“We’ll wait just nearby,” said Mr. Fredericks as soon as they landed. He had his eye on a tavern not a cable away. The boat’s crew, all dressed in their shore-going gear – black trousers and white shirts with long tasseled kerchiefs – sat with great grins, nodding like a flock of penguins.
“We meet back here at the end of the first dog watch, gentlemen,” Mr. Goode said, followed by, “come along, Mr. Watson. Up that street, there.”
Neville was already experiencing that unsteadiness that sailors feel when first setting foot on land after a long voyage, and the heat of the day was not helping. There was not much breeze here, it being blocked by the mass of the great rock. Detecting his assistant’s unsteadiness, Tillman suggested a small pub “Just ‘round the corner, out of sight of those ninnyhammers, where we ‘might have a pint before setting out.”
At the bottom of that quick pint, Tillman suddenly stood, “Dr. Mills, you take the young gentleman off on your search for newt’s eyes and toad’s wings, or whatever potions you’re looking for, and I will take a walk ‘round the victuallers.” After this announcement, he walked swiftly off down the dusty street, leaving Neville and Dr. Mills somewhat dumbfounded.
“No matter,” uttered Mills. “With a few inquiries, I am sure we can find what we need. They must have everything an ocean-bound vessel requires here – and in English, I expect. However, since we are here by ourselves, we might as well have that conversation about Dr. Badeau. Do you remember I said that I am on this ship because it is going where I need to go? Well, I was going to see Dr. Badeau in Toulon. I had no idea I would discover him beforehand. I need to collect some things from his offices in Toulon. Now, I fear he will not be permitted to accompany us because of his appearance on the Angelique. I expect it is still possible that a man of science can travel freely but, if that is not the case, some ploy may be necessary to allow you to accompany me. That’s not terribly deceptive, is it? Just picking up some scientific papers – and a few medical supplies he has in excess?”
“No, I suppose not but, if that’s all it is, why was this conversation so secretive?”
“Ah. A logical question,” he said, pausing there as if conjuring an answer. “It’s all about the perception, I suppose. It might appear quite curious, if not truly suspicious, for a Frenchman to deliver papers to the British in Toulon. The French are quite suspicious of everything these days. For that reason, I am asking you to carry a paper for me. Here it is,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket. “It is nothing more than the address of Dr. Badeau’s offices in Toulon, and some directions inside to find what he has promised me. As I said, the French are suspicious of everything, and so might relieve me of this. They might not take it from you, however, if you are, say, my protector. Therefore, I implore you again not to speak of it. There are ears everywhere aboard ship, and we worry that some word would pass to the French. As you heard Dr. Badeau say, he wishes to be able to continue his work there without trouble from either of the warring French factions. I suppose the concern is much less now that we are shot of the Angelique, anyway.
Two weeks to the day after Castor and Mermaid had dropped anchor in the Bay of Gibraltar, they made ready to leave. Angelique would be moved to the prize court in England and, in all likelihood, every man jack aboard would have a fat purse when the judgment was made. With the amount of gold estimated to be in the hold of Angelique, it was impossible to make an intelligent guess at what the shares would be.
They could see the Mermaid, about three cables north, shaking out her foretopsail in preparation to weigh anchor. Even at this distance, without a glass, Troubridge could see men converging at her capstan.
Lt. Froste stepped up to the quarterdeck and reported to the captain, “Anchor’s hove short, Sir.”
“Thank you, lieutenant,” he answered, then took his time studying the panorama of ships lying to leeward of their positions. HMS Tatar was one of the ships still there, preparing to convey Gibraltar’s Governor O’Hara to join Hood.
Burton and Colson stood at the foot of the mainmast with their division, as did Watson at the foremast. Every seaman stood ready, watching the captain’s movements. The breeze was not great, but would be sufficient to carry them out. Out in the ‘Gut’ where the wind blew unhindered by the great rock, it was obvious there would be breeze aplenty, and it was from the east again – a light Levanter, perhaps.
Mermaid was beginning to drift sideways.
Troubridge nodded to Lt. Froste, who hollered forward, “Hands aloft. Loose tops’ls, Lieutenant Tripp.” At this command, Neville’s men swarmed out the foretop yard and shook out the sail.
“Up anchor! Up anchor, there, Mr. Tillman.”
The capstan creaked as the landsmen tramped ‘round and ‘round, their chant livelier than usual. With sheets hauled, the foretopsail snapped tight aback, shivering the mast as if the ship were alive and anxious to enjoy the warm Mediterranean climate. The pressure of the breeze on the tight topsails tore the anchor loose of the bottom, and it began to rise from the sea. Castor began to slide backwards. From where he sat on the maincourse yard, Neville could see a huge Indiaman anchored directly in their downwind path. Castor’s bow began to come around – very slowly at first, then faster. He watched the figurehead on the Indiaman, a big Indian goddess of some sort, loom closer. Had the captain misjudged? Petty officers below yelled their commands that would swing the topsail yards to catch the breeze. Fore and mail topsails fluttered noisily for a moment and then snapped full forward. Neville watched the Indiaman’s bow directly behind them, her bowsprit reaching out for the Castor’s backstays. The helmsmen were now twirling the wheel for all their worth; both were looking behind, while the time seemed to stand still. Neville sucked in his breath.
“Loose courses,” called Lt. Froste in a surprisingly casual tone. “Clap on there. Haul away.” Castor surged forward with full sails.
From Neville’s vantage point, the bowsprit of the Indiaman seemed to pass over Castor’s poop. There was no noise of a collision. Neville exhaled.
Captain Troubridge paraphrased to the assembled officers: “Our orders, gentlemen, are general in nature. We have no specific mission other than to disturb the enemy’s shipping, particularly along the Gulf of Lyon – which means around Marseille. If it occurs that we can also disturb any Languedoc Coast installations, it would be considered favorable.
“We are not alone. Mermaid goes with us and, after sailing ‘round the Gulf of Lyon, we will become part of Admiral Hood’s blockade by mid-July, latest. It will probably take something near a week to work up to Toulon.
“Almost last, we have something new that I was given at Government House. This is a book of signals that is part of a new scheme put forth by Admiral Lord Howe and under consideration to be accepted entirely by the Admiralty. Admiral Hood is using this scheme in Toulon and so all officers, including our midshipmen, must know it. I have brought aboard a new sack of signal flags. We should have enough time to understand this before we join Admiral Hood.
“Finally, as we have had our two weeks in port at Gibraltar, we are not to touch at Port Mahon.”
6 - “The Blockade of Toulon, 1793”
“In this season, the winds of the Mediterranean are quiet or very light,” Mr. Graesson lectured. “Fickle at best,” he said. “Even light Mistrals and Tramontanes, which blow out of Lyon or from the north, will force us far to the east in order to reach the Gulf of Lyon.”
Therefore, the two frigates sailed east toward Sardinia, at all times with as much sail as they could bear. At some times, they sailed at eight or ten knots with their leeward mainchains in the salt foam and dolphins at the bow. At other times, they enjoyed no forward motion at all. In these times, the sails hung limp or flapped with the most frustrating noise, while the men lounged about the deck or made personal repairs in whatever shade they could find to avoid the sun’s harsh rays.
The midshipmen were back at their studies, and the officers exercised the crew. Castor could n
ow clear for action in two minutes forty-five seconds. Every afternoon included gunnery practice. The officers spoke more kindly of their gun crews as they gained confidence that they might survive a battle, and some rivalry was developing between larboard and starboard batteries.
Half way to Sardinia, they tacked back toward the Gulf of Lyon. The tack upon tack around the Gulf of Lyon presented them with nothing of interest.
“It’s more than two months we’ve been here, Neville. Two months!” griped Aiden. “June and July gone, and now it’s twentieth August, 1793. This is tedium the devil himself. We play follow the leader, all us fifth and sixth rates, like little puppets wearing in succession and sailing back and forth the whole bloody twelve miles between the Gien Peninsula at the east, past Cape Cepet to Cape Sicie on the west and back again.”
“We don’t need another geography lesson, Aiden,” said Colson.
“But it’s our duty,” chimed in Neville. “You know the inshore squadron’s lot is to keep a watch on the French fleet in there: at dawn, at dusk, all day, all night, no matter what the damned weather.”
“I think it must be better out there with the offshore squadron,” said Aiden. “It must be better on them big ships.”
“Why would you think that, Aiden? I hear the discipline is far worse – you’re nothin’ but another face; there’s so many men. You never see anything but water, either, or maybe our topsails and the mountain tops. They stay that far offshore so nobody on land can see ‘em. I don’t disagree that it’s boring here, but it was interesting at first, wasn’t it? Daniel and I used to sit in the tops with a glass and wonder at the land just a few miles away. We could see the French semaphore towers and the batteries of huge guns on Cape Sicie at the west end. On fine days, we’re close enough to see the little white houses, and sometimes even supplies being carted up the hill. If you haven’t done it, you should give it a try.”
“Oh, Neville, you make it sound like a picnic,” said Arthur Colson. “No French ship has come or gone, even though they regularly make motions to do so inside their harbor. I think they do it just to annoy us. You could study the other frigates if you want though, Aiden. That would be exciting. If you haven’t memorized them already, that would be Amiable, Aquilon, Dido, Isis, Juno, Lowestoffe, Meleager, Mermaid, Nemesis, and Tartar – in alphabetical order, that is.”
“Put a sausage in it, Colson. You’ve never got a nice thing to say, have you? Oh, look there – we’ve opened the inner Rade. What are they doing today?”
“A sausage I’d like, but they’re just annoying us again, like I said,” said Arthur.
“We’re supposed to count ‘em when we can see into the inner Rade, though, ain’t we, Colson?”
“Well, that’s just daft. Oh, wait. I know. There’s the same number that was here yestidy, and the day before that. How are we supposed to count that forest of sticks without knowing how many is three-masted or two-masted, or some other damned bugger-ish? Anyway, Froste says there’s less than sixty.”
“I don’t think cap’n cares,” said William Hunt, the midshipman who was the captain’s clerk.
They all turned to look at him. He usually said nothing at all.
“Well, he doesn’t, I think. He just keeps saying he wished they’d come out and fight, and Victory out there would thump ‘em good. I can count these out here in the Outer Rade for you if you’d like, Mr. Colson. There’s five of them big ones, see.”
“Don’t provoke him, William,” said Neville. “Anyhow, those ‘big ones’ are seventy-four’s, and two were ours before they got captured.”
“Oh, look now. Bloody hell,” complained Daniel. “The wind’s gone futt again. The sky’s clear, too. You know that means the same tomorrow. We’ll bob and bake again. We’re stopped here now, though, Arthur, so you can count all afternoon. Ha, ha.”
“Speaking of old Admiral Hood, what’s he doing today? We can usually see Victory’s tops’ls,” said Daniel, raising his telescope in the opposite direction. Whoa! Look, there! Signals? Ho, ho, what nonsense. I think they’re signals, but there’s no wind to hold ‘em out. They look like someone’s drying trousers.”
“Gimme that glass, Watson. Signals is my job, right?” said Arthur. He studied the distant ship until there was a call from the lookout.
“Ahoy on deck, there. The Victory signals.”
“Which I can see, can’t I,” said Arthur to his little group. He wouldn’t dare yell it up at the lookout. He hollered, “Can you read it?”
“No. They’re taking it down.”
“Wha…?” Arthur handed the telescope back to Daniel and went off to find his big signals glass.
“Here, Neville, you look. You’re better at it than Arthur is.”
“Thanks, Daniel. They are stringing them up again, this time hanging down from a line twixt the mastheads. They’re hanging full now. It’s our number – and Mermaid’s. Pass word for Lieutenant Froste.”
Froste arrived shortly. He motioned to the lookout that he had the message and hollered across to Colson, “Send my compliments to the captain, and pass a message from the admiral: ‘Repair to flag’.”
Troubridge soon departed. Three hours later, he was piped back aboard. He was obviously more excited than he had been for some time. He immediately called the officers and marine sergeants to the quarterdeck: “A turn of events, gentlemen,” he began, “is what we have today. Admiral Hood has informed me that Britain, together with Spain, will commit a large marine contingent this twenty-eighth August to the assistance of the French royalist forces ashore there,” shaking his finger shoreward for effect.
“You all know very well what started this war,” he continued. “An uprising – revolutionaries chopping off the heads of royals here in France, trying to take over the lawful government and threatening British interests. Many cities have fallen to them, but there have been counter-revolutions in several cities, with bloody results. Those loyal to the king are having a tough go of it, as best we know.
“Toulon has recently been retaken by ‘Girondists,’ who are loyal to the French crown. They have asked for British help. We have something near the count of fifty-eight enemy ships bottled up there in the Petit Rade. If the French cannot come and go from this port, England controls the seas and denies France succor from her suppliers to the south. While the Castor continues blockade duty, most of our marines are going ashore to help strengthen the Girondists’ hold. You have a week, gentlemen. Lieutenant McLay will be given the orders,” he concluded, looking directly at the marine contingent.
As ordered, the marines went ashore on the twenty-eighth, with weapons shined and bayonets fixed. Each frigate discharged her warriors as it passed the harbor. Cutters from the ships of the line at sea ferried considerably more soldiers to shore, and their allies began to arrive by small boats from Spain. Aboard the Castor, nothing much changed, save that it was a bit quieter.
“I have petitioned the captain,” Dr. Mills began when he thought that he and Neville would not be overheard. “I have shown him my letter from Dr. Badeau in which he asks that I go to his offices for scientific papers and some medical supplies that would be most useful aboard. Dr. Badeau wrote this for me once we knew he would not be allowed to leave Gibraltar with us. Captain Troubridge only grunted at me when he read it, so I do not know if anything will come of it at all. I have a copy in French as well, to show Dr. Badeau’s permission to take the papers, which I showed the captain. He studied it thoroughly, even though I do not believe he knows the language. Also, I requested your assistance as a traveling companion, which raised his eyebrows. Still, he said nothing.”
One week later, while Neville was walking to and fro in the waist for a bit of exercise, Dr. Mills appeared from the main hatchway and stepped into his path.
“I am approved, Mr. Burton,” he said with a grin and no attempt to hide the news. “Would you care to accompany me into the city?”
When Neville’s sudden, but subtle, look of horror passed across h
is face, Mills added very softly, “There is no need to hide it if we are going to climb down into a boat together under the eyes of the whole crew, you know.”
Perhaps awkwardly loud, Neville replied, “Ah, yes, of course. I would love it. When do we go?”
“In the morning, to allow us a full day ashore. At the end of it, we will bring back two of our marines whom I must tend to, as they were both injured in some small skirmish to the east of the town’s defenses.”
“He’s going with you, doctor, no matter what you say!” demanded the Master-at-Arms. Baxter stood nose to nose with Dr. Mills when Neville came up the companion the following morning after his breakfast. Corporal Bixby stood meekly by the rail listening to the discussion. Bixby’s musket and bayonet were ready, belts freshly clayed; all spit and polish. He was probably as anxious as any of them to get ashore, and displeased that he hadn’t been chosen for shore duty earlier.
“We can’t have our only surgeon running around loose in a contested zone with no protection,” Baxter continued. “Beg pardon, Mr. Burton, an’ I don’t mean any offense, but captain says someone of ‘greater martial experience’ is to go. So that’s three of you, then, and I’ll hear no more of it. So get on down, if you please. The jolly boat’s all swayed out, and the cox’n’s waiting on you.”
Today a light breeze was blowing. It was enough to get them wet on the way in, but it was not unpleasant this fine August day. The small sail, expertly handled by Finche, had them approaching the city’s quays in less than an hour. Inside the Rade, they resorted to oars. The traffic became heavy with fishing and trading boats, and the troop barges of English, Spanish, and Italians.
Finche drove them against a low pier. A British sentry standing above challenged: “Who goes?”
“His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Castor – medical shore party,” Finche replied. Receiving a disbelieving shrug, he was directed where to tie up. Mills, Burton, and Bixby left Finche watching the boat and set off for Dr. Badeau’s offices.
The Glorious First Of June (Neville Burton: Worlds Apart Book 1) Page 8
