1805 nd-6 Page 12

  'I trust you are quite happy?' he asked, remembering again how this boy reminded him of his own son. He should not care for Richard Madoc to go to sea with a man who did not take some interest in him.

  'Oh yes, sir.'

  'Mmmm.' The removal of Walmsley's influence charged that short affirmative with great significance. Drinkwater remembered his own life in the cockpit. It had not been happy.

  'Very well, Mr Gillespy. Cut along now, cully.'

  The boy turned away, his hat tucked under his arm, the small dirk in its gleaming brass scabbard bouncing on his hip. The pity of his youth and circumstance hit Drinkwater like a blow. The boy's account of the action with the Magnanime read with all the fervent patriotism of youth. There was much employment of unworthy epithets. The Frogs had run from the devastating (spelt wrongly) thunder of our glorious cannon. It was the language of London pamphleteers, a style that argued a superiority of ability Drinkwater did not like to see in one so young. It was not Gillespy's fault, of course; he was subject to the influence of his time. But Drinkwater had suffered enough reverses in his career to know the folly of under-estimation.

  The Magnanime had been commanded by Captain Allemand, he had discovered, one of the foremost French naval officers. It was too easy to assume that because the major part of their fleets was blockaded in harbour they were not competent seamen. With Missiessy's squadron at sea, several hundred Frenchmen would be learning fast, to augment the considerable number of French cruisers already out. Drinkwater sighed, rose and poured himself a glass of blackstrap. He was at a loss to know why he was so worried. There were captains and admirals senior to him whose responsibilities far exceeded his own. All he had to do was to patrol his cruising area, one of a cloud of frigates on the look-out for any enemy movements, who linked the major units of the British fleet, ready to pass news, to pursue or strike at enemy cruisers, and hold the Atlantic seaboard of France and Spain under a constant vigilance.

  It was all very well, Drinkwater ruminated, in theory. But the practicalities were different as the events of January had shown. To the east the French Empire was under the direction of a single man. Every major military and naval station was in contact with Napoleon, whose policy could be quickly disseminated by interior lines of communication. No such factors operated in Great Britain's favour. Britain was standing on the defensive. She had no army to speak of and what she had of one was either policing the raw new industrial towns of the Midlands or preparing to go overseas on some madcap expedition to the east under Sir James Craig. Her government was shaky and the First Lord of the Admiralty, Lord Melville, was to be impeached for corruption. Her dispersed fleets were without quick communication, every admiral striving to do his best but displaying that fatal weakness of disagreement and dislike that often ruined the ambitions of the mighty. Orde, off Cadiz, hated Nelson, off Toulon, and the sentiment was returned with interest. Missiessy at sea was bad enough (and Drinkwater still smarted from a sense of failure to keep contact with the French, despite the weather at the time), but the spectre of more French battleships at sea worried every cruiser commander. With that thought he poured a second glass of wine. He doubted Ganteaume would get out of Brest, but Gourdon might give Calder the slip at Ferrol, and Villeneuve might easily get past Nelson with his slack and provocative methods. And that still left the Spanish out of the equation. They had ships at Cartagena and Cadiz, fine ships too…

  His train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the cabin door. 'Enter!'

  Rogers came in followed by Mr Lallo. There was enough in the expressions on their faces to know that they brought bad news. 'What is it, gentlemen?'

  'It's Waller, sir…'

  'He had a bad fit this morning, sir,' put in Lallo, 'I had confined him to a straitjacket, sir, but he got loose, persuaded some accomplice to let him go.' Lallo paused.

  'And?'

  'He went straight to the galley, sir, picked up a knife and slashed both his wrists. He was dead by the time I'd got to him.'

  'Good God.' A silence hung in the cabin. Drinkwater thought of Waller defying him at Nagtoralik Bay and of how far he had fallen. 'Who let him go?'

  'One of his damned whale-men, I shouldn't wonder,' said Rogers.

  'Yes. That is likely. I suppose he may still have commanded some influence over them. There is little likelihood that we will discover who did it, Mr Lallo.'

  The surgeon shrugged. 'No, sir. Well he's dead now and fit only for the sail-maker to attend.'

  'You had better see to it, Mr Rogers.'

  It was one of the ironies of the naval service, Drinkwater thought as he stood by the pinrail where the fore-sheet was belayed, that a man killed honourably in battle might be hurriedly shoved through a gun-port to avoid incommoding his mates as they plied their murderous trade, while a man whose death was as ignominious as Waller's, was attended by all the formal pomp of the Anglican liturgy. Casting his eyes over Antigone's assembled crew, the double irony hit him that only a few would be even vaguely familiar with his words. The half-dozen negroes, three Arabs and sixty Irishmen might even resent their being forced to witness a rite that, in Waller's case, might be considered blasphemous. He doubted any of the others, the Swede, Norwegians, three renegade Dutchmen and Russians, understood the words. Nevertheless he ploughed on, raising his voice as he read from Elizabeth's father's Prayer Book.

  'We therefore commit…' he nodded at the burial party who raised the board upon which Waller's corpse lay stiffly sewn into his hammock under the ensign, 'his body to the deep…'

  The prayer finished he closed the book and put his hat on. The officers followed suit. 'Square away, Mr Rogers, let us continue with our duties.'

  He turned away and walked along the gangway as the main-yards were hauled, and was in the act of descending the companionway when he was halted by the masthead look-out.

  'Deck there! Sail-ho! Broad on the lee quarter!'

  Drinkwater shoved the Prayer Book in his tail-pocket and pulled out his Dolland pocket glass. It was a frigate coming up hand over fist from the southward, carrying every stitch of canvas the steady breeze allowed. Even at a distance they could see bunting streaming to leeward.

  'She's British, anyway.' Of that there could be little doubt and within half an hour a boat danced across the water towards them.

  'Boat ahoy!'

  'Fisgard!' came the reply, and Drinkwater nodded to his first lieutenant.

  'Side-party, Mr Rogers.' He turned to Frey who was consulting his lists.

  'Captain Lord Mark Kerr, sir.'

  'Bloody hell,' muttered Rogers as he called out the marine guard and the white-gloved side-boys to rig their fancy baize-covered man-ropes. Captain Lord Kerr hauled himself energetically over the rail and seized Drinkwater's hand.

  'Drinkwater ain't it?'

  'Indeed sir,' said Drinkwater, meeting his lordship as an equal upon his own quarterdeck.

  'The damnedest thing, Drinkwater. Villeneuve's out!'

  'What?'

  Kerr nodded. 'I was refitting in Gib when he passed the Strait. I got out as soon as I could; sent my second luff up the Med to tell Nelson…'

  'You mean Nelson wasn't in pursuit?' Drinkwater interrupted.

  Kerr shook his head. 'No sign of him. I reckon he's off to the east again, just like the year one…'

  'East. Good God he should be going west. Doesn't he know Missiessy's at Martinique waiting for him?'

  'The devil he is!' exclaimed Kerr, digesting this news. 'I doubt Nelson knows of it. By God, that makes my haste the more necessary!'

  'What about Orde, for God's sake?'

  'He was victualling off Cadiz. Fell back when Villeneuve approached.'

  'God's bones!'

  Kerr came to a decision. In the circumstances it did not seem to matter which was the senior officer, they were both of one mind. 'I'm bound to let Calder know off Ferrol, and then to Cornwallis off Ushant. I daresay Billy-go-tight will send me on to the Admiralty.'

  'Billy's as
hore, now. Been relieved by Lord Gardner,' interrupted Drinkwater. 'And what d'you want me to do? Cruise down towards the Strait and hope that Nelson comes west?'

  Kerr nodded, already turning towards the rail. 'First rate, Drinkwater. He must realise his mistake soon, even if my lieutenant ain't caught up with him. The sooner Nelson knows that Missiessy's out as well, the sooner we might stop this rot from spreading.' He held out his hand and relaxed for an instant. 'When I think how we've striven to maintain this damned blockade, only to have it blown wide open by a minute's ill-fortune!'

  'My sentiments exactly. Good luck!' Drinkwater waved his hastening visitor over the side. Something of the urgency of Kerr's news had communicated itself to the ship, for Antigone was under way to the southward even before Kerr had reached Fisgard.

  As soon as Drinkwater had satisfied himself that Antigone set every inch of canvas she was capable of carrying, he called Rogers and Hill below, spreading his charts on the table before him. He outlined the situation and the import of his news struck home.

  'By God,' said Rogers, 'the Frogs could outflank us!' Drinkwater suppressed a smile. The very idea that they could be bested by a handful of impudent, frog-eating 'mounseers' seemed to strike Rogers with some force. His lack of imagination was, Drinkwater reflected, typical of his type. Hill, on the other hand, was more ruminative.

  'You say Nelson's gone east, sir, chasing the idea of a French threat to India again?'

  'Something of that order, Mr Hill.'

  'While in reality the West India interests will already be howling for Pitt's blood. Who's in the West Indies at the moment? Cochrane?'

  'And Dacres, with no more than a dozen of the line between them,' added Rogers.

  'If Missiessy and Villeneuve combine with whatever cruisers the French have already got out there, I believe that we may be in for a thin time. Meanwhile we have to edge down to the Strait. What strikes me as paramount is our need to tell Nelson what is happening. I dare not enter the Med for fear of missing him, so we must keep station off Cape Spartel until Nelson appears. He may then close on the Channel in good time if the French have to recross the Atlantic. If Gardner holds the Channel and Nelson cruises off the Orkneys, we may yet stop 'em.'

  'If not,' said Hill staring down at the chart, 'then God help us all.'

  'Amen to that,' said Drinkwater.

  They did not meet Orde but five days later they found his sloop Beagle cruising off Cape Spartel, having observed the passage of Villeneuve's fleet and now lying in wait for Nelson. From Beagle Drinkwater learned that Villeneuve had been reinforced by Spanish ships from Cadiz under Admiral Gravina and that Beagle had lost contact when the Combined Fleet headed west.

  'I knew it!' Drinkwater had muttered to himself when he learned this. He promptly ordered Beagle to rejoin Orde who was, he thought, falling back on the Channel to reinforce Lord Gardner. As Beagle's sails disappeared over the horizon to the north and the Atlas Mountains rose blue in the haze to the east, Drinkwater remarked to Quilhampton and Fraser:

  'There is nothing more we can do, gentlemen, until his lordship arrives.'

  During the first week of May the wind blew westerly through the Strait of Gibraltar, foul for Nelson slipping out into the Atlantic. Drinkwater decided to take advantage of it and enter the Strait. He was extremely anxious about the passage of time as day succeeded day and Nelson failed to appear. If there was no news of Nelson at Gibraltar, he reasoned, he could wait there and still catch his lordship. In addition Gibraltar might have news carried overland, despite the hostility of the Spanish.

  Off Tarifa they spoke to a Swedish merchant ship which had just left Gibraltar. There was no news of Nelson but much of a diplomatic nature. Russia was again the ally of Great Britain and Austria was dallying with Britain's overtures. However, there was an even more disturbing rumour that Admiral Ganteaume had sailed from Brest. That evening the wind fell light, then swung slowly into the east. At dawn the following day the topgallants of a fleet were to be seen, and at last Drinkwater breakfasted in the great cabin of Victory, in company with Lord Nelson.

  It was a hurried meal. Drinkwater told Nelson all he knew, invited to share the admiral's confidence as much for the news he brought as for the high regard Nelson held him in after his assistance at the battle of Copenhagen.

  'My dear Drinkwater, I have been in almost perpetual darkness as Hardy here will tell you. I had for some time considered the West Indies a likely rendezvous for the fleets of France and Spain. Would to God I had had some news. I have been four months, Drinkwater, without a word, four months with nothing from the Admiralty. They tell me Melville is out of office… My God, I hoped for news before now.' The admiral turned to his flag-captain. 'How far d'you think he's gone, Hardy?'

  'Villeneuve, my Lord?'

  'Who else, for God's sake!'

  Hardy seemed unmoved by his lordship's bile and raised his eyebrows reflectively, demonstrating a stolidity that contrasted oddly with the little admiral's feverish anxiety. 'He has a month's start. Even the French can cross the Atlantic in a month.'

  'A month. The capture of Jamaica would be a blow which Bonaparte would be happy to give us!'

  'Do you follow him there, my Lord?' Drinkwater asked.

  'I had marked the Toulon Fleet for my own game, Captain; you say Orde has fallen back from Cadiz?'

  'It seems so, my Lord.'

  'Then Gardner will not greatly benefit from my ships.' He paused in thought, then appeared to make up his mind. He suddenly smiled, his expression flooded with resolution. He whipped the napkin from his lap and flung it down on the table, like a gauntlet.

  'They're our game, Hardy, damn it. Perhaps none of us would wish exactly for a West India trip; but the call of our country is far superior to any consideration of self. Let us try and bag Villeneuve before he does too much damage, eh gentlemen?'

  'And the Mediterranean, my Lord?' asked Hardy.

  'Sir Richard Bickerton, Tom, we'll leave him behind to guard the empty stable and watch Salcedo's Dons in Cartagena.' Nelson raised his coffee cup and they toasted the enterprise.

  'You may keep us company to Cadiz, Captain, I shall look in there and see what Orde is about before I sail west.'

  Orde was not off Cadiz, but his storeships were, and Nelson plundered them freely in Lagos Bay. Then intelligence reached the British fleet from Admiral Donald Campbell in the Portuguese Navy that confirmed Drinkwater's information. Campbell also brought the news that a British military expedition with a very weak escort under Admiral Knight was leaving Lisbon, bound into the Mediterranean. Nelson therefore ordered his foulest-bottomed battleship, the Royal Sovereign, together with the frigate Antigone, to see the fleet of transports clear of the Strait of Gibraltar.

  Thus it was with something of a sense of anti-climax and of belonging to a mere side-show that Antigone's log for the evening of 11th May 1805 read: Bore away in company R-Ad Knight's convoy. Cape St Vincent NW by N distant 7 leagues. Parted company Lord Nelson. Lord Nelson's fleet chasing to the westward.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Calder's Action

  May-July 1805

  'Fog, sir.'

  'So I see.' Captain Drinkwater nodded to Lieutenant Quilhampton as he came on deck and stared round the horizon. The calm weather of the last few days had now turned cooler; what had first been a haze had thickened to mist and now to fog. 'Take the topsails off her, Mr Q. No point in chafing the gear to pieces.' So, her sails furled and her rigging dripping, Antigone lay like a log upon the vast expanse of the Atlantic which heaved gently to a low ground swell that told of a distant wind but only seemed to emphasise their own immobility.

  Captain and third lieutenant fell to a companionable pacing of the deck, discussing the internal details of the ship.

  'Purser reported another rotten cask of pork, sir.'

  'From the batch shipped aboard off Ushant?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'That makes seven.' Drinkwater cursed inwardly. He had been delighte
d to have been victualled and watered off Ushant after returning from the Strait of Gibraltar and Admiral Knight's convoy. Lord Gardner had been particular to ensure that all the cruising frigates were kept well stocked, but if they found many more bad casks of meat then his lordship's concern might be misplaced.

  'I was just wondering, sir,' said Quilhampton conversationally, 'whether I'd rather be here than off Cadiz with Collingwood. Which station offers the best chance of action?'

  'Difficult to say, James,' said Drinkwater, dropping their usual professional formality. 'When Gardner detached Collingwood to blockade Cadiz it was because he thought that Villeneuve and Gravina might have already returned there. When the report proved false, Collingwood sent two battleships west to reinforce Nelson and returned us to Calder. Opinion seems to incline towards keeping as many ships to the westward of the Bay of Biscay as possible. Prowse of Sirius told me the other day that both Calder and the Ushant squadron have virtually raised their separate blockades and are edging westwards in the hope of catching Villeneuve.'

  'D'you think it will affect us, sir?'

  Drinkwater shrugged. 'Not if my theory is right. Villeneuve will head more to the north and pass round Scotland. Besides, we don't know if Nelson caught up with him. Perhaps there has already been a battle in the West Indies.' He paused. 'What is it, James?'

  Quilhampton frowned. 'I thought I heard… no, it's nothing. Wait! There it is again!'

  Both men paused. As they listened the creaking of Antigone's gear seemed preternaturally loud. 'Gunfire!'

  'Wait!' Drinkwater laid his hand on Quilhampton's arm. 'Wait and listen.' Both men leaned over the rail, to catch the sound nearer the water, unobstructed by the noises of the ship. The single concussion came again, followed at intervals by others. 'Those are minute guns, James! And since we know the whereabouts of Calder…'