It was only now, with the ironclad still on the northward course and them headed south, that he had a chance to look for Captain Hawke’s flotilla. He could barely make out the spitefuls against the shore and amid the clouds of smoke.
He watched as Glasgow’s rockets reached the ironclad. This time he definitely saw two more fires joining those in the burning sails. What would the French captain do, turn to come after them while the deck crew fought the fires, or turn away until they were extinguished? He had charge of France’s only steam battleship and may well take the cautious option.
Worthington really needed to have the ironclad turn to fight his flotilla―Captain Hawke’s ships needed a clear route for their withdrawal from Boulogne. He gave the quartermaster a new course. “Turn north. We must keep that ironclad in range.”
Lieutenant Trent returned with his damage report. “We have four men wounded by flying shrapnel, some rivets popped on the waterline and leaking into the port boiler room.”
“How severe a leak?”
“We should be able to stop it with tar and oakum.”
“Very well. Would you please go to the rocket men and ensure they are ready to fire again? I will make another firing pass.”
As they settled onto a new northerly course, the French captain made his choice. He turned toward Boulogne, where Captain Hawke’s flotilla were attacking the vessels he was supposed to escort.
Worthington changed course to follow him and sent his flotilla the signal to follow in line astern. What could he do now to delay the ironclad? He could think of nothing except to attack the ironclad’s tempting stern, with two sets of the vulnerable stern windows, and risk the fire from the stern guns.
As they slowly gained on the ironclad, Worthington watched the Glasgow worriedly. Copeland had raised a signal reporting a fire below as they ran south. He had seen the smoke of a fire but it seemed they had since extinguished it. How much of the machinery had it damaged?
Before the flotilla reached a point where they might fire rockets at the ironclad, Copeland, aboard the Glasgow, raised another signal flag: “I am in distress”. The smoke, previously invisible, returned in a large cloud.
Worthington sent a signal in reply, “return to port”. He and Trent studied the smoke with their telescopes. He would have to run his next attack with two ships.
“The fire seems to be forward,” Trent suggested.
“Aye, ye could be right.” Worthington turned to the signaller. “Send a message, ‘fire off your rockets’.”
He could only guess how bad the situation was aboard Glasgow. They likely had more casualties from the broadside than Spiteful had suffered. He might be faced with towing a crippled ship back across the Channel.
He tried to keep watch on the Glasgow as well as judge his course to approach the ironclad from astern. The French offered them no opposition as they were slowly overhauled. There was no sign of fire aboard, so they must have extinguished the blazes started by the rockets. In another fifteen minutes they would be at maximum rocket range, and he must expect his enemy to turn and fire broadsides.
The Glasgow was soon on the horizon and still afire, by the smoke. They had fired off some rockets but by no means all. Perhaps the fire they fought was in the rocket redoubt. There was hope they would meet up with the sailing ships before they steamed out of his sight and would be able to receive help from their own ships.
“Look out!” Trent shouted, pointing.
The ironclad was making a turn toward them. If he didn’t order a change of course, they would soon be in direct line of fire to receive the Frenchman’s broadside. His plan to attack the stern was scuttled.
There would be a brief chance to fire into the enemy’s rigging again before having to turn away. He called the signaller over. “Send to Lieutenant Farley, ‘Attack abreast, fire and withdraw’.”
He considered his options. It seemed that he should make for the Frenchman’s stern as much as he was able. That would put them on an escape course the clumsy Frenchman would find hardest to follow.
He ordered Trent to watch for Captain Hawke’s ships while he manoeuvred to approach the ironclad. They had been engaged for over an hour. He soon had a report. “I see several spitefuls, Commander. They seem to be on a westerly course.”
“Several spitefuls, Lieutenant?”
“No more than three.”
Damn. It meant they would be down to five spitefuls when next they must tackle Napoleon’s invasion. Did Lady Bond have that Antiochus ready for sea yet?
It seemed the Frenchman must have noticed Hawke’s withdrawal. The ironclad slowly changed course to engage the new targets, leaving the stern guns to keep his two at bay. Well, they would see about that.
Chapter Thirty-five
Action and Reaction
As the ironclad changed course, Worthington judged the best time to fire the rockets. If he turned toward the enemy now, he would suffer from both another broadside and stern fire, but it would be at longer range, and the French would have two spitefuls to fire at. Farley had taken up station on their starboard side so he might be able to withdraw away northwards from the ironclad when they had both fired.
He decided to chance it. “Turn six points toward the enemy.”
They stood waiting with baited breath as the distance closed. Any minute they might see the progressive clouds of gunsmoke issue from the enemy’s gun ports as the gunnery officers went down the guns approving the aim.
One gun partway down the broadside fired.
“Hah!” Worthington cried. “They are losing their aim. They will be firing when ready, and we should suffer less.” Only a well-trained and expert crew could coordinate their fire for very long.
As they watched, the enemy turned a little more away as its captain set a course to catch Captain Hawke’s spitefuls leaving Boulogne.
Two more cannons fired as Worthington watched his target come closer. They didn’t notice the hits.
He nodded to Lieutenant Trent. “Fire rockets now.”
Trent dashed to the rocket redoubts. They suffered a cannon shot before the rockets flew. The ball bounced across the empty deck and smashed the furled mains’l and its yard. Then the rockets were away.
“Course due north,” Worthington ordered the quartermaster.
The rockets landed around the enemy, some in the water, but several on the ship. He looked toward the Regent, still closing with the enemy and not firing.
Trent returned from his trip to the redoubts. “What is Mr. Farley doing?”
“I don’t know, but I’d guess he wants to fire into the stern windows. Cancel that northern course, Quartermaster. We must keep his company. Do we have more rockets, Trent?”
“Just 18 pounder, exploding.”
“Load them. We’ll feel better than we will as a sitting duck,” he said. Not that it would stop them getting a thrashing.
The Spiteful returned to join the Regent, just closer to the enemy and slightly astern. Trent ran down to the redoubts. Worthington watched the ironclad and waited for the cannon shots. Some of their rockets had hit―he could see flames and smoke issuing from a gun-port, and the closest mizzen mast was on fire.
Their smaller rockets fired and then several of the Frenchman’s guns. Then Regent fired at a much closer range, and the rockets could be seen smashing into the windows of the starboard side hull.
A veritable barrage of cannon fire enveloped them. His signaller was cut in two by a cannonball. He could see Lieutenant Trent smashed to his feet as he ran to return to the command position. Then something came flying out of the sky and knocked him down . . .
Roberta returned from Clydebank but hardly had time to take up her duties again before she received a request to call on the First Lord at the Admiralty. She changed her plans immediately; a request from the First Lord was an order in anyone else’s vocabulary. She took the navy’s morning dispatch steamer from Chatham to Westminster Steps.
She found the Admiralty a bee-
hive upended, with officers rushing in and out and messengers running up and down the corridors. She went directly to the Steam Directorate when she arrived. Commander Worthington was sitting there in the waiting room, a bandage around his head.
“Good Lord, Commander. What happened?”
He looked at her with a slight shake of his head. “Just a bit o’ bother, My Lady. We went to Boulogne yesterday and frightened the Frenchies.”
“Good Lord. How many of you?” She looked about at the round eyes of the other men in the waiting room and saw Commander Worthington could hardly answer her in public.
At that moment a clerk came in. “Lady Bond? Would you please come this way?” He looked at Worthington. “A few minutes more, Commander, if you please.”
She was taken directly to the Admiralty Board room. Viscount Melville sat inside with Sir Joseph Sydney Yorke and Mr. Dundas; the atmosphere here was much calmer but their faces were as grim. They all stood as she entered.
“Before we go on to business, My Lady,” the First Lord said, “I must ask after your father’s health.”
“He is much improved, thank you, My Lord, Gentlemen. Having Mr. Napier there has done him a power of good.”
“What is the state of the spitefuls under construction at Glasgow, My Lady?” Sir Joseph asked.
“One is afloat and receiving engines and boilers,” she answered. “One more is still incomplete on our slip while the third is finishing in the builder’s graving dock. May I ask what has happened, My Lord? I saw Commander Worthington in the Steam Directorate with a bandaged head, but he was not able to tell me his news.”
“We also are waiting for his report, My Lady,” Mr. Dundas said, “but we have one matter to discuss first.”
The First Lord took up the discussion. “I do not wish to alarm you, My Lady, but this next topic is a matter of grave secrecy until the Government has good news to offset its public impact. We have received an account of the fight between HMS Ironside and the French ironclad from Mr. Holmes, stationed in the Low Countries . . . as you may have been told.”
“He did not inform me exactly where he was going.”
“HMS Ironside was obliged to haul down its colours. Mr. Holmes informs us it lies on a mudbank in the Westerschelde where it was run aground by its crew to avoid it capsizing.”
Roberta had to hide her eyes until her emotions eased. “Oh my God. Were there many casualties?”
“We fear so, but those details are only known to the French. The sailing warships of our blockade are unable to enter the waterway.”
“Mr. Holmes also sent another report, that day,” Sir Joseph said. “It completely overshadowed the message of the fate of the ship, in the minds of the Dutch agents it would seem. The French steamships and their invasion craft sailed out into the Channel several hours later.”
“That news was released to our allies immediately,” the First Lord said. “And to the House of Commons. The newspapers learned this morning . . . if you will have had time to read one.”
Roberta stared down at her hands, tightly clasped on the boardroom table. “Have the allies declared war on France, then, My Lord?”
“That they have. Your husband is with the Army of Silesia and has sent several reports since they crossed the Rhine.”
“That is the reason the spitefuls were sent to scout off Boulogne yesterday, which appears to have resulted in casualties. Commander Worthington came by train from Dover this morning and will brief us in a moment.”
“But our first discussion here today concerns Antiochus. When will it be ready for sea?” Sir Joseph asked.
“A matter of a day or two, Sirs, but it has no captain and not a complete crew assigned as yet.”
“The choice of Captain has been a matter of intense discussion within the service, you may understand,” Sir Joseph said primly.
Roberta felt the heat rising in her face. “That need not have been the case, My Lords, if it were not for the prejudice of all the other captains and admirals at sea. I do not presume to tell Their Lordships their business, but my own recommendation has never been a secret. Is he not allowed to participate in this discussion? Why should he be denied his rights?”
The First Lord raised his hands. “And that denial as you call it, My Lady, is entirely due to our apprehension of your response to our solution to the matter. If you would be so good as to confine your further contribution to this meeting to technical matters, we may feel able to ask the gentleman to come in.”
Roberta took a deep breath. “Very well, My Lord. I apologise for my harsh words.”
“No need to apologise,” Mr. Dundas said. “We consider your outburst to be a worthy recommendation for the officer we all knew should have been the first choice from the start.”
The First Lord rang a bell and instructed the clerk who appeared to bring Worthington in.
The first thing Their Lordships did was to inform him that this discussion would determine the captaincy of the Antiochus, which he received without any show of emotion.
“We also need to hear your report of yesterday’s action,” the First Lord said. “There were casualties I believe?”
“Aye. In ships and men. We engaged the French―the ironclad was at sea and my flotilla engaged it while Captain Hawke attacked the pyroscaphes as they emerged from Boulogne harbour.”
“This was not the plan we thought everyone was following,” Sir Joseph said.
“After we heard the news of the loss of the Ironside, the mood on the Downs was that we needed revenge. Even Marshal Wellesley came to see us and suggested we should go to Boulogne.”
“I wish the Army would not interfere in naval matters,” the First Lord said.
“And the Admiral gave you such orders?” Sir Joseph demanded.
“He ordered us to learn what was happening at Boulogne, and to use our discretion how to act.”
“All very well if we can claim a victory.”
“We left the ironclad burning, and Captain Hawke’s flotilla sank two pyroscaphes and damaged two more, and a number of invasion barges were turned over and sunk. I would suggest the results verified the operation, My Lords.”
“Thank you, sir, but that is for us to decide,” Sir Joseph said with some heat.
Roberta looked on with concern and tried to caution Worthington to be less confrontational. He seemed hardly the same man as the one who had come aboard Spiteful last year.
“What were our losses in officers and men?”
“I lost Lieutenant Trent and four men killed: six wounded. In the other ships, I believe a total of one officer and twenty-four men wounded or killed. Captain Hawke is sending the details in his report.”
“You had better give us the full report, Commander,” the First Lord said, “starting from the beginning.”
Roberta sat transfixed as he recounted the action the day before. Their Lordships sat silently listening most of the time, but interrupted with some questions.
“The rockets were effective, then?” Mr. Dundas asked.
“The 32 pounder incendiaries. Because the doubled suit of masts and sails on the ironclad made such good targets. Yes, My Lord.”
“So, last seen, the ironclad was burning. Do you think it could make port?”
“The fires was no worse than any ship of the line would suffer in battle, Sir. A good crew will be able to fight the fires and make port. I can offer no estimate how long it will take to render seaworthy again.”
The First Lord looked around the table. “Then we may have a respite before they try again,” he suggested.
“Perhaps a day or two,” Sir Joseph said with a shrug.
Mr. Dundas nodded agreement. “And the sailing flotilla you escorted to Boulogne were to stay?”
“If we succeeded. Yes, My Lord. I would expect a frigate is on its way to Dover this minute to bring current news.”
“Captain Hawke lost a ship off Boulogne?”
“It was afire and had suffered severe damage from shore
batteries and other craft. Captain Hawke had it scuttled to keep the French from getting it.”
“Which vessel was it?”
“The Greenwich, one of the Thames built craft. I had to tow my HMS Glasgow to Dover. It will be there until it has some major repairs.” He looked at Roberta. “We might ask for help from the Stephenson workers at Chatham. ’Twas a miracle they did not have the damaged boiler blow up.”
“I can send Elizabeth Grandin and some men as soon as Antiochus goes to sea,” Roberta said.
“Which brings us to the other matter,” Mr. Dundas said.
“You may easily understand that it is essential for the Antiochus to replace the Ironside at sea as soon as possible,” the First Lord said. “We are considering appointing you as the commander.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” Worthington answered. “Is it a Post Captain’s appointment?”
Sir Joseph cleared his throat. “Not exactly, Sir. We have rather too many officers on the vacancy list who are already Post Captains without ships or are due the promotion ahead of you.”
The First Lord shook his head. “What we propose is something similar to the army’s practice of employing brevet ranks. You will be posted Captain. You will have all the pay, advantages, and responsibilities of any other Post Captain as long as you command Antiochus―but I fear we may never see it in our power to employ you in that rank again as soon as the war is over.” He sighed. “I am aware that our decision is not fair, nor just, but the old horse will not take the jump before it, and that’s that.”
“Everyone is well aware that you are the best qualified officer for the job,” Mr. Dundas said. “It is unfortunate that sometimes postings are not given to the most qualified candidate.”
Captain Worthington drew himself up. “And will the arrangement apply to all the young fellows I have trained?”
The First Lord sighed. “Yes and no . . . for the same reasons. There is strong resistance to their status, but nothing will be changed nor decided while the threat of war is upon us.”
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