Flashman and the Emperor

by Robert Brightwell

  “Well we keep those,” replied Cochrane, grinning. “I am planning to pursue them with just the Emperor.”

  “Just one ship against their entire fleet? Are you mad?” I was horrified at the idea. “Good God, man, have you forgotten how they nearly destroyed us in that first engagement? Now you are suggesting that we can take on even more ships by ourselves.”

  Cochrane laughed. “Calm yourself, Thomas. Have I ever led you into an impossible situation?”

  “Well yes, now you mention it. The Gamo and a nest of Algerian pirates spring to mind amongst others.” Those memories sent a shiver down my spine. Just a few minutes before we had all been getting rich with little to no risk. Now having just got myself solvent again, I wondered if I would live long enough to collect my ill-gotten gains. That was the trouble with a friend like Cochrane: you never knew when they would come up with another creative idea for getting you killed. “Look,” I reasoned. “Even if they do land further up the coast, they will be no better off than they were in Salvador. You can blockade them in and we could send a vessel to collect the fire ships from Morro de São Paulo and burn the perishers in their new hiding place. You will have time then to re-gather your frigates as well. There is no need to head them off at sea, especially with just one ship.”

  Cochrane considered this for a moment. “You are right, Thomas, but I never intended to attack their whole fleet single-handed. We will just nibble away at it one ship at a time. It’s the troop transports I really want. If we can capture those at sea, we can disarm whole regiments while they are powerless under our guns. You know that the emperor has few trained soldiers. If we can force the Portuguese to return some of theirs home, it will make the emperor’s work much easier.”

  I had almost forgotten my meeting with the young emperor. All I had been focusing on was surviving this latest adventure and if possible getting rich in the process. But I remembered that Cochrane was as much a politician as he was a naval commander. He was passionately committed to the causes of liberty and freedom and it was clear that he was still fired up by the emperor’s ideals. “So what are you going to do?” I asked, wondering if there was still time to make an excuse and jump ship.

  In the end, none of the options to change ships was appealing. Cochrane ordered the Maria da Glória and the Carolina to return to Salvador with the prizes and take possession of the city for the emperor. With boatloads of Portuguese sympathisers in company, not to mention those left in Bahia, keeping the province subdued was likely to be a precarious business. In addition, there were imperial militia on the outskirts of the city that would also be intending to capture it now that the army had withdrawn. On the other hand, Captain Taylor in the Nitherohy was ordered to continue to take prizes and harass the merchant fleet for as long as he could. He had the Colonel Allen in support, but there were still well over forty merchant ships now spreading out for safety over the Atlantic. Pursuing them also seemed a tall order. But Taylor was delighted when he visited the flagship to receive his orders and it is only fair to record that he did an outstanding job. He chased the Portuguese fleet clear across the ocean and having ordered the crews into their boats, he burned his last four prizes in the mouth of the river Tagus, within sight of the shocked residents of Lisbon.

  It seemed that once more I would have to put my faith in Cochrane in the hope that his cunning and skill at sea would outweigh the risk that he would be tempted into some reckless action on behalf of his emperor. Call me a naïve fool, but I honestly thought I had persuaded him to play a waiting game and to regroup his fleet and fire ships if the enemy went to ground in some new harbour. At most I thought we might capture the odd troop ship, but in the lee of our guns they would put up little resistance. How was I to know that I was soon to be involved in one of the most audacious deceptions since a wooden horse was rolled into the ancient city of Troy.

  Chapter 24

  That evening, as the rest of the fleet sailed off in accordance with their new orders, Cochrane raised more sail in the Emperor and set off after the Portuguese vanguard. Several times we passed within hailing distance of merchant ships that were valiantly trying to follow their admiral in the futile hope of protection. There was shouts and yells as we came looming out of the darkness, two even heaved to in anticipation of capture. They must have been relieved and no doubt puzzled to see us press on without making any effort to seize them. They were not the only ones; there were mumblings of discontent from the crew too, who stood to earn a share of all the ships captured in their prize money. Even Crosbie, who I gathered was not a wealthy man, came as close as I ever saw to criticising his admiral.

  “The cargo on some of these merchant ships is worth a fortune,” he complained as another plump vessel ripe for the taking fell astern. “Taxes on them when they reach Lisbon will fund their government and help the fight against the emperor.”

  “That is why Cochrane has sent the Nitherohy to capture as many as it can,” I pointed out. “But if he is right and they are going to land troops up the coast, we are going to need to know where.”

  “Yes, but he thinks we will be able to blockade their fleet with just our one ship,” continued Crosbie. “That might have worked in Salvador where the admiral had a huge merchant fleet to guard as well, but it will not work in the new anchorage. Once the troops are ashore there will be nothing to stop his whole fleet coming for us. Thirteen ships against one, possibly more if the armed transports join in. I know we can beat all but the flagship easily one to one, but if they get us cornered against the coast we will not stand a chance.”

  “Well you are a real ray of sunshine this evening,” I said giving him what was probably a rather wan smile. I had just about convinced myself that Cochrane knew what he was doing and now this fellow was filling my mind with all sorts of horrors. I generally needed no help in that – I had been a master of poltroonery since before Crosbie was born. The sickening thing was that I could see he had a point; he was no novice in naval affairs having served for years in the Royal Navy before joining Cochrane in Chile. I had visions of us being trapped against some savage shore. The choices then would be bleak: death in battle, drowning at sea or the trials of trying to survive in some hostile jungle. I envied Jackson then, who was still safely in Rio going through Cochrane’s papers. I might soon be finding out first-hand if the stories he had heard of murderous midgets were true, that is if crocodiles or other wild animals did not get me first.

  Thanks to Crosbie, I did not get a lot of sleep that night as I fretted over what was to come. I was on deck the next day as the sun crept up over the eastern horizon to see how close we were to the Portuguese vanguard. It revealed that we were just five miles astern, which their admiral clearly thought was far too close. He must have been called up on deck when the Emperor was revealed in the early morning light. Other merchant ships we had ignored in our pursuit were still visible sailing unharmed in our wake. It must have been clear to the Portuguese admiral that Cochrane was now coming after him and the flotilla of troop transports that his warships were jealously guarding at the expense of the rest of their fleet. Within minutes long lines of flags rose up the signal halyards of the Portuguese flagship and were acknowledged by the other naval vessels.

  “It seems we are exciting their interest at last,” said Cochrane watching the scene. As he spoke a distant signal gun was fired and six of the largest Portuguese naval vessels started to turn. In a few moments, they were all bearing down on us, the flagship leading the way and the rest spread out on either side like a net to reel us in. Cochrane did not look the slightest bit concerned. Instead, he was grinning broadly as though this was just the reaction he had hoped for, although I noticed him glancing up at the pennant on the masthead to judge the wind. He seemed to be gauging the time he had to react, but he was certainly in no hurry as he strolled about the deck. “Do you know if the cook has started breakfast?” he enquired of a cabin boy. “I’m starving.” The boy rushed off to find out, while other men standing n
earby grinned at their commander’s cool as a hostile wall of wood and cannon surged down towards us.

  “They will be having us for breakfast if we don’t move soon,” I grumbled, not quite able to share his equanimity after my restless night.

  Crosbie pointed to a growing gap between the two ships on the right of the approaching line. “We could get through between that frigate and corvette, then they will have to chase us.”

  “No,” warned Cochrane calmly. “The rest of their naval fleet is forming up at the rear of the transports. They might be smaller, but I will wager a year’s pay that they are loaded with chain shot. They will try to cut our rigging so that the rest of their fleet can close around us.” He stepped up to the rail and stared down at the main deck where a growing crowd of seamen was gathering to see what would happen next.

  “Men” he called. “We are going to lead the Portuguese a merry dance. I want to draw them away from the transports so that we can attack at night. The gunners can stand down, but I want you top men ready for every trick in the book: our lives will depend on it.” He studied his crew and while many of his old hands appeared confident in their success, he caught some of the newer recruits glancing anxiously over their shoulders at the approaching ships. Cochrane grinned at them. “Those of you who were with me in Chile will remember that girl Connie, from the Broken Bottle tavern.” He shot a glance at Crosbie, who was going pink at the mention of the wench. “From what I hear she was an expert flirt and tease.” At this there were several ribald comments from the crew highlighting her other skills and who among them had enjoyed them. Cochrane held up his hand for silence, “Well we are going to show the Portuguese that a ship can flirt and tease too.”

  At this, an anonymous voice in the crowd called out, “Will we be giving the Portuguese the pox like Connie too?” The men roared with laughter at that and even the more nervous ones seemed to be taking confidence from the old hands around them.

  “We will give them the pox tonight,” Cochrane promised. “Now hands to the braces, for we will be going about in a moment.” The men ran to their stations, which was just as well as the Portuguese flagship was now less than two miles away. The Emperor heeled over onto a north-easterly course, sailing across the front of the line of ships coming towards us. They turned to pursue and, for a while, the smaller ships seemed to be gaining. A corvette even opened fire on us, although the balls fell hopelessly short. Cochrane let them creep closer and closer and gave them hope of catching us. Then we heeled around again to run south-east, and then due south, where our taller masts gave us an advantage and we started to pull away. Even then, Cochrane would tease them to encourage the Portuguese to follow. Crosbie went up into the rigging and a short while later our topsail appeared to give way, a great sheet of canvas now flapping uselessly in the wind.

  “Come on, you hounds!” yelled Cochrane at our pursuers, not at all alarmed by the apparent catastrophe that had struck our rigging. I watched as the Portuguese flagship crowded on every inch of sail, even attempting stun sails at the end of their yards. Cochrane laughed at their efforts. He pointed to the new sails, “They won’t hold when we run before the wind in a while.” He let them gain again for half an hour before shouting new orders, then in a trice our topsail was restored. We turned once more, heading west, now running directly in front of the wind. Our sails filled and strained in the breeze as the bows dug deep into the waves, sending up a fine, cooling spray. But I wasn’t watching our ship; I was staring aft. Sure enough, moments after the Portuguese admiral had turned to mirror our course, one of their stun sails tore loose. Cochrane grinned as yardarm and sail were blown wildly about in their rigging and men swarmed aloft to get it under control.

  It went on like that all day. Sometimes the frigates and corvettes would try to get either side of us, or the flagship would pile on sail in pursuit. But whatever they tried Cochrane was always one step ahead. Just one step, mind, for he always wanted to give them hope that they might win in the end. But as the sun started to go down late in the afternoon, even the most optimistic Portuguese sailor must have seen that their chances of success were slim. Eventually, their flagship heeled around and gave us a broadside, more in hope than expectation that their heaviest guns might reach us. One did in fact splash into the water a hundred yards off our hull. Then more signal flags went up the halyards of the flagship and the fleet started, at last, to turn away.

  Cochrane watched them go and let the gap between us extend to some three miles before finally giving the order to sail on a parallel course. He looked down on the two helmsmen hauling on the double wheel and smiled in satisfaction at the day’s work. “Well, gentlemen,” he announced at large to those standing on the quarterdeck. “In the words of that sailor, I think it’s time to go and give the Portuguese the pox.”

  Chapter 25

  I had spent the day relaxed, watching the display of a master in the art of sailing a ship. There was never a chance we would have been caught, for Cochrane had more tricks up his sleeve than a whist player with a rigged deck. But now as the light began to dim there was a heightened excitement in the Emperor as we anticipated going on the offensive. Even the resolve of the most timid sailor had been stiffened by the masterclass of seamanship given during the day. Few seemed in any doubt that we would be successful. It was not a universal feeling as you might imagine, for while I had every confidence in Cochrane’s sailing abilities, it was his ambition that worried me. More than once I had seen him take on impossible odds and I knew better than anyone how close he had come to failure. So what, I wondered, did giving them the pox entail?

  As usual, Cochrane was keeping his thoughts to himself. I swiftly discovered that Crosbie was just as mystified as me. But you can’t be a friend to a fellow for twenty years without earning a few privileges, so I just came out and asked our commander what he had in mind.

  In response, Cochrane pointed to the Portuguese flagship and asked, “What do you think their admiral is worrying about?”

  “Well, he has failed to drive you away or disable us. So he must be worried that we will follow him back to those troopships.”

  “And what will he expect us to do then?” Cochrane prompted.

  That seemed an easy one to answer. “Given your reputation, he will expect you to attack. They will have every gun loaded and manned tonight and double the look-outs. I imagine.” I paused before adding, “Given that you generally prefer to avoid doing what is expected, are you sure that attacking tonight will be a good idea?”

  “Oh yes, Thomas.” He grinned at me. “You remember my old maxim, to turn my disadvantages into advantages? Well what is our obvious disadvantage here?”

  “That we are one ship against twenty, including the transports.”

  “Exactly, twenty ships sailing close together in the dark, with nervous look-outs and men hovering over loaded guns.”

  “I don’t see how that will give us an advantage,” I admitted, confused.

  “You will, Thomas, you will,” Cochrane assured me. “Probably around dawn tomorrow.

  I went away more puzzled than ever and when I passed on to Crosbie what our commander had told me, he seemed none the wiser either.

  “If we get trapped in the middle of their fleet at night, it will be bloody murder,” he predicted, showing an unerring skill for putting my nerves on edge. We pressed on with me pacing the deck in an increasing state of agitation. We were running parallel to the Portuguese naval vessels now and it was no coincidence that we were windward of them, so that we would have the wind behind us when we attacked. By early evening the transports and the smaller naval vessels appeared on the horizon and by dusk the Portuguese fleet was re-united. The transports were slower moving vessels than the fast ships of war and it seemed to me that their number had grown in the day we had been away. Several merchant ships had joined their throng for protection. We were still several miles off their starboard quarter but as the light faded, Cochrane had a gun fired to make sure that all th
e Portuguese ships knew we were there.

  There is nothing that sends my bowels churning more than an indecisive commander, or one like General Proctor in Canada, who did not seem to have a plan at all. Hence you would think that Cochrane’s calm confidence would be reassuring, but it wasn’t. Perhaps I alone on that ship knew what madness he was capable of. The fact he would not reveal his plans left me with a sick sense of apprehension. If anything went wrong, out here in a dark ocean, miles from a barely explored continent, there would be no hope of rescue. After an extensive career of undeserved glory, I would end up as food for sharks. I would not even be able to see them coming at night, which I had to concede may be a blessing.

  Soon we could no longer see the enemy fleet at all, as the inky blackness of a cloudy night enveloped us, but still Cochrane was unperturbed. The Portuguese had obviously given orders that no lights were to be shown, a risky business in a moving fleet on a dark night. But despite their best endeavours, they provided us with a beacon to follow. A gun port would be opened to throw out some slops showing a glimmer from lamps within. In one ship several candles were lit in the stern cabin, the occupants plainly having little idea how far light will travel in the dark. At length, a single cannon fired from the enemy fleet and most of us on the quarterdeck stared at each other for some clue as to its meaning.

  “They are changing course,” predicted Cochrane calmly. “It’s what I would do to shake us off during the night. They need the signal gun to ensure that everyone turns at the same time.” He stared into the darkness for a moment and then gave the order to turn due north.

  “How do you know that they are going due north?” I asked.

  “Because those candles we have been watching have disappeared,” he explained. “That would signify that they have turned towards us. I think the admiral would have chosen a simple heading that all would follow easily, such as due north.”