The Oliver Quintrell Trilogy Omnibus

by M. C. Muir

  Perpetual having veered to southward, following in the wake of the schooner, the gap between the two ships narrowed sufficiently for the captain to read the name.

  ‘HMS Pickle,’ Oliver noted.

  Simon Parry took the glass. ‘Six guns. Appears to be heading for Brest, as we are.’

  Oliver agreed and recounted the gossip he had overheard in the Admiralty’s reception room. ‘A week ago one of its seamen was flogged around the fleet in the Hamoaze. Another had been accused of mutiny, but the court had dismissed the charge, however he also received a severe punishment for insolence, disobedience and desertion.’ The captain paused. ‘Perhaps that message can be conveyed to the newly signed hands.’

  ‘Breakers a mile off the port bow!’ the lookout shouted.

  The north-western tip of the French coast was naturally protected by hidden reefs and rugged rocks which rose from the boiling sea like giant claws ready to rip apart the hulls of unwary ships. Of the scattered islands broken from the mainland to resemble the ragged tail of the Andes at Cape Horn, Ushant was the largest.

  Over the centuries, the treacherous reefs which surrounded it had claimed numerous ships and many lives, a concern which Oliver had discussed with Mr Mundy when they had plotted their course. The quickest passage and the one taken by the schooner, Pickle, ran between Ushant and the mainland. It was a broad stretch of water but the winds and currents funnelling through it were unpredictable and frequently fickle.

  In taking into account the fact the ships of the Channel Fleet would be scattered over many miles of ocean, Oliver opted to take a broad reach. Mr Mundy argued such a course added considerable time and unnecessary sea miles to the voyage. Although usually confident with his sailing master’s navigational skills, and aware Mr Mundy had served with a previous blockade of Brest in the ’90s, on this occasion, he decided to steer well to the west.

  Two hours later, the call, which everyone had been waiting for, came down from the foremasthead lookout. ‘Two sail of ships on the port bow!’

  It was met with a cheer from the men on deck.

  Soon after, another ship was sighted, Neptune 98 guns. Carrying 28 thirty-two pounders on her main gun deck, 60 eighteen pounders on her other two gun decks, and twelve pounders on her fore and quarterdecks. She was a formidable fighting ship.

  Fifteen minutes later, four more sails appeared – two men-of-war and two frigates. It was the British blockade fleet under the command of Rear Admiral of the United Kingdom, Sir William Cornwallis, the sixty year old affectionately known to his men as, Billy Blue.

  As anticipated, although Perpetual was twenty miles from the French estuary, the ships of the fleet were scattered over many miles, some patrolling far out in the Atlantic, others in the Bay of Biscay, while several were hove to almost within gunshot of the Brest batteries.

  Reducing sail, Perpetual swam between them, everyone eager to be first to spot the Commodore’s broad swallow-tailed pendant. But before it could be found, the frigate was hailed by Indefatigable. Using the trumpet, Mr Tully spoke the ship advising that Captain Quintrell was carrying urgent dispatches to be delivered to Lord Cornwallis and requesting his location within the fleet.

  The answer was not what Oliver had expected. His Lordship had been taken ill and had returned to Torbay to recover. Although it was likely he would be returning to duty in a matter of days, in the interim, command had been passed to Vice-Admiral, Sir Charles Cotton. Such situations were not unusual. Commands changed frequently in times of war.

  The message was promptly acknowledged, the location of Captain Cotton’s ship provided, and the two frigates parted company. Armed with a bearing and approximate distance, Perpetual adjusted sail and headed away to locate the acting fleet commander.

  From the deck, the captain watched as a stream of coloured flags travelled up Indefatigable’s signal halyard. His frigate’s arrival within the fleet was being broadcast to the ships of the fleet and his attendance with Captain Cotton would not come as a surprise.

  Oliver turned to Jack Mundy standing beside the binnacle. ‘I trust this mission is not to be dogged by ill-health.’

  His comment did not receive a response.

  Despite being deprived of the opportunity to attend Lord Cornwallis in person, the meeting with Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cotton proved informative. After handing over the dispatches from the Admiralty, Oliver could not refuse the offer to dine with Sir Charles and his senior officers aboard the flagship. It appeared to Captain Quintrell, that the officers of the Channel Fleet were as pleased to receive his company as he was to join them. It made for an enjoyable and entertaining evening which Mr Parry, Mr Tully and Mr Nightingale attended with him.

  ‘Did you meet with any action in the Channel?’ Sir Charles asked.

  ‘No, sir, we steered clear of the French coast purposely,’ Oliver replied. ‘There has been considerable activity on the French coast recently. Le Havre was under attack for the second time on the day we departed Portsmouth. Only a week before, a convoy of bomb vessels delivered a tremendous bombardment of shells to Le Havre pier. I heard the action lasted for one and a half hours. Although the enemy’s batteries had been increased recently, the town was razed. The guns were manned by the officers and men of the Royal Artillery and I understand their conduct was exemplary.’

  Oliver cast his mind to the group of young marines he had on board. How adept are they on the guns? he wondered.

  ‘And where are you heading now, Captain?’

  ‘From here, I sail for Ferrol with dispatches for Lord Cochrane. The Admiralty is aware that troops are mounting at Bayonne.’

  ‘Indeed they are,’ Captain Cotton replied. ‘Hundreds of French troops are arriving in small detachments and amassing there. Four French ships of the line have been observed sailing in that region. But, I fear, this part of the coast is receiving less attention than it deserves. Rochefort is a busy port and we have seen some action on the coast south of here. Lord Cornwallis sends regular patrols to keep an eye on activities, while Lord Cochrane does what he can from Ferrol to monitor the north coast of Spain.

  ‘Two weeks ago, Aigle fell in with a large brig and two French Corvettes of 20 guns each, heading south. Captain Wolfe succeeded in driving them ashore a few miles from Bordeaux. But a great gale of wind off Biscay forced them high on the beach. Despite Wolfe’s efforts to refloat them, with a view of returning them to England as prizes, he did not succeed and had no alternative but to set fire to them both. From the prisoners he took, he learned the ships were from Rochefort and were heading for Bayonne. I beg you to pass this information to Lord Cochrane when you meet him.’

  After sampling the congenial hospitality of Sir Charles and his crew, Oliver did not wish to delay any longer. Early on the morning of August 9, Perpetual headed across the Bay of Biscay, the strong westerly wind living up to its reputation, stirring up a huge swell and threatening to push the frigate across the bay to the coast of France.

  With Perpetual burrowing its beak into the huge swell and waves crashing across the deck like a winter sea over a breakwater, Oliver was anxious to test the ability of the marines on board. Although trained to fire heavy guns on a parade ground, a firing platform, or a defensive wall, he doubted they would be capable of either handling or firing a cannon on the pitching, heeling gundeck of a fighting ship at sea. But he must wait until the sea calmed a little and it was safe to proceed with the gun ports open. He knew, it would not be a popular exercise with either his own gun crews or the marines, but from what he had heard of the action off Le Havre, the Royal Artillery had done a splendid job. The marines he had aboard were neither soldiers nor sailors but, in his estimation, they must prove they could live up to the standards of both.

  On the evening before they sailed into the broad bay on which Ferrol was situated, Captain Quintrell gathered his officers in his cabin.

  ‘Gentlemen, I am now at liberty to divulge a little more of my meeting with the First Lord – Lord Melville who repla
ced Earl St Vincent. However, I remind you, Lord Melville is a military man who has never served on a navy ship.

  ‘What I learned in London, is that almost two months ago, the Admiralty received information that a fleet of Spanish ships was preparing to depart from Montevideo on the Rio de la Plata – carrying treasure.’

  Grins broke out on the faces around the table.

  ‘That convoy was due to depart from South America on 7 August – two days ago – heading across the Atlantic bound for Cadiz. According to the Admiralty’s estimations, the ships will be off the coast of Spain early in October. Because of the time the voyage will take, there is no immediate urgency.’

  ‘Are we going to attack them?’ young Mr Hanson asked eagerly.

  ‘No, decidedly not. When the time is right, ships from the blockade fleet off Brest will be dispatched to intercept the treasure before it can be landed.’

  ‘But to attack Spanish ships in time of peace would be an act of piracy,’ the sailing master commented boldly.

  Oliver nodded. ‘I said, intercept and not capture. But you are correct, Mr Mundy, Lord Melville was specific in his instructions – “the ships are not to be taken by force but intercepted and detained, then accompanied into a British port”. According to the information the government received, the wealth contained in these ships is destined for Bonaparte’s dwindling coffers, to enable him to continue the war against Britain. It is the Admiralty’s intention to deprive the Spanish Crown and Napoleon of those finances.

  ‘The rumblings being heard from both France and Spain indicate we are drawing closer to the brink of war with Spain. War may even be declared before the treasure ships arrive. Only if that occurred would Britain be at liberty to attack and plunder the Spanish ships.’

  ‘Will Perpetual be included in the fleet sailing to detain the treasure ships?’ Simon Parry asked.

  ‘I asked the same question of the First Lord. His answer was no. The Channel Fleet presently comprises fifteen ships and can afford to release three or four to provide a reception party.’

  ‘But what of Perpetual, Captain?’

  ‘My orders are to proceed to Gibraltar to support the colony’s defences. When we arrive there, I will take further orders from the military commander on the Rock.’

  The captain’s words were met with some questioning looks and frowns of disappointment.

  ‘Let me remind you,’ the captain said. ‘Gibraltar is a veritable fortress. First and foremost it is a military stronghold attended by navy ships. Twenty years ago, the garrison withheld the onslaught of a combined French and Spanish attack. That action was the Great Siege and it was fought over three years. It was a remarkable military, not naval victory, which confirmed Britain’s sovereignty over the Rock.

  ‘Before his retirement, Earl St Vincent spent a year residing there and during that time made many recommendations for the enhancement of the facilities, not least improving the naval dockyard and building a fleet of gunboats. It was his fervent desire to elevate the navy’s position on the Rock and establish Gibraltar’s name as a naval stronghold, not just a military one. During his time there, St Vincent uncovered many deficiencies, not least the absence of fresh water, the inadequate victualling yards and the lack of shipwrights. Without food, water and wrights, how can ships be refitted and resupplied?’

  ‘Have tanks been built?’

  ‘Work has begun but not yet completed. Which reminds me, Mr Parry, we must replenish our water barrels when we leave Ferrol.’

  Oliver continued. ‘St Vincent was not alone in his concerns. As you all know, the Mediterranean Fleet is dependent on Gibraltar and when Lord Nelson last visited, he also made recommendations for improvements. His major concern was the inadequate conditions of the shipyards and lack of skilled shipwrights. Plus the need for new victualling yards.

  ‘Without adequate yards, the fleet cannot be properly fed, and without decent shipyards, battle-weary ships of the Mediterranean Fleet must sail to Falmouth or Plymouth for repair.’

  ‘What will we be doing when are there?’ the midshipman asked.

  ‘What our duties will be while under the command of the Lieutenant-Governor remains to be seen.’

  The next day, on the morning tide, Perpetual sailed into the mouth of a broad bay on the north-western coast of Spain and dropped anchor. Overlooked by castles and fortifications and surrounded by docks and shipyards, Ferrol was the centre for the Spanish Navy. Unlike Brest, Ferrol Harbour was an impregnable inlet, impossible to blockade due to the prevailing westerly gales, which forced patrolling ships onto the rugged coast. For the Spanish fleet, however, it was a safe haven for an impressive fleet.

  Three first-rates, a second-rate, ten third-rates and six fourth- and fifth-rates wallowed on the placid waters in company with 16 gunboats each armed with a long 21 pound gun. Apart from La Conception, 130 guns, which was without masts, the other ships yards were crossed with sails bent. All were in good repair with guns on board. Should Spain declare war on Britain and join forces with Napoleon’s navy, the fleet was ready to sail at any time. And they would present as a formidable fleet.

  Taking his boat, Oliver attended Captain Lord Cochrane and delivered the Admiralty’s dispatches. The meeting was brief and, in comparison with the reception Captain Cotton had extended to him and his officers, less than cordial. On the surface, Lord Cochrane seemed interested in the news of recent activity off Rochefort and the build-up of French troops near Bayonne. But, beneath the surface, he seethed. He was not happy with his commission and was convinced he had been treated shoddily and made no bones about it.

  ‘This penal hulk, the Admiralty had the audacity to grant me, is an insult. It cannot sail to windward and is likely to end up dashed to matchwood on a French beach taking me and my men with it.’

  Oliver did not respond. Lord Cochrane’s commission, Arab, was a refitted French prize. It’s history was well-known having been well documented in the Gazette. As such, he had no desire to enter into an argument about it.

  ‘The Spanish fleet is remarkable,’ Oliver commented, in an attempt to distract his host.

  Cochrane glared. ‘I have written repeatedly to Cornwallis and the Admiralty, but get no response. I have warned them about this and the fact they have been baking biscuits in Ferrol for months now. I smell it every day. The water is aboard and the ships are in a state for immediate service. England cannot continue to be indifferent to the amassing of men and ships in this area. Why do my warnings go unheeded?’

  The tirade was endless and when the opportunity to excuse himself arose, Oliver was not sorry to part company. His mission was to proceed to Gibraltar.

  Although, Perpetual was not short of drinking water, Oliver was aware of the lack of fresh water on the Rock and anxious to refill his empty barrels. The rugged Portuguese coast was an opportunity too good to miss. With plenty of secluded bays on the north coast, the water spilling from the mountains was crystal clear and easy to collect.

  But the hours spent filling and ferrying dozens of small barrels cost them dearly. After passing Lisbon and raising Cape Saint Vincent, they headed east towards Cape Saint Mary then headed across the Gulf of Cadiz. When they were within sight of the Spanish port, the wind died completely. Without a following wind they could not make it through the Gibraltar Strait.

  Next morning, the conditions had not changed. The sky was perfectly clear with not a wisp of cloud or breath of wind in it, the thermometer registered a pleasant 74 degrees. Outside the Spanish port, the usually busy roads were empty. For two days, nothing entered or left the harbour.

  Standing on deck, Oliver reminisced on the first time he had visited the port. He remembered how impressed he had been with the number of ships crowded into a relatively small harbour. Not only ships of the Spanish Navy but large West Indiamen moored adjacent to the magazines and arsenals. He remembered striding the ropewalk that stretched for 600 yards and marvelling at the port’s well-equipped dockyards.

  The othe
r naval facilities were no less impressive – the School of Navigation, the Naval Academy and the Observatory. Not surprisingly, Cadiz was envied as one of the best naval establishments in Europe. Had Earl St Vincent and Lord Nelson been similarly impressed when they had visited the port? Were the facilities at Cadiz the basis for their vision of a strong naval establishment in Gibraltar? He wondered.

  But apart from its naval prowess, Cadiz was primarily a commercial port with over a thousand merchant ships entering its roads every year from Europe, America and the Baltic. But its richest imports came from the Spanish islands of the Caribbean, Monte Video, Honduras and Carthagena – the sources of its consignments of gold and silver bullion and minted specie.

  Because of its mercantile reputation, the city boasted many foreign business houses, the greatest number being Irish, followed by Flemish, Genoese and German. English and French houses were fewer by far.

  In both its buildings and its inhabitants, Cadiz epitomised a city built on the fortunes of the old and new worlds. It exuded elegance, wealth and good taste and was one of the most opulent cities in Spain. It had everything in abundance to meet the needs of its 75,000 residents – except one thing, like Gibraltar, it lacked fresh water.

  Overnight, Perpetual drifted south and east carried on the long slow Atlantic swell. By morning, the frigate lay off Cape Trafalgar. At midday, a fresh breeze blew up but it was blowing from the east and in danger of driving the frigate back into the Atlantic. Perpetual needed a westerly to carry it safely through the Strait of Gibraltar.