
Ranger running some distance ahead and to windward of her enemy. One man fell as a sliver of wood a foot long shot off the rail into his shoulder, his moans audible between crashes of gunfire. Two of his mates rushed over to carry him below.
"Mister Marshal, I wish to take advantage of this wind while it favors us. Turn to starboard. Let us give them something to think about."
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"Remain on course!" Bristol roared. "Boarders, stand by!" Ahead the American turned slowly, crossing his hawse and exposing his broadside. Across his ship the boarders, men with swords and axes attached to each gun crew, separated and massed towards the probable impact point. Those crewmen who could be spared did the same, rushing to the quartermaster and returning. Some looked nervous, most smiled, the simple excitement of a melee after months at sea.
"Sir?" murmured Marshal at his side.
"I see them." Yes, the American guns were run out again. "Everyone DOWN!"
Ranger's guns went off in twos and threes, raking the British ship's deck - that is to say the cannonballs traveled from bow to stern, and so had that much extra opportunity for damage.
Reliance's bowsprit vanished in a hail of wood, and despite their precautions three boarders fell there, pierced by the deadly shrapnel. One cannonball slammed into the mainmast, which groaned and shuddered with the blow. The number seven gun on the starboard side took leave of the thick ropes binding her to the deck and slid twenty feet, over a ton of metal run mad, before sailors could restrain it.
Reliance spun away from its attacker and Bristol whirled on his ship's master by the wheel. "I said..." No master. No
wheel. He ran to where his wheel should have been and called out. "Down below! Does she steer?"
The two men down below, stationed by the thick ropes that connected wheel with rudder, tested. As they hauled on the ropes, the brig shuddered. "Aye, sir!"
"Then turn her...." Captain Bristol looked up. Too late for a boarding action. The boarders had abandoned their post and now busily readied the starboard guns, Lieutenant Marshal in the middle screaming like a maniac. Good man, correct move if disappointing. "Keep her on course. Do you hear me?"
"As she bears, aye!"
Now the two sloops hammered at each other.
Ranger's crews fired pretty much at will, a sporadic gun fire but effective. Two gun ports beat into one, and one of his cannon literally fell off the ship. His own ship answered shot for shot though, firing with cold, righteous anger.
Ranger might have more guns, but
Reliance's were larger and they fired low at the waterline. They tore great chunks out of the American vessel, which abruptly lurched towards them.
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"Carpenter reports two feet of water in the well, sir!"
John Paul Jones swore. The sons of bitches wanted to sink him! He instinctively shifted his weight as his sloop rolled towards the Englishman. "Fire high! Fire at the mainmast! Let's see how he does without sails!"
Some obeyed. Some fired at the obviously threatening guns. Some saw fit to return the favor and try to sink
Reliance, a futile gesture at this widening range with their six-pound guns. Great clouds of pungent smoke drifted from his cannon towards the enemy, signaling a change in the wind. Both ships slowed perceptibly, and with the thick grey cloud drifting between the two vessels they hammered into darkness.
Ranger's port rail exploded and two unlucky souls fell into the sea.
"Three feet in the well, if you please."
Captain Jones did not please. He had to end this. "Mister Simpson! We will close to board....!" Before he could finish his sentence, a sharp crack, louder than the constant cannon fire, rolled across the sea. A chance shift in the cloud revealed
Reliance.
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"Axes! Axes!" Captain Bristol leapt off the quarterdeck, drew his sword and hacked at the ropes that bound the shattered mainmast to his vessel. Most of it thankfully just disintegrated, but a portion hung over his ship's side, acting as both rudder and anchor. The ship was pitched forty degrees to the vertical, even a moderate wave would sink her entirely. Most of his sailors realized the danger as well and assaulted the mast.
Bristol looked up long enough to see
Ranger slowly turning towards them. Slowly though, and she also listed alarmingly. They'd hurt her very, very badly. Perhaps it was not too late to .... No time to think of tactics, he had to save his ship. He hacked, and one rope parted. Two. Three. Wood crumpled and broke, sounding like doom, as the mast fell fully onto
Reliance's shattered rail then ponderously rolled into the sea.
The British ship shot away from the wind at once, spinning southeast so quickly several men lost their footing. Directly behind them, lurching like a punch-drunk fighter, was
Ranger. Captain Bristol leapt over the body of Marshal, killed during the mast's first horrible plunge, and called down. "Does she still steer?"
"Aye!"
"Hard to port! Gunners stand by!"
It was not to be though. With
Reliance's main mast gone, her shattered hulk refused to come away from the wind. After their third effort caused his ship to literally whine and shudder, Bristol ordered his men to stop. He couldn't afford to lose his rudder. As it was, it would be a long, hard repair job just to make it to Halifax.
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"They're fleeing!" Simpson reported, and his announcement was greeted by a universal cheer.
"No," Jones replied, staring at his shuddering opponent. "They're crippled." He looked up at the sails and frowned. Even with everything set and their missing mast,
Reliance was making four knots to his three.
Ranger was simply too heavy right now, too water-logged.
"Sir?" Lieutenant Hall removed his hat. "Carpenter's compliments, but at this speed we're taking on water faster than he control it. Currently 6 foot in the well and penetrating the hold."
No, it would not do. "Take in the sails," he told Simpson tersely. "We will make repairs here, after the men have had something to eat, then head home. "Mister Hall, tell the carpenter he may have whoever he needs. Then compliments to Mister....Mister Heyward, and I want to talk with him."
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(1) You may remember last time I described Ranger as a one-master. This was based on a sloop being defined as a one masted vessel. Further research suggests Ranger in fact had three.
