Flashman and the Emperor

by Robert Brightwell

  Initially, they were quite enthusiastic at the chance of fighting the representatives of their former masters, but as the days passed this had waned. The drills were getting slovenly and increasingly, hostile glances were being directed at me. In the army, I would have threatened some with a flogging, but as they were still protected to the degree that they would not clean their quarters, this was out of the question. The marines were not the only ones to feel a growing discontent with our lack of activity. Word had come from Morro de São Paulo at the end of the first week of our blockade that the fire ships were now completely full of kindling and ready for use. Everyone had expected Cochrane to order the attack, but instead he remained strangely passive, ordering the blockade to continue. It was most unlike him. His crew, and even some of his officers, were now champing at the bit to be at the enemy.

  “I don’t understand it,” complained Crosbie when we were alone. “We know where their vessels are and if we got even half of our fire ships among them in that enclosed anchorage we could destroy their whole fleet. They could cut their cables to try to escape but they would have nowhere to go with us guarding the entrance. Yet every day we wait gives them more time to extend the batteries at the harbour mouth and construct other defences.”

  Personally, I was happy to continue this peaceful cruise for as long as it took, for I did not relish the prospect of going near that bay again. Crosbie was right, they would be building defences, and I was anxious not to be close at hand if we needed to fight our way through them. But I had a growing feeling that this would not be necessary. I had kept my thoughts to myself until one of the Brazilian officers had the nerve to suggest to a friend that perhaps Cochrane was losing his nerve. By then I had picked up enough Portuguese to understand the fellow and I rounded on him in English so that Crosbie, who was also nearby, could understand.

  “How dare you suggest such a thing,” I raged at the lieutenant, who looked horrified that I had understood him. Having had a mutiny among the Portuguese crew, I was damned if I was going to risk dissent growing among the Brazilians. “The admiral has been outwitting his enemies at sea since you were in your cradle. I have known him for over twenty years and I can promise you this: if he is not attacking he has a good reason.” I took a breath to appear to calm myself before continuing. “You have seen him pacing the deck and studying the shore with his glass. He is planning and scheming something, I would bet my pension on it.” I jabbed my finger at the man, “Unlike you, laddie, he thinks several moves ahead and he will be calculating how he can preserve your precious skin while also beating his enemies. So consider that before you start impugning his reputation.”

  As I had expected, the insolent fool was profuse with his apologies. He was probably afraid I would report his words to the admiral and he would be broken down to a common seaman as a result. He went away under the stern glare of Crosbie and myself, insisting that he meant no offence and that he had every confidence in Cochrane.

  “He is probably only saying what the others are thinking,” muttered Crosbie as the man went down onto the main deck. “The Brazilians do not know our admiral as well as we who have seen him in other conflicts.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Crosbie give me a sidelong glance as I watched the retreating Brazilian and could guess what would follow. “I say, Flashman,” he murmured, “do you have any idea what he is planning to do?”

  “Not the faintest idea,” I assured him blithely. “But I do know this: when Cochrane goes quiet and starts pacing the deck lost in thought, it is time for his enemies to watch out.” I left him then and went down to the main deck, where I could see Mallee sharpening his bayonet on a stone by the rail. He was standing near the recently chastened lieutenant, who was now loudly telling all who would listen that he was sure our commander was about to announce a plan for a stunning victory.

  “So, are we still changing the country?” Mallee asked while gesturing over his shoulder at the lieutenant. The marine now wore a sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve. I’d had to promote one of them and Mallee seemed to command the respect of the rest. He was also the most likely to speak up, even if often I did not want to hear it.

  “So are we still changing the country, sir,” I reprimanded although I rarely heard the honorific from this proud man. “And you should insist that the men call you Sergeant as well, by the way.”

  “And will all that and the saluting beat the Portuguese?” the man persisted. I glared at him with a raised eyebrow until eventually he grudgingly added, “Sir”.

  I pointed at the distant shore. “There are said to be three thousand trained Portuguese troops over there and thirty poorly trained marines on this ship. You, more than anyone, should be grateful that the admiral is sailing around in circles out here rather than doing anything rash.”

  “But you promised that he would make a difference.” Mallee glared at me resentfully. “We could have stayed with the others at Morro de São Paulo, but we volunteered to come on the ship because we thought we could change this country. But now nothing is changing.”

  I was about to reply when a movement near the shore caught my eye. I pulled out my glass and focused it on the harbour entrance. Sure enough, a small sail had appeared there. A familiar yellow sail. “Well,” I told Mallee. “If you’re hoping for change, your wishes might just have been answered.”

  It took two hours for the little fishing boat, tacking against the wind, to make it out to the Emperor. Cochrane came up on deck to watch its progress and then left orders for Crosbie and me to bring Costa down to his cabin as soon as he was aboard. The man himself appeared shiftier than normal when he finally climbed up the ship’s side. He glanced furtively back at the shore and, not for the first time, I wondered if he was here acting more as an agent for the Portuguese than as a spy for us. If the latter, then the Portuguese would certainly have seen him sail out this time. They had made no effort to stop the fisherman, although his boat could sail closer to the wind than a square-rigged ship. They might have also worried about the Emperor intervening in a pursuit.

  Costa had a sheaf of papers in his hand and immediately asked to speak to Cochrane, as he could not see the admiral on deck. We took him below and found Cochrane sitting behind his mahogany desk in the main cabin. He was measuring distances with dividers on a chart, an act that I was sure was posed for our visitor’s benefit.

  “So, Señor Costa, what news do you have for me?”

  Our visitor’s face split into what looked like a very forced grin as he brandished the papers he held and announced, “I have great news, Admiral. The Portuguese are abandoning Salvador to the forces of the emperor. It is a victory for you, sir, a great victory for your fleet.”

  “Good grief!” exclaimed Crosbie. “I was not expecting that.”

  “I was,” countered Cochrane calmly. “Think about it; their admiral must have been telling the governor terrible tales about what we could do with fire ships in order to justify hiding their fleet and merchant ships in that hidden bay. They probably barricaded themselves in after our visit, but when we did not attack they had nowhere to go. The merchants would have been furious that their ships were bottled up instead of being escorted home. Until their vessels reach Lisbon neither they nor the government will see any profits.”

  Costa’s shoulders seemed to relax as Cochrane accepted what he was told, but I was too much a hard-bitten cynic to take things at face value. “But to abandon the second largest city in Brazil with barely a shot fired in anger? Surely, they would not do it. Their admiral would be ruined when they got back to Lisbon. No, I don’t buy it,” I protested. “It’s a trick, it has to be.”

  “See here,” interrupted Costa. He was nervous again now and he thrust towards me one of the papers he was carrying and put the rest on the table for Cochrane. “This is a declaration from the governor of Bahia Province from his palace in Salvador. It has been posted all over the city.”

  Well it looked genuine, there was even a rip at the top where it had bee
n torn from a nail and the printed document carried the city crest at the top.

  “What does it say, Flashman?” asked Cochrane impatiently as I scanned through the words and tried to cudgel my wits for the translation.

  “It talks about the city being in crisis due to the shortage of provisions... There’s a bit in the middle talking about sacrifice that I do not quite understand… but yes, here at the bottom it says that they are abandoning the city and that many of the citizens may want to leave too.”

  “See? It is true,” confirmed Costa. “And look here, this is a copy of the Bahia Gazette that talks of the governor’s announcement.” The fisherman passed me the day-old newspaper and I quickly read the article he had pointed out. The writer was far less diplomatic than the governor. He painted a picture of panic and terror spreading across the city, protesting that the city would be left without protectors and that the families of soldiers, sailors and other citizens would be left as prey to the mercies of the invader.

  “It says here that the army is embarking on the ships too,” I confirmed.

  “Of course, señor,” agreed Costa. “The navy, the army, all of the leading citizens, they are all abandoning the city to give you a great victory. The wharves of the city are now lined with ships that are being filled with soldiers and civilians, while the merchants are loading their cargos bound for Portugal. They plan to sail within the next two days.”

  “Are they seeking safe passage through my fleet?” asked Cochrane.

  Costa seemed surprised at the question. “They do not think that they need it, señor; you have just one ship here and they have nearly a hundred vessels. You will have captured Salvador, surely that is victory enough?”

  “No,” insisted Cochrane calmly. “I will not rest until all of Brazil is under the rule of the emperor. I will give you some letters for the governor and people of Salvador. I don’t want to fight civilians, but I must warn them that if they are aboard ships that do not surrender promptly when called upon, they will be liable to attack.”

  “But señor,” Costa protested. You cannot possibly hope to take possession of Salvador and capture the entire Portuguese fleet with just one ship.”

  Cochrane glanced at Crosbie and me. “Gentlemen, if you would take our visitor back on deck while I write my letters, I will join you shortly.” We escorted the still-protesting Costa up the companionway to emerge into the sunlight. We left him on one side of the quarterdeck while we went to talk privately on the opposite side of the ship.

  “Do you think Costa was sent here by the Portuguese?” Crosbie asked.

  “I’m sure he was,” I replied. “He did not baulk when Cochrane said he was sending him back with messages; he certainly did not fear arrest for passing information to us.”

  “So why would the Portuguese warn us of their escape?” queried the flag captain.

  “They must be worried that if we learn their ships are in the main harbour we will send our fire vessels in while they are being loaded,” I suggested. “They want us to know that we will get the prize of Bahia without it being necessary to attack the port.” I peered over my shoulder and added, “Watch out, Costa is coming this way.” The fisherman had started to sidle over to our side of the deck, clearly intent on eavesdropping on our conversation.

  So we stood in silence for several minutes, staring out to sea, until Cochrane emerged onto the quarterdeck. He handed the fisherman a package of letters and sent him on his way. Then he joined us at the rail as we watched Costa being rowed back to his boat.

  “If their entire fleet is at the wharves of the main harbour,” suggested Crosbie quietly, “we could send the fire ships in tonight. Civilians and others would have time to escape down gangplanks or into boats before they arrive.” His eyes gleamed with excitement as he pictured the scene. “We could destroy dozens of their ships at negligible risk to ourselves. Those that were left would soon surrender.”

  “No,” replied Cochrane. “I want their whole fleet to sail unharmed from the city.” Crosbie’s face did not hide his disappointment at what he evidently thought was a missed golden opportunity and so Cochrane continued. “If we destroy their ships in the harbour we trap three thousand well-trained soldiers, who will need to be defeated.” He looked at me and grinned. “A challenge that is a little beyond the capabilities of your marines.”

  “So, we let them escape,” concluded Crosbie.

  Cochrane’s head jerked around as he stared in surprise at his subordinate. “Escape? God no. Once they are out at sea, they are in our domain. Then we will beat them all.”

  Chapter 22

  The Portuguese ships emerged from the Salvador River mouth on the second of July 1823. I doubt that there had been a sight like it since Drake first laid eyes on the Spanish Armada in the days of Good Queen Bess. They seemed endless in number, a veritable swarm of vessels, crowding about and getting in each other’s way.

  The Portuguese admiral’s flagship had led the exodus, with several of his frigates in close attendance. He had initially headed in our direction, but Cochrane gave orders for us to steer away to give them more room. I suspected that the move gave the Portuguese admiral more confidence in the protection that this great mass of shipping provided. I could even imagine him mocking Cochrane’s assumption that they would need his agreement to their safe passage. If he was, then it was a mistake, for Cochrane had been busy since his visit from our fisherman friend.

  As soon as Costa was on his way back to shore, Cochrane had given orders to return to Morro de São Paulo. Once there, he had abandoned his fire ships. He then sent the corvette Liberal back to Rio with the news that the Portuguese were abandoning Bahia Province. Only the Maria da Glória had been ready to return with us to resume the blockade of Salvador. Of the two frigates, the Carolina was in the process of replacing its topmast, while Cochrane ordered the Nitherohy to take on more stores. He wanted the frigate to be ready to chase the Portuguese as far as possible across the Atlantic. Both vessels were ordered to re-join him off Salvador no later than the third of July.

  So it was just the Maria da Glória and the Emperor on station when the Portuguese emerged. We stayed several miles to the south and, like a cat watching a plague of mice, waited for our moment. It was mid-afternoon before they were all out of the estuary and in some kind of order. The Portuguese admiral had apparently now dismissed us as a threat and was leading this great floating procession, while various of his smaller ships guarded the flanks. But theirs was a hopeless task, for the vessels straggled out over several miles. There were all types of ship, from sleek, fast clippers to wide-bellied merchants and they were heading into the easterly wind with varying degrees of success. Already one old merchant ship had fallen a quarter of a mile behind the rest. It had been one of the last out of the harbour and was low in the water. Through a glass, you could see the pumps already working hard.

  “That one will struggle to stay afloat more than a few days,” scoffed Crosbie pointing at it. “It will be a kindness to capture it and send it back.”

  “How many of their ships do you think we will be able to capture?” I asked him. “I suppose we cannot lose too many men in prize crews in case their admiral finds his balls and decides to make a fight of it. We will need men to work the guns.”

  Crosbie glanced across at Cochrane, who showed no inclination to answer and was still studying the enemy fleet through his glass. “If we capture some early on we might be able to get the crews back on a fast ship and use them again to take more vessels,” the flag captain suggested.

  “I think we will need to be more creative than that,” interrupted Cochrane at last. “I want to capture every ship we come across, but I don’t want to give up any of my crew to man prizes.”

  “But that is impossible,” I protested. “You can hardly expect the Portuguese to sail where they are told if they do not have a prize crew on board. As soon as we are out of sight they will put about and go back to their original course.”

  “
We could cut down their mizzen masts,” suggested Crosbie. “Without their mizzen sails, they will struggle to sail close to the wind.” I stared aloft; the main and fore masts had square-rigged sails that pulled the ship forward, but the mizzen sail ran fore and aft, to harness winds from the side of the ship

  “Yes, that is what I was thinking,” agreed Cochrane. “A few may manage to jury rig some mizzen sails on their other masts, but they will be slow and ungainly.”

  “And what if the wind direction changes?” I asked.

  “It comes invariably from the east in these parts,” Crosbie assured me. “So without mizzen sails, they will be blown back to the coast.”

  “But Flashman is right,” Cochrane interrupted. “We need to be sure that they will sail in the direction we order. I don’t want to capture the same ship twice. Perhaps as well as cutting down the mizzen, we should also stove in their water barrels so that they only have just enough to get back to shore. That will give them no choice but to return to the coast.”

  “But hang on,” I protested as this all seemed to be getting out of hand. “I thought we were holding off attacking the Portuguese because we wanted them to leave Bahia. Now it seems you are scheming to send them back to the province.”