1805 (15 page)

‘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 now move their vast armies across the Channel until they had a fleet in the vicinity. Now, with Admiral Ver Huell's Dutch ships joining a Combined Franco–Spanish fleet, the preposterous 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 re-victual 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 Ile 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 level 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.

‘Don't like the smell of it, sir.'

‘Happen you're right, Sam. What worries me more is what our friends are doing.'

‘Sitting Quiberon (he pronounced it ‘Key-ber-ron') hoisting in fresh vittals.'

‘I ken the Captain means the French,' put in Lieutenant Fraser joining them and reporting the first reef taken in the topsails. Fraser ignored Rogers's jaundiced look.

Drinkwater levelled his glass at the north point of Oléron. ‘I do indeed, gentlemen, and here they are!'

The two officers looked round. Beyond the point of the island the white rectangles of topsails were moving as Missiessy's frigates led his squadron to sea.

‘Mr Frey!'

‘Sir?'

‘Make to
Felix
, three-seven-zero.'

Drinkwater ignored Rogers's puzzled frown but heard Fraser mutter in his ear, ‘Enemy coming out of port.'

A few minutes later the little schooner was scudding to the north-west with the news for Graves, or Campbell, or whoever else would take alarm from the intelligence.

‘Heave the ship to, Mr Rogers. Let us see what these fellows are going to do.' He again raised the glass to his eye and intently studied the approaching enemy. The heavy frigates led out first. Bigger than
Antigone
, though not dissimilar in build, he tried to identify them, calling for Mr Gillespy, his tablet and pencil.

‘And clear the ship for action, Mr Rogers. Beat to quarters if you please!'

He ignored the burst of activity, concentrating solely on the enemy. He recognised the
Infatigable
, so similar in name to Pellew's famous frigate. All three frigates seemed to be holding back, not running down upon the solitary
Antigone
as Drinkwater had expected. He could afford to hold his station for a little longer. Ah, there were the little brig-corvettes, exact replicas of the
Bonaparte
. He counted the gun-ports; yes, eight a side, 16-gun corvettes all right. But then came the battleships, with Missiessy's huge three-decked 120-gun flagship, the
Majestueux
in the van. He heard the whistles of surprise from the hands now at their action stations and grinned to himself. This was what they had all been waiting for.

Astern of the
Majestueux
came four 74-gun battleships. All were now making sail as they altered course round the point, and fore-shortened towards
Antigone
. One of the seventy-fours was detaching, moving out of line. He watched intently, sensing that this movement had something to do with himself. As the battleship drew ahead of the others the frigates made sail and within a few minutes all four leading ships were racing towards him, the gale astern of them and great white bones in their teeth. He shut his telescope with a snap and dismissed Gillespy to his action station. Hill and Rogers were staring at him expectantly.

‘Hoping to make a prize of us, I believe,' Drinkwater said. ‘Put the ship before the wind, Mr Hill.'

The helm came up and
Antigone
turned away. The braces clicked through the blocks as the yards swung on their parrels about the slushed topmasts and the apparent wind over the deck diminished. As
the frigate steadied on her course, Drinkwater raised his glass once more.

Led by the seventy-four, the French ships were overhauling them rapidly. Drinkwater looked carefully at the relative angles between them. He longed to know the names and exact force of each of his antagonists and felt a sudden thrill after all the long months of waiting and worrying. For Drinkwater such circumstances were the mainspring of his being. The high excitement of handling an instrument as complex, as deadly, yet as vulnerable as a ship of war, in a gale of wind and with a superior enemy to windward, placed demands upon him that acted like a drug. For his father and brother the love of horseflesh and speed had provided the anodyne to the frustrations and disappointments of life; but for him only this spartan and perilous existence would do. This was the austere drudgery of his duty transformed into a dangerous art.

He looked astern once more. Beyond the advancing French division the remaining French ships had disappeared. A great curtain of snow was bearing down upon them, threatening to obscure everything.