‘The Lady Hole has been prepared for you.’
‘No, husband, I shall, as I did previously, help Mr Lutyens.’
‘So be it. I would say you have a safe twenty minutes, my dear, and perhaps you should ask Mr Coyle, since he has been instructing you, to issue you some pistols.’
Emily waved towards the bows, then slipped her hand through his arm. ‘I may be a novice in these matters, husband, but I do know this much. If the crew of that French ship get as far as the cockpit, I doubt if a pair of pistols will affect the outcome.’
Tempted to kiss her forehead, to make plain his own feelings, Ralph Barclay had to remind himself where he was, who was watching, and what they were sailing into. This was no time for public displays of affection. ‘They will not, my dear. Though our friend ahead sees it as a possibility.’
‘May I ask what you anticipate?’
‘I am hoping he intends to sail by on the opposite course, and, by backing his topsails, try to get across my stern so he can rake us where we are most vulnerable. He may do so, only to find that he is trying to destroy us at long range. But he can just as easily bar our passage and force us to fight on his terms. Whatever he does, I will get beyond him.’
Easy to say, trickier to do. He needed to fully man his guns on one side, hopefully get off two salvoes to his opponent’s one, but following that he had to get enough topmen aloft to let fall his mainsails, with the required hands on deck to sheet them home, this while his guns needed reloading. It was a circle impossible to square, especially against an enemy who would have other ideas, so he just decided that he had to stick to his plan and hope that it worked.
‘I think I can best him, because he will have to change tack at least once before he can engage, and he will not know my aim is to get past him. The real danger is in having succeeded, thus giving the appearance of examining the French fleet, when we put up our helm to escape. In that case, as you will readily appreciate, the positions are reversed. He will be sure he has me in a bind, but I am equally sure his crew are not as well worked up as ours and that is doubly true in gunnery. I anticipate he will not be able to stand against our rate of fire even if he has the wind and that we will get past him a second time.’
‘There will be casualties?’
‘I fear that is inevitable, my dear, but I think more on the enemy deck than our own.’
Emily used her arm to squeeze his, and said, ‘Then I pray that you are not one of them, my dear.’
That said she disengaged herself and went below, to join Lutyens, busy fiddling with the layout of his instruments, brushing the old piece of worn canvas covering his operating table, set out on a series of sea chests.
‘Enemy preparing to come on to the starboard tack, sir,’ cried the lookout.
‘Mr Sykes, attend upon me if you please.’ The burly bosun came aft, hoping that the captain had not spotted some area in which he had been remiss. ‘Mr Glaister will use the speaking trumpet, but I want that backed up by your pipes, so that there is no doubt about the orders.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
‘And Mr Sykes, the hands must move swiftly. Given we are likely to engage on our larboard side, the topmen will have to go aloft on the lee shrouds. Make sure they do not, by habit, head for the weather shrouds for if they do, half of them will fall to musket fire as they ascend. Are you happy with the arrangements so far?’
‘Once the deadlights are shipped, which is being seen to now, I am, sir.’
Ralph Barclay imagined the effect of that. The thick boards across his casement windows, set to discourage boarding in what was the most vulnerable part of a fighting ship, would cut out any hint of daylight, leaving the only source of that the open gunports. Even more depressing was the fact that they could be smashed into deadly splinters that would race down the open maindeck, maiming and killing on the way, an image that nearly made him shudder. Instead he patted Sykes on the shoulder, by way of encouragement.
‘Then all we can do now is pray to God that everything goes well.’
A stillness descended on the ship; everything that needed to be done in preparation was complete. Even the powder monkeys were idle, for all the guns were fully served with their cartridges, quills, flints, the gunners’ powder horns full, their lanyards tested, the crews crouched and ready for the reload. Aloft and on the forecastle the marines were lined up, weapons at the ready. Ralph Barclay kept his eye on the enemy deck, relieved that once the act of changing tack was complete, the men manning the falls went back to their guns.
The two vessels approached each other, both with their cannon trained as far forward as the gunports would allow, the French captain probably aware that he would only get off one real broadside. How would he react in receipt of two? Did he know that British gunnery, through constant practice, was generally superior in rate of fire? These were all questions without answers, best not dwelt on. All Ralph Barclay knew was one fact; that it was this for which he had spent his life training, that today, though not his first sea fight, was a moment of truth, a single ship action against an enemy warship in which all the decisions made would be his. Could he lead men into an even contest and not only achieve his aim, but once he had worn to get back to sea, take on this same enemy and either take him or get free?
Suddenly that seamen’s dinner, that salty pork, the scouse and the hard biscuit, not to mention the wine, did not feel so comfortable in his belly. There was a moment when, his mouth full of saliva, he thought he might be sick, and indeed a small amount of bile rose to burn his throat. But it passed as he steeled himself to give the order, which would come as soon as the gun captain furthest forward, sighting through the port, raised his hand to say he had the enemy in view. The silence, which would soon be shattered, was total; no one moved, no one spoke as the two frigates closed at a range of not much more than long musket shot. The gunner’s arm shot up, and Ralph Barclay nodded to Glaister, who raised his trumpet and shouted, just as the first puff of black smoke emerged from the leading enemy ordnance.
‘Fire as you bear.’
‘Mark the time Mr Glaister.’
The rolling broadside erupted from both ships, the French balls screaming high as the enemy captain tried to wound a vital mast. That was not the way of the gunners of HMS Brilliant; their shot poured one by one into the side of the enemy, smashing bulwarks and cracking scantlings, which sent splinters flying in all directions. Kill or maim the gunners and you emasculate the ship lay behind the tactics, though few now furiously reloading could have put it in those terms. Handspikes were working too, to turn the trunnions so that they faced square on to the enemy, and Ralph Barclay, standing stoically as shot, musket balls and detached rigging whistled round his head, felt pride as the first gun on his deck fired before the last had been discharged, taking out ten foot of rail on the Frenchman, the effect of that flying wood obvious from the agonised screams which came across the intervening water.
Glaister barked out a new set of orders through the speaking trumpet, backed up by the faint whistle of the Bosun’s pipes, reinforcing the message that the men should get to their sailing stations as soon as the twice discharged cannon were safely lashed off tight to the bulwarks. Above their heads there were several holes in the canvas, as well as an almighty crash as one French ball took a chunk out of the lower mainmast, thankfully only a wound, not enough to truly render it useless. The French captain must have seen what was happening, that his enemy’s guns were being housed, and guessed what Ralph Barclay was up to. He put up his helm immediately and tried to use the wind to get his bows round to run inboard of his opponent and stop him dead, but the breeze, while durable, was not enough to oblige him and he found himself suddenly taken aback for he had not trimmed his yards to accommodate the manoeuvre.
All that was happening while Brilliant’s topmen got aloft and began to loosen the mainsails. What few men could be spared, those of the quarterdeck cannon, especially the carronades, kept firing, keeping down the heads of the e
nemy gunners, this while the few marines that Ralph Barclay could spare to man the mainmast cap played with musket fire of the French quarterdeck. The rest, along with the hands, had laid aside their weapons and were hauling on ropes to sheet home the mainsails, which had an effect on the ship as soon as it was achieved. HMS Brilliant picked up speed on the wind and took off with an inelegant shudder that strained her masts, leaving the captain to wonder if he had been too precipitate. But nothing carried way, and soon they were clear, with the enemy ship still trying to come round, still showing enough of her stern and the name Lutine standing out in gold, for a parting broadside. That would never answer given the increasing range.
‘Mr Glaister. Note the time again. I want a report of any damage and any casualties. Then get a cask of beer up from below. The men will have a raging thirst.’
‘Aye, aye sir.’
There was a crash as a lucky long shot removed a section of Brilliant’s taffrail, but that did not deter her captain from ascending to the poop to play his telescope on the enemy deck. It was certain that the Frenchman had suffered more than he, hardly surprising given his better rate of fire. What was obvious was that such a thing was no longer a surprise, and would be bound to affect the next phase of the action; but as of this moment, he could feel reasonably satisfied.
The cry of the foremast lookout, kept aloft throughout the action to give notice of clarity in the Rade of Toulon, ruined that, as he called down to identify another sail beyond and to the north-west, weathering Cape Sicié, its location and course, as well as the flag flying from the masthead, dashed any idea that it might be a friend instead of an enemy. Ralph Barclay was suddenly acutely aware that it was the Poulette and that he may well have strayed into a carefully prepared trap, while equally conscious of the fact that everyone on deck was looking at him for reassurance. The question was simple; his best chance, though a slim one, of getting out of this fix, was to wear immediately and hope that he could get clear of Lutine before her consort could close and make the odds insurmountable.
He could not bring himself to do it, for that would mean another attempt to avoid combat. He had to make sure his enemy knew their dispositions were discovered, so forcing himself to be calm, he said, ‘We must hold our course, gentlemen, and carry out the task we set ourselves. Once that is completed we will deal with what follows.’
It was agreeably received, evidenced by the nods he got, not just from his quarterdeck officers, but from the quartermaster and his men on the wheel.
‘One topman wounded by a ball in the shoulder, sir,’ said Glaister, ‘and another who tripped over his a cannon, and has a serious gash on his head.’
‘Thank you,’ Ralph Barclay replied, thinking that he had got off lightly, something that would not happen twice.
Further news came from aloft, to say that Lutine had altered course to the south, this with a clear view to cutting off his escape in that direction, while Poulette headed for the position she had just vacated. Lutine would not stray far, just enough to ensure that he had to fight to get clear, the task now to stop news of the state of the fleet from reaching Hotham. Again Ralph Barclay craved someone to talk to, another officer of equal rank with whom he could weigh the odds and discern, through conversation, how they could be dealt with. It mattered not that it would be a discussion about how to fight two ships, not if, for they would have to face one or the other, and with HMS Brilliant sailing into the wind, having handed his enemies the weather gage, they held all the cards. Once engaged, and under topsails, it would be a simple matter for the non-engaged French frigate to pile on all sail and close in, hoping to trap him between two fires.
It was not silent now. The carpenter was busy inspecting the mainmast, and calling for battens and ropes with which to gammon it, not much in the way of adding strength, but it was best to do something rather than nothing. Sykes was directing those aloft who were attending to damaged rigging, while the quarter gunners and gun captains were fussing round their cannon, slowly reloading each in turn, for most of the crew were still on sailing duties. On the slate in front of him Ralph Barclay could see the two times that Glaister had had marked; one when action had commenced, the other when it had ceased with that ball through the taffrail, only seven minutes in all. It would have been better to destroy Lutine, for in that time, in theory, he could have put aboard her seven or more broadsides.
‘We have the Rade in view, capt’n,’ called the lookout, after some ten minutes, ‘though it be misty, but I can see plain that it be full of ships.’
‘Then we have done that for which we came. Mr Glaister get that signal aloft. Mr Collins, prepare to wear ship. I want a course that splits our enemies until we can see which of them can close at the greatest rate.’
HMS Brilliant came round sweetly, and with the sails sheeted home and the yards braced right round, they brought her as close to the wind as she would bear, her prow dissecting the sea between the Frenchmen. Ralph Barclay, with the wind in his face, looked from one to the other, trying, in that most tricky calculation of triangulation at sea, to make out who was nearest, for that was the one he must fight first.
It took time to be sure it was Poulette, racing to get astride his course, where she would stay, which would force him to come up on her facing broadsides, while he could reply with nothing but his bow chasers.
‘Mr Glaister, confirm that the quarterdeck and forecastle guns are loaded, then bowsed tight against the ports, which will remain closed until it is essential that they be opened. I want every man who has no need to be on deck down below, and they are to return there once they have completed any task they are called on to perform and await further orders. Mr Collins, I want to come about on to the larboard tack now, but I want to keep changing so as to sow doubt in the mind of our friend yonder.’
That too was carried out smoothly, then repeated on to the starboard tack, forcing the Frenchman ahead to shorten and increase sail, this while Ralph Barclay was examining the number of gunports of the enemy frigate, which thankfully were only two more than his own. At least he had the satisfaction of having chosen the weaker of his two enemies. But what was equally obvious was that which he had hoped for was not going to be gifted to him, the notion that the man he had to face might be a fool and do something imprudent enough to allow him to get clear. The way the enemy sails were changed suggested a degree of efficiency.
‘I think another drop of grog for the men might be in order. See to it.’
With that he went into what had been his cabin, and to the part of his desk which had been left by the stern casements, not lit by lanterns. From that he took the book which gave the private signal by which, on a daily code, one British warship could identify another. Then he stood up and, turning, looked along the maindeck all the way to where the manger had been. Now it was empty; the only living creatures left were men, and they were crouched round their guns.
‘Shenton, a canvas sack and a roundshot to weight it, if you please.’
‘Is it that bad, your honour?’
That snapped the veneer of enforced calm which Ralph Barclay had maintained, though he could not shout, given most of the crew were within earshot. ‘It is not your place to question me, Shenton, but to do as I bid. Now get on with it!’
Unfazed, Shenton did as he was asked, this being a tone to which he was accustomed. Next Barclay removed the ship’s books, the muster, log and those listing stores loaded, still below, and consumed. Once Shenton was returned he was sent off again to find the purser, with a whispered instruction to be discreet in telling him to gather his papers. That done, he took out the locked metal box that contained the ship’s funds, the money a captain needed to purchase necessities where no agent of the Crown existed to grant him credit. These golden guineas and silver crowns, in several small leather pouches, he spread about his person, before going forward and below to talk to his wife.
The fellow who had gashed his head was sitting on Lutyens table, swathed in a great but untidy ban
dage, and Ralph Barclay was reminded that in the article of sewing and swaddling Lutyens was all thumbs. It was young Martin Dent who had the musket ball wound. The lad had his arm in a sling, and was grinning inanely, clearly having been in receipt of some potent spirit to facilitate the removal of the ball.
‘Which shrouds did you climb, Dent?
‘Sir?’
‘You went up the weather shrouds did you not, your back close to the enemy sharpshooters, in spite of direct orders not to do so?’ The sheepish hanging of the head was confirmation enough. ‘Damn you, boy, if you were not wounded I would flog you.’
‘With respect, Captain Barclay,’ said Lutyens, ‘It was probably habit.’
‘Please keep your mind on your own concerns Mr Lutyens, and leave me to mine.’ The tone of her husband’s voice made Emily frown, but she got no chance to say anything because her husband took her arm and led her far enough away to talk without being overheard.
‘I do not wish to unduly alarm you, my dear, but I fear we, that is the ship, is in a perilous situation.’ Ralph Barclay experienced a moment of pride then; there was no reaction to his words, no gasps or fainting fits, not even a stiffening of his wife’s body. He slipped her one of the pouches containing money. ‘We may escape, yet if we do there will be a bill to pay that will end up on the surgeon’s table. But if we do not, be assured that the enemy officers, once you have identified yourself as my wife, will show you every kindness should we be taken.’
He would like to have been certain of that, but who knew what kind of ruffian might come aboard in a Navy run by the sailors of the Revolution.
‘Take this pouch and secret it about your person. It will provide you with the means to purchase some comfort if the worst happens.’
‘And you, husband?
‘I must be on deck, my dear, and I must, like every man aboard, hope that providence will spare me.’ Seeing that she was finally showing alarm, he added quickly. ‘Also, there is a very good chance we will get clear, and if I can do so without too much in the way of damage I might be able to outrun our foes. But I must first fight at least one of them to have a chance and in battle nothing is certain.’
An Awkward Commission Page 11