“Not a lot. I wish I had a tug captain’s experience.”
He watched as Farley’s paddle wheels reversed with little effect except to spread mud and sand around the stern. Then he saw the two paddle-wheels stop and start again in opposite directions. The Regent crabbed sideways a fathom or two. Farley stopped the paddles and then repeated the manoeuvre with them in the other directions. Regent backed a little more.
After two more manoeuvres, the ship came free. The Regent tested another channel and they were soon moving again.
Another storm came across the water as they steamed down the south trending channel, and both ships reduced speed to wait for visibility to clear. They now barely had steerage way and hardly moved through the water. When they could see along the waterway again, they saw the smoke of a steamship.
It was the French ironclad, no more than a mile away, also waiting for the storm to clear.
Worthington immediately set the engine room telegraph to “full speed ahead” and called on the voice pipe for maximum steam pressure. “The Frenchman is here, no more than eight cables distant.” He had the bosun pipe the crew to Quarters.
His antagonist also called for more steam, the great clouds of black smoke coming from the funnels told him. Farley in the Regent steered clear to allow Antiochus to pass, as had been discussed before. While he had to watch the enemy start to move, he had nothing to do until Lady Bond gave him the engines at full ahead. He knew that sometimes a wait to build steam pressure would give more speed in the long run. The wait allowed him time to point his telescope at the enemy and study its features that he had not seen during his previous actions. He noted that everything was doubled―two hulls, two sets of masts, two funnels, but no sight of the paddlewheels hidden between the hulls.
He also noticed the full sails being raised on a schooner just astern of it. That must be the Susquehannah, the ship carrying their quarry.
At last he felt the paddlewheels turn, and the quartermaster at the wheel nodded that he could feel the pressure of the water through the rudder―he was able to steer. He ordered a course that aimed directly at the Frenchman amidships as they increased speed . . . two knots . . . three knots . . . four.
The Frenchman, whose ship had been almost bow on to him, now turned to clear the lines of sight for his broadside guns.
Antiochus was now steaming at six knots, and the distance between them was down to half a mile. The enemy’s broadside vanished in smoke as his guns fired. They could hardly miss at this distance.
Worthington ordered another adjustment of the course to follow the turn of the ironclad. The enemy fire reached them with crashes on the iron hull like hailstones from Hell. He ignored them and continued to keep his eyes on the place on the enemy hull he had chosen for his target.
He sent his lieutenants into the conning tower. “If I am hit, keep your eyes on the base of his mainmast and steam right at it.”
They had a good seven knots when the next broadside of the Frenchman came―more ragged than the first, with several balls splashing into the water. Just two cable’s lengths now . . . the Frenchman tried to speed clear.
“No you don’t, my hearty,” Worthington said as he gave the quartermaster another course adjustment. His four bow 32 pounders fired once.
At last the Frenchman must have seen his peril. He attempted to turn away, but it was too late.
Cannon shots sounded as the two hulls came together, but nothing else rivalled the crash of splintering timbers as Antiochus’ ram bit deep into the wooden hull beneath the iron. The French ship rolled away from them with the impact, and the ram continued to bite deeper. The nearest mainmast tottered as its seating in the hull came apart. The chaos within as everything within the crumpling hulls came loose must have reached a boiler and its plates given way under trapped steam pressure. The hull that had rolled away from them now began to fall back into the water.
He did not know if he had signalled “stop” on the telegraph but now he rang for “full speed astern”. He stood waiting for the paddles to answer and realized the job the Admiralty had given him was done. All he must do now was to extricate his ship from the sinking wreck and ensure no enemy still threatened.
He barely thought about the possibility of boarders, but when he looked down at the main deck he saw Lieutenant Bright standing below gesticulating. “Stay back,” Worthington shouted. “Let the 4 pounders have a clear field of fire.” Then he looked at the French ship, its hull now beginning to roll toward them as it searched for the bottom. Unsecured cannon with helpless men around them rolled out of the shattered hull into the sea.
As Antiochus gradually forced its way clear he had time to look back down the Westerschelde. The American schooner was under full sail, speeding away. Lieutenant Farley in the Regent had attempted to change direction to pursue but had encountered a mudbank again. He was in the process of backing into deeper water.
“Damn.” Should he go after the Susquehannah or stay beside the Frenchman until its captain hauled down their colours?
Chapter Forty-seven
It all Comes Down to Roberta
Roberta was anxious to go up to the weather deck and see the effect of her Antiochus on the French ship once the bridge telegraphed “stop” and Captain Worthington spoke to her on the voice tube.
“I am having reports from all the divisions, Roberta, please inspect all your crew for injuries.”
“I have, Captain. I have one engine-room rating burned when the shock of our collision threw him against a hot cylinder. Do we have others?”
“One marine gunner killed and three injured when a cannonball entered the starboard 32 pounder casemate. There may be more injuries from men not properly braced when we hit, and we may yet pick up French wounded from the water.”
“Is it possible for me to come up on deck now, or will you need the engines? I really need to see the effect of our ram.”
“I thought you would. I have ordered the deck officers to heave-to half a cable from the wreck.”
When she reached the weather deck, she looked downstream where the Regent was making all steam to overcome the schooner’s head start. To her eyes the thunder clouds and winds were driving the Susquehannah at well over ten knots, but its passengers and crew were certain to find themselves in sight of the Bellerophon before reaching the open sea.
She turned her head to look at the ironclad. The smashed hull on the starboard side was under water with the other floating against it with a heavy list, still attached to the ruins. Smashed and fallen masts and yards lay strewn across the decks. As she had anticipated, the iron girders joining the two hulls appeared to have held the load, but the iron sticking up from the sunken wreck told her the fastenings to the wooden hulls had failed. The remains of that ship were never going anywhere.
Four or five ship’s boats were in the water around it, picking up crewmen in the water and taking them to the floating hull. The smoke from one funnel revealed that one of its boilers was still working―she could hear a steam pump within the hull sending the water flooding through the damage being shipped out overside.
Captain Worthington joined her. “I think they can look after themselves if we leave.”
“You will not take the enemy captain’s sword?”
He looked over at the wreckage. “I hardly think it necessary, there is nothing left to fly his colours from. These people can look after their own rescue, and I am anxious to give chase to the schooner.”
“Just give me the word and I will have steam for you in minutes.”
By sundown, they found the Bellerophon, the Astrea, the Regent, and the Susquehannah anchored off Neuzen. The Bellerophon raised a signal for all officers to come aboard as soon as Antiochus joined them, and Maitland sent a boat of his own to fetch Worthington and Roberta.
He received them in his day cabin and introduced them to Watson, a Marine lieutenant. “My First Lieutenant is aboard the American ship at this moment, but he has sent Watson back becaus
e of some problem. Please tell them, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, Captain. The ship’s master and the gentleman himself say the craft is chartered by the King of Spain and his entourage only, bound for America. The Master says we are breaking international law by hindering their right of passage.”
Maitland shook his head. “Our orders say nothing about the King of Spain―Napoleon’s elder brother Joseph, I am told. None of the allied countries have ordered him to be arrested. I rather think we have no right to do more than stop and inspect―but I smell a rat.”
“Indeed, Captain,” Roberta said. “Why would the King of Spain receive the protection of France’s most powerful battleship?”
“Indeed, Lady Bond, my own thought exactly. But I am given to understand that you have met the Emperor Napoleon. Would you recognize him again?”
“I most certainly would, Captain.”
“Fine. Then would you accompany we three Captains to the American ship?”
“Three captains?” Captain Worthington said.
“Yes. I want ranking witnesses for everything we might find necessary to do when we get there.”
When Roberta arrived aboard the Susquehannah, she was escorted to the passenger deck and stationed between two large marines. “I shall ensure you see all of the French detainees,” Maitland said, “but I think it best if they are not introduced to you.”
A large group of men and women were brought in, and the captains were soon in discussion with several men in military uniforms bedecked with medals. The most important among them was addressed as “Your Majesty”, and he certainly had a Bonaparte face and carriage, but he was not Napoleon.
Maitland came close to her. “No, Captain, this is not the Emperor,” she said. “He very likely is Joseph.”
Maitland went back to the others, and the discussion became more heated―in several different languages. It seemed that among the King of Spain’s effects were several chests of jewels emblazoned with Spanish crests. They all disputed the Navy’s right to inspect them.
Maitland and the other captains withdrew for a discussion, and while they were out of the cabin, a new man joined King Joseph in conversation, standing with his back to Roberta. This man turned away as soon as the British officers opened the cabin door to return.
Before he could leave the cabin, Roberta instructed the sergeant of the Marines to stop him. Some dispute ensued and no less than three field marshals confronted the abashed sergeant.
“What is all this?” Captain Maitland demanded.
Roberta answered. “Would you permit me to come closer to the gentleman in the middle of this confrontation, Sir?”
The man himself turned. “I think that will not be necessary,” he said in French. “So, Madame Américaine, do you intend to ruin my plans again?”
“I am afraid I must, Your Majesty,” she answered. She turned to the British captains and addressed Maitland. “Now, Sir, I believe our confusion may be dispelled―this is the Emperor Napoleon.”
Napoleon shook his head. “No more, I say. I believe the title of Primiere Consul of the Republique is all that is left to me. And who are you, My Lady, who is most certainly not Américaine?”
Roberta had to pause. Who was she at this moment? Should she answer to the title bestowed by her marriage or had it been annulled? “I am the daughter of Mr. George Stephenson, the designer of railways. I am the manager and chief engineer of his steamship yard on the River Clyde. Last year I was the spy who uncovered the secrets of your steamships.”
Napoleon’s discovery did not end the discussions aboard the Susquehannah. Napoleon and his entourage―most of the passengers aboard―were desperate to learn what Britain would do with them if they gave themselves up.
Captain Maitland was somewhat equivocal. “Our orders are to secure the person of the late Emperor and to bring him to England, but they say nothing of the British Government’s intentions. I am to inform you that if you offer to surrender yourself on terms, the Government will not allow you to enter the country before such terms are agreed.”
“But a surrender upon terms means that Britain will protect the person?” Napoleon asked.
“Yes.”
Count Bertrand spoke. “And will that also be applicable to his entourage?”
“I understand so. All of you who come to Britain aboard the Bellerophon will be under the Government’s intention that the person shall be protected.”
The French party was not pleased with what they were offered but in their circumstances could demand no other. Only the position of Joseph Bonaparte was better―they had no reason to prevent him, his people, whatever was in the crest emblazoned caskets and baggage, from continuing their voyage to America in the morning.
It was late when Roberta and Captain Worthington returned to the Antiochus. They stood on the weather deck looking at the small flotilla anchored in company and protected by night sentries rowing around them in ships’ boats. The afternoon storms had ended, and the moon was sometimes visible through light scudding clouds.
“The war is over,” Worthington observed. “The Admiralty will have little interest in us when peace is declared.”
“I know,” she said, “but the yard still has one spiteful to complete with Archimedean screw propellers, and there is still the prospect of the steamship for the Black Ball Line.”
He looked at her. “Why did you introduce yourself to Napoleon that way?”
“Because I will not know who I am until I learn the decision of the Bishop’s Court―and also that it was only when Napoleon asked me that I remembered I had not opened the second letter I received from the mailbag on Bellerophon.”
“Will you open it now?”
“I must, but . . .” She laid a hand on his arm. “I am frightened at what it may not say.”
“No, I believe you may be apprehensive, but I do not credit your fear. Come over to this lantern.”
Roberta’s hands trembled as she withdrew the letter and looked at it. The original writer’s address had been covered or lost. She ripped open the folds of paper and read.
“What does it say?” Worthington asked.
She held it out to him and spoke the words. “The salutation is to Miss Roberta Stephenson. The letter is very short—‘you have your freedom. May the Good Lord be with you’. It is signed ‘T’.”
“Just, T?”
“For Tiverton. It is the Marquess’ signature.” She looked into his face. “Oh Alfred, my marriage is over. I am a free woman again.”
After a long and frustrating day, Lord Bond was hard put to maintain a neutral face for the man who sat in the chair he had lately occupied as Chargé d’Affaires in the well found and comfortable office he had spent good money of his own in equipping. He sat in the smaller chair before the desk, held his tongue, and nodded as Marie-Sophie put a commiserating hand on his arm.
The man seemed to delight in his words. “Yes, My Lord. I see your difficulty, but the Countess is not a British subject. I really do not see what I might do to help you.”
Bond regarded Lord Fauntleroy, his replacement in Paris and the new ambassador to be, with a jaundiced eye. Why would Lord Liverpool send this fop, above all others, to him? It would not have mattered so much if he had known of the problem that would descend upon them while he was in that seat and might act with authority. He looked at Marie. “I suggest we look at the other option, my Dear. We will get you out of France one way or another.”
He had started the previous day with Fouché, who also must have taken great delight in refusing to see him about the matter. He had merely directed them to apply to some lesser official, knowing that they would all be replaced in a week or so, and the whole process started again. No doubt a deliberate snub intended as a measure of revenge for the spying a year ago.
Going back to the source of the problem, they had been astounded to find trouble in the very place he had expected their supplication to be easiest. The courtier assigned to such matters as recognizing t
he rights of nobility in the Count of Provence’s household―the Count being none other than the future King Louis XVIII―had recalled some dispute concerning the widow’s husband.
“Did your husband not leave Britain as a supporter of the Corsican, Countess?”
“Hardly a supporter, Monseigneur,” she replied. “He had the intention of using the influence of some man within the administration of the Consulate to recover some of our lost estates.”
“But you were both living in Britain as émigrés at the time. To leave the place where you were safe under agreements between the Royalty of France and the British Crown and to return to France under the Consulate was a treason in the eyes of the French Crown.”
“Am I then, condemned to be considered as an enemy of my country, Monseigneur?” she asked in a soft voice.
“No. Of course not. But the investigation to clear you of wrongdoing may take some little time. I can add your situation to my dossier and inform you when you may be called to testify.”
Bond and Marie regarded one another silently. Bond was not beaten yet, he determined, but time was of the essence, and his only option would also bring a raft of problems with it.
Chapter Forty-eight
New Beginnings in the Low Countries
When Napoleon was captured and the Duke of Wellington’s troops entered Antwerp, the lawlessness was soon ended and the business of the city began again. The Antiochus had remained moored off Neuzen until the military situation on shore was settled, and then new orders arrived directly from the Admiralty.
Roberta sat in a celebration dinner with the officers in Captain Worthington’s private day cabin when the orders were received. Everyone watched her open the dispatch he handed her.
She read it in silence but then looked around the table with a great smile. “I might suggest that these orders are primarily for the Captain and I . . . but you are all needed to come with us.”
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