The Commodore h-10

by Cecil Scott Forester

  “See how they eat, sir!” said Purvis. “Look at that one, layin’ into his biscuit like a wolf with a bone. God damme, it’s gone a’ready. It’s true what they say, sir, about Boney never feeding his men.”

  An Imperial army was wont to gather its food from the countryside as it marched; Macdonald’s sixty thousand had been stationary now for over two weeks, and in a thinly populated country. They must be on short commons. Every day the siege of Riga could be prolonged cost lives in plenty to Bonaparte, and although he was ever prodigal with lives there must come a time at last when he would have no more to spare, not even Prussian ones, or Italian ones. The greater the pity, then, that the whole division that had tried to pass the river had not been wiped out. Hornblower told himself that was his fault; he should not have entrusted any vital part of the operation to a nervous old woman like Cole. He ought instead to have stayed on board Raven himself. Yet it was hard to be sure of that; the other end of the line, which he had entrusted to Vickery in Lotus, was just as important, and it was desirable that he should be in the centre in Nonsuch to coordinate the activities of his two wings. If Vickery and Cole had had their positions interchanged—as would have to be done—although Vickery could have been relied upon not to spring the trap too soon, could Cole have been relied upon to keep it closed? There might be five thousand Prussians on the farther bank of the Dwina at this moment if it had been up to Cole to head them off. Hornblower found himself wishing that he had known exactly which night Macdonald would make the attempt; he might as well have wished for the moon.

  “Mr. Cole,” said Hornblower, “make a signal to Nonsuch, ‘Commodore to Captain. Am proceeding to Riga with prisoners’. Then the guard-boats can return to their respective ships, and if you’ll kindly up anchor we’ll start.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Hornblower was once more up in the gallery that encircled the dome of the church of Daugavgriva.

  “You see what I was telling you about, sir,” said Clausewitz, pointing.

  Out beyond the Russian works stretched a long line, brown against the green, the parapet of the trench the French had thrown up during the night. Macdonald must be a general with energy, for he had had this work done at the same time as he had sent the Prussians on their risky endeavour to cross the river, so that while one attempt had failed he had made a solid gain, profiting by the dark and rainy night to throw up this entrenchment far forward unobserved.

  “That is his first parallel, sir, and in the centre of it is the battery he is constructing. And see there, sir? That is where he is sapping forward.”

  Hornblower stared through his telescope. At a point towards the end of the face of the first parallel he could see something that looked like a wall constructed of bundles of timber. The guns in the Russian works far below him were firing at it; he could see earth flying as the shots struck round it. At the end of the wall of timber was something that looked strange—a sort of shield on wheels. He was studying it when he saw it moved out suddenly, leaving a narrow gap between it and the end of the timber wall, in which for a fleeting moment he saw a couple of men in blue uniforms. It was only a fleeting moment, for immediately the gap was filled with a new bundle of timber. Above the new bundle he could see the blades of spades rising and then disappearing; apparently the bundle of timber was hollow, barrel-shaped, and as soon as it was in position the men sheltering behind it set to work to fill it up with earth dug from behind it. Hornblower realized that he was witnessing the classic method of sapping towards an enemy’s position with ‘gabion’ and ‘fascine’. That big timber basket was a gabion, now being filled with earth. Farther back, under cover of the line of filled gabions, the besiegers were revetting their breastwork with fascines, six-foot bundles of wood, and farther back still they were building the whole thing solid with earth dug from a trench behind the breastwork. As he watched, the shield was suddenly pushed forward another yard, and another gabion was put in position; the French were three feet nearer the earthworks which guarded Daugavgriva. No, not a yard, a little less, because the sap was not pointing straight at its objective, but out at its flank so that it could not be enfiladed. Soon it would change its direction, and point towards the other flank, approaching the fortress in zigzag fashion, ruthlessly and remorsely. Of all operations of war a scientific siege was the most certain if relief did not arrive from the outside.

  “See there, sir!” said Clausewitz suddenly.

  From behind a high embankment had suddenly emerged a long string of horses, looking like ants at that distance, but the white breeches of the men who led them showed up clearly in the sunshine. The horses were dragging a cannon, a big piece of artillery when its apparent size was compared with that of the horses. It crawled towards the battery in the centre of the first parallel, a myriad white-breeched specks attending it. The high breastwork of the first parallel screened the operation from the sight of the Russian gunners and shielded it from their fire. When the guns had all been brought into the battery, Hornblower knew, openings—‘embrasures’—would be made in the breastwork through which the guns would open fire on the village, silencing the return fire of the defence, and then hammering a breach; meanwhile the sap would be expanded into a wide trench, the ‘second parallel’, from which, or if necessary from a ‘third parallel’, the stormers would rush out to carry the breach.

  “They will have that battery armed by to-morrow,” said Clausewitz. “And look! There is another gabion put in place.”

  Siege operations had the remorseless cold inevitability of the advance of a snake on a paralysed bird.

  “Why do your guns not stop the work on the sap?” asked Hornblower.

  “They are trying, as you see. But a single gabion is not an easy target to hit at this range, and it is only the end one which is vulnerable. And by the time the sap approaches within easy range their battery-fire will be silencing our guns.”

  Another siege-gun had made its appearance from behind the high embankment, and was crawling towards the battery; its predecessor was at that moment being thrust finally into its position at the breastwork.

  “Can you not bring your ships up, sir?” asked Clausewitz. “See how the water comes close to their works there. You could shoot them to pieces with your big guns.”

  Hornblower shook his head; the same idea had already occurred to him, for the long glittering arm of the Gulf of Riga which reached into the land there was very tempting. But there was less than a fathom of water in it, and even his shallow bomb-ketches drew nine feet—seven at least if he emptied them of all their stores save those necessary for the action.

  “I would do so if I could,” said Hornblower, “but at the present moment I can see no means of getting my guns into range.”

  Clausewitz looked at him coldly, and Hornblower was conscious that goodwill between allies was a frail thing. Earlier that morning British and Russians had been the best of friends; Essen and Clausewitz had been thoroughly elated at the turning back of Macdonald’s attempt to cross the river, and—like the unthinking junior officers in the squadron—had thought that the annihilation of a half-battalion of Prussians a notable success, not knowing of the far more far-reaching plan which Hornblower had made and which Cole’s nervousness had brought to almost naught. When affairs went well, allies were the best of friends, but in adversity each naturally tended to blame the other. Now that the French approaches were moving towards Daugavgriva he was asking why the Russian artillery did not stop them, and the Russians were asking why his ships’ guns did not do the same.

  Hornblower made his explanation as fully as he could, but Clausewitz turned an unsympathetic ear, and so did Essen when the matter came up for discussion as Hornblower was saying goodbye to him. It was a poor showing for a Navy whose boast was that nothing was impossible; Hornblower was irritable and snappy when he returned that afternoon to the Nonsuch, and he had no word for Bush who came hastily to greet him as he came up the side. His cabin was unfriendly and inhospitable to his j
aundiced eye when he entered it, and it was ‘make and mend’ day on board, with the hands skylarking noisily on the deck, so that he knew that if he went up to walk the quarter-deck his train of thought would be continually interrupted. He toyed for a moment with the idea of ordering Bush to cancel his order to make and mend and instead to put the hands to some quiet labour. Everyone would know that it was because the Commodore wanted to walk the deck in peace, and might be properly impressed with his importance, but there was never a chance of his acting on the notion. He would not deprive the men of their holiday, and the thought of swelling his importance in their eyes acted as a positive deterrent.

  Instead, he went out into the quarter gallery, and, bowed below the overhanging cove above, he tried to stride up and down its twelve-foot length. It was indeed a pity that he could not bring his ships’ guns to bear on the siege-works. Heavy guns at close range would play havoc with the French breastworks. And behind the high dyke from which he had seen the guns being dragged must lie the French park and train—a few shells from the bomb-vessels would wreak havoc there, and if only he could get the ketches up the bay it would be easy to drop shells over the dyke. But over most of the bay there was only three or four feet of water, and nowhere more than seven. The thing was impossible, and the best thing he could do was to forget about it. To distract himself he stepped over the rail into the other quarter gallery, and peeped through the stern window into Bush’s cabin. Bush was asleep on his cot, flat on his back with his mouth open, his hands spread wide at his sides and his wooden leg hanging in a becket against the bulkhead. Hornblower felt a twinge of annoyance that his captain should be sleeping so peacefully while he himself had so many cares on his shoulders. For two pins he would send a message in to Bush and wreck his nap for him. But he knew he would never do that, either. He could never bring himself to a wanton abuse of power.

  He stepped back into his own quarter gallery, and as he did, as he stood with one leg suspended and with the rudder gudgeons creaking a little in their pintles in the stream below him, the idea came to him, so that he stood stock still for a space, with one leg in mid-air. Then he brought his leg over and walked into his cabin and shouted for a messenger.

  “My compliments to the officer of the watch, and will he please signal to Harvey for Mr. Mound to come on board at once.”

  Mound came down into the cabin, young and expectant, and yet with his eagerness thinly overlaid with assumed nonchalance. It suddenly dawned upon Hornblower as he greeted him that that careless lackadaisical air of Mound’s was assumed in imitation of himself. Hornblower realized that he was something of a hero—more than that, very much of a hero—to this young lieutenant who was paying him the sincerest flattery of imitation. It made him grin wryly to himself even while he motioned Mound to a chair, and then it was forgotten as he plunged into the vital discussion.

  “Mr. Mound, do you know of the progress of the French siege-works?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then look at this chart with me. They have a line of trenches here, with a battery here. Their main flank and stores are behind a dyke, here. If we could bring the bomb-vessels up the bay we could shell them out of both places.”

  “Shoal water, sir,” said Mound regretfully.

  “Yes,” said Hornblower, and for the life of him he could not stop himself from making a dramatic pause before uttering the crucial word. “But with camels we could reduce the draught.”

  “Camels!” exclaimed Mound, and as he realized all the implications his face lit up. “By George, sir, you’re right.”

  Camels are a means of reducing the draught of a ship—loaded vessels lashed tightly one on each side and then emptied, so as to raise the centre ship farther out of the water. Mound was already grappling with the details.

  “There are lighters and barges in Riga, sir. They’ll give us some, sure as a gun. Plenty of sand to ballast ‘em, or we can fill ‘em with water and pump ‘em out. With two big lighters I could lessen Harvey’s draught by five feet easy—lift her clear out of the water for that matter. Those lighters are two hundred tons burden an’ don’t draw more than a couple of feet empty.”

  A difficulty had occurred to Hornblower while Mound was speaking, one which he had not thought of before.

  “How are you going to steer ‘em all?” he demanded. “They’ll be unmanageable.”

  “Rig a Danube rudder, sir,” replied Mound instantly. “Make it big enough and you could steer anything with one.”

  “’Give me a fulcrum and I will move the world’,” quoted Hornblower.

  “Exactly, sir. An’ I’ll pierce the lighters for sweeps, There’ll be no beatin’ to wind’ward any more than in a raft. I could put the men to work at once if you’ll give the order, sir.”

  Mound might have been a boy of ten instead of one of twenty from the eagerness of his voice. The languid calm was quite forgotten.

  “I’ll send a note to the Governor,” said Hornblower, “asking for the loan of four lighters. I’ll make it six, in case of accidents. Have your plans ready in an hour’s time. You can draw upon this ship and the sloops for the materials and men you’ll need.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  There was need for haste, for that very evening there came sullenly booming across the bay the sound of heavy guns firing, not the higher-pitched incisive growl of the field-pieces they had heard before, but the deep-toned roar of siege artillery; the enemy was trying a few shots with the first of the big guns dragged up into their battery. And the next morning, just as Hornblower came out on the quarter-deck, there was a sudden loud crash ashore, like a peal of thunder, to herald the opening salvo of the enemy. Its echoes had not died away before a more ragged salvo succeeded it, and then another more ragged still, and so on until the air was ceaselessly tormented by the loud reports, like a continuous thunderstorm from which the ear waited continually for relief that was not granted it. The masthead lookout reported a long smear of smoke drifted by the breeze across the countryside from the enemy’s battery.

  “Call away my barge,” said Hornblower.

  At Nonsuch’s boat booms there already lay an assortment of the boats of the squadron, piled high with the stores which bad been taken out of the two bomb-ketches. The barge danced over the water in the sparkling dawn to where the bomb-ketches lay anchored, each with a lighter on either side, Duncan, captain of the Moth, was being rowed round the group in a jollyboat. He touched his hat as the barge approached.

  “Morning, sir,” he said, and then instantly turned back to the work in hand, raising his speaking-trumpet to his lips. “Too much by the bows! Take up the for’ward cable another pawl!”

  Hornblower had himself rowed on to the Harvey, and leaped from his barge to the lighter on her starboard side—not much of a leap, because she was laden down with ballast—without bothering officers or men for compliments. Mound was standing on his tiny quarter-deck, testing with his foot the tension of the big cable—one of Nonsuch’s—which was wrapped round his own ship and both lighters, two turns round each, forward and aft.

  “Carry on, port side!” he yelled.

  In each of the lighters a large working party was stationed, the men equipped with shovels for the most part extemporized out of wood. At Mound’s order the men in the port-side lighter recommenced lustily shovelling sand over the side. Clouds of it drifted astern on the faint wind. Mound tested the tension again.

  “Carry on, starboard side!” he yelled again, and then, perceiving his Commodore approaching, he came to the salute.

  “Good morning, Mr. Mound,” said Hornblower.

  “Good morning, sir. We have to do this part of it step by step, you see, sir. I have the old ketch so light she’ll roll over in the cables if I give her the chance.”

  “I understand, Mr. Mound.”

  “The Russians were prompt enough sending out the lighters to us, sir.”

  “Can you wonder?” replied Hornblower. “D’you hear the French battery at work?”
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  Mound listened and apparently heard it for the first time. He had been engrossed too deeply in his work to pay any attention to it before; his face was unshaven and grey with fatigue, for his activity had not ceased since Hornblower had summoned him the afternoon before. In that time both ketches had been emptied of their stores, the cables roused out and got across to them, the lighters received and laid alongside in the dark, and each group of three vessels bound into a single mass with the cables hauled taut by the capstans.

  “Excuse me, sir,” said Mound, and ran forward to examine the forward cable.

  With the shovelling-out of the sand, hove overside by a hundred lusty pairs of arms, the lighters were rising in the water, lifting the ketch between them, cables and timber all a-creaking, and it was necessary to keep the cables taut as the rising of the lighters relieved the strain upon them. Hornblower turned aft to see what another working party were doing there. A large barrel half filled with water had been streamed out astern with a line to either quarter of the ketch, conducted in each case through a fair-lead to an extemporized windlass fixed to the deck. Paying out or heaving in on the lines would regulate the pull of the barrel, were the ketch under way, to one side or the other, exerting a powerful leverage. The barrel then was intended to undertake the duties of the rudder, which was already sufficiently high out of the water to be almost useless.

  “It’s only a contraption, sir,” said Mound, who had returned from forward. “I had intended, as I told you, sir, to rig a Danube rudder. It was Wilson here who suggested this—I’d like to call your attention to him, sir. It’ll be much more effective, I’m sure.”

  Wilson looked up from his work with a gap-toothed grin.

  “What’s your rating?” asked Hornblower.

  “Carpenter’s mate, sir.”

  “As good a one as I’ve known, sir,” interpolated Mound.

  “What service?”