'Sir.'
'Very good. We will transfer you to the cutter as soon as the sea allows a boat to be launched. You may pack your traps.'
Drinkwater stared after the midshipman. He felt he had failed to make an impression on the youth and he feared that Walmsley would see that his sending him to a flagship only indicated his own lack of interest or influence.
It was two days before Walmsley departed, two days in which Antigone worked slowly south and west in obedience to her new orders. The formation of Rear-Admiral Louis's squadron had released her from her duties in the Channel and she was sent out to join Cornwallis and the Channel Fleet. Drinkwater greeted this news with mixed feelings. The close contact with the shore would be broken now, the arrival of mail less frequent and he would feel his isolation more. Nor was he very sure of the opinion Cornwallis had formed of him when they had last met. But his puritan soul derived that strange satisfaction from the anticipation of an arduous duty, and in his innermost heart he welcomed the change and the challenge.
It was two days, too, before he found the time to read the newspapers and mail. The most electrifying news for the officers and men of the Antigone was that war with Spain seemed imminent. Since the end of the Peace of Amiens 'neutral' Spanish ports had been shamelessly used by French warships. Their crews had enjoyed rights of passage through the country to join and leave their ships, and Spain had done everything to aid and abet her powerful and intimidating neighbour short of an actual declaration of war against Great Britain. Now the new British government had precipitated a crisis by sending out a flying squadron of four frigates to intercept a similar number of Spanish men-o'-war returning from Montevideo with over a million and a quarter in specie. Opposed by equal and not overwhelming force, the Spanish admiral, Don Joseph Bustamente, had defended the honour of his flag and in the ensuing action the Spanish frigate Mercedes had blown up with her crew and passengers. Although no immediate declaration of war had come from Madrid, it was hourly anticipated, and Drinkwater immediately calculated that the addition of the Spanish fleet to the French would augment it by over thirty ships of the line. They were superb ships too; one, the Santissima Trinidad had four gun-decks and was the greatest ship in the world. It was while reflecting on the possible consequences of Mr Pitt's aggressive new policy, and on whether it would enable the French Emperor to attempt invasion, that his eye fell upon another piece of news; a mere snippet of no apparent importance. Thomas Pitt, second Baron Camelford, had been killed in a duel near Holland House. The circumstances of the affair were confused, but what was of interest to Drinkwater was that there was some veiled and unsubstantiated claims in the less respectable papers that Camelford's death had been engineered by French agents.
PART TWO
Break-Out
'I beg to inform your Lordship that the Port of Toulon has never been blockaded by me: quite the reverse—every opportunity has been offered to the Enemy to put to sea…'
NELSON TO THE LORD MAYOR OF LONDON August 1804
'Sail, do not lose a moment, and with my squadrons reunited enter the Channel. England is ours. We are ready and embarked. Appear for twenty-four hours, and all will be ended.'
NAPOLEON TO ADMIRAL VILLENEUVE August 1805
Chapter Ten
The Rochefort Squadron
January 1805
'Signal from Flag, sir,' Midshipman Wickham's cheerful face poking round the door was an affront to Drinkwater's seediness as he woke from a doze.
'Eh? Well? What o'clock is it?'
'Four bells, sir,' Wickham said, then, seeing the captain's apparent look of incomprehension added, 'in the afternoon, sir'.
'Thank you, Mr Wickham,' said Drinkwater drily, now fully awake. 'I shall be up directly.'
They had received and acknowledged the signal by the time Drinkwater reached the quarterdeck. Lieutenant Fraser handed him the slate as he touched his hat. Drinkwater had grown to like the ruddy Scotsman with his silent manner and dry humour. Drinkwater read the message scribbled on the slate. Midshipman Wickham was already copying it out into the Signal Log.
Very well, Mr Fraser, we will close on Doris and see if Campbell has any specific orders for us. In the meantime watch the admiral for further signals.'
'Aye, sir.'
Drinkwater eased his right shoulder. Of all the stations to be consigned to during the winter months, the west coast of France with its damp procession of gales was possibly the worst for his wound. He drew the cloak closer around him and began to pace the deck, from the hance to the taffrail, casting an eye across the grey, white-streaked waves that separated him from the rest of the squadron. He watched the half-dozen ships of Rear-Admiral Sir Thomas Graves jockeying into line ahead, their yards braced up on the larboard tack as they began to move away to the north-north-westwards and the shelter of Quiberon Bay where they were to take in stores and water.
The two frigates Doris and Antigone, being late arrivals at this outpost of the Channel Fleet, were left to watch Rear-Admiral Missiessy's ships anchored off Rochefort, in the shelter of the Basque Roads. Drinkwater turned his attention to the eastwards. On the horizon he could make out the blue blur of the Ile d'Oléron behind which the French squadron was anchored, comfortably secure under the lee of the island, the approach of its mooring blocked by batteries. He had reconnoitred them several times, sailing Antigone under the guns of the French batteries and carrying out manoeuvres between Oléron and the surrounding islands. It was, he admitted to himself a piece of braggadocio; but it was good for the men, enabling them to demonstrate before the eyes of the French their abilities. Best of all, it broke the monotony of blockade duty. They had received fire from the land batteries and from the floating battery the enemy had anchored off Oléron which mounted huge heavy mortars and long cannon of the heaviest calibres, together with furnaces for heating shot. Beyond the batteries they had countered the ships of Missiessy's squadron anchored in two neat lines. They appeared so securely moored that their situation seemed permanent, but Drinkwater knew that this was an illusion. There were French squadrons like Missiessy's in all the major French and Spanish ports, joined now, since the declaration of war against Great Britain, by the splendid ships of the Spanish navy. Nor were they entirely supine. Missiessy had sortied in the previous August, only being turned back by the appearance of Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Calder with a stronger force. From the Texel to Toulon the naval forces of the enemy were now united under the imperial eagle of France. Against this mass of shipping the British blockade was maintained unrelentingly. The ships of Keith, Cornwallis, Calder, Collingwood and Nelson watched each of the enemy ports, detaching squadrons like that of Graves's to close up the gaps.
Now that Graves had been driven off his station for want of the very necessaries of life itself, the Rochefort squadron of Missiessy was checked by the rather feeble presence of a pair of 36-gun frigates, Antigone and Doris.
'Doris signalling, sir.'
'Ah, I rather thought she might.' Drinkwater waited patiently while his people did their work and deciphered the numerical signal streaming from Doris's lee yardarms. As senior officer it was up to Campbell of the Doris to decide how best to carry out their duties. Drinkwater listened to the dialogue between Wickham and Frey as the import of Campbell's intentions became clear.
'One-two-two.'
'Permission to part company…'
'Eight-seven-three.'
'To…'
'Seven-six-six.'
'See…'
'Two-four-nine.'
'Enemy… er, "Permission to part company to see enemy", sir.'
'Very well, Mr Frey. Thank you. You may lay me a course, Mr Fraser. Shake out the fore-course, if you please, let us at least give the impression of attending to our duty with alacrity.'
'Verra well, sir.' Fraser grinned back at the captain. He was beginning to like this rather stern Englishman.
Drinkwater woke in the darkness of pre-dawn with the conviction that something was wrong. He liste
ned intently, fully awake, for some sound in the fabric of the ship that would declare its irregularity. There was nothing. They had reduced sail at the onset of the early January darkness and hove-to. Their leeway during the night should have put them between Oléron and the Ile de Ré at dawn, in a perfect position to reconnoitre Missiessy's anchorage with all the daylight of the short January day to beat offshore again. The westerly wind had dropped after sunset and it was inconceivable that their leeway had been excessive, even allowing for the tide.
Then it occurred to him that the reason for his awakening was something entirely different; his shoulder had stopped aching. He smiled to himself in the darkness, stretched luxuriously and rolled over, composing himself for another hour's sleep before duty compelled him to rise. And then suddenly he was wide awake, sitting bolt upright in his cot. An instant later he was feeling for his breeches, stockings and shoes. He stumbled across the cabin in his haste, fumbling for the clean shirt that Mullender should have left. If his shoulder was not aching it meant the air was drier. And if the air was drier it meant only one thing, the wind was hauling to the eastward. He pulled on his coat, wound a muffler around his neck to suppress the quinsy he had felt coming on for several days and, pulling on his cloak, went on deck.
The dozing sentry jerked to attention at this untimely appearance of the captain. As he emerged, Drinkwater knew immediately his instinct was right. Above the tracery of the mastheads the stars were coldly brilliant, the cloudy overcast of yesterday had vanished. A figure detached itself from the group around the binnacle. It was Quilhampton.
'Morning, sir. A change in the weather. Dead calm for the last half-hour and colder.'
'Why did you not call me, Mr Q?' asked Drinkwater with sudden asperity.
'Sir? But sir, your written orders said to call you if the wind freshened… I supposed that you were concerned with an increase in our leeway, sir, not… not a calm, sir. The ship is quite safe, sir.'
'Damn it, sir, don't patronise me!'
'I beg pardon, sir.' Even in the darkness Quilhampton was obviously crestfallen.
Drinkwater took a turn or two up and down the deck. He realised that the wind had not yet got up, that his apprehensions were not yet fully justified. 'Mr Q!'
'Sir?'
'Forgive my haste, Mr Q.'
'With pleasure, sir. But I assure you, sir, that I would have called you the instant I thought that the ship was in any danger.'
'It is not the ship that concerns me, James. It is the enemy!'
'The enemy, sir?'
'Yes, the enemy. In an hour from now the wind will be easterly and in two hours from now Missiessy, if he's half the man I think him to be, will be ordering his ships to sea. Now d'you understand?'
'Yes… yes I do. I'll have the watch cast loose the t'gallants ready to set all sail the moment it's light, sir.'
'That's the spirit. And I'll go below and break my fast. I've a feeling that this will be a long day.'
Over his spartan breakfast of skillygolee, coffee and toast, Drinkwater thought over the idea that had germinated from the seeds sown during his extraordinary conversation with Mr Pitt. He knew that he would not consciously have reasoned a grand strategy for the French by himself, but that game of shuttlecock with ideas at Walmer had produced the only convincing answer to the conundrum of Napoleon's intentions. It was clear that the French would not move their vast armies across the Channel until they had a fleet in the vicinity. Now, with Admiral Ver Huel's Dutch ships joining a Combined Franco-Spanish fleet, the pre-posterous element of such a grand design was diminishing. Drinkwater did not attempt to unravel the reasoning behind Pitt's deliberate provocation of Spain. It seemed only to undermine the solid foundation of Britain's defence based upon the Channel Fleet off Brest and the understanding that, if the enemy they blockaded escaped, then every British squadron fell back upon the chops of the Channel. In this grand strategy there still remained the factor of the unexpected. Navigationally the mouth of the Channel was difficult to make, particularly when obstructed by an enemy fleet. For the French Commander-in-Chief a passage round Scotland offered nothing but advantages: prevailing fair winds, a less impeded navigation, the element of surprise and the greater difficulty for the British of watching his movements. In addition the fleets of other nations could be more readily added. Russia, for instance, still not wholly committed to defying the new Emperor of France, perhaps the Danes, and certainly the Dutch. Worst of all was the consideration that the enemy might be in the Strait of Dover while the British waited for them off the Isles of Scilly. And the only place from which to launch such an attack was the West Indies, where the French might rendezvous, blown there by favourable winds to recuperate and revictual from friendly islands.
Nathaniel Drinkwater was not given to flights of wild imagination. He was too aware of the difficulties and dangers that beset every seaman. But during his long years of service intuition and cogent reasoning had served him well. He was reminded of the weary weeks of stalking the Dutch before Camperdown and how conviction of the accuracy of his forebodings had sustained him then. He called Mullender to clear the table and while he waited for the wind to rise he opened his journal, eager to get down this train of logic which had stemmed from some dim perception that lingered from his strange awakening.
8th January, he wrote, and added carefully, aware that he had still not become accustomed to the new year,1805. Off the Ile d'Oléron in a calm. Woke with great apprehension that the day… He paused, scratched out the last word and added: year is pregnant with great events…
'If you are going to record your prophecies,' he muttered to himself, pleased with his improving technique with Elizabeth's pen, 'you might as well make 'em big ones.'
It seems to me that a descent upon the British Isles might best be achieved by the French in first making a rendezvous…
But he got no further. There was a knock at the cabin door and Midshipman Wickham reappeared.
'Lieutenant Quilhampton's compliments, sir, and the wind's freshening from the east.'
The wind did not keep its early promise. By noon Antigone lay becalmed off the He d'Oléron, in full view of the French anchorage and with the tide setting her down towards the Basque Road; at one in the afternoon she had been brought to her anchor and Drinkwater was studying the enemy through his glass from the elevation of the mizen top. Beside him little Mr Gillespy was making notes at the captain's dictation.
'The usual force, Mr Gillespy: Majestueux, four seventy-fours, the three heavy frigates and two brig-corvettes. Nothing unusual in that, eh?' he said kindly.
'No, sir,' the boy squeaked, somewhat nonplussed at finding himself aloft with the captain. Gillespy had not supposed captains ascended rigging. It did not seem part of their function.
'But what makes today of more than passing interest,' Drinkwater continued, mouthing his words sideways as he continued to stare through the glass, 'is that they are taking aboard stores… d'you have that, Mr Gillespy?'
'Stores,' the boy wrote carefully, 'yes, sir.'
'Troops…'
'Troops… yes, sir.'
'And, Mr Gillespy,' Drinkwater paused. The cloudless sky let sunlight pour down upon the stretch of blue water between the green hills of the island and the main. The brilliantly clear air made his task easy and the sunlight glanced off the dull breeches of cannon. There was no doubt in Drinkwater's mind that Missiessy was going to break out to the West Indies and take back those sugar islands over which Britain and France had been squabbling for two generations. 'Artillery, Mr Gillespy, artillery… one "t" and two "ll"s.'
He closed his glass with a snap and turned his full attention to the boy. He was not so very many years older than his own son, Richard.
'What d'you suppose we'd better do now, eh?'
'Tell the admiral, sir?'
'First class, my boy.' Drinkwater swung himself over the edge of the top and reached for the futtocks with his feet. He began to descend, pausing as his head came le
vel with the deck of the top. Gillespy regarded the captain's apparently detached head with surprise.
'I think, Mr Gillespy, that in the coming months you may see things to tell your grandchildren about.'
Midshipman Gillespy stared at the empty air where the captain's head had just been. He was quite bewildered. The idea of ever having grandchildren had never occurred to him.
The wind freshened again at dusk, settling to a steady breeze and bringing even colder air off the continent. Antigone stood offshore in search of Doris and, at dawn on the 9th, Drinkwater spoke to Campbell, informing him of the preparations being made by the French. Two hours later Antigone was alone apart from the distant topgallants of Doris in the north, as Campbell made off to warn Graves.
'Full and bye, Mr Hill, let us stop up that gap. I mislike those cloud banks building up over the land. We may not be able to stop the Frogs getting out but, by God, we must not lose touch with 'em.'
'Indeed not, sir.'
The wind continued light and steady throughout the day and at dawn on the 10th they were joined by the schooner Felix commanded by Lieutenant Richard Bourne, brother of Drinkwater's late lieutenant of the Melusine. Bourne announced that he had met Campbell and told him of Graves's whereabouts. Campbell had ordered Felix to stand by Antigone and act under Drinkwater's directions as a dispatch-boat in the event of Graves not turning up in time to catch Missiessy. Having an independent means of communicating such intelligence as he might glean took a great deal of weight off Drinkwater's mind. He had only to hang onto Missiessy's skirts now, and with such a smart ship and a crew tuned to the perfection expected of every British cruiser, he entertained few worries upon that score.
As the day wore on, the wind began to increase from the east and by nightfall was a fresh breeze. Drinkwater stretched out on his cot, wrapped in his cloak, and slept fitfully. An hour before dawn he was awakened and struggled on deck in a rising gale. As daylight grew it revealed a sky grey with lowering cloud. It was bitterly cold. The islands were no longer green, they were grey and dusted with snow. In the east the sky was even more threatening, leaden and greenish. Aloft the watch were shortening down, ready for a whole gale by mid-morning. Drinkwater was pleased to see Rogers already on deck.
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