Chapter 22: We Happy Few

July 1805

HMS Spartiate, 74, together with nine other sail of the line of the Mediterranean Fleet, was sailing along with the fifteen men o’war of Admiral Cornwallis’s Channel Fleet, forming a separate line of battle to leeward of the main column. Vice admiral Sir Charles Cotton was in command of their column, as they performed complicated evolutions.

Vice admiral Nelson had sailed for Plymouth in Victory to confer with their Lordships and had left his ships with the Channel Fleet to bolster the defence of the British Isles. They had reached Cadiz, three weeks earlier, but the roadstead was empty with no trace of Villeneuve and his seventeen French and Spanish ships of the line. A day later, at Gibraltar, they found out that Villeneuve had sailed for Ferrol instead and was holed up there. Sir Robert Calder’s squadron was keeping a watch over the Galician coast, and Nelson decided to head for the home waters to get fresh orders.

The situation was rather prickly, with Villeneuve commanding seventeen battle line ships, another five or six waiting in Rochefort, and fifteen bottled up in Brest. Admiral Ganteaume had tried to break from Brest two months earlier, but had to anchor halfway out in the Goulet, the inlet to Brest, due to thick fog. When the weather cleared, the Channel Fleet was already waiting for his ships outside the protected waters. No action ensued, but the French retreated back to Brest after a brief standoff. Not a few officers of the Mediterranean Fleet thought that to be the way to keep the French out of mischief, rather than letting them escape and then chase them halfway around the world and without success.

At least now, with the Channel Fleet comprising twenty-five line-of-battle ships, Villeneuve would be ill-advised to enter the English Channel. They could also make use of the opportunity to victual the ships. Admiral Cornwallis had kept his ships mostly at sea for almost three years. Regular supply ships came from Portsmouth but also from Tor Bay, with specialised water hoys bringing freshwater from various English ports. That was a fly in the ointment for Will who had hoped to see Portsmouth and Abigail, but he also had to marvel at the efficiency with which the Channel Fleet was kept in food and water, whilst maintaining their vigil off a hostile coast. Other vessels supplied the cabins and wardrooms with foods and wines, lifting the spirits somewhat.

Will could also replenish his slop chest from the supply ships. The prices were decidedly higher compared with his own purchases, but he had no choice in the matter. Reluctantly, he raised the prices for the few items of luxury the hands could buy, such a chewing tobacco, sugar and dried wineberries. The crew was not happy, but had to accept the facts.

Then, by some miracle, a sloop from Portsmouth, whilst bringing cheeses to the fleet, arrived with slop chest goods for Will. Abigail had aseembled them, using his own suppliers, after reading about the situation in Will’s letters, and once again Will realised his good fortune, finding a business-minded wife. Prices still had to be higher than before, but he made a better profit from the sales.

In late July, news came of a battle fought at Cap Finisterre between Villeneuve’s fleet and a large squadron under Sir Robert Calder. From what they learned, it must have been a muddled action fought in a mist and little winds to disperse the gunsmoke. Calder was able to capture two ships, but the rest escaped, mainly because Calder did not pursue them energetically enough, being worried about leaving Ferrol and Rochefort unguarded, two enemy ports for which he was responsible.

Two weeks later, the English newspapers that arrived with the supply ships made it out that Calder had shied away from a decisive engagement, and all the armchair tacticians called for a court martial against him. To Will and the others in the Channel Fleet, Calder had weakened Villeneuve without losing a single ship whilst facing a large numeral superiority.

Later in the summer, reports came about Villeneuve breaking out from Vigo, a port in western Spain, and heading for Rochefort. Apparently, he came about HMS Dragon, 74, and HMS Phoenix, 36, sailing with the captured French frigate Didon, 40, and mistook them for Admiral Cornwallis’s vanguard. Hastily turning tail, he fled to Cadiz with his fleet. If anything, this showed the officers and crews how deathly afraid Villeneuve was of another engagement with Royal Navy forces, and it did a lot to lift the spirits on board, and even in the wardroom. Toasts were drunk to the health of the two captains who had scared off the French.

Cadiz, where the French were now holed up, was kept under a mock-blockade by Sir Cuthbert Collingwood, with just three sail of the line, but pretending to be only an inshore squadron. Immediately, the former ships of Nelson’s Mediterranean Fleet were ordered to detach from the Channel Fleet and join Collingwood off Cadiz, Spartiate amongst them. They all used the last chance to send off letters to their families, before the ten ships formed a line heading southwest for the almost one thousand nautical miles journey.

It was close-hauled sailing against western winds, and five knots on average was counted as good progress. Their frigates, Odin amongst them, fanned out of course, to prevent them from running into the French and Spanish fleet unprepared, but it was an uneventful journey. They arrived on September 2, and Collingwood immediately began to organise and exercise his blockading fleet.

In Will’s mind, the French Admiral had made a grave mistake fleeing to Cadiz. Whilst the blockading British could receive supplies by the sea and could even victual and repair their ships at close-by Gibraltar, the presence of over 33 French and Spanish ships of the line and their smaller consorts had to pose a severe strain on the supplies and facilities at Cadiz. Add to that, that Cadiz depended on the sea for supplies with no navigable river connecting it to the inland, and the blockade would interrupt those supply lines. Sooner or later, Villeneuve would have to come out, Will reasoned. This could mean a pitched battle, possibly the biggest since Saint Vincent or even the Saintes, and if Will was honest, this was a little unsettling.

Nevertheless, the prospect of finally meeting the French broadside to broadside was energising to officers and crews, and even the tedious blockade was tolerable. It was also heartening to see ship after ship joining their fleet, scraped together from what was available, but nevertheless swelling their numbers to twenty-five ships of the line, although a few of them were 64-gun third-rates, older ships not quite up to meeting a modern French ship at close quarters.

Word was also spreading that Collingwood would soon be superseded by Vice Admiral Nelson, and indeed, in the last days of September, HMS Victory, flying his White Flag, joined the huge fleet off Cadiz. Flag signals showed on Victory’s halliards forbidding the customary salute shots being fired, likely to leave the French in Cadiz in the dark about the change of command.

The subterfuge continued. A strong detachment was sent to sail past Ferrol, the Northern Spanish naval port, and once out of sight, to make a wide berth and return to the fleet. This was to make Villeneuve think that the British blockading fleet was depleted by those ships. Only two sail of the line and three frigates were left in sight of Cadiz, with the rest of the fleet at least 30 miles out to sea, safe from French scouting vessels.

The fleet, now comprising 27 ships of the line, was far too large for a single battle line. Therefore, Nelson divided his ships into two columns, one headed by himself in Victory and the other led by Collingwood in his Royal Sovereign. It helped that both admirals were old friends, who knew that they could depend on each other.

Spartiate was attached to Nelson’s column, sailing in the tactical Nº9 position, forward of the old 100-gun 1st-rate Britannia. This was both disappointing and relieving to officers and men. Sailing as Nº9 meant that she would only join the battle late, likely missing the hottest action. It also meant she would not be exposed to the well-aimed first broadsides of the French and Spanish ships. Again, orders were orders as Captain Laforey remarked during a dinner in mid-October, and that was that.

Laforey passed on Nelson’s orders to the fleet’s pursers, to fill the holds only half with the heavy water and pork barrels, to reduce the draft and increase manoeuvrability of the ships, and Will made certain to stow the remaining heavy provisions as low as possible, spending a lot of time in the hold with the work crews to that end.

Laforey also made some changes to the allotment of duties when at stations. One of them was to put Will in charge of directing the surgeon’s mates and detached idlers during the rescue of wounded sailors from the decks. This was in addition to his duties in having water distributed to the gun crews, but it freed one senior surgeon’s mate who would be needed in the lazaretto on the orlop deck. He spent a lot of time with Mister Shaw, the surgeon, to learn how to tell hopeless cases from those who had chances of survival. He also hoped fervently that his new skills would not be needed.

Every evening now, he spent time at his little desk writing letters to Abigail. His mood changed from day to day. Most of the time he looked forward to be part of what was about to happen, a large, epic battle. At other times, he felt apprehension at the same thought. It was not so much the fear of dying, but Mister Shaw’s instructions had familiarised Will with the horrors of the surgeon’s bone saw, of surviving disfigured or crippled, to be pitied or abhorred by those who had known him before. Abigail would stand by him; of that he was convinced. Yet, he feared saddling her with the remnants of what he had been.

His sometimes morose brooding never lasted long, and what mostly helped him was the cheerfulness of Pendragon Jones, the chaplain. The man had a limitless trust in God and seemed to fear nothing. Playing a game of draughts with Jones left him calmer and better able to sleep.

Thusly, September passed and turned into October. The French had still not shown signs of leaving Cadiz, and time was getting short for a resolution of the situation before Winter. Still, Nelson had his fleet practice the planned tactics almost daily until the complicated evolutions became routine. Almost every evening, captains were invited to dine in the flagship, and rumour had it that Nelson used those dinners to impart his tactical thinking on the men who had to execute those ideas.

Laforey was invited on three occassions, and he issued invitations to the wardroom in turn, to pass Nelson’s ideas on to Clephan, his possible successor, but also to the other officers. As Will understood things, the British battle lines were to break the French line in two places if possible, to cut off van and rearguard from the main body. Victory and Royal Sovereign were to be the sharp points to pierce the French battle order. Whilst the latter was supremely fitting for the role, with her newly sheeted bottom and sturdy build, the former, being considerably older, smaller and worn out from decades of service would likely suffer badly.

The constant drills and the sense of an impending peril also had the wardroom close ranks. By this point, Will had shown himself a worthy successor of Mister Webling, the man he had replaced, and whenever his youth was mentioned by his wardroom mates, it was now part of a general, benign banter. On two occasions, Captain Chancer of the Royal Marines even joined their Whist games as a fourth, and although he kept complaining about the low stakes, he proved to be a skilful player.

On Octover 12th, Will visited a Portuguese merchantman that had met with the fleet to offer wines, wineberries and smoked meats. Throwing his usual financial caution to the wind, he bought a large consignment of meats and wines, the latter of excellent vintages. With this windfall of good food and drink, the wardroom issued a dinner invitation to Captain Laforey which was graciously accepted.

The captain was cordial to the point of being genial, likely helped by a twelve year-old vintage, and the evening developed into the best dinner they’d had in Will’s memory. Everybody had to tell tall stories of past exploits. Will’s turn came almost last, and when he related the recovery of ancient Egytian artefacts during the Egyptian Campaign and the subsequent exposition in London, Laforey looked at Will with surprise.

“That was quite the sensation, Mister Potter. I did not know that you are interested in antiquities.”

‘How would you know?’ Will shot back in his mind, but he replied politely.

“Captain Montgomery, then 1st lieutenant in the Dido, related his knowledge of classical Greece during our games of Draughts. I became interested and started to read works of history. It’s how I spend quiet evenings, after finishing the letters to my wife, of course.”

“Interesting, my dear Mister Potter. Intellectual interests are what marks a gentleman. You must know Sir Algernon Montgomery then? He is still on the Board, isn’t he?”

“Yes to both, Sir. Sir Algernon and Lady Montgomery were kind enough to host me once in their London house.”

“Astonishing. A pity we didn’t have a chance to land in Alexandria this Spring. It must be fascinating.”

Will wagged his head. “Regrettably, the fascinating things are buried deeply in sand and dirt, Sir. Captain Montgomery and I found the scripture plates under the walls of the French fort, where they served as foundation.”

“Ignorant Frogs!” Chancer snorted.

“They had their learned men with them, but their engineer soldiers could not be counted in that number,” Will agreed. “At least, they dug up the Stone of Rosetta, of which His Majesty is quite fond.”

Laforey chuckled. “Yes, they also built this fine ship for us. Gentlemen, a toast to Spartiate, and may the Frogs never learn how to sail their beautiful ships!”

They all drank to that and the mood became even merrier. Now Clephan took the word.

“I read that their Aigle escaped from the engagement with Calder’s ships and tried to reach Rochefort. She was caught by the Clyde frigate and forced to surrender. Another fine French ship for us.”

“Oh, the freshly knighted Sir Anthony Carter, who commanded Clyde, is actually part of the fleet now, commanding Agamemnon. He’s the kind of fire eater we need,” Laforey filled them in. “The Aigle will be renamed Asia as I hear. A pity she can’t join us here yet. She’s still under repairs.”

The evening continued with stories being told and toasts brought out. It was a rare moment of cameradery for Spartiate’s officers.

Only six days later, the inshore squadron signalled that the French and Spanish ships were leaving Cadiz. What had compelled Villeneuve to sail was not clear, but the fleet started to form battle lines and went through the last preparations for a likely confrontation. The boatswain and his mates examined the rigging thoroughly, the gunner and his mates began to sew and fill more powder cartridges, and the gun drills became serious affairs for the crews. The older sailors helped, reminding the young men that defeating the enemy quickly was the best way to survive.

A sense of purpose spread over Spartiate, but the men reacted differently. Some men withdrew into a shell, not talking to their mates and brooding, others faced the impending peril by ordering their affairs. Will was busy recording who would inherit what of the meagre possessions of common sailors.

In the wardroom, reactions were varied, too. Captain Chancer and Lieutenant Miller drilled their Marines almost incessantly and were hardly seen at the table. The surgeon was sharpening the grisly tools of his trade one more time. Mister Royce, the sailing master, when not on deck, was in his cabin and was heard praying. Pendragon Jones, the chaplain, was busy taking confessions from the crew members. Will brought his Victualling Book and other documents up to date, trying to make it easy for a successor to step in. He went over his will again, too, but there was nothing new to add. Abigail would inherit whatever he owned, and that was a consolation for him. At least, he had somebody who would miss him and hopefully keep his memory alive.

The hours passed at a snail’s pace, very much like the French sailing from Cadiz. It took them two days to weigh anchor and leave the roads, but on October 20, they formed three lines and were heading south-east, most likely trying to pass the Strait of Gibraltar.