The deception was simple. Ellerby, who had already attempted and failed to intimidate Drinkwater, took a back seat and sent Waller to the conference at Bressay Sound. Waller checked Drinkwater's methods and intentions, sounded him and gauged his zeal and ability before reporting back to Ellerby. Drinkwater cursed under his breath. It explained why, after his public humiliation leaving the Humber, Ellerby's Nimrod had behaved with exemplary regard for the convoy regulations. Yet Sawyers himself had remarked upon Ellerby's 'massive pride', spoken figuratively of David and Goliath and warned Drinkwater about Ellerby. For a fleeting second Drinkwater thought Sawyers too might be a part of the conspiracy, given his religious contempt for war and the rights and wrongs of the protagonists. Allied with the well-known Quaker liking for profit it made him an obvious suspect. But Faithful had been captured under Drinkwater's very nose and Sawyers's behaviour did not really give any grounds for such a suspicion.
Drinkwater sat back in his chair, certain that he had solved the riddle. For some reason the French had established a settlement on the Greenland coast in a position that was demonstrably ice-free, to use for shipping whale products back to France. The risks were high, given the closeness of the British blockade. How much easier to establish contact with British ship-masters who could facilitate the return of the cargoes to France via the good offices of a smuggler or two. From Hull the coast of the Batavian Republic was easily accessible and Drinkwater, like every other officer in the Navy, had heard that French soldiers preferred to march in Northampton boots, rather than the glued manufactures of their own country.
The provision of a powerful French privateer, more frigate than corsair, argued in favour of his theory. Encountered at sea she gave nothing away about official French involvement with the settlement, thus avoiding problems with the Danes, and her loss, if it occurred, would cause no embarrassment to First Consul Bonaparte.
Drinkwater nodded with satisfaction, convinced of Ellerby's treachery, almost certain of Waller's and then, with a start, recollected that Earl St Vincent would not so easily be satisfied.
A knock came at his door. Frey's head was poked round the door when Drinkwater called him in.
'Beg pardon, sir, but Mr Hill says to tell you that there's three ships crowding on sail astern.'
'Very well, Mr Frey. My compliments to the first lieutenant and he's to issue spirits to all hands and then we'll give these fellows a drubbin', eh?'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
Drinkwater sat a moment longer and considered the news. One of the ships would be Requin and the second almost certainly Nimrod. Was the third Conqueror or that damnable lugger? He sighed. He would have to go on deck to see. Whatever the third ship was, Drinkwater was uncomfortably aware that he was outnumbered, outgunned and might, in an hour, have followed Germaney and Rispin into the obscurity of death.
The third ship turned out to be the lugger, her big sails proving more efficient to windward than the other two. He had been right about them. They were indeed Requin and Nimrod. He studied them through his glass. Nimrod was astern of Requin, hiding behind the more numerous guns of the big privateer, but ready to bring the smashing power of those heavy carronades to bear upon a Melusine that, in her captain's mind's eye, was already a defenceless hulk under the Requin's guns.
Drinkwater summoned Singleton and requested his help after the action which, he confided, he expected to be bloody. He also asked about Meetuck's interrogation.
'It is a complicated matter, but there is much about a big, bearded man with eyes the colour of, er "shadowed ice", if that makes sense to you.'
'I am indebted to you.' Drinkwater smiled and Singleton felt an immense compassion for the cock-headed captain and his terrible profession. 'And now, Mr Singleton, I'd be further obliged to you if you would read us the Naval Prayer.' Drinkwater called the ship's company into the waist. Seamen and officers bared their heads and Obadiah Singleton read the words laid down to be used before an action.
'Oh most powerful and Glorious Lord God, the Lord of Hosts, that rulest and commandest all things…'
When it was over Singleton exceeded his brief and led the ship's company into the Lord's Prayer with its slurred syllables and loud, demotic haste. He finished with the Naval Prayer and Bourne, casting an agonised look at the closing enemy, hastily ordered the men back to their stations.
Scarcely less impatient, Drinkwater ordered more sail and turned to Hill, explaining his intentions and those he thought that would be the enemy's.
'Requin will seek to disable us, Mr Hill, aiming high from a range that will favour her long guns. The instant we are immobilised he will board while the Nimrod ranges alongside and pummels us with those damned carronades. He hasn't many of them, but I'll wager they'll be nasty.'
'Beg pardon, sir, but is Nimrod manned by a prize crew?'
'I don't believe she is, Mr Hill. I'm not certain, but I am sure that she's commanded by her British master, one Jemmett Ellerby who deserves to swing for his treachery'
'Jesus…'
'Very well. Now we will bear up and put the ship before the wind. Mr Bourne! A moment of your time. We will run down on the lugger. She is in advance of the other vessels and is doubtless ready to run alongside and pour in men when Requin boards. If we can hit her hard with round shot and canister I'll be happy. Then I intend to manoeuvre and avoid Requin, using our long guns to come up with Nimrod and disable her…' He outlined Ellerby's treachery for Bourne's benefit and saw the astonishment in his expression harden to resolution. Drinkwater did not say that he intended to destroy Nimrod in the belief that they stood little chance of ultimate survival after an action with Requin.
He knew now that word of Ellerby's treachery would spread like wildfire and his men fight better for the knowledge. He smiled at his first lieutenant and sailing master. 'Very well, gentlemen. Good luck. Now you may take post.'
They bore down on the lugger which attempted to sheer away. Drinkwater had decided that the jury rudder would take such strains that their manoeuvring might throw upon it. If the enemy did not shoot it away Melusine might be relied upon to handle reasonably well, despite the leaky condition a few months in the ice had caused. Her superior height and the fury of her fire cleared the lugger's deck and wounded her mainmast, but her dogged-ness worried Drinkwater. He was almost certain the officer commanding her had been trying to work round his stern, within range of his light carriage guns to attempt to hit the rudder. This intention to disable the British sloop argued that they knew all about her weak spot. Whatever their intent, the enemy's first move had been thwarted, now he had to deal with the real threat. The Requin was on their starboard bow, close hauled on the larboard tack. In a few minutes she would cross their bow, rake them and then bear up astern, holding the weather gauge and assailing their vulnerable rudder.
Drinkwater ordered the course altered to starboard, to bring Melusine's guns to bear as the two ships passed.
'For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful.'
A murmur of blasphemous 'Amens' responded to Hill's facetious remark.
Chapter Eighteen
Ellerby
August 1803
'Fire!'
The gun captains jumped back, jerking their lanyards and snapping the hammers on the gunlocks. Melusine's larboard six-pounders recoiled inboard against their breechings and as their crews moved forward to sponge and reload them the storm of shot from Requin's broadside hit them. Uncaring for himself Drinkwater watched its effect with anxiety, knowing his enemy possessed the greater weight of metal and the risk he had taken in turning back instead of running from his pursuers. But he knew any chase would ultimately lead to either damage to Melusine's exposed jury rudder or capture due to her being overtaken under her cut-down rig. Besides, he had already determined that Ellerby should reap the just reward of his treachery and that duty compelled him to exercise justice.
He therefore watched the smoke clear from the waist and saw, with a pang of co
nscience, that Bourne was down and perhaps eight or nine other men were either killed or badly wounded.
'Mr Gorton! Take command of the batteries!' Gorton crossed the deck and saw Bourne carried below as Drinkwater swung round to study Requin, already half a cable astern on the larboard quarter. The big privateer had been closed hauled on the wind and her gunnery had suffered from the angle to Melusine and the heel of her deck. Nevertheless it was a heavy price to pay for a single broadside. Drinkwater hoped the effects of his own shot, fired from the more level deck of a ship before the wind, had had greater effect. He could see Requin's sails begin to shiver as her captain brought her through the wind to bear down on Melusine's undefended stern. If her gunners were anything like competent they could catch the British sloop with a raking broadside.
Drinkwater turned resolutely forward and raised his glass. They were already very close to Nimrod. Ellerby's big figure jumped into the image lens with a startling clarity. Drinkwater closed the glass with a vicious snap.
'Starboard battery, make ready!' Quilhampton looked along the line of guns, his sword drawn. He nodded at Gorton.
'All ready, canister and ball.'
Drinkwater raised his speaking trumpet. 'Sail trimmers to their posts,' he turned to Hill. 'Bear up under his stern, Mr Hill, I want that broad side into his starboard quarter.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
They raced down upon the approaching whaler. Her bulk and ponderous motion gave her an appearance of greater force than she possessed. Her gunwhales were only pierced for three carronades on each side, but they were of a heavy calibre.
Drinkwater ran forward to the starboard cathead and raised the speaking trumpet again. The two ships were already level, bowsprit to bowsprit.
'Captain Ellerby! Captain Ellerby! Surrender in the King's name before you consign your men to the gallows!'
Ellerby's violent gesture was all that Drinkwater knew of a reply, although he saw Ellerby was yelling something. Whatever it was it was drowned in the roar of his guns, their wide muzzles venting red and orange flame at point-blank range.
Drinkwater nodded at Quilhampton and as Hill put the helm down and Melusine began to lean over as she turned, the starboard guns poured ball and canister into the whaler's quarter. Drinkwater fought his way aft, through the sweating gun crews and the badly maimed who had been hit by the langridge from Ellerby's cannon. A man bumped into him. He was holding his head and moaning surprisingly softly seeing that several assorted pieces of iron rubbish protruded from his skull. Drinkwater regained the quarterdeck and looked astern. Nimrod continued apparently unscathed on an easterly course.
'Put her on the wind, Mr Hill, and then lay her on the starboard tack!'
Hill began to give orders as the waist was cleared of the dead and wounded, the guns reloaded and run out again. The days of practice began to pay off. Each man attending to his allotted task, each midshipman and mate supervising his half-division or special party, each acting-lieutenant marking his subordinates, attending to the readiness of his battery while Hill, quietly professional on the quarterdeck, directed the trimming of the yards and the sheets to get the best out of the ship.
Melusine turned into the wind, then swung her bowsprit back towards the Nimrod, gathering speed as she paid off the starboard tack. Beyond the whaler, Drinkwater could see the Requin and was seized by a sudden feeling of intense excitement. He might, just might, be able to pull off a neat manoeuvre as Requin and Nimrod passed each other on opposite courses. He pointed the opening out to Hill.
'She'll do it, sir,' Hill said, after a moment's assessment.
'Let's hope so, Mr Hill.'
'Never a doubt, sir.'
Drinkwater grinned, aware that Melusine with her jury rudder and ice-scuffed hull was no longer the yacht-like 'corvette' that had danced down the Humber in the early summer.
They crossed Nimrod's stern at a distance of four cables. Not close enough for the six-pounder balls to have much effect on the whaler's massive scantlings. But there was no response from the Nimrod's carronades and Drinkwater transferred his attention to the Requin, whose bearing was opening up on the sloop's starboard bow.
'He's not going to let us do it, Mr Hill…' They had hoped to cross the Requin's stern too, and pour the starboard broadside into her but the privateer captain was no fool and was already turning his ship, to pass the British sloop on a reciprocal course. They would exchange broadsides as before…
'Up helm! Up helm!' Drinkwater shouted. 'Starbowlines, hold your fire!'
'Stand by the lee braces, there!' Hill bawled at his sail-trimmers, suddenly grasping Drinkwater's intention.
'Pick off the officers!' Drinkwater yelled at the midshipmen and marines in the tops. Melusine was already turning, an ominous creaking coming from the rudimentary steering gear as a terrific load came on it. Requin's guns roared as the Melusine's stern swung away from the arc of her fire, and although a shower of splinters flew from the taffrail the rudder stock and supporting timbers and spars were untouched.
'Steady her and then bring her round onto the larboard tack. So far so good.'
Drinkwater felt the exhilaration of having called the tune during the last half hour, despite the losses Melusine incurred. He was aware of a mood of high elation along the deck where the men joked and relived the last few moments with an outbreak of skylarking equally uncaring in the heady excitement for those below undergoing the agonies of Singleton's knife.
Melusine clawed back to windward while her two enemies came round in pursuit again. Already they were a mile away to the northwest and Drinkwater thought he could keep them tacking in his wake for an hour or two yet while he sought a new opening.
'That lugger's out of the running, sir,' offered Hill, pointing to the chassé marée half a mile away. Her crew had sweeps out and were pulling her desperately out of the path of the approaching British sloop which seemed to be bearing down upon them with the intention of administering the coup de grâce. In fact Drinkwater had long since forgotten about the lugger, although it had been no more than forty or fifty minutes since they had fired into her.
He nodded at Gorton with the good-natured condescension of a school-master allowing his pupils an indulgent catapult shot at sparrows. The larboard guns fired as they passed and several balls struck home, causing evident panic among the lugger's crew.
Drinkwater was seized by a sudden feeling that things had been too easy and recalled the dead and wounded. He turned and called sharply to the midshipman who was in attendance to the quarterdeck and whose obvious pleasure at still being alive had induced a certain foolish garrulousness with the adjacent gun crews.
'Mr Frey!'
'S… Sir?'
'Pray direct your attention to the surgeon, present him with my compliments and ascertain the extent of our losses. I am particularly concerned about Mr Bourne.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
After Frey had departed Drinkwater called for reports of damage and the carpenter informed him that they had a shot between wind and water, but that otherwise most of the enemy's fire had been levelled at personnel on the upper deck.
Pacing up and down Drinkwater tried to assess the state of his enemies. He had not succeeded in forcing Nimrod to surrender and his chances of annihilating the Requin were slight. But the whaler had failed to take advantage of a clear shot at Melusine''s stern. Did that argue her untrained crew had simply missed an opportunity or that, having fired into a King's ship they might have taken heed of Drinkwater's earlier hail?
Discipline was not so tight on a merchantman and a crew might be seduced from its nominal allegiance to their master by the threat of the gallows. Drinkwater considered the point. Did it also signify that Requin's fire had been at Melusine's deck, not at her rigging? In the place of the privateer Captain Drinkwater thought he might have wanted the naval vessel disabled from a distance, without material damage to the Requin herself.
Unless, argued Drinkwater, Requin's superiority was overestimated.
Perhaps her crew were less numerous than he supposed and therefore to decimate the British had become a priority with Requin's commander.
'Wind's veering, sir.' Hill interrupted his train of thought.
'Eh?'
'Hauling southerly, sir.'
It was true. The wind had dropped abruptly and was chopping three, no, four points and freshening from the south-east. Drinkwater stared to the south, there was a further shift coming. In ten minutes or so the wind would be blowing directly off the mountain peaks to the southward. All the ships in the fiord would be able to reach with equal facility. It altered everything.
'That puts a different complexion on things, Mr Hill.'
Hill turned from directing a trimming of the yards and nodded his agreement. For a few moments Drinkwater continued pacing up and down. Then he came to a decision.
'Put the ship on an easterly course, Mr Hill. I want her laid alongside the Nimrod without further delay.'
It was a decision that spoke more of honour than commonsense, yet Drinkwater was put in an invidious position by his orders. It was doubtful if St Vincent could have foreseen the extent of the French presence in the Arctic, or of the treachery of Ellerby and, presumably, Waller. Yet Drinkwater's orders were explicit in terms of preventing any French ascendancy in the area. The red rag of honour was raised in encouragement; not to use his utmost endeavour was to court a firing squad as Byng had done fifty years before.
Requin's shot stove in the gunwhale amidships, dismounted a gun and wiped out two gun crews. The maintopmast was shot through and went by the board and the big privateer bore up under Melusine's stern. The single report of a specially laid gun appeared to annihilate the four men steering by the clumsy tiller.
The Corvette nd-5 Page 24
