1805 (17 page)

‘Well, Mr Gillespy, you seem to be making some progress.' Drinkwater closed the boy's journal. ‘Your aunt would be pleased, I'm sure,' he added wryly, thinking of the garrulous Mistress MacEwan. ‘I have some hopes of you making a sea-officer.'

‘Thank you, sir.' The boy looked pleased. He had come out of his shell since the departure of Walmsley, and Drinkwater knew that Frey had done much to protect him from the unimaginative and over-bearing Glencross. He also knew that James Quilhampton kept a close eye on the boy, ever mindful of Gillespy's relationship with Catriona MacEwan; while Lieutenant Fraser lost no opportunity to encourage a fellow Scot among the bear-pit of Sassenachs that made up the bulk of the midshipmen's berth. He was aware that he had been staring at the boy for too long and smiled.

‘I trust you are quite happy?' he asked, remembering again how this boy reminded him of his own son. He should not care for Richard Madoc to go to sea with a man who did not take some interest in him.

‘Oh yes, sir.'

‘Mmmm.' The removal of Walmsley's influence charged that short affirmative with great significance. Drinkwater remembered his own life in the cockpit. It had not been happy.

‘Very well, Mr Gillespy. Cut along now, cully.'

The boy turned away, his hat tucked under his arm, the small dirk in its gleaming brass scabbard bouncing on his hip. The pity of his youth and circumstance hit Drinkwater like a blow. The boy's account of the action with the
Magnanime
read with all the fervent patriotism of youth. There was much employment of unworthy epithets. The
Frogs
had
run from the devastating
(spelt wrongly)
thunder of our glorious cannon
. It was the language of London pamphleteers, a style that argued a superiority of ability Drinkwater did not like to see in one so young. It was not Gillespy's fault, of course; he was subject to the influence of his time. But Drinkwater had suffered enough reverses in his career to know the folly of under-estimation.

The
Magnanime
had been commanded by Captain Allemand, he had discovered, one of the foremost French naval officers. It was too easy to assume that because the major part of their fleets was
blockaded in harbour they were not competent seamen. With Missiessy's squadron at sea, several hundred Frenchmen would be learning fast, to augment the considerable number of French cruisers already out. Drinkwater sighed, rose and poured himself a glass of blackstrap. He was at a loss to know why he was so worried. There were captains and admirals senior to him whose responsibilities far exceeded his own. All he had to do was to patrol his cruising area, one of a cloud of frigates on the look-out for any enemy movements, who linked the major units of the British fleet, ready to pass news, to pursue or strike at enemy cruisers, and hold the Atlantic seaboard of France and Spain under a constant vigilance.

It was all very well, Drinkwater ruminated, in theory. But the practicalities were different as the events of January had shown. To the east the French Empire was under the direction of a single man. Every major military and naval station was in contact with Napoleon, whose policy could be quickly disseminated by interior lines of communication. No such factors operated in Great Britain's favour. Britain was standing on the defensive. She had no army to speak of and what she had of one was either policing the raw new industrial towns of the Midlands or preparing to go overseas on some madcap expedition to the east under Sir James Craig. Her government was shaky and the First Lord of the Admiralty, Lord Melville, was to be impeached for corruption. Her dispersed fleets were without quick communication, every admiral striving to do his best but displaying that fatal weakness of disagreement and dislike that often ruined the ambitions of the mighty. Orde, off Cadiz, hated Nelson, off Toulon, and the sentiment was returned with interest. Missiessy at sea was bad enough (and Drinkwater still smarted from a sense of failure to keep contact with the French, despite the weather at the time), but the spectre of more French battleships at sea worried every cruiser commander. With that thought he poured a second glass of wine. He doubted Ganteaume would get out of Brest, but Gourdon might give Calder the slip at Ferrol, and Villeneuve might easily get past Nelson with his slack and provocative methods. And that still left the Spanish out of the equation. They had ships at Cartagena and Cadiz, fine ships too . . .

His train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the cabin door. ‘Enter!'

Rogers came in followed by Mr Lallo. There was enough in the expressions on their faces to know that they brought bad news. ‘What is it, gentlemen?'

‘It's Waller, sir . . .'

‘He had a bad fit this morning, sir,' put in Lallo, ‘I had confined him to a strait-jacket, sir, but he got loose, persuaded some accomplice to let him go.' Lallo paused.

‘And?'

‘He went straight to the galley, sir, picked up a knife and slashed both his wrists. He was dead by the time I'd got to him.'

‘Good God.' A silence hung in the cabin. Drinkwater thought of Waller defying him at Nagtoralik Bay and of how far he had fallen. ‘Who let him go?'

‘One of his damned whale-men, I shouldn't wonder,' said Rogers.

‘Yes. That is likely. I suppose he may still have commanded some influence over them. There is little likelihood that we will discover who did it, Mr Lallo.'

The surgeon shrugged. ‘No, sir. Well he's dead now and fit only for the sail-maker to attend.'

‘You had better see to it, Mr Rogers.'

It was one of the ironies of the naval service, Drinkwater thought as he stood by the pinrail where the fore-sheet was belayed, that a man killed honourably in battle might be hurriedly shoved through a gun-port to avoid incommoding his mates as they plied their murderous trade, while a man whose death was as ignominious as Waller's, was attended by all the formal pomp of the Anglican liturgy. Casting his eyes over
Antigone
's assembled crew, the double irony hit him that only a few would be even vaguely familiar with his words. The half-dozen negroes, three Arabs and sixty Irishmen might even resent their being forced to witness a rite that, in Waller's case, might be considered blasphemous. He doubted any of the others, the Swede, Norwegians, three renegade Dutchmen and Russians, understood the words. Nevertheless he ploughed on, raising his voice as he read from Elizabeth's father's Prayer Book.

‘We therefore commit . . .' he nodded at the burial party who raised the board upon which Waller's corpse lay stiffly sewn into his hammock under the ensign, ‘his body to the deep . . .'

The prayer finished he closed the book and put his hat on. The officers followed suit. ‘Square away, Mr Rogers, let us continue with our duties.'

He turned away and walked along the gangway as the main-yards were hauled, and was in the act of descending the companionway when he was halted by the masthead look-out.

‘Deck there! Sail-ho! Broad on the lee quarter!'

Drinkwater shoved the Prayer Book in his tail-pocket and pulled out his Dolland pocket glass. It was a frigate coming up hand over fist from the southward, carrying every stitch of canvas the steady breeze allowed. Even at a distance they could see bunting streaming to leeward.

‘She's British, anyway.' Of that there could be little doubt and within half an hour a boat danced across the water towards them.

‘Boat ahoy!'

‘
Fisgard
!' came the reply, and Drinkwater nodded to his first lieutenant.

‘Side-party, Mr Rogers.' He turned to Frey who was consulting his lists.

‘Captain Lord Mark Kerr, sir.'

‘Bloody hell,' muttered Rogers as he called out the marine guard and the white-gloved side-boys to rig their fancy baize-covered man-ropes. Captain Lord Kerr hauled himself energetically over the rail and seized Drinkwater's hand.

‘Drinkwater ain't it?'

‘Indeed sir,' said Drinkwater, meeting his lordship as an equal upon his own quarterdeck.

‘The damnedest thing, Drinkwater. Villeneuve's out!'

‘
What
?'

Kerr nodded. ‘I was refitting in Gib when he passed the Strait. I got out as soon as I could; sent my second luff up the Med to tell Nelson . . .'

‘You mean Nelson wasn't in pursuit?' Drinkwater interrupted.

Kerr shook his head. ‘No sign of him. I reckon he's off to the east again, just like the year one . . .'

‘East. Good God he should be going west. Doesn't he know Missiessy's at Martinique waiting for him?'

‘The devil he is!' exclaimed Kerr, digesting this news. ‘I doubt Nelson knows of it. By God, that makes my haste the more necessary!'

‘What about Orde, for God's sake?'

‘He was victualling off Cadiz. Fell back when Villeneuve approached.'

‘God's bones!'

Kerr came to a decision. In the circumstances it did not seem to matter which was the senior officer, they were both of one mind. ‘I'm bound to let Calder know off Ferrol, and then to Cornwallis off Ushant. I daresay Billy-go-tight will send me on to the Admiralty.'

‘Billy's ashore, now. Been relieved by Lord Gardner,' interrupted Drinkwater. ‘And what d'you want me to do? Cruise down towards the Strait and hope that Nelson comes west?'

Kerr nodded, already turning towards the rail. ‘First rate, Drinkwater. He must realise his mistake soon, even if my lieutenant ain't caught up with him. The sooner Nelson knows that Missiessy's out as well, the sooner we might stop this rot from spreading.' He held out his hand and relaxed for an instant. ‘When I think how we've striven to maintain this damned blockade, only to have it blown wide open by a minute's ill-fortune!'

‘My sentiments exactly. Good luck!' Drinkwater waved his hastening visitor over the side. Something of the urgency of Kerr's news had communicated itself to the ship, for
Antigone
was under way to the southward even before Kerr had reached
Fisgard
.

As soon as Drinkwater had satisfied himself that
Antigone
set every inch of canvas she was capable of carrying, he called Rogers and Hill below, spreading his charts on the table before him. He outlined the situation and the import of his news struck home.

‘By God,' said Rogers, ‘the Frogs could outflank us!' Drinkwater suppressed a smile. The very idea that they could be bested by a handful of impudent, frog-eating ‘mounseers' seemed to strike Rogers with some force. His lack of imagination was, Drinkwater reflected, typical of his type. Hill, on the other hand, was more ruminative.

‘You say Nelson's gone east, sir, chasing the idea of a French threat to India again?'

‘Something of that order, Mr Hill.'

‘While in reality the West India interests will already be howling for Pitt's blood. Who's in the West Indies at the moment? Cochrane?'

‘And Dacres, with no more than a dozen of the line between them,' added Rogers.

‘If Missiessy and Villeneuve combine with whatever cruisers the French have already got out there, I believe that we may be in for a thin time. Meanwhile we have to edge down to the Strait. What strikes me as paramount is our need to tell Nelson what is happening. I dare not enter the Med for fear of missing him, so we must keep station off Cape Spartel until Nelson appears. He may then close on the Channel in good time if the French have to re-cross the Atlantic. If Gardner holds the Channel and Nelson cruises off the Orkneys, we may yet stop 'em.'

‘If not,' said Hill staring down at the chart, ‘then God help us all.'

‘Amen to that,' said Drinkwater.

They did not meet Orde but five days later they found his sloop
Beagle
cruising off Cape Spartel, having observed the passage of Villeneuve's fleet and now lying in wait for Nelson. From
Beagle
Drinkwater learned that Villeneuve had been reinforced by Spanish ships from Cadiz under Admiral Gravina and that
Beagle
had lost contact when the Combined Fleet headed west.

‘I knew it!' Drinkwater had muttered to himself when he learned this. He promptly ordered
Beagle
to rejoin Orde who was, he thought, falling back on the Channel to reinforce Lord Gardener. As
Beagle
's sails disappeared over the horizon to the north and the Atlas Mountains rose blue in the haze to the east, Drinkwater remarked to Quilhampton and Fraser:

‘There is nothing more we can do, gentlemen, until his lordship arrives.'

During the first week of May the wind blew westerly through the Strait of Gibraltar, foul for Nelson slipping out into the Atlantic. Drinkwater decided to take advantage of it and enter the Strait. He was extremely anxious about the passage of time as day succeeded day and Nelson failed to appear. If there was no news of Nelson at Gibraltar, he reasoned, he could wait there and still catch his lordship. In addition Gibraltar might have news carried overland, despite the hostility of the Spanish.

Off Tarifa they spoke to a Swedish merchant ship which had just left Gibraltar. There was no news of Nelson but much of a diplomatic nature. Russia was again the ally of Great Britain and Austria was dallying with Britain's overtures. However, there was an even more disturbing rumour that Admiral Ganteaume had sailed from Brest. That evening the wind fell light, then swung slowly into the east. At dawn the following day the topgallants of a fleet were to be seen, and at last Drinkwater breakfasted in the great cabin of
Victory
, in company with Lord Nelson.

It was a hurried meal. Drinkwater told Nelson all he knew, invited to share the admiral's confidence as much for the news he brought as for the high regard Nelson held him in after his assistance at the battle of Copenhagen.