Flashman and the Emperor

by Robert Brightwell

  “Perhaps the candles were a trick,” I suggested, “and they have blown them out and are now heading due west, towards the coast.”

  Crosbie was impressed at the thought of such a subterfuge and even Cochrane seemed surprised – he had manifestly not considered that as an option. “Damn me, you could be right,” he muttered before ordering a doubling of our look-outs. For the next few minutes we all stared out over the port rail, some looking where the ships would be if they had turned east, some where they would be if they had turned north, and some, like me, who had lost their bearings completely, and were just gazing across a huge expanse of black sea. One man swore he had seen a light to the east. But God bless those card players in that stern cabin, for eventually their candles reappeared and we had to concede that Cochrane had been right all along.

  We followed those candles for a while. Through a glass you could occasionally see a head or body move in front of one of the flames as several men sat around a table.

  “They must be at the back of the fleet,” said Cochrane, “or they would have been warned about the light. Probably a merchant or transport ship. The naval ships will struggle with this slow speed. I expect most of them will be in the middle or the front of the formation by now.” The candles slowly disappeared as we overhauled their fleet. We knew their bearing now and we ploughed on until Cochrane judged that we were a mile north and a mile ahead of its centre. The guns had been loaded and the decks cleared for action long before and then he gave the order to turn west. With the wind now behind us we surged forward, aiming for the heart of the enemy fleet.

  Men scampered about making the final preparations for battle, shouting to each other in their excitement. Cochrane had to order them to keep quiet. He had the guns run out then too, so that the squealing of the gun truck wheels would not give away our approach later. We raced down on an unsuspecting prey with all seventy-four guns primed and ready. “Fire as soon as you are sure of hitting a target,” called out Cochrane. “Don’t wait for orders and reload fast, for we will be going right through the centre of their ships and they will appear quickly in the darkness.” There were piratical grins from the men, but now that Cochrane’s plan was revealed, I could see one glaring problem.

  “So we are going to sail right through the middle of a fleet of perhaps thirty ships in the pitch dark. What happens if we collide with one of them?”

  “Well it would depend on the ship, but I suppose we could easily be holed or sunk.” He glanced at my expression and laughed. “You worry too much, Thomas. They will be spread out over a mile of sea, so we would be very unlucky to strike one. We should see them when they are one or two hundred yards away and we will probably hear them too.”

  I was not sure that I felt too comforted by that, but I was relieved that his plan was not more audacious than simply sailing through the enemy formation. There would be a few frantic minutes, but with luck we would then be safely out of the other side.

  In the end, when the confrontation finally came, it caught us entirely by surprise. As we had discovered while exploring the bay in Salvador, darkness deprives you of your sense of distance. It seemed we had been sailing west for ages without sight of the enemy. The earlier excited tension had even been replaced by a growing frustration that the enemy ships had not appeared.

  “Do you think that they changed course again?” whispered Crosbie. But no sooner were the words spoken than we heard some shout of alarm. It was too far away to be from our ship; the sound came from somewhere directly ahead of us. Then the silence was replaced by shouting and yelling all around. The first thing I saw in the darkness was a flash of white and I realised that it was the bow wave from a nearby ship. Almost immediately a tower of white sails came out of the gloom above it and suddenly there was a ship just off our port bow. Cochrane was already giving orders to throw the helm hard to port and I staggered to keep my footing as we heeled over.

  “Hold your fire,” he shouted to the gunners, “we will pass behind her in a moment.” But he was already too late as the first of our guns were firing as the view from their gun ports was filled with a ship moving briskly down our starboard side. The muzzle flashes briefly lit up the other vessel to reveal it was one of their corvettes. It must have taken a pasting from our guns at such short range. Not even one of their cannon returned fire, but there were screams and yells in the darkness. Someone on their deck rang the ship’s bell continuously to sound the alarm to other vessels nearby. Cochrane now instructed the helmsman to swing the ship hard to starboard and once more the sails above my head flapped as they were filled with wind.

  The glass windows of the corvette’s stern cabin were now a tempting target, offering the chance to rake cannonballs down the length of the ship. But while the men were furiously reloading their weapons as fast as they could, we would be past the stern before they had finished. Only the two cannon nearest the quarterdeck had heeded Cochrane’s call and now they belched their fire at the exposed vessel. The admiral swore softly as instead of the sound of breaking glass we were rewarded with the noise of a thud of a ball on timber and a splash of one hitting the sea. These last shots had illuminated us to those within the fleet formation as well. Seamen must have been running to their guns since we had first opened fire and now another broadside crashed out from dead ahead.

  The last time I had fought a battle in pitch darkness, I had the good sense to spend most of it crouched behind a stout gravestone in a cemetery for cover. Sadly, that was not an option this time. We seemed to be playing a giant seaborne version of blind man’s bluff, with hoods for all the players.

  “Christ,” called out Crosbie as a ball whistled overhead. “That’s one of their frigates, I think. At that range they must be hitting their own ship as much as us.” The clatter of falling rigging in the darkness confirmed he was right. The corvette was still ringing its bell and Cochrane ordered one of the ships boys to start ringing ours as well, to add to the confusion. No sooner was the order given than another broadside crashed out and the night sky was briefly illuminated once again.

  “Who the hell is firing now?” I asked, for the gunfire had come from well to our right and the alignment of the muzzle flashes showed that they were not aimed at us.

  “By God, I think their flagship has just fired on their frigate, thinking it was us,” shouted Crosbie in delight.

  “Another ship approaching our port side,” called out a voice in the darkness. A moment later our port battery started to fire. It was sporadic shooting as the guns took aim. Before the view was completely obscured by gun smoke, I struggled to see if there was a ship there at all. I strained my eyes into the darkness and thought I had spotted a faint pyramid of white sail in the gloom. Then the first white splashes appeared alongside it and a veil of smoke covered the scene. There was more gunfire now in the distance to our right, but I could not see who was shooting at whom. I was just grateful that none of the balls were coming our way. Most of the ships seemed to be firing blindly at where they thought we were.

  “Do you see now how we are turning a disadvantage into an advantage?” Cochrane called out above the din. With the clanging bell and the continued firing, it was almost impossible to reply, but then as the shooting diminished a new sound could be heard. There was a tearing and snapping noise coming from some distance away to our port side.

  “A collision,” Crosbie called out. “Two of their ships have collided.”

  “Cease fire,” called Cochrane, “and stop that damned bell.” It was a blessed relief when the boy stopped yanking on the bell clapper and slowly a peace of sorts descended on the ship. There was still sporadic gunfire going on some distance away on our starboard side and now to our port we could also hear shouting and yelling. As the gun smoke drifted away, I could make out a dim shape in the darkness. It seemed that the ship we had been firing at had turned away from us and crossed the path of another vessel. Already the scene of the collision was falling behind and out of sight.

  “Heav
e to,” ordered Cochrane, “or we will not find it again. Crosbie, have the men reload, but after that I want silence in the boat.”

  “Aren’t we going to attack the ships that have collided?” I asked.

  “In due course,” replied Cochrane with a smile. “I want the rest of the fleet to sail past first and then we can take our time. If we start shooting again now we will attract their attention.” As if on cue there was another ripple of cannon fire, which sounded to be at least a quarter of a mile away. “There you are,” boasted Cochrane triumphantly. “Leave them to fight among themselves for a bit.” He was looking supremely pleased with himself and I could hardly blame him, for he had once again turned a disadvantage into an advantage. He would no doubt be insufferably smug about it afterwards, but even I had to concede it had been a clever move. We had caused damage to several Portuguese ships, leaving at least one likely to be captured and to the best of my knowledge there were no injuries at all to the crew of the Emperor.

  We waited for half an hour, drifting in the dark sea with all but one sail reefed in. The sound of Portuguese gunfire receded and eventually stopped. While some men in the bows swore that they spotted another ship sweep by like a phantom in the gloom, the rest of us saw nothing. We could, though, hear the sound of continued shouting and what I took to be axes thudding into wood. At one point there was a grinding noise, which Crosbie thought was the two hulls rubbing together.

  “We have no idea what ships they are,” mused Cochrane, “although I doubt one of them is the flagship as I think that was near the front of the fleet. But it would be wise to give an impression of strength.” He turned to me, “Flashman, take your marines and a dozen sailors. Keeping the sound of the Portuguese workers on your right as you row, I want you to come up on their opposite side. Tell them you are from the Nitherohy, which is also in the vicinity. I will let the Emperor come up slowly on this side and send more men across in the cutter.”

  “But what if it is a troopship?” I asked. “There will be hundreds of soldiers aboard – they are not going to surrender to a handful of marines.”

  “I rather hope that it is a troopship, perhaps two,” admitted Cochrane grimly. “That is why we are here. But I see your point. Wait until they have seen the Emperor before you try to board. If they are damaged and with our guns pointing at them, they will see that they have no choice.”

  Chapter 26

  “Ahoy the boat, show yourselves or we will open fire.”

  I swore softly in the darkness, for we had not had any luck since we got in this damn longboat. We had barely lost sight of the flagship when the hammering and sawing we were using as a beacon stopped. The shouting and yelling continued, although it was near impossible to agree on which direction it came from. We were more confused than a Connaught Ranger who found himself unusually sober. We only discovered the cause when it nearly killed us. By chance, I had glanced up and, seeing some movement against the cloud, realised that one of the ships was bearing down on us. How its crew did not hear the cursing as my men threw themselves against the oars to get out of the way is beyond me. But then they had their own things to worry about on that ship. As its bow loomed over us we saw that it was missing part of its bowsprit and the top part of its foremast. There was also a deep gouge down its side.

  “Do we go after it?” the coxswain at my side had asked. It only had a mainsail raised, but from the shouting other men were aloft, and soon there would be more canvas spread. It would be a struggle to catch onto its chains before it outpaced us.

  “No, let’s try to find the other one. We’ll stay out of the way in the dark until the Emperor comes up,” I had told him. Now that plan had foundered too.

  “Show yourself,” the man on the remaining ship had repeated. “We know where you are.” Even though I could barely make out their faces, I could sense the forty odd men in the longboat looking back at me in expectation. The sensible thing would be to slink off into the darkness, but if we did that, we would lose all hope of deceiving them that we had come from a powerful frigate. And anyway, I tried to reassure myself, the Emperor was bound to appear at any moment.

  “Take us forward,” I reluctantly ordered the oarsmen. I could hardly have word of this encounter reaching Cochrane if I had timidly crept away. Mind you, I was going to take care not to provoke them. “Marines,” I ordered quietly, “don’t go pointing your muskets at that ship. Remember that there could be hundreds of soldiers on board, not to mention cannon. We are not going to win a gun battle here.” As the oars bit into the water I turned to Mallee, who, as sergeant, was sitting nearest to me. “And when we get aboard, I don’t want you swaggering around as you did on those passenger vessels,” I warned him.

  I saw his face split into a wide grin, “Don’t you like to see a black man winning?” he asked.

  “That all depends on whose side he is on,” I replied. “But we are winning now – at least if we don’t get our wretched heads shot off in the next few minutes. Are you glad you did not desert back at Morro de São Paulo?”

  Mallee was silent for a moment as he seemed to give this question some serious thought. “Yes,” he said at last. “We have made a good start.”

  I was not so sure of that when I looked back up at the ship. For now, half a dozen lanterns had been lit and rested on the bulwark. Between them I could see the light glinting off a score of musket barrels. As we moved into the pool of light the first voice shouted again, “That is far enough. Back your oars and state your business.”

  I stood up in the stern of the longboat, steading myself by holding the coxswain’s shoulder. In a loud voice so that they could all hear I announced, “I am Captain Flashman of His Imperial Majesty’s frigate, the Nitherohy. Our squadron surrounds you. I am here to call on you to surrender.”

  “Damn you to hell if you think I am hauling down my colour to a boat of vagabonds and slaves. Why, you come anywhere near this vessel and I will sink you. Then you can swim back to whatever fetid little ship you did spawn from.” The man was working himself up into quite a rage. As the only one standing in the longboat with all those muskets pointed at me I began to feel more than a little exposed.

  “Surely you heard the gunfire of our squadron’s attack?” I countered. I stared about this ship for damage, although it was hard to judge in the poor light what could have been caused by our cannon and what from the subsequent collision. “See there,” I pointed to some splintered bulwark near the bow. “You have taken damage from our attack. How can you deny our ships surround you?”

  “Go to hell,” the officer persisted. “I only saw one Brazilian ship before the sun went down and if it came against our squadron, then it is probably now sunk. For all I know you are its only survivors. Everyone knows that your Lord Cochrane is a liar and deceiver, not to mention a murderer. We have heard how he leaves ships dismasted and adrift, smashing even their water barrels before his men go on about their heartless business.”

  “I can assure you, sir,” I started, “that we have never left a ship fully dismasted or without water.” I was going to go on to explain why we took the mizzen but I did not get the chance.

  “Your mouth is full of shit,” he told me, at least that was the literal translation from Portuguese. “Perhaps I should kill you and your men now – it would be a quicker death than they deserve.” I glanced at the musket barrels pointed in our direction; perhaps it was my imagination, but they all seemed to be aimed precisely at me. I was just wondering how many more guns were pointed at me in the darkness and how many nervous fingers were curled around their triggers, when a new English voice rang out from the far side of the ship.

  “Captain Flashman, you scurrilous blackguard, this is a prize of the Pedro Primeiro,” he shouted, giving the Emperor her proper name. “Sheer off, you villain, and give way.”

  I grinned with relief; Grenfell and the cutter had arrived just in time. There were exclamations and curses from the Portuguese and several of the lanterns, and presumably the musk
ets, disappeared to illuminate the other side of the ship. Now that we had them unsettled I thought we should keep them that way. “Grenfell,” I yelled, “you baboon’s arse, this is the Nitherohy’s prize and I will sink it before I let you get your grubby little paws on it.”

  I could see the men in the longboat grinning at this exchange between their officers. It seemed that the danger had passed, but the Portuguese commander was not giving up that easily. “Damn the pair of you. You are not coming aboard my ship and I will open fire if you…” His voice trailed off and Grenfell was quick to provide the explanation.

  “Captain Flashman, as you may have guessed, the Pedro Primeiro has just come into view.”

  “Well then,” I shouted at the Portuguese officer, “I trust that we now have your permission to come aboard?”

  A few minutes later we were standing on the deck of what turned out to be a troopship, although there were fewer soldiers aboard than we expected. Most of the hold was taken up with artillery cannon, wagons and stores of powder and ammunition. The officer, who was the colonel of their artillery regiment, swore vehemently as he showed us around. He cursed us, the Portuguese admiral for abandoning them and most especially Brazil itself. It seemed he had been there some time and hated the tropical heat, the insects, the slaves, who he thought were insufferably stupid and the Brazilians, who he declared were habitually corrupt. Like any gunner, when we told him that we were dropping his guns over the side, he reacted as though we had suggested drowning his children. He might even have shown some resistance if I had not taken him to one side.

  “Look, man,” I told him. “Nobody is going to blame you for losing your guns at sea in circumstances like these.”

  “But they are my guns,” he shouted. “They have been in the Portuguese army since the days we fought alongside you British.”