H.M.S. COCKEREL l-6

by Dewey Lambdin

  "Anything for me and my men to do?" he asked once more of a junior officer.

  "For God's sake, sir, no!" the man shouted back, over his shoulder in passing. "How many times do I have to tell you, I have no orders for anyone in the Navy at this time!"

  They had had orders, all contradictory. First, he'd been warned to ready his boats to aid in the evacuation of Balaguer, but before he could get that in writing, they were cancelled. Then it had been word to prepare to evacuate the batteries at Cape Bran and Fort St. Margaret… but others thought that a bad idea, for it would expose every ship in the Great Road to enemy fire, were they not held to the end.

  "Does anyone have a clue what's happening?" a frustrated post-captain shouted after the Army aide-de-camp in exasperation. There' d been a constant stream of officers from the ships in harbour, captains and commanders, first lieutenants coming and going-mostly with word to shift their anchorages to the Great Road or the Bay of Toulon, wait for further orders, to prepare all their boats. But mostly, to wait.

  "Christ, not in this raree show, there ain't," Lewrie muttered.

  "Anything but indecision," a post-captain near Lewrie agreed in some heat. "Anything but delay. High as I esteem Admiral Lord Hood… but perhaps the situation requires deliberate action. Careful thought and planning, else the evacuation will be a disaster."

  "Can't imagine why they'd start thinking now!" Lewrie sneered softly, his face bearing a sardonic grin. "A bit late, that."

  "They are still our superior officers, sir," the little fellow stiffened. Christ, it was Captain Nelson! "In our hour of travail they deserve our unstinting support, sir. I know you, do I, sir?"

  "Alan Lewrie, Captain Nelson," he replied, stiffening himself in sudden wariness. "Of the Cockerel frigate. Currently…"

  " Naples!" Nelson smiled of a sudden. "I heard of you from the Hamiltons. My predecessor to that delightful port."

  You get stuck into Lady Emma too, did you? Lewrie thought.

  "Before that, sir, during the Revolution."

  "God, yes. Off Cape Francois?" Nelson enthused, recalling.

  Dewey Lambdin

  'Turk's Island, Captain Nelson, just a few weeks before the end of hostilities."

  "Uhm, yess, Turk's Island…" Nelson frowned. He'd come a rare cropper over that one, trying to retake the island from the Frogs, who'd garrisoned it with more men than Nelson had in his entire ad-hoc squadron. A squadron he had no right to assemble or lead. "Brig o' war… Shrike, was it not, sir? And your captain was grievously wounded."

  "Aye, sir, still in the Navy, though. All thanks to your speaking to Lord Hood on his behalf. Captain Lilycrop? Lost the leg, but he's in the Impress Service, made 'post.' I never did get the opportunity to express my undying thanks for your kind deed, sir. I do so now, sir." He threw in a bow, leg extended, his hat upon his breast.

  And maybe he'll forget the strip he was about to tear off mine arse for mouthing off, Alan hoped to himself.

  "And mine to you, Lieutenant Lewrie; for preparing the ground, so to speak, in Naples, with His Majesty King Ferdinand," Nelson replied with an equal bow. He stepped closer and took Lewrie's hand. "Sir William, Lady Emma, Acton, His Majesty-all spoke highly of you."

  "They are all well, sir, and thriving? Including Queen Maria Carolina? I did not have the opportunity to meet her, but…"

  "Delivered of a healthy heir, sir, I am quite happy to relate, soon after your departure. Aye, well and thriving. Personally, that is. Though our impending defeat here will be no cause for delight with the Neapolitans. Enthusiastic allies… perhaps too enthusiastic to be firm, or steady, allies," Nelson gloomed. "Like many Mediterraneans, possessed of the ability to elate or despair, in equal measure."

  "Do we get their troops away with no further losses, sir, then I am certain Sir William Hamilton and Lady Emma may buck their enthusiasms up again," Lewrie grinned.

  "Aye, I dare say!" Nelson chuckled, lifting on the balls of his feet with an enthusiasm of his own. "An amazing woman, Lady Emma. So many-faceted, like a precious gem."

  He did get the leg over, Lewrie speculated.

  "Such perspicacity in a female, such wit and charm, and how well she wields her influence, so subtly," Nelson raved on.

  Aye, nailed her!

  "So talented. Were you a guest at Palazzo Sessa, sir? And view her 'Attitudes'? Oh, you had to sleep aboard your ship… too bad. The Hamiltons were most gracious to me. The Duke of Sussex was to visit in Naples, his guest suite was prepared, yet they lodged me in it. And Sir William informed me… I was quite thunderstruck by this… that in all the years he'd been plenipotentiary to the Kingdom of Naples, I was the very first naval or military officer ever granted such of his hospitality, can you imagine?" Nelson blathered on, seeming to preen.

  The short ones always do, Lewrie thought, keeping a straight face: Nelson, that Frog Buonaparte. God, I'd love to get those two together-it'd be a cat fight, no error!

  "And I avow, sir," Nelson said with a determined, wistful air, "as I wrote to my dear wife Fanny… that Lady Emma is a credit, sir, to the station in life to which she has been raised."

  Ah, no… he didn't, after all, Lewrie smirked in secret.

  "Captain Nelson, do you have any notion where the Cockerel frigate may be? We've been detached ashore since mid-September, with no communications with her. Under the circumstances, we should be…"

  "Standing-off and -on, without Cape Sepet, the last I saw of her, Lieutenant Lewrie," Nelson informed him. "But that was days ago. You mean to tell me, your captain, in all that time, has not communicated with you? But I've seen her lying at anchor in the Great Road, quite nearby! Oh, she was off with Admiral Gell to Vado Bay, with the Royalist French Squadron, but she returned days ago, after the Austrians… well. The Austrians." Nelson sighed petulantly, pulling at his long, fair nose.

  "Dear as I'd wish to return to her, sir, well, there're the Royalists I have with me," Lewrie explained, summarising his recent duties with de Crillart and his gunners, the families now assembling, dependent upon him, their crying need for evacuation.

  "Ah, word at last, perhaps," Nelson broke off as the doors to a large salon opened, and the senior officers were summoned inside. "Do come with me, Lieutenant. It is sure to be informative."

  "Gentlemen, it is unanimously resolved," Admiral Lord Hood began to speak-tall, beaky, hunched and weary-looking, wearing a floured periwig with elaborate horizontal side curls tumbling past his ears, a famous nose, riper and fuller than even Il Vecchio Nasone-"by all the allied representatives, and by the Committee for War which represents the native Toulonese, that our enterprise here is doomed to failure."

  He went on to encapsulate the present situation, the command the Republicans now held over the forts, the harbour and the roadsteads.

  "A few months ago I wrote London that, had I but five or six thousand men, Toulon could not only be held, but could serve as base of operations for an invasion of the entire Midi, the south of France. The Republicans, however, have… according to the intelligence which we have gleaned from various deserters or prisoners… over 45,000 men opposing us. And sadly, even should we, through force of arms, claim back those redoubts which were lost last evening, well… the situation in which we find ourselves would be no less parlous, anent another assault upon us from the French of even greater strength. So… we must evacuate Toulon. Orders are being drafted now for military units. Pray, allow me to refer to the map… the redoubt and lunette of Pharon, below the French positions, will be abandoned. Troops there are to retire to the forts of Artigues and St. Catherine, and will hold them as long as is humanly possible, to deny the Republicans entry to the town. The major redoubts of both the Great and Little Antoines on the nor'west mountain shall also evacuate. As will the St. Andre", the Pomet… Fort Millaud and the powder mills. And once the guns are toppled or spiked, all troops at Forts L'Eguil-lette and Balaguer will cross the Gullet to Fort La Malgue and St. Louis, at its foot.

  "At present, Fort Mal
bousquet and Fort Missicy still daunt Republican troops from entering the city from the west. They shall be held," Admiral Hood insisted with a stern glower at the clutch of senior Army officers to his right. "All outlying posts to the east will be abandoned. We intend to begin evacuating the wounded from the Infirmarie and the Hopital de la Charite at once. First to Fort La Malgue, thence down to the water fort, St. Louis, and embark in cutters and barges to such vessels of the Fleet as have space for them and the means to care for them. We may have a day or two as a grace period." Hood spoke with faint hope, even so. "The Republican assaults resulted in many wounded among their troops. The weather is abominable, and the trails and goat tracks are slick and wet, everywhere they met with success. It may be some time before they are able to shift heavy guns in numbers sufficient to threaten our ships. Or mount another assault, so soon after the first, upon the city itself."

  Whistlin' in the wind, Lewrie thought: if they're smart, they'll be at us tonight! And I doubt we cost 'em tuppence.

  "This should give us at least one full day and night… to prepare the basin, the arsenals and the magazines for destruction. Accordingly, every French ship which is in any forward condition, armed or able to go to sea, shall be taken from the basin at once, and anchored in the Great Road, there to receive troops as they come off shore. And those French Royalists who may wish transportation away from Toulon."

  Right, Lewrie sneered; as if any of 'em'd stay!

  "Admiral Don Juan de Langara will be in overall command of firing the Inner Basin and the French fleet," Hood announced. "All the powder remaining will be concentrated in two prize-vessels and sunk, at the last. The destruction of the fleet will not be undertaken until we have safely extricated troops and innocent civilians under cover of darkness."

  Nelson's hand shot up at once, and Lewrie could see him quivering with eagerness to participate. Instinctively, he slid a half-step away from him. He'd seen Captain Horatio Nelson at work before, at Turk's Island, and didn't wish to take part in another of his harum-scarums, neck-or-nothing damn-all adventures. He'd had quite enough lately, thank you very much.

  "Ahum," Hood frowned, pulling at his florid nose as he gazed in Nelson's direction, shaking his head sorrowfully. "To command the British party from the Royal Navy, which will assist Admiral Langara in his endeavour… I have selected Captain Sir William Sidney Smith."

  "Dear Lord," Nelson whispered sotto voce, absolutely crushed he could not take part. He sounded truly, deeply disappointed. "How did he come by that? That…swashbuckler."

  "Who's this Captain Smith when he's up and dressed, sir?" Alan whispered.

  "The showy one," Nelson sighed, tilting his head towards a man in almost a parody of naval uniform. He was big, bluff me-hearty, Smith was, the sort who wore a perpetual "piss-me-in-the-eye" belligerence, an exuberant sort who positively swaggered, bold as a dog-in-a-doublet. The sort with abounding self-confidence, who knew no fear whatsoever.

  "Came in a fortnight ago from Smyrna, on the Turkish Levant," Nelson muttered from the side of his mouth. "Purchased a little lateen rigged boat, called it Swallow. Hired on a crew of Englishmen who had been languishing, out of work, there. Hoisted his own commission pendant, wrote his own Admiralty orders, in essence. And has been perfectly thrusting himself forward since, sir."

  Ahead of you, has he? Lewrie deigned to think, with a dart at his putative "host," to see the envy burning in Captain Nelson's eyes. Sir William Sidney Smith wasn't the only enterprising and aspiring captain in the salon.

  Hood made some dismissing statements; to gird their loins, stick fast, stout hearts and stalwart will… that sort of thing, just before they went their separate ways. Lewrie tagged along as Nelson approached the admiral.

  "I'm sorry, Nelson," Admiral Lord Hood said, giving him a faint grin and taking his elbow protectively. "But I so prize your sterling qualities that I cannot find it in my heart to wager your future contributions upon a rather weak hand. And you have accomplished so much for me already. Tunis, Naples… though I would desire to reward you with a larger ship, a more important command. A 74, perhaps…"

  "Milord, I am so completely in your debt, for all your many kindnesses, your espousal of my cause, with the finest, most gracious… and most indulgent patronage," Nelson sighed. "I would have liked to command the party, if only to, in the slightest wise, be able to reward all your goodness towards me with measure for measure, no matter the risk. I am, as always, at your instant command, of course."

  "I know you're disappointed, but, after all…" Hood beamed.

  "As for a larger ship, milord, I am so very happy with Agamemnon. For a 64, she's the fastest two-decker in the Fleet," Nelson rejoined proudly. "And as I have stated before, milord… no officer has ever been so blessed with such a talented, chearly wardroom as I. Offered Victory herself, milord… I would be forced to demur. I cannot give up my officers!"

  "And you, Lieutenant Lewrie," Hood smiled pleasantly, turning to regard him. "My condolences upon the loss of your gun-boat, Zele. No need to even muster a court, once I read the accounts. How do you keep, young sir?"

  "Most excellently well, milord; your servant, as always," Lewrie toadied to his patron, taking a page from Nelson's book on how to sound obsequious.

  "Not that excellently, from what he told me, milord," Nelson interceded for him, quickly outlining Lewrie's plight regarding Cockerel, at Naples and the time since. And the refugees now gathering under his wing. "But I suspect Lieutenant Lewrie deemed his own problems too tiny to be of much concern, given the circumstances which obtain."

  "You are too modest, young sir," Hood grumbled. "I mind, when your captain came aboard Victory … I gathered the impression he'd been the one who had visited with King Ferdinand, and had spoken so eloquently for an alliance. Now I discover, from Captain Nelson, that such is not the case? Hmmm. And for him to strand you, bereft of any exchange of communications. I once rewarded Lieutenant Lewrie… well, twice I have given him a command. In '83, as you recall, Nelson… at your behest. And in '86. After actions in the Far East so perilous, yet done to a perfect turn… I believe, young sir, that you may serve me best…"

  "Excuse me for intruding, milord, but I shall be going now," Sir William Sidney Smith butted in. "1 simply wished to thank you again for the faith you place in me. Which shall be amply rewarded with a conflagration so intense, they'll see it in Paris, milord. My word on't!"

  Must not have a jot of brains in his head to rattle, Alan thought: he's actually lookin' forward to it! How'd our British cavalry miss recruitin' this'un?

  Introductions were exchanged, Sir William given the briefest thumbnail sketch of Lewrie's qualities, and source of his patronage.

  "Gad, just the sort I need with me, milord," Captain Smith said with a tooth-baring bray. "Neck-or-nothin', stick at nothin' fellow! 'Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs o' war,' hey, Mister Lewrie?"

  Oh, bloody Jesus, meek an' mild, save me from this I'll be good swear it never rattle another mort me entire bloody…! He prayed most earnestly.

  "I am heartily sorry I cannot oblige you in this, Sir William," Admiral Lord Hood said, glancing at Lewrie for an instant, thankfully not seeing the shivers he fought. "I concur that Lieutenant Lewrie's courage would be of inestimable assistance to your endeavour, but… there are other duties I have in mind for him, in this fell instance."

  Thankee God, thankee milord, bloody damned right there are!

  After Smith had bowed himself away, Hood turned to Lewrie again. "There are ships in the Inner Basin, Lieutenant, nigh-enough ready for sea. This Lieutenant de Crillart of yours… he'd know them best. With his men and yours, you will ready one of them for departure. Warp her to the Great Road, soon as you are able. Provision her, and be ready to take aboard troops, refugees, or both. I recall your own worth, Lewrie. And I'll no more toss you away than I would my invaluable Captain Nelson. I fear this war will be much longer than any of us, at the onset, could have ever suspected. England will have desperate need of y
ou both, in future. Orders will be forthcoming, empowering you to provision and arm to your personal satisfaction, Mister Lewrie. You have but to present those orders, which shall bear my personal signature, and be assured that any reasonable request will be granted you, instanter. Should I not see you again in the days to come before we quit Toulon," Admiral Hood said a bit sadly, "do present to me your compliments, once you have attained Gibraltar."

  He offered his hand for Lewrie to shake.

  "And I wish the very best of good fortune go with you, sir. God speed, and fair winds."

  "Thankee, milord, for your goodness to me," Alan said firmly, as he shook that offered hand. "And for your trust. I will safely bring away all you send me, milord."

  "My dear Lieutenant Lewrie, I rely on that steadfast promise just as surely as I expect tomorrow's sunrise."

  Chapter 3

  "Zey are merde," de Crillart griped, picking at the faded bulwarks of their ship. "Ze discipline, phfft… an' no one care to keep zem in proper fashion. 'Cep' for mon Alceste.…" he sighed wistfully as his precious frigate began to make sail, out past the log boom, in the fairway for the Gullet. Ragged her scratch crew was, sloppy and uncoordinated as a pack of complete landsmen. That was understandable, for Alceste had been requisitioned by one of the allies and now flew the Sardinian flag at her taffrail gaff.

  After conferring with Charles, Bosun Porter and a senior hand from the French sailors' party, hurriedly inspecting several ships in the basin, they'd settled on a forty-gun frigate, an impressive ship to all outward appearances. Certainly not in cosmetics, but in lines.

  Radical, she'd been renamed after the Revolution. But she had been commanded by a procession of jumped-up quartermasters and bosuns promoted to officers from the lower deck. Then she'd been run almost by committee and the Rights of Man, with but the easiest maintenance neglected by a vote of her crew! She'd rarely gone to sea, and then only in fair weather. And after the arrival of the Royal Navy back in August, and the departure of Rear-Admiral St. Mien's men, Radical had lain idle, stern-to at the eastern quays, sandwiched in between other frigates, and had slowly disintegrated, as all ships will, without reverent and daily care.