Touch and Go

by Parkinson, C. Northcote

  The guests had left the table and were chatting to each other while their carriages or horses were being brought round to the door. Reflecting on the recent action, Delancey had come in fact to believe that Saumarez had made two mistakes. He had plunged into battle when he should have paused, reorganised, collected pilots, studied the battlefield and made a plan. He had also convinced himself that he could repeat the tactics which Lord Nelson had used at the Battle of the Nile—tactics which hinged on passing between the enemy and the shore.

  The circumstances, however, had not been the same. It was easy, of course, to be wise after the event. We knew now that the squadron at Cadiz was unready to sail. But an Admiral can be criticised for anything he does or neglects. If Saumarez had attacked headlong, without pausing to study the problem, he had erred on the right side and in good company. He was a fine leader, that was certain, and his men were devoted to him.

  All the while these thoughts passed through his mind Delancey was paying only partial attention to the Brigadier-General whose theme was the present strength of Gibraltar. “The Spanish may plan an assault or a siege but we have done a great deal since the last war. It can be held until doomsday.” Delancey agreed rather absently and then became aware that the Admiral was no longer there.

  With a word of apology to the Governor he went into the garden and saw that Sir James was looking across the harbour. Even at this distance the ships could be seen to be buzzing with activity, and the noise of work in progress could just be heard. The bushes were loud with insects, the bay was blue under the sun and distant Algeciras was marked by its group of masts. There too it was a time of feverish preparation. What were Shakespeare’s words in Henry V?

  Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames

  Each battle sees the other’s umbered face;

  Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs

  Piercing the night’s dull air; and from the tents

  The armourers, accomplishing the knights,

  With busy hammers closing rivets up,

  Give dreadful note of preparation. . . .

  Quite without intention Delancey had uttered the last three lines aloud. The Admiral turned with a smile and added:

  The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,

  And the third hour of drowsy morning name.

  He led the way indoors without further words but presently excused himself, saying that he had work to do. Farewells were said, good wishes expressed and Delancey found himself in the carriage again, going through the streets which led to the harbour. As they parted on the quayside, Sir James said:

  “‘The day, my friends and all things stay for me. . . .’” He paused and peered closely at Delancey, who felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Thank you, Delancey, for what you said at dinner.”

  What had been accomplished on board the Caesar was barely credible. The masts had been stepped and the ship was largely rigged. There was more still to do than was apparent, especially below decks, but Captain Brenton looked quietly satisfied. When the Admiral came on board towards sunset he saw a ship apparently ready, or almost ready, for sea. There was complete silence as he looked about him. When at last he spoke his words were brief and to the point.

  “Captain Brenton, I shall be obliged if you will rehoist my flag when we sail tomorrow.”

  There was a tremendous burst of cheering and the boatswain called for three cheers as Sir James left the ship, saying that he would return later. The work began again under frantic pressure, continuing all night without interruption. There was no instance in history of a ship being rerigged with such speed—so much Delancey could guess—but would the men be afterwards fit for battle? This was the question in everyone’s mind, but what was the alternative? To leave the ship in harbour and take four ships out to fight the enemy’s nine? That would be madness. Somehow or other the ship must be made ready for battle.

  Chapter Eleven

  DEFEAT INTO VICTORY

  THE enemy’s sails were loosed at daybreak next day, Sunday, July 12th, but there was no actual movement until midday when the Franco-Spanish ships were forming line of battle off Cabrita Point, nor was this movement completed until after one o’clock. These were the hours during which the Caesar was receiving her provisions, powder and shot. Delancey played his part in supervising the stowage and it was two o’clock before he came on deck again, finding himself on the stage, as it were, of a theatre.

  In brilliant sunshine with an easterly wind, the whole garrison and population of Gibraltar had turned out to watch the squadron sail. The ramparts were crowded from the dockyard to the ragged staff, there were folk on the quayside and right up to the pier-head. The enthusiasm was tremendous and the seamen were more thrilled than they would ever dare admit.

  They had reason to be proud of their leaders. If the perfection of leadership is shown in the reaction to adversity, Sir James Saumarez had indeed survived the test, earning universal admiration by his calm and resolute behaviour. Captain Jahleel Brenton had achieved a miracle on board the flagship. Captain Richard Keats was said to be the best seaman of his day, Samuel Hood came of a famous naval family and others were hardly less distinguished. The Admiral’s flag was hoisted as the Caesar was warped out of the harbour, the ship’s band playing Cheer up my lads, ‘tis to glory we steer! Not to be outdone, the Governor had ordered a military band to the pier-head, where it responded by playing “Britons, strike home!” There were deafening cheers as the flagship slid by and Delancey, watching from the quarterdeck, found that there were tears in his eyes. It was a scene that no one present was ever to forget. With the soldiers cheering and the girls waving, one ship after another made sail: the Caesar, Venerable, Superb, Spencer and Audacious, all of the line, the frigate Thames and the sloop Calpé.

  Line of battle was formed off Europa Point and the moment was come to see what the enemy intended. It was not clear to begin with, whether the allied Admirals Moreno and Linois expected to fight at all. Had Saumarez been as decisively defeated as his opponent claimed, he would have been unable to encounter them again. Nor, in any event, should they have hesitated to fight with odds in their favour of nine to five. As a first step towards gaining their expected victory they should have tacked across the bay making the signal for closer action or general chase.

  Far from doing that, they chose a defensive formation and sailed for Cadiz, their original plan revealing a determination, above all, to protect their trophy, the battered Hannibal. She was to have led the retreat followed by the three French ships in line abreast, these followed by the six Spanish ships, these again in line abreast. This was a rearguard formation.

  But why should Linois, recently victorious (by his own account), have been retreating at all? As the evening wore on the allied squadron withdrew westward, their formation only modified by their Admiral’s eventual decision to leave the damaged and jury-masted Hannibal behind at Algeciras. For the rest, their sole idea was to reach Cadiz and safety. With a following wind their flight was hampered only by the three French ships, crippled as they were by the damage they had sustained on the 6th.

  Their consolation lay in the fact that the British squadron—with one significant exception—had been similarly damaged and might well be as slow. The exception was the Superb, which had not been present on the 6th, a relatively new ship built at North-fleet in 1798 and a sister ship to the Pompée, captured from the French in 1794. In the chase that was now to be expected, the pursuer and pursued being similarly slowed down by previous damage, the fastest ship was going to be the undamaged Superb, of French design, captained by the most brilliant seaman in either fleet. Some of the Spanish ships might have been theoretically as fast but their speed had to be that of their battered allies.

  In battle the sailing master’s chief responsibility was for navigation and Delancey took a series of bearings to establish the flagship’s position on the chart. Forming thus a part of the captain’s staff, he realised, first of all, that
Saumarez had other Guernseymen aboard. In addition to the first lieutenant, Philip Dumaresq, it now appeared that the signal midshipman was called Brock, that a quartermaster was called Le Tissier, and that the cabin and wardroom stewards included a Le Poidevin and a Le Page. He also realised that the Caesar, even with the help of these islanders, was not going to make any very remarkable speed. The miracle had been to refit the ship in five days and he was as proud as anyone of what had been achieved. But the result was inevitably makeshift, an affair of wounded masts, fished yards and spliced cordage. When Captain Brenton wanted to make more sail, Delancey pointed out very respectfully that the additional stress would probably have the masts overboard. The east wind blew strongly through the Straits but the pursuers, as the light failed, were not visibly gaining on their prey. As against that, the Superb was gaining on the flagship. Seeing this, Sir James gave an order to Captain Brenton, who took the speaking-trumpet and hailed the Superb:

  “Superb! The Admiral requests Captain Keats to make all sail and engage the enemy ship nearest to the Spanish coast! Shall I repeat that?”

  “Orders understood,” came the reply and the Superb, with topgallants and stunsails set, came surging past and went ahead. She was soon lost in the gathering darkness, the enemy ships being already invisible, and the Venerable, next astern of the flagship, was losing distance and would soon be equally lost to sight. Delancey began to worry about navigational problems, submitting to Captain Brenton that the enemy must be presumed to be making for Cadiz but that there were shallows north of Cape Trafalgar which would make the pursuit difficult. The result was a conference in the Admiral’s cabin—Sir James, Captain Brenton, Delancey and Dumaresq, with the chart before them.

  With the decks cleared for action, the Admiral’s cabin was no more than a space marked off with a strip of canvas, with a barrel as table and another for the Admiral to sit on, the scene badly lit by a couple of battle lanterns. The faces which ringed the chart, half-seen as the lantern swung, were all of them strained and tired.

  “Having lost sight of the enemy,” said the Admiral, “my intention is to reach Cadiz ahead of them and so catch them in the harbour mouth or near vicinity. Can we hope to do that?”

  “Why, yes, Sir James,” replied Brenton confidently, “the enemy must have shortened sail after dark.”

  “I submit,” said Delancey, “that you have to weigh the dangers before setting the course. If we steer close to the land we may put the ship aground—the Spanish know this coast better than we do. If we keep well away from the shore the Spanish may well outdistance us. Finally, reaching Cadiz and sighting the enemy, we may find ourselves alone, having lost touch with the squadron.”

  “Do you know exactly where we are now?” asked Dumaresq.

  “Only by dead reckoning,” Delancey admitted. “I last established our position by a bearing on Tarifa. It has been too overcast to take any observation since. Doing eight knots, we should be here.” He pointed to the pencilled cross he had made on the chart.

  “You have allowed for the current?” asked Brenton.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What course, then, should we steer for Cadiz?”

  “I have marked it, sir. I wouldn’t dare take the responsibility for heading any further east.”

  “You are a cautious navigator, Delancey!”

  “Isn’t that my function, sir? As sailing master, I point out the dangers. Were I captain I might scorn them.”

  “Too nice a distinction!” Brenton growled.

  “Gentlemen!” said the Admiral, “Delancey has fairly done his duty. It is I who have to decide, with God’s help, and it will be my fault if we end on a sandbank with one ship to the enemy’s nine. I shall keep further to starboard than Delancey approves and further to port than Captain Brenton will like.”

  “One other point,” said Delancey, “we have a stiff breeze now but we can’t depend upon it after leaving the Straits. It could be fitful further north at this time of year and could die away to nothing.”

  “It’s our pursuit of the enemy that is dying away to nothing!” The remark came out almost as an insult.

  “Steady, captain!” said Sir James. “For all we know, the Superb may be in sight of them. I might add that I have more at stake than you have. Delancey told me yesterday that we won a victory on the 6th. He will add, I suspect, that the enemy’s behaviour today is the proof of it. At the Admiralty they have a simpler way of reckoning. I fought an action on the 6th and lost the Hannibal. I had a long chase today and lost the enemy. It only remains for me to lose my command.”

  Brenton came back handsomely after his previous outburst, “What you will never lose, Sir James, is the respect of your officers and men!”

  “Thank you, captain. It may be all I have left. But my trust is in God and the battle is not yet finished. What we need, I suggest, is a glass of brandy. . . . Steward!”

  The brandy was appreciated but no further discussion led to any further conclusion. The basic weakness in any plan anyone could propose was that the squadron had dispersed. Contact with the Venerable might have been maintained by shortening sail but that would have left the Superb unsupported. As things were the ships were at least on the same course and might be within sight of each other at daybreak. To shape a course now for Cadiz might make it impossible to concentrate the squadron again. It was going to be a difficult decision but Delancey, in his own mind, had already decided. If it lay with him (which it did not) he would not alter course until daylight.

  At half-past eleven the situation changed abruptly. From somewhere ahead came the sound of gunfire. It was at once clear that the Superb had overtaken the enemy and was heavily engaged. Flashes could be seen and the Caesar now steered towards them. Superb would have shortened sail before opening fire and the distance now quickly diminished between her and the flagship. A blue flare from the Caesar was intended to assure Keats that help was at hand but there was an unexpected response from the Venerable, only a few miles astern. Things looked more hopeful and every night-glass in the Caesar was trained on the Superb and her opponents, both sides using flares to illuminate their target.

  To Delancey it was immediately apparent that the Spanish ships were still in line abreast, a feat of discipline which did them credit. Third and fourth from the left, obvious from their size, and level with each other were the two huge three-decked ships of 112 guns; the Real-Carlos and the San-Hermenegilde. Second from the left and ahead of the three-deckers was a French two-decked ship with a Commodore’s pennant; probably the Saint-Antoine.

  The two ships on the right of the line were more distant, which explained why the Superb was closing on those more within reach. For her to steer between two 112-gun ships seemed tantamount to suicide but that was evidently Keats’ intention. He could count, admittedly, on the Spaniards’ lack of experience (especially at night) but the disproportion in weight of metal was terrifying. Sternmost of all the enemy ships was one on the extreme left, possibly the San-Augustin, and she might have been the first target, at long range, of the Superb’s port broadside.

  “A bold attack!” said Brenton to the Admiral.

  “But an unequal combat,” replied Sir James. “If he must attack three-decked ships, why can’t he fight them one at a time?”

  “I should never fight both batteries if I could help it,” muttered Dumaresq, “—not even with a crew up to strength.”

  “You may be doing just that,” said Brenton, “before the night is over.”

  Delancey said nothing but was careful to make a note of events, as material for the Master’s Log. “At 11.20 p.m. Superb seemed to shorten sail.” As the crash was heard of the Superb’s two broadsides, he inserted “11.35 Superb seen in action with two Spanish three-decked ships” and so continued with his record for the rest of the action. Under fire from her big opponents on either side, the Superb was seen to fire two more broadsides. It was evident, however, that she was drawing ahead of the Spaniards. Her hull was invisible i
n the smoke of gunfire but her topsails seemed now to be beyond the three-deckers, both very much in action.

  “Good God!” exclaimed Delancey. “Those Spanish ships are firing at each other!” What had happened was obvious. The smoke of the combined broadsides, three from the Superb, two from each of the Spanish ships, had filled the space which the British 74 had now vacated. Each three-decker was firing into the smoke, from which an unseen enemy was replying with vigour, and each new broadside added to the obscurity which prevented them from recognising each other. Their guns were now firing independently, the noise was continuous and Delancey was awestruck at the mere weight of shot being fired between two three-deckers at a range of less than three hundred yards.

  “What an astounding spectacle!” said the Admiral. “Leave them to it, captain, and pass them to starboard. The day is ours!”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  As the Caesar drew level with the Spaniards, Delancey observed that the further one, the Real-Carlos was on fire. He noted the fact and the hour, thinking to himself that he had just seen a perfect demonstration of the dangers inherent in the line abreast. He had been told about it as a midshipman and so had everyone else, but it made a difference to have actually seen it. In line ahead you were safe at least from one type of disaster.

  Somewhere ahead of the flagship the Superb was now in action with the Saint-Antoine—or was she the San Antonio?—and the Caesar, followed by the Venerable and Spencer, was coming up on the other side of the same opponent. Delancey felt the ship reel under him as the starboard broadside fired, then heard the same noise from the following ships. He discovered afterwards that the wretched Saint-Antoine had already struck her colours.

  Sail was now made after the other enemy ships but Delancey, looking back, saw that the burning Real-Carlos was drifting towards the San-Hermenegilde. Noting this, he was able to add, a little later, that they had collided and that both were on fire. They afterwards drifted apart, both of them doomed, the fire starting no doubt on the gun decks, spreading to the tattered rigging and so to the sails, which then fell on the decks again.