The sun beat across the quarterdeck of the HMS Buffonia as Captain Sir Willoughby Ponsonby-Smythe finished his reading of the Articles of War. Small spots of tar dripped from the ratlines to the deck, almost unnoticed, and the marines’ faces were nearly as red as their uniforms in the sweltering heat.

“Men,” said the captain, “I know how eager you all are to partake of whatever delights the cook has produced.” He stopped briefly as laughter swept the deck, packed with Buffonia’s sailors dressed in their Sunday finery. “But, as you will all know, we have the Squadron competition this afternoon.” Now a wave of cheering spread through the men. “We have a fine crew and I am sure that those who have been chosen to represent the ship will do so with honour. Win or lose, I am proud of you all!” Another wave of cheering sent seabirds on the nearby dock, whirling and calling in the still air. The cheering seemed almost to be echoed from the squadron’s other ships and Willoughby realised, with a smile, that the other three captains had obviously given almost exactly the same speech to their men. There could be very little wrong in any ship where the men could laugh and cheer so heartily.

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The men were fed and well rested as the afternoon wore on and the tension amongst the squadron’s ships began to mount. As the bell struck for the end of the first dog watch, the launches from each of the four ships could be seen pulling away from their own ship’s sides towards the agreed start point of the race. First to arrive was the launch from Buffonia, crewed mainly by sailors and coxed by a young midshipman. Next was the launch from Watcher, again mainly sailors but with three midshipmen in the crew, one as cox’n but two, in the true spirit of fellowship, rowing oars. The Willow’s crew looked a hardy bunch, oars rising and falling in perfect unison, and it was obvious this was a crew that had been together for some considerable time. Last, and almost least, came the launch from Crab with a crew that seemed to be made up from almost every man aboard the small schooner. With all four launches on the start line, all hands turned to watch Charlie Drake, gunner of the Buffonia, as he prepared to fire the gun that would signal the start of the race.

“BOOOOOM” went the quarterdeck 18pdr, yet a second would have been drowned by the wave of cheering that swept the harbour as the launches almost leapt from the start line. Buffonia’s launch sprang into an early lead, with the other three neck-and-neck across the harbour behind the 44’s boat. And whilst many of the younger hands on the Buffonia cheered madly to see their launch out front, the older, and more knowing, of the squadron’s hands pursed their lips to see the effort it was taking to keep the launch in the lead, the young midshipman’s shrill voice urging his crew to keep up the stroke. Gradually the strain began to tell and first Watcher’s and Willow’s boats swept past the brightly painted launch and, as all four turned at the top of the harbour ready for the run back, the Crab boat slowly inched past.

As the four launches raced down the harbour, the cheering on Watcher and Willow, whose boats had been side by side for the entire race, began first to falter and then to die away. Although their gasping crews were still maintaining their neck-and-neck race, the boat from Crab was gradually overhauling the two larger ship’s launches and the crewmen aboard the little schooner leapt and capered as their own boat swept across the finish line. Still neck-and neck, as they had been for the entire race, Willow and Watcher crossed the line together, followed fairly closely by the Buffonia’s launch, its crew draped over their oars, exhausted. Wild cheering and applause came from all the ships as the crews from the beaten launches gave a rousing cheer for the beaming sailors from Crab as they rowed happily back to the schooner.

The echoes of the cheers from the assembled crews for the Crab’s winning launch had hardly died away when the second round of the squadron competition got underway. But where the result of the rowing had been a surprise to the squadron, the boxing was thought by many to be a foregone conclusion. All of the ships in the Bermuda squadron had seamen or warrant officers from the West Country and the fame of the contestant from HMS Willow was known throughout the small group of ships. Jan Widdecombe, better known to many of the sailors as “The Brixham Brawler”, had been a successful professional prize fighter for some time in the West Country and had been “collected” by a press gang from the Willow shortly after winning his twenty-second fight. Many said that the only reason he had been “taken” was that he was drunk after the fight and the press gang had been alerted by backers of the losing fighter. He had settled to Navy life but only with difficulty and was renowned for his short fuse!

Still, before the first appearance of “The Brixham Brawler”, there came the first fight, to be held between Marine Sergeant Tom Baker from the Watcher and Tommy Cooper, Master-at-arms from the Crab. The referee for this fight, chosen from the Buffonia to ensure impartiality, made his announcement. “Gentlemen, may I remind you please of the rules of this competition. There is to be no gouging of eyes, no kicking or biting, no hitting below the belt and, of course, no striking a man when he is down. In addition, as this is to be a fight in the finest traditions of His Britannic Majesty’s Navy, there will be no grappling by the hair or the pigtail. Each round will end when a man is knocked to the ground and, in this preliminary fight to see who progresses to the final bout, the fight will consist of six rounds.” More cheering from the assembled crews at this announcement and the older hands nodded in agreement at the sensible curtailing of the preliminary bout; it would ensure that the final would be that much better a fight!

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The bout had lasted the full six rounds but the winner was obvious at the end of the last round. The bulky Marine Sergeant had battered the Master-at-arms repeatedly and stood, almost unmarked, in the centre of the ring. The fight may only have lasted 20 minutes but it was obvious to many that the Crab’s representative would not have been able to “come up to scratch” if the fight had been meant to continue. Loud cheers came from the Watcher’s crew as Baker’s arm was raised aloft as victor of the first fight.

If this first bout had been reasonably short by many standards, the second was over like lightning! Lieutenant James Fitzrag, third of the Buffonia, had been chosen not only for his reasonable bulk but also for his speed of reaction and confidence was high in his camp, even though he had been matched against “The Brixham Brawler” in the first round. As the referee called “Start the mill”, the lieutenant had bounded from his corner, determined to dazzle Widdecombe with some fancy footwork. Unfortunately, his fancy footwork led him within striking range of Widdecombe’s right arm and the prize-fighter lashed out with all the speed of a fer-de-lance snake, caught the lieutenant on the point of the chin and knocked him flying backwards, unconscious, into the crowd of sailors!

And so to the final. An expectant hush had descended on the crowd as the afternoon sun wore slowly across the sky. Both men had been rubbed down by their seconds, watered and were now ready for the final bout. The Marine, although his fight had been slightly longer, was thoroughly warmed up, whilst Widdecombe had hardly broken sweat in his disposal of the Buffonia’s third lieutenant. An eager buzz of anticipation ran through the watching sailors as the two protagonists came up to scratch for the first time.

The two men stood looking at each other, with no idea of shaking hands and, after a few quick feints of the head on either side, slammed a series of heavy blows into each other, both standing and giving as good as they got. After half a dozen blows had landed hard and heavy on both sides, the two men moved into the grapple, both striving to wrestle the other down and end the first round. A huge cheer rose from the Watcher’s crew as the marine twisted suddenly and threw Widdecombe to the floor.

Back up to scratch and the blows landed hard again. A close observer would have seen that many were caught on the arms or diverted by subtle, quick shifts of body and stance but enough got through to cause grunts of pain from both fighters and blood flowed freely from cuts on hands and faces. It soon became obvious that, although Widdecombe was the better tactical fighter, Baker was quicker and more able to dart away and then back inside the sailor’s guard. The balance of the fight swung this way and that and, as the number of rounds rose into double figures, the two men were slower and slower to come back to the centre of the ring for the next.

The end, when it came, was both swift and surprising. Widdecombe had just been thrown to the floor by a cross buttock throw from the marine, who had tried to follow up and land on top of him. The sailor had just managed to roll to one side to avoid the crushing blow of the marine’s weight and both men had staggered back to their corners to await the referee’s call. As they came back up to scratch, Widdecombe noticed that a trickle of blood was running down the marine’s forehead and, as the referee called “Start the mill” and Baker shook his head to clear the blood, the sailor lashed out with his left hand, taking all by surprise and catapulting Baker back into the crowd, unable to rise again. A surge of Willow’s sailors burst into the ring and, cheering fit to burst, bore their champion away.

After the brute excitement of the boxing competition, the fencing bouts were going to be much “finer” affairs, more flashing, darting blades than the bloody mauling of the fight. But, for all that, the matches would be watched with just as much eager anticipation by the gathered crews from the ships of the Bermuda squadron. As the fencers from the various ships gathered, a buzz passed through the crowd as they realised that Lieutenant Xander Harris, representative of the Buffonia, was still wearing the duelling rapier that was his favoured blade. A quick conversation amongst those acting as referees, quiet words with the tall lieutenant and he laid aside the rapier for the common cutlass that the other protagonists were to use.

Lieutenant Harris was soon to get the chance to demonstrate his proficiency with the unaccustomed weapon as he was drawn in the first match against the man from the Watcher; but even now, there was a further twist to the tale. At the last minute, the original representative, Captain West, had withdrawn himself from the competition in favour of Third Lieutenant Samuel Greg, citing his desire to “allow one of his other officers the honour of representing the ship”. And so it was that Lieutenants Harris and Greg faced each other across the quay, blades glinting in the afternoon light. Both men had stripped to the waist and their torsos glistened with sweat from the baking heat of the Bermuda sun; as both men indicated their readiness, the umpire’s hand flashed down and the pair set to.

The two blades clashed loudly as both men thrust and parried, slashed and lunged, each circling slowly in an attempt to gain some small advantage over the other. Lieutenant Harris’s unfamiliarity with the cutlass soon became obvious to the watching crowd and Greg began to force him slowly, but inexorably, backwards. Greg hacked and slashed and Harris looked hard-pressed, only just diverting each blow from the wickedly curved blade. Back and back he went, conceding more and more ground and Greg pounded forward, grunting heavily with each slashing stroke. Suddenly, however, and with a deft flick of the wrist, Harris turned the cutlass in his grip and Greg’s blade, much to his bemusement, went sailing over his head to land with a loud clatter on the quay behind him. The polite applause from the watching officers was drowned by more hearty cheering from the sailors as Harris bowed slowly to Greg and extended his hand.

In the second bout, the sophisticated skills of Captain Callaghan of the Willow were matched against the brute strength of the Crab’s petty officer, Henrik Larsen. The huge Dane tried throughout the fight to use his height and weight advantage to batter the officer into submission but, once more, the superior skill told in the end as Callaghan managed to disarm Larsen as he overreached himself in a wild lunge.

And so to the final bout. The two experienced officers circled each other cagily as the fight began, eyes never moving from the other man, each trying to gain some small advantage that might tell in this clash between two highly skilled protagonists. Suddenly, Captain Callaghan’s blade flicked out, like the tongue of an adder, and just as quickly Xander Harris parried the thrust. Both men were obviously far more used to a lighter, narrower blade than the curved sea cutlasses and were attempting to fight as though they still carried rapiers. Instead of the huge sweeps and slashes more normal with cutlass-work, their two blades almost seemed to dance in the sunlight as they thrust and parried with the heavy swords. Blades flicking first high, then low, then high again, the two men stamped back and forth across the quay, sweat pouring from their bodies with the exertion in the heat. Minutes passed and neither man showed signs of flagging, although the energy required maintaining the level of skill being demonstrated was enormous. Finally, however, Harris’s superior skill began to show until, repeating his disarming twist of the earlier bout, he sent Callaghan’s cutlass spinning from his hand in a graceful wheel that ended with a huge splash as the sword disappeared over the side of the quay into the water of the harbour.

The final event of the afternoon’s entertainment was to be the Marksmanship. Two of the Bermuda ships had entered Marines into the competition and their blood-red coats shone in the afternoon sun, white crossbelts gleaming and lace glittering. The other two, in a strange twist, had both entered midshipmen with Mr Midshipman Becker representing the Willow, having only just arrived from the Sunnydale, and Mr Midshipman Gunn representing the Crab. Both stood shuffling nervously from foot to foot, whilst the two Marines stood rigidly at attention, awaiting the start of the competition.

To make all fair, four brand new muskets had been taken from the harbour stores, ready for the competition. The first quarter of an hour of so was taken up by all of the contestants cleaning packing grease from the mechanisms of the muskets and making sure that the flints were well seated in the locks. When all had finally signalled their satisfaction with their weapons, the contest was ready to start. The first round of the competition was to be a relatively easy one to start with; shooting the tops from belaying pins at 15 paces, with the second round to be shot from 30. To these well-trained marksmen, it seemed an easy enough target to begin with but it would enable them to check the weapons were working correctly and also warm the barrels through with some early shots. Cheers once again rang round the harbour as all four men clipped the tops neatly off the pins at the first distance and they began to reload.

“BANG!” With a yelp of surprise, Marine Sergeant Tom Highway from the Buffonia watched in astonishment as his musket fired prematurely and blasted the ramrod high into the air, to cartwheel gracefully into the water of the harbour. A quick inspection from the judges revealed that the musket trigger was faulty and, still shaking somewhat, Sergeant Highway had to spend time cleaning out another musket in advance of the second round. His composure returned but slowly and it was with an audible sigh of relief that the Buffonia’s crew saw him neatly knock the head from the second pin.

The second round was much more of a test of the men’s skill. At 30 paces, they had to shoot at a suspended bottle; not only suspended, however, but also set swinging gently from side to side. With clean shots from each man in the first round, and an ever-growing pile of shattered glass on the quayside, the judges held a quick consultation and decided that, given the expertise of the contestants, the second and subsequent rounds would be held at an increased distance. Thus round two was to be held at 35 paces and round three at 40.

The extra distance was to prove the undoing of two of the entrants as first Midshipman Gunn, and then Marine Lieutenant Wilson from the Watcher left their bottles swinging gently at the end of the rope. But the other two were now matching shot for shot and, after two further rounds at the longest distance, the judges decided that an even more stringent test was required to establish a winner. Each man was to stand side by side and fire as a bottle was tossed high into the air by the strong-armed bo’sun of the Crab, Victor Thomas. The one deemed to have broken the bottle was to be declared the winner. With a loud grunt, Thomas flung the bottle as hard as he could into the air and it span and shone as it twisted, rising higher and higher.

First to fire was Highway and the crowd cheered as a small piece of the bottle’s neck was clipped off as it began to fall. But the cheers rose to deafening proportions, when Mr Midshipman Becker fired and the bottle was smashed into a hundred shimmering pieces, twinkling and sparkling in the sunlight as they fell to earth. Sergeant Highway turned to the young midshipman, shook his hand and then raised it high in acknowledgement of his victory.