John Schettler: Devil's Garden

He flipped to the reports section, where young aspiring officers would be rated by their commanding officers on a regular basis. “Captain Bradford has him with good professional knowledge, zealous and diligent, and then look here, a year later Captain Browning reports him as painstaking and steady, but stupid. Vice Admiral Douglas wasn’t impressed with the man either-says his manner was bad with the men.”

“I believe that was back in ’03, sir. In recent years you’ll see marked improvement.”

“Watchkeeping Certificate received May ’06… Well he won’t do as a navigator. The man failed the eyesight test last year.”

“I’ll be keeping Mister Graves at navigation, sir.”

“See that you do. I think I do recall this young man now that we’re discussing him. A bit headstrong in his early years. Served on Exmouth when she was the fleet flagship and got the bit between his teeth. I seem to remember an incident when the man was hoisting boats when his commander came up behind him and began issuing orders. The cheeky young lad simply removed his gloves, unbuckled his sword, and handed both to the commander before retiring below decks!”

Captain Baker laughed at that. “Yes, sir, that’s my man. He was just a tad prickly back in ‘05, but we’ve smoothed out the rough edges since then.”

“Painstaking… Steadily improving…Keen and zealous…reliable and strongly recommended for executive appointment. Why, that last bit was your remark, Captain Baker.”

“It was, sir. The young man is rather new to the China Station. He just arrived here last May shortly after the turnover of command. I’ve had my eye on him below decks and think he may rotate up to the bridge crew well enough.”

“That isn’t much time below decks for an officer this new, but if you say you’ve had your eye on the man I will certainly defer to your judgment.” The admiral took notice of the young officer’s name for the first time now, flipping the attached reports down to read it on page one.

“ John….A good Christian name, I suppose.”

“Yes sir. He goes by the nickname Jack with the men, and they seem to have taken a liking to him.”

“Very good, Captain. You may move your Lieutenant to the bridge. Who knows, the experience may do him some good. See how he does when we take the squadron out for maneuvers.”

“I have every confidence in the man Admiral. In fact, I think he may work out quite well. He seems very ambitious and determined.”

“Yes, well every young Lieutenant like this one thinks they’ll end up First Sea Lord or Admiral of the Fleet one day, don’t they?”

“This young Lieutenant may very well surprise you, sir.”

Captain Baker was a bit of a profit, it seemed. For the man they were discussing that morning was Lieutenant John Cronyn “Jack” Tovey, a determined young man indeed, and fated to live up to his every aspiration.

* * *

“Steplively, mates,” said Tovey. “Can’t you see that old Kent out there has already got up steam?” The Lieutenant pointed across the anchorage to the three stack Monmouth Class cruiser lying at anchor. Word had come down to make ready for the scheduled exercises, and Tovey had his blood up for the outing, eager to get away from the sweltering harbor heat and out to sea where at least they could make their own wind if they got up a good head of steam.

“They’ve only got one stack puffing, Lieutenant,” said a midshipman.

“Well, that’s one more than we’ve got fired up at the moment.”

“But we’ve got four stacks, sir. How do you suppose we’ll be up and ready before a smaller ship like Kent?”

“With grit and elbow grease, gentlemen. Now step to it! If we aren’t ready to weigh anchor in another hour they’ll be out in front and waving their backside at us the whole way out of the harbor. Let’s get the lead out, eh?” They had orders to make steam, and by God, that was what they would do, and well before HMS Kent blew smoke from all three stacks. And showed them up yet again.

“Mister Tovey, sir!”

The young officer turned, his eyes narrowing on another seaman who had come up behind him as he urged his mates on.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Message from Captain Baker, sir. You’re to leave off here and head to the bridge straight away.”

“The bridge?”

“What have you gone and done this time, Lieutenant?”

Tovey looked for the man who had called that out, but he was already down through the hatch and gone. The last time the Lieutenant received such a notice it was to receive a good tongue lashing from the Captain over a discussion between officers the previous evening. Perhaps the Captain had something further to say.

“See what I mean?” Tovey put his arms on his hips, head cocked as he called after the men on the ladder down. “The Captain has eyes too, and he can damn well see that stack charring up on Kent as plain as day. Now you men press on and get down to the boiler room to see about it.”

He shook his head, wondering what the Captain really wanted this time, and worried that it might indeed be something to do with his remarks in the officer’s mess the previous evening. A few of the men had been discussing tactics and the general consensus was that a good broadside at range was the best possible play in a sudden one-on-one engagement. Armored cruisers were often used in scouting roles, and would often find themselves in small groups, or even alone when they might happen on an enemy ship.

“What? A broadside with six inch guns?” Tovey put in. King Alfred had eight such guns on each side, but she could rotate both her forward and aft turrets as well to bring the two larger 9.2 inch guns into the mix.

“Well we’d have to be damn close to hit anything,” said Tovey. “Those casement guns can theoretically range out over 15,000 yards with a heavy charge, but good luck hitting anything that far out. No gentlemen, I’m an advocate of speed at the outset. I’d show the enemy my bow and put on a full head of steam to squeeze every knot out of those boilers I possibly could. Harass them with all our forward facing guns as we come in, then swing round and give them the old broadside well inside 10,000 yards. 8,000 yards would even be better-ideal I should think.” It was a strategy he would put to use in the future, though the ranges involved would change as gun size increased. Tovey would one day end up leading more than one good fight at sea.

“Concentration of firepower is always best, at any range,” came a voice behind him. Tovey had his arms folded and did not know who made the remark, but he batted it aside with the sharp intelligence he would become known for at sea. “At any range? On my watch I would use my cannon at the best range suited to them. If that means a little reliance on speed and armor to achieve a better firing solution, so be it.” The complete silence after his remark prompted him to turn his head, and there was Captain Baker, lips pursed with disapproval. He had come into the mess hall in the heat of the discussion and threw out the remark to test his young officers.

Later that evening he summoned Tovey to the bridge and took him aside in the plotting room for a private chat. “See hear, Mister Tovey. Concerning your remarks in the officer’s mess this evening… If you chance to contradict another officer ever again, you had bloody well better turn your head first and look the man in the eye so you will know who you’re speaking to.”

“Yes sir. Of course, sir. I’m terribly sorry. I meant no offense.”

“No offense taken, Tovey. This is simply a matter of decorum.”

“Yes sir.”

“Very good then. That will be all.”