Chapter 52: Diplomacy and Blunt Force

January 1813

Southampton and The Solent lay behind them now, the Isle of Wight was fading in the distance, and the convoy was clawing up against a strong western breeze. With the lively wind blowing, Saturn was showing her good side. Andrew did not need reefs in his topsails and even had double-reefed topgallants set, and yet she was barely lying over and making over seven knots. With her deep keel and one deck lower, her drift was almost negligible. Tony was standing on the quarterdeck and enjoying the carefree ride. Andrew was an excellent captain, and there was no need to interfere with or even think of the running of the ship. The convoy, twenty-three West Indiamen, was sailing in good order, and the three smaller ships of his squadron kept their positions with painstaking accuracy.

Still, he let the feel of the ship seep into his mind. There was a deck wash party, scrubbing the last remnants of the dockyard work from the planks. They were supervised by a midshipman, a midshipman ordinary on his first seagoing posting. Tony remembered him as the former Cadet Winthorpe who had eagerly answered questions when Tony had lectured at the Naval College. The coming weeks would tell whether the young man would do his alma mater honour.

Lifting his gaze towards the forecastle, he could see another recent graduate of the college as he was introduced to his duties by Mister Uxbridge, Tony’s quasi-protégé, the nephew of the late Admiral Sir Pierce Fallon. The young man had shown much promise in the Asia and Clyde, and now, as lieutenant, he was a perfect junior officer. Now he was passing on what he had learned as midshipman under Tony. So far, the newly commissioned ship and her crew were performing very satisfactorily.

Over the next hours, as they clawed against the western breeze, Tony did not leave the deck, being well aware that in spite of the war with the United States, the corsairs of Saint Malo on the Brittany Coast had to be evaded first. Andrew, too, was not leaving the quarterdeck, having spent over four years with the Channel Fleet. He sauntered over.

“Wonder if they’ll show today,” he remarked.

“Maybe after we pass Saint Malo, but then again, I would advise them against it,” Tony answered with a shrug.

“Still, one can hope,” Andrew grinned.

Still, when they passed the Channel Islands, Tony had contrived for the convoy to be on a northeastern leg, close to Start Point on the Devon Coast, and as far from Saint Malo as possible. No corsair showed either, and the convoy continued beating up against the wind.

Come the night, they passed Ushant off the French Atlantic coast and were able to settle close-hauled on a southwesterly course, heading for the Antilles. Tony had persuaded the captains of the convoy to sail a southern course, to frustrate any privateers trying to waylay them on the usual route.

This started a long leg across the Atlantic, soon driven by the North Eastern trade winds. The days were rather monotonous, with the merchantmen sailing under all plain sail. Tony used the superior speed of his ships to conduct drills and manoeuvres whilst still staying close to his charges. With each passing day, the squadron gained in co-ordination.

Yet, no other shipping was encountered for the next two weeks until they reached the Virgin Islands. A day before the expected landfall, Tony sent out his ship sloops to reconnoitre the passage and possibly catch American or French shipping. He kept Cossack around, knowing that the Saturn could be outmanoeuvred too easily by small and handy privateers. Losing a ship of the convoy would not be a good start for his command.

Indeed, when the convoy passed the group of small islands, Hazard and Lynx reported back with three small merchantmen as prizes, caught unsuspectingly whilst taking cargo at Frederiksted. They were between 120 and 250 tons, but one of them had traded at Maracaibo on the coast of the Spanish Venezuela province, and carried eighty tons of coffee beans. Whilst the prizes joined the convoy, Tony sent out Cossack and Lynx to try their luck along the Puerto Rican coast. With the island being a major trading hub, they were lucky, and by the next morning, the number of prizes had increased to five, with two American schooners cut off from the coast and forced to strike their colours.

When they approached Haiti’s southern coast, Tony recalled the sloops, not wishing to antagonise the Republic of Haiti. After all, his orders were to draw both Haitis to the British side. Thus, the convoy sailed past Port Royal and entered Kingston Harbour two days later, with not a single ship lost or damaged, but with five prizes to be adjudicated.

Tony’s first duty in the next morning was to report at the Royal Naval Dockyard, where Vice Admiral Charles Stirling had his residence. Stirling had a mixed reputation in the service, having served with a squadron under Sir Robert Calder during the indecisive Battle of Cape Finisterre but also in the South Atlantic during the successful attack on Montevideo.

Tony met him in his office, a brightly lit, well-appointed room.

“Welcome to Port Royal, my dear Sir Anthony. I could see that you had some luck with prizes?”

“Yes, Sir. Five vessels in all. Nothing special, but welcome nonetheless. I brought you a copy of the orders I received from the First Naval Lord.”

“That is kind of you, Sir Anthony, but I received another copy from their Lordships already. You’ll be paying calls to both Haitis?”

“Yes, Sir. I am somewhat familiar with the island from back in ‘04, and their Lordships want me to use the contacts I made with the Black leaders.”

“You have my blessing, Sir Anthony. It is not a mission for which I envy you. You’re a son on Kingston, too?”

“Yes, Sir. My father was the master-owner of a sloop, the Anne-Mary. When she was lost in a hurricane in ‘97, my father perished in the wreck, and Sir Richard Lambert convinced me to join the Medusa frigate as midshipman.”

“You’ve had quite the career after that,” Stirling chuckled. “You’re married to his daughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Sir, we married after Trafalgar.”

“I remember you. You were a late addition to poor Calder’s fleet, quite the fire-eater then.”

“I may have had that reputation, Sir, but with experience comes better judgement.”

“Quite so, quite so! You will also try to hunt down those damned Yankee frigates?”

“If they are sighted in the Caribbean or South Atlantic, Sir. Apart from that, we are to interrupt the Yankee shipping, but also to suppress piracy in these waters.”

“Their Lordships could have just as easily given me Saturn and your smaller vessels and let me handle Yankee frigates and pirates, but I suppose they wanted you here in admiral’s uniform to confer with the Haitians.”

“Very likely, Sir. I shall also be happy to operate in conjunction with your squadron if or when opportunities arise.”

“I may have to take you up on that, my dear Sir Anthony. Well, perhaps I can call for a refreshment and we can toast our cooperation?”

That would be kind of you, Sir.”

Stirling rang a small silver bell and a servant showed.

“We shall have drinks, Morton!”

“Very well, Sir,” the man replied, left, and returned not five minutes later with a serving cart bearing a number of bottles and glasses.