Ramage At Trafalgar Read online

  “You mentioned the Spanish captains.”

  “Ah, yes. You are a practical man, Captain Ramage. Would you care to command a ship of the line and sail under the command of someone like this Villeneuve – and with your ship equipped with rotten rope, rotten sails, and short of provisions, those you have being rotten?”

  Ramage grinned and shook his head. “Not even a rowing boat, let alone a ship of the line!”

  “Exactly, so you can imagine in what a dreadful position the Spanish Admiral Gravina finds himself: his most senior captains come to him daily, begging for equipment he cannot supply; they beg him to tell the French it is suicide to sail with the English fleet waiting for them.”

  Perez shook his head, as though saddened by what he was going to say. “I’m afraid some of the captains are meeting among themselves and their talk is close to treason.”

  “But is the city of Cadiz so short of food and supplies?”

  “The people are starving,” Perez said frankly. “Every able-bodied man has been taken up for the ships, so women and children starve because they have lost the – how do you say, ‘the breadwinner’.

  “As you can see, this is not a fertile part of the country. No grain can get in because of your blockade – nor, of course, anything that can be used to fit out the ships.”

  Perez now looked haggard in the dim lamplight: telling such a tale of disaster seemed to be emphasizing it for him. Probably, Ramage thought, he thrusts it away at the back of his mind whenever he can, unless he can pass the word to the British in Gibraltar.

  “Lord Nelson was concerned about the position of other French ships,” Ramage said. “How many, in which ports, and so on.”

  “Well now, let me see. Brest – yes, Admiral Gantaume is there with twenty-one line-of-battle ships, and from what I hear you people are blockading him so that he can’t get out.

  “Then Admiral Allemand is at sea – I don’t know where – with four ships of the line. Difficult for him to break in and join either Gantaume at Brest or Villeneuve here. He could make for Ferrol or Coruña, I suppose. That’s all the ships I know about. And, of course, Villeneuve commands thirty-four French and Spanish ships here. A very large fleet – on paper.”

  “You have no hint when Villeneuve is likely to sail, I suppose?”

  Perez shook his head, his white hair flowing. “No – but I’m sure he will sail as soon as he gets a fair wind. Not so much because he wants to fight your Nelson, but he feels deeply the dishonour there would be if he is replaced by Decrès.”

  “So we can expect the Combined Fleet to sail the minute there is an east wind. Heading for the English Channel?”

  Perez held up a hand as though restraining Ramage. “I hear reports that Villeneuve has received new orders. Reports? Rumours, more likely, and you must emphasize that to Lord Nelson. You came to me for information, but I must ask you a question – and please feel free not to answer. Is there a big British convoy at sea somewhere carrying troops into the Mediterranean?”

  Ramage thought for several moments, and then decided that the French knew it was at sea and its destination – that was hardly a secret even before General Craig’s ships left England bound for Italy.

  Ramage nodded. “Yes, I believe there is such a convoy at sea.”

  “Ah, that might explain it!” Perez exclaimed. “You see, I know that until very recently Admiral Villeneuve’s orders from Bonaparte were to leave Cadiz and sail north to the English Channel, and guard his flotillas waiting at Calais and Boulogne as they crossed to invade England.

  “But this rumour I heard – or, rather, my informant heard – was to the effect that Villeneuve had just received entirely new orders: he was to break out of Cadiz and sail into the Mediterranean, to find and destroy this English convoy or, if it had already gone through and landed its men in Italy to help the Russians, to land troops – this city is full of them, eating what little food is left – and drive the English into the sea.”

  Ramage felt himself tensing as he thought about the rumour. If it was true, then Bonaparte was no longer threatening England. Had he lost his nerve? Had the difficulties and dangers of getting his boats and barges across the Channel frightened him? Or (more likely) had he lost faith in Villeneuve’s ability to get the fleet up to the Channel and therefore abandoned the invasion? But what about Decrès – did Bonaparte not trust him either?

  And, of course, it was late in the year. Who would dare guarantee even a day and night’s decent weather in the Channel (let alone an easterly wind, which the invasion fleet had to have) in October? – and it would be late October even if Villeneuve broke out now. Even if he escaped Lord Nelson and even if he had fair winds, and even if he could control his mixed fleet – more ifs than hopes – he could not be off Calais and Dover before the last week in October.

  Ramage found himself feeling sorry for Villeneuve: the poor man’s Emperor had, it seemed, given him the choice of defeat or dishonour…

  Perez looked at Ramage. “Yes, I understand the importance of that rumour, because if Villeneuve sails for the Mediterranean there can be no invasion of England. But I beg you, Captain Ramage, do emphasize to Lord Nelson that it is only a rumour. My informant has tried to get more information but as you can imagine, even if he has received such orders, Admiral Villeneuve will guard them carefully. After all, his success will depend on surprising Lord Nelson by breaking out and turning south for the Strait rather than north for England…”

  “Yes,” Ramage said as casually as possible, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. “A rumour, I shall emphasize that. Now señor,” he said, taking out his watch, “is there anything else? My boat will be waiting for me in about five minutes’ time.”

  Perez shook his head. “No. I think that is all I have to offer. Is it of help?”

  “Yes, His Lordship will be very grateful. Now, I suggest we leave by the front door, with you bidding us farewell, as though we have been paying you a normal visit. By the way, there is no curfew?”

  Perez shook his head. “There was for a short while, but the people are too frightened to go out – because of the troops! So the garrison commander lifted the curfew.”

  As the gate shut behind them Ramage and Orsini, blinking to get accustomed to the darkness, began walking across the plaza to the cemetery. Both sighed at the same moment and laughed at the coincidence.

  “What is troubling you?” Ramage asked in Spanish.

  “A most interesting visit,” Orsini said carefully, wary that he might be overheard.

  “Yes,” Ramage said, “we must pass the message to our master.”

  “He will be pleased!”

  Will he? Ramage thought not. It was one thing to cover the Combined Fleet against the chance of escaping north to the English Channel, but it was quite something else (while staying out of sight, not risking deterring them from sailing) to guard against them escaping southwards to the Mediterranean. It was, indeed, a toss-up.

  By now they were passing through the cemetery and they could hear the lazy slapping of wavelets on the beach. Ramage suddenly held Orsini’s shoulder: “Listen!”

  There were angry voices shouting in Spanish. Two voices. And equally vociferous replies in French. Ramage stared across the beach and gradually made out the shape of two horsemen at the water’s edge and, just beyond them, the cutter. Spanish mounted guards, challenging the boat, and Gilbert and Louis shouting back in French, pretending to be indignant but not understanding whatever the Spanish sentries were asking.

  Ramage crouched down and made his way across the sand, followed by Orsini. The Spaniards were getting more excited; they were clearly asking questions and demanding answers – why a boat full of men should be at this beach – but were not satisfied with the shouts in French.

  Very soon Ramage could distinguish what the Spaniards were saying. They were very nervous, very jumpy and very angry at being answered in French: they reckoned that only Spanish boats should be out at night.

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bsp; Ramage and Orsini were only five yards from the two horsemen when Ramage heard one of them bellow angrily: “Get out of the boat! Out! If you don’t get out I shoot the nearest man!”

  Surprise, thought Ramage. And noise. He whispered to Orsini. A moment later both men ran screaming and shouting at the horses, slapping each on the rump and starting them rearing. Without waiting to see what had happened to the equally startled horsemen, Ramage continued running, grabbed the side of the cutter and, making sure that Orsini was scrambling on board, snapped at Jackson: “Quick, shove off! Those two won’t be able to aim pistols properly while their horses are dancing!”

  The men on the beach side of the boat thrust down and away with their oars, levering the boat round, and the moment the bow was heading seaward all the oars dipped in the water and the men began rowing vigorously.

  Ramage scrambled into the boat sprawling across a thwart. He twisted round to look at the horsemen and saw they were ten yards further along the beach, fighting the horses which were rearing and neighing: horses frightened by the screams and slaps of the two men approaching from the rear, and spurred and kicked by the startled riders they had nearly thrown. The yanking at the bits and the raking of the spurs had frightened the horses even more and they continued rearing and walking sideways along the beach, their riders concerned only with staying in the saddles, the boat for the time being forgotten.

  Ten yards off the shore, twenty and increasing speed, thirty and Jackson cursing as he tried to fit the metal tiller on to the wooden rudderhead. Thirty yards and they were out of sight of the horsemen; fifty yards and they could no longer see the thin white ribbons of the wavelets breaking.

  “Back to the Calypso, sir?” Jackson asked politely once he had the tiller fitted and tucked under his arm.

  Ramage thought a moment. He had to sail at once for the Victory, but Blackwood commanded the little inshore squadron of which the Calypso was part.

  “No, the Euryalus, first.”

  Blackwood would be patrolling between the El Diamante and La Galera shoals: a five-mile sail from here, and then another three miles or so to find the Calypso.

  With the Calypso hove-to half a mile to windward of the flagship, Ramage boarded the Victory at exactly nine o’clock next morning, tired but shaven, wearing a frock coat that Silkin had insisted on pressing, and a neatly tied stock.

  At the last moment a whimsical thought that the news he was taking to Lord Nelson could mean that England was safe from any invasion threat led Ramage to wear his Lloyd’s sword. A puzzled Silkin had mumbled: “But you didn’t wear it when all the other captains were there,” and Ramage had laughed. “It’s an old Spanish custom,” he said.

  Hardy greeted him at the entryport, anxious but trying to hide it. “His Lordship is worried – couldn’t you carry out his orders?”

  “His orders?” a puzzled Ramage repeated. “But he only gave me one set of orders.”

  “Yes, about landing in Cadiz.”

  “Ah yes,” Ramage said, “that’s why I’m here.” And, he thought, you may be the admiral’s flag captain, but if you think I’m going to make a report to you standing at the entryport with your first lieutenant and a couple of seamen, not to mention sideboys, all straining their ears, you are wrong.

  With that he hurried to the great cabin, had the Marine sentry announce him after saluting in a cloud of pipeclay, and at Lord Nelson’s call went in to find the admiral again sitting in his special armchair.

  “Well, Ramage, what happened, eh? Problems?”

  Ramage was almost alarmed at the admiral’s concern – he had jumped up out of the chair, good eye glinting, the single arm clutching a handful of papers which he had been reading.

  “No, sir: I carried out your orders and hurried out to make my report.”

  “What a stout fellow!” Nelson exclaimed, slapping him on the back with the handful of papers. “As soon as you hove in sight and were identified, Hardy and I decided you hadn’t had time to land in Cadiz and get out here! I’m only too delighted to learn we were wrong! Well, what news have you got for me? Did you find our friend?”

  Ramage nodded. “Yes, sir, we found his house in the lee of that church and paid him a call. We convinced him we were friends and he told us all he knew.”

  “You had no trouble with the Spanish getting on shore?”

  “No, sir. We had to drive off a couple of mounted sentries to get back on board the cutter, but there was no difficulty.”

  “We? Who did you take with you?”

  “Midshipman Orsini, sir, the nephew of the Marchesa di Volterra.”

  “Ah yes, you told me: he speaks fluent Spanish.”

  “As well as being a very resourceful young officer, sir.”

  “Yes. I’ll keep an eye on him,” the admiral said. “Has he passed for lieutenant yet?”

  Ramage shook his head. “He won’t be twenty for another couple of years.”

  “Well, we’ll do something about him later. Now, what had Señor Perez to tell you?”

  Ramage repeated the Spaniard’s words as near verbatim as his memory allowed, so that he was near the end of his report when he came to the rumour – he carefully repeated Perez’s warning about it – that Villeneuve might have new orders directing him to the Mediterranean.

  The chance that his quarry might bolt either to the north or the south did not seem to bother Nelson. “Twenty ships, Ramage, I shan’t be satisfied with less than twenty ships!”

  “Leave one for me, sir,” Ramage said jokingly.

  “There’ll be enough for everyone,” Nelson said, sitting down in his armchair, “but no frigates in the line of battle, Ramage; one broadside from a 74 will turn your ship into floating wreckage…

  “Signals – I want you frigates to repeat my signals quickly: if you do that, you’ll have done your job. That’s what frigates are for, when serving with a fleet. On detached service – which you are used to – well, that’s a different matter. But with a fleet, keeping a sharp lookout and quick signals!”

  “Yes, sir,” Ramage said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ramage sat at his desk, with the Calypso hove-to in a very light breeze five miles off the Fuerte de La Cortadura on the outskirts of Cadiz. The sun was occasionally breaking through high, watery clouds.

  He pulled across his journal and dipped his quill in the ink. Blockading (or keeping a watch on an enemy port) must be the dullest job in the Service, apart from acting as guardship at somewhere like Plymouth or Portsmouth: for days you just stared at the same views. Days, weeks and perhaps months…

  He flipped over some earlier pages. Sunday, 28th September: the day they joined the fleet, and next day was Nelson’s birthday. On the next night he and Paolo had gone on shore to find Señor Perez, and on 1st October he had taken the Calypso out to find Nelson and report on what the Spaniard had to say…Since then the Calypso and Euryalus had kept a close watch on Cadiz and Rota (close enough to see what was happening on board the French and Spanish ships hiding in Cadiz), with Thomas Dundas’ frigate Naiad and Thomas Bladen-Capel’s Phoebe close in. Several miles out – close enough to distinguish flag signals – was William Prowse with the frigate Sirius, with William Parker in the Amazon frigate, the schooner Pickle and the Weazle lying further out, over the horizon. Then, making up the rest of the links out to the fleet, were three ships of the line, acting as frigates because of the shortage – the Defence with Captain George Hope in command, the 64-gun Agamemnon (the first ship of the line that Nelson had ever commanded as a young post-captain) with Captain Berry, one of the few who knew Lord Nelson well, and finally, in sight of the fleet, the Mars and the Duff clan.

  The entries in the journal reflected the dullness of the task: “5th October – anchored in Cadiz Roads, no movement among ships of the Combined Fleet… 10 October – cruising between Castillo de San Sebastián (the western tip of Cadiz city) and the Fuerte de La Cortadura… 15th October – patrolling the Canal Principal off Cadiz harbour: 35 to
ns of water remaining… 18th October hove-to in light winds off Castillo de San Sebastian, opened one cask of salt beef, six pieces missing…”

  And then frequent entries were: “Ship’s company employed ATSR” (the abbreviation for “As The Service Required”)… “Ship’s company exercised at general quarters” (which meant at the guns)… “Topmen exercised at shifting foretopsail” (“shifting” meant sending down the topsail and then hoisting it up again and bending it back on to the yard, usually timing from “sail set to sail set again”). And painting…the gunner was given men to black the guns, painting them with a special mixture which included lamp-black and Stockholm tar (one drop of which, Aitken swore, would ruin his scrubbed decks). Aitken was perhaps the only man in the ship who favoured blockade and lookout duty – he had the men and the time to get all the jobs done that could not be undertaken in rough seas, when wet paint would be spoiled by spray or men having to move across it.

  Jackson, Rossi and Stafford were busy at just such a job: Jackson had drawn a booklet of gold leaf from the first lieutenant which Captain Ramage had paid for (the Navy Board did not issue gold leaf: their nearest was white paint). From the boatswain he had drawn a bottle of special size (for sticking down the gilding), a fine brush, and a chamois leather pad. Stafford and Rossi had brushes and paint.

  They had to gild and paint the capstan, which was the size of a large fat cask standing on end. On top, in the middle, was a crown, whose gilding was wearing off, attacked by the sun and chipped during normal use of the capstan.

  The most fiddling of jobs, the first started by Rossi and Stafford, were the wedge-shaped drawers which fitted into the slots taking the bars when the capstan had to be turned. When the bars were not slotted in, breast-high, the slots themselves held small drawers in which were stowed pieces of cloth to be used as bandages when in action and short pieces of line, each with a monkey’s fist knot the size of a walnut. They were the tourniquets that would be used to bind up a severed limb and stop the bleeding.