1805

by Richard Woodman

  Drinkwater crossed the deck and began pacing the windward side, deep in thought. There was only one cloud on the horizon and that was their dwindling provisions. They had found more pork rotten, a quantity of flour and dried peas spoiled, and the purser and Rogers were reminding him daily of their increasingly desperate need to revictual. Despite Bickerton’s ships, Collingwood was still outnumbered. He had hoped that events would have come to some sort of crux before now, but it seemed that Villeneuve delayed as long as possible in Cadiz. All coastal trade had ceased since Collingwood had detached a couple of small cruisers to halt it in an effort to starve Villeneuve out, and much of the business of supplying Cadiz with food was being carried out in Danish ships. It was known that things inside the town were becoming desperate: there seemed little love lost between the French and Spaniards and it was even rumoured that a few Frenchmen had been found murdered in the streets.

  ‘Main fleet’s in sight, sir,’ reported Quilhampton, breaking his train of thought and forcing him to concentrate upon the matter in hand. He nodded at Frey.

  ‘Very well. Mr Frey, you may make the signal.’

  The rolled-up flags rose off the deck and were hoisted swiftly on the lee flag-halliards. The signal yeoman jerked the ropes and the flags broke out, streaming gaily to leeward and informing Collingwood of the latest moves of Villeneuve.

  ‘Deck there! Vessels to the north . . .’

  They watched the approach of the strangers with interest as they stood away from the Dreadnought. Collingwood threw out no signals for their interception and they were identified as more reinforcements for the British squadron securing Villeneuve in Cadiz, reinforcements from Ushant under Vice-Admiral Calder.

  ‘Well, Sam,’ remarked Drinkwater, ‘that’s one rumour that is untrue.’

  ‘What’s that, sir?’

  ‘You said that Calder was going to be court-martialled and here he is as large as life.’

  ‘Oh well, I suppose that shuts the door on Villeneuve then.’

  ‘I wonder,’ mused Drinkwater.

  My dearest husband, Drinkwater read, Elizabeth’s two-month-old letter having found its way to him via one of Calder’s ships: I have much to tell and you will want to know the news of the war first. We are in a fever here and have been for months. The French Invasion is expected hourly and the town is regularly filled with the militia and yeomanry which, from the noise they make, intend to behave most valiantly, but of which I hold no very great expectations. We hear horrid tales of the French. Billie has taught us all how to load and fire a blunderbuss and I can assure you that should they come they will find the house as stoutly defended as a handful òf women and a legless boy can make it. The children thrive on the excitement, Richard particularly, he is much affected by the sight of any uniform . . .

  You will have heard of the Coalition with Austria. Much is expected of it, though I know not what to think at the moment. We are constantly disturbed by the passage of post-chaises and couriers on the Portsmouth Road that the turmoil makes it impossible to judge the true state of affairs and indeed to know whether anyone is capable of doing so . . .

  There was much more, and with it newspapers and other gossip that had percolated through the officers’ correspondence to the gunroom. There had been a movement by the Brest fleet under Ganteaume which had engaged British ships off Point St Matthew and seemed to have followed some direct instruction of the Emperor Napoleon’s. It was conjectured that a similar order had gone out to Villeneuve, but the accuracy of this was uncertain.

  The news was already old. He felt his own fears for his family abating. The uncertainty of the last months was gone. Whatever French intentions were, it was clear that the two main fleets of the enemy were secured, the one in Brest, the other in Cadiz. This time the doors of the stables were double-bolted with the horses inside.

  ‘Beg pardon, sir, but Mr Fraser says to tell you that Euryalus is approaching.’

  ‘Euryalus?’ Drinkwater looked up from the log-book in astonishment at Midshipman Wickham. ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘I believe so, sir.’

  ‘Oh.’ He exchanged glances with Hill. ‘We are superceded, Mr Hill.’

  ‘Yes,’ Hill replied flatly.

  ‘Very well, Mr Wickham, I’ll be up directly.’ He signed the log and handed it back to the sailing master.

  Half an hour later Drinkwater received a letter borne by a courteous lieutenant from the Euryalus. He read it on deck:

  Euryalus

  Off Cadiz

  27th September 1805

  Dear Drinkwater,

  I am indebted to you for so ably holding the forward post off San Sebastian. However I am ordered by Vice-Ad. Collingwood to direct you to relinquish the station to myself and to proceed to Gibraltar where you will be able to make good the deficiency in your stores. You are particularly to acquaint General Fox of the fact that Lord Nelson is arriving shortly to take command of His Majesty’s ships and vessels before Cadiz, and it is his Lordship’s particular desire that his arrival is attended with no ceremony and the news is kept from Admiral Decrès as long as possible.

  May good fortune attend your endeavours. Lose not a moment.

  Henry Blackwood.

  Drinkwater looked at the lieutenant. ‘Tell Captain Blackwood that I understand his instructions . . . Does he think that Decrès commands at Cadiz?’

  The lieutenant nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Captain Blackwood has come directly from London. Lord Nelson is no more than a day behind us in Victory . . .’

  ‘But Decrès, Lieutenant, why him and not Villeneuve?’

  ‘I believe, sir, there were reports in London that Napoleon is replacing Villeneuve, sir. Admiral Decrès was named as his successor.’

  Drinkwater frowned. ‘But Decrès is Minister of Marine. Does this mean the game is not yet played out?’

  ‘Reports from Paris indicate His Imperial Majesty still has plans for his fleets, although I believe the French have decamped from Boulogne.’

  ‘Good Lord. Very well, Lieutenant, we must be about our business. My duty to Captain Blackwood.’

  ‘So,’ muttered Drinkwater to himself as he watched the Euryalus’s boat clear the ship’s side, ‘the horse may yet kick the stable door down.’

  ‘Port, Captain Drinkwater?’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Drinkwater unstoppered the decanter and poured the dark wine into his gleaming crystal glass. Despite the war the Governor of Gibraltar, General Fox, kept an impressive table. He had dined to excess. He passed the decanter to the infantry colonel next to him.

  ‘So,’ said the Governor, ‘Nelson does not want us to advertise his arrival to the Dons, eh?’

  ‘That would seem to be his intention, sir.’

  ‘It would frighten Villeneuve. I suppose Nelson wants to entice them out for a fight, eh?’

  ‘I think that would be Lord Nelson’s intention, General, yes.’ He remembered his conversation with Pitt all those months ago.

  ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t damn well lose ’em this time then.’ There was an embarrassed silence round the table.

  ‘Is Villeneuve still in command at Cadiz, sir?’ Drinkwater asked, breaking the silence. ‘There was, I believe, a report that Napoleon had replaced him.’

  Fox exchanged glances with the port admiral, Rear-Admiral Knight. ‘We have not heard anything of the kind, though if Boney wants anything done he’d be well advised to do so.’

  ‘The fleet is pleased to have Nelson out, I daresay,’ put in Knight.

  ‘Yes, Sir John. I believe his arrival will electrify the whole squadron.’

  ‘Collingwood’s a fine fellow,’ said Fox, ‘but a better bishop than an admiral. Pass the damn thing, John.’

  Sir John Knight had his fist clamped round the neck of the decanter, withholding it from the Governor to signal his displeasure at having a fellow admiral discussed before a junior captain.

  ‘Vice-Admiral Collingwood is highly regarded, sir,’ Drinkwater remarked loyally, dislikin
g such silly gossip about a man who was wearing himself out in his country’s service. Fox grunted and Drinkwater considered that his contradiction of a General Officer might have been injudicious. Knight rescued him.

  ‘I believe you will be able to sail and rejoin the fleet by noon tomorrow, Drinkwater.’

  ‘I hope so, Sir John.’

  ‘Well you may reassure Lord Nelson that he has only to intimate his desire to us and we shall regard it as a command. At this important juncture in the war it is essential that we all co-operate . . .’

  ‘A magnificent sight is it not? May I congratulate you on being made post, sir.’

  ‘Thank you . . . I er, forgive me, your face is familiar . . .’

  ‘Quilliam, sir, John Quilliam. We met before Copenhagen . . .’

  ‘On board Amazon . . . I recollect it now. You are still awaiting your step?’

  ‘Yes. But resigned to my fate. To be first lieutenant of Victory is a better berth than many. Come, sir, his Lordship will see you at once and does not like to be kept waiting.’

  Drinkwater followed Quilliam across Victory’s immaculate quarterdeck, beneath the row of fire-buckets with their royal cipher and into the lobby outside Lord Nelson’s cabin. A minute later he was making his report to the Commander-in-Chief and delivering Sir John Knight’s documents to him. The little admiral greeted him cordially. The wide, mobile mouth smiled enthusiastically, though the skin of his face seemed transparent with fatigue. But the single eye glittered with that intensity that Drinkwater had noted before Copenhagen.

  ‘And you say it is still Villeneuve that commands at Cadiz, Captain?’

  ‘I have learned nothing positive to the contrary, my Lord, but you well know the state of news.’

  ‘Indeed I do.’ Nelson paused and reflected a moment. ‘Captain Drinkwater, I am obliged to you. I am reorganising my fleet. Rear-Admiral Louis is here, in the Canopus and I am attaching you to his squadron which is to leave to victual in Gibraltar. I know that you have come from there and I wish that you should station your frigate to the eastward of The Rock. I apprehend that Salcedo may break out from Cartagena and I am in my usual desperation for want of frigates.’

  The order came like a blow to Drinkwater and his face must have shown something of his disappointment. ‘My dear Drinkwater, I have no other means of keeping the fleet complete in provisions and water, but by this means. You may return with Louis but I cannot afford to have him cut off from my main body.’

  Drinkwater subdued his disappointment. ‘I understand perfectly, my Lord,’ he said.

  Nelson came round the table to escort Drinkwater to the door with his customary civility and in a gesture that made intimates of all his subordinates.

  ‘We shall have a battle, Drinkwater. I know it. I feel it. And we shall all do our duty to the greater glory of our King and Country!’

  And Drinkwater was unaccountably moved by the sincere conviction of this vehement little speech.

  Drinkwater looked astern. The sails of Rear-Admiral Louis’s squadron were purple against the sunset. Drinkwater wondered if Lord Walmsley had transferred from the Leopard with the rear-admiral. He did not greatly care. What he felt most strongly was a sense of anti-climax, and he felt it was common throughout all of Louis’s squadron. He crossed the deck and looked at the log.

  Thursday 3rd October 1805. 6 p.m. Bore up for the Straits of Gibraltar in company Canopus, Rear-Ad. Louis, Queen, Spencer, Zealous and Tigre Wind westerly strong breeze. At sunset handed t’gallants.

  ‘Very well, Mr Fraser, call me if you are in any doubt whatsoever.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ From his tone Fraser sounded depressed too.

  Chapter 16

  3–14 October 1805

  Tarifa

  ‘It’s a ship’s launch, sir.’

  ‘I believe you to be right, Mr Hill. Very well, back the mizen topsail until she comes up.’

  The knot of curious officers waited impatiently. For over a week Antigone had cruised east of Gibraltar, half hoping and half fearing that Salcedo would try and effect a juncture with Villeneuve. The only thing that could satisfy them would be orders to return to Cadiz. Was that what the launch brought them?

  ‘There’s a lieutenant aboard, sir,’ observed Fraser. ‘Aye, and a wee midshipman.’

  The launch lowered its mainsail and rounded under Antigone’s stern. A moment later a young lieutenant scrambled over the rail and touched his hat to Drinkwater.

  ‘Captain Drinkwater?’

  ‘Yes. You have brought us orders?’

  The officer held out a sealed packet which Drinkwater took and retired with to his cabin. In a fever of impatience he opened the packet. A covering letter from Louis instructed him to comply with the enclosed orders and wished him every success in his ‘new appointment’. Mystified, he tore open Nelson’s letter.

  Victory

  Off Cadiz

  10th October 1805

  My Dear Drinkwater,

  I am sensible of the very great services rendered by you before Copenhagen and the knowledge that you were exposed to, and suffered from, the subsequent attack on Boulogne. It is your name that I call to mind at this time. Poor Sir Robert Calder has been called home to stand trial for his actions in July last. I cannot find it in me to send him in a frigate and am depriving the fleet of the Prince of Wales to do honour to him. Brown of the Ajax and Letchmere of the Thunderer are also to go home as witnesses and it is imperative I have experienced captains in these ships. Leave your first lieutenant in command. Louis has instructions to transfer a lieutenant from one of his ships. You may bring one of your own, together with two midshipmen, but no more. These orders will come by the Entreprenante cutter, but she has orders to return immediately. Therefore hire a barca longa and join Thunderer without delay.

  Nelson and Brontë

  ‘God bless my soul!’ He was to transfer immediately into a seventy-four! ‘How damnably providential!’ he muttered, then recalled himself. He would be compelled to leave most of his effects . . .

  ‘Mullender!’ He began bawling orders. ‘Rogers! Pass word for the first lieutenant!’ He sat down and wrote out a temporary commission for Rogers, interrupting his writing to shout additional wants to his steward. Then he shouted for Tregembo and sent him off with a bewildering series of orders without an explanation.

  Rogers knocked and entered.

  ‘Come in, Sam. I am writing out your orders. You are to take command. This lieutenant is staying with you. I am transferring to Thunderer. You may send over my traps when you rejoin the fleet . . . Hey! Tregembo! Pass word for my coxswain, damn it! Ah, Tregembo, there you are. Tell Mr Q and Midshipmen Frey and Gillespy to pack their dunnage . . . oh, yes, and you too . . . Sam, set course immediately for Gibraltar. Take that damned launch in tow . . . Come, Sam, bustle! Bustle!’ He shooed the first lieutenant out of the cabin. Rogers’s mouth gaped, but Drinkwater took little notice. He was trying to think of all the essential things he would need, amazed at what he seemed to have accumulated in eighteen months’ residence.

  ‘Mullender! God damn it, where is the fellow?’

  He would take Frey because he was useful, and Gillespy out of pity. He could not leave the child to endure Rogers’s rough tongue. James Quilhampton he would have to take. If he did not he doubted if Quilhampton, like Tregembo, would ever forgive him the omission.

  Antigone hove to off Europa Point and Drinkwater and his party transferred to the launch. The midshipman in command of the boat hoisted the lugsails and set his course for Gibraltar. Drinkwater looked back to see the hands swarming aloft.

  ‘God bless my soul!’ he said again. The cheer carried to him over the water and he stood up and doffed his hat. An hour later, still much moved by the sudden change in his circumstances, he stood before Louis.

  ‘Sorry to lose you, Drinkwater, but I wish you well. I am fearful that my ships will miss the battle and I told Lord Nelson so, but . . .’ the admiral shrugged his shoulders. ‘No matter. I h
ave hired a local lugger to take you down the coast. It is all that is available but the passage will not be long and you will not wish to delay for something more comfortable, eh?’

  ‘Indeed not, sir. I am obliged to you for your consideration.’

  By that evening, in a fresh westerly breeze, the barca longa was beating out of Gibraltar Bay. Below, in what passed for a cabin, Drinkwater prepared to sleep in company with Quilhampton and his two midshipmen.

  ‘We must make the best of it, gentlemen,’ he said, but he need not have worried. The events of the day had tired him and, shorn for a time of the responsibilities of command, he fell into a deep sleep.

  He was awakened by a sharp noise and a sudden shouting. Against the side of the lugger something heavy bumped.

  ‘By God!’ he shouted, throwing his legs clear of the bunk, ‘there’s something alongside!’ In the darkness he heard Quilhampton wake. ‘For God’s sake, James, there’s something wrong!’ The unmistakable sound of a scuffle was going on overhead and suddenly it fell quiet. Drinkwater had tightened the belt of his breeches and had picked up a pistol when the hatch from the deck above was thrown back and the grey light of dawn flooded the mean space.

  A moustachioed face peered down at them from behind the barrel of a gun. ‘Arriba!’

  Drinkwater lowered his pistol; there was no point in courting death. He scrambled on deck where a swarthy Spaniard twisted the flintlock from his grasp. They were becalmed off the town of Tarifa and the Guarda Costa lugger that had put off from the mole lay alongside, her commander and crew in possession of the deck of the barca longa. A glance forward revealed Tregembo still struggling beneath three Spaniards. ‘Belay that, Tregembo!’

  ‘Buenos Dias, Capitán.’ A smirking officer greeted his emergence on deck, while behind him Quilhampton and Frey struggled over the hatch-coaming swearing. The master of the barca longa was secured by two Spanish seamen and had obviously revealed the nature of his passengers. For a second Drinkwater suspected treachery, but the Gibraltarian shrugged.