by Dudley Pope
"My dear Ramage, I'm glad you caught up with us: we just beat you from St Helens. You probably lost time taking on powder at Black Stakes - but you must have made good time across the Bay of Biscay: we joined the fleet only last night."
"I must wish you a happy birthday, sir," Ramage said.
Nelson gave a boyish grin, belying his forty-seven years. "Thank you. I've now reached the age where I'll be held responsible for my actions! Tell me, you left the beautiful Lady Sarah well?"
"Very well, sir - though, to be honest, not delighted at my departure."
"Oh dear," Nelson gave a mock groan, "she'll hold it against me. Lady Hamilton and my dear god-daughter Horatia are convinced I go to sea only to avoid them. Twenty-four days, dinner to dinner - that was all the time I was in England, after two years all but a few days on board this ship without setting foot on land."
"You seem to keep remarkably fit, sir."
Nelson shook his head and Ramage remembered too late that the admiral, although far from fit, was a man who enjoyed bad health. "Ah, no, my health is ruined. After I've settled with the Combined Fleet I shall retire to Merton and cultivate my roses. Can you picture me as a country gentleman?"
"I'm afraid not, sir," Ramage said candidly. "It's hard to imagine you as anything but what you are."
"I know you mean that as a compliment. Well, my dear Ramage, we are not so far from Cape St Vincent, and I remember very well your very brave action in taking that little cutter of yours across the bows of those Spanish ships of the line, delaying them long enough to allow another insubordinate captain called Nelson in the Captain to come to your help. Now you're a post-captain with a lot more experience of life, I trust you realize that Commodore Nelson and Lieutenant Ramage were lucky not to be court-martialled for that day's work?"
"Yes, sir - had we failed. But unless my memory betrays me, it resulted in the capture of four Spanish line-of-battle ships, two of which you took yourself."
"Two line-of-battle ships and a baronetcy, and all thanks to you, Ramage, which is why I hope one day to render you a service in return."
"You are not in my debt, sir," Ramage said hastily.
"I'll be judge of that," Nelson said briskly. "Now," and his face became sterner, and he gestured with his left hand to emphasize his words, "Mr Scott here tells me he understands you speak passable Spanish."
Ramage nodded, waiting for what was to come. Speak Spanish? What on earth had that to do with commanding a frigate in His Lordship's fleet?
"Just how 'passable'? Don't be modest and don't boast: it might lead to you getting your throat cut."
"It's fluent," Ramage admitted. "A Castilian accent."
"And if you were caught and questioned you could tell a convincing story, eh?"
Ramage nodded. "A story it'd take them three or four weeks to check."
Nelson looked up at Scott who, Ramage realized, had been watching him closely. "What do you think?"
"I agree with you," the chaplain said enigmatically.
"Very well, Ramage, I have a special job for you, but there's no time to tell you about it before the rest of my captains arrive on board, so wait behind when they go. I'm shifting the fleet further out tonight - fifty miles to the west - and I want to give you your orders before then. Ah, I hear the first of the rest of the captains. Scott, will you take up your duties by the door - and speak the names clearly, man: I don't know at least half these fellows!"
Ramage stood back as two captains were announced: Blackwood of the Euryalus, whom he had met briefly in London, and a burly, fleshy-faced man with fair hair and red cheeks whom Scott introduced as Captain George Duff, of the Mars.
Ramage heard Duff greet the admiral and realized he was a Scot.
After thanking him for birthday greetings, Nelson said: "And how is the family ship? Hardy tells me you have most of the Duff clan on board. Are there any Duffs left behind in Banffshire?"
Duff gave a delighted laugh. "Aye, sir, just a few!"
"How many are on board the Mars?"
"Well, m'son Norwich - he's just turned thirteen - joined the ship a few days ago and brought his young cousin Thomas with him. Thomas's elder brother Alexander is an acting lieutenant. Both are sons of my brother Lachlan."
"Why 'acting'?" Nelson asked.
"Too young, sir. He's passed his examination but has to bide a few months for his twentieth birthday."
Nelson nodded. "So your wife will be waiting for news of you all, eh? Where is she?"
"Ah, Sophie is living in Edinburgh. It's probably an anxious time in Castle Street until the letter arrives!"
The next captain to arrive was Thomas Fremantle of the Neptune, and at the sound of his name Nelson gave a delighted laugh.
"Ah, Fremantle - which would you have, a boy or a girl?"
Fremantle, who Ramage knew already had two sons and two daughters, said quickly: "A girl, sir."
"Be satisfied," Nelson said, smiling broadly, "and here is a letter for you from Betsy's sister Harriet."
A flush-faced Fremantle, who Ramage remembered had helped Nelson when he was badly wounded and lost an arm at Tenerife, withdrew to read his letter.
Several more captains arrived, among them Captain Edward Codrington of the Orion, who was immediately greeted by Nelson, who took something from the pocket of his armchair.
He turned to Codrington and gave him a letter. "I was entrusted with this by a lady, so I make a point of delivering it myself."
Codrington glanced down at the writing and grinned. "I haven't heard from Jane for a long time."
Finally Scott told the admiral that all the captains were present. The great cabin was now crowded with happy and chattering men, and Ramage took the opportunity to cross over to the larboard side to examine a small portrait in a gilt frame which was screwed to the bulkhead near the sternlight. It showed a smiling, curly-haired young child. It was a good portrait of Horatia.
The cabin sole, covered in the usual canvas as a carpet, had been painted in black and white squares so that the captains stood on it like so many chessmen. The most important piece, also by far the smallest, was of course Lord Nelson. The second was Vice-Admiral Collingwood, the second-in-command who had been handling the fleet off Cadiz in Nelson's absence. Tall, going bald, and with a cleft chin, although Collingwood talked with several of the captains clearly he was a withdrawn man.
The third piece on this giant chessboard was the third-in-command, Rear-Admiral the Earl of Northesk. Ramage remembered as a young lieutenant meeting him. Northesk was another Scot, one of the Carnegies and a Scottish peer, one of the older creations.
After a while Nelson's chaplain came up to him. "You don't know many of the other captains, Ramage?"
"No - don't forget I've never served with His Lordship, and I'm sure most of these men were with him in the Mediterranean."
"Oh, goodness me, no: most of them have never even spoken to His Lordship before! Let me see -" he looked round, counting.
"Yes, only five of these captains served with His Lordship in our famous chase round the Mediterranean and across to the West Indies. One joined us over there. And the rest -" he counted, "- the other twenty-one have all joined recently from the Channel Fleet, many of them while Lord Nelson was in England."
He looked over the captains, counting yet again. "My dear Ramage, you started me off on a train of thought. Would you believe it, but of the twenty-seven captains here in this cabin (excluding you), only eight of them have ever before served with Lord Nelson!"
Scott paused a moment, thinking and looking round the cabin. "What's more, only two of them have served with His Lordship since the year before last, and one of those is Captain Hardy! So, believe it or not, nineteen of the captains in this cabin have never before served with His Lordship!
"You'd never believe it, to watch them all talking together! Well, I don't know when the Combined Fleet is going to come out and fight, but His Lordship hasn't much time to train his fleet."
Ra
mage looked round him and sensed the camaraderie that already existed. "I don't know how or why," he admitted to Scott, "but I think most of them share his spirit!"
"Well, that's the extraordinary effect His Lordship has on men," Scott said confidentially. "You should have seen him at Copenhagen. Wonderful with Sir Hyde Parker - they were both in a very difficult situation - and wonderful with the Danes after the battle."
At that minute they heard Nelson's high-pitched nasal voice. "Gentlemen, let me have your attention. Gather round. I want to explain how I propose - intend, rather - to beat the Combined Fleet, providing we can lure it out of Cadiz. My plan is simple: it will so surprise the French Admiral Villeneuve that his advantage in number of ships will be lost. I count on taking or destroying at least twenty of the enemy: I trust you won't disappoint me. And this is how we are going to do it."
Ramage, like every other man in the cabin, listened spellbound. Nelson did not hesitate once or use any of the "umms", "ers" or other hesitancies one might have expected. Nor had he exaggerated when he said his plan was simple. Ramage realized he might equally well have called it revolutionary. One thing was certain - if he succeeded with this plan he would be a hero; if he failed, he would be lucky to escape Their Lordships bringing him to a court-martial, and (whatever the verdict) he would never be employed again by the Admiralty, even as a rat-catcher in a sail loft.
Up to now, opposing fleets fought by each getting into a line, one ship astern of the other, follow-my-leader fashion, and approaching obliquely until they were side by side. Then each ship had to try to drive its opponent out of the line. St Vincent had used these tactics against the French and Spanish at Cape St Vincent and (but for Nelson) they would have been as useless as they always were. At the Nile and Copenhagen, Nelson had successfully attacked the enemy at anchor. Now he could expect to be attacking an enemy at sea and, as he described it to the listening captains, the Combined Fleets of France and Spain would probably comprise a long line of thirty-four ships (unless more broke into Cadiz from Brest, or some such place, and reinforced them).
He lost no time in describing how he was going to surprise (and overwhelm) the enemy. The long line of thirty-four ships would probably be sailing with the wind on the quarter or on the beam. In other words, there would be a leeward end probably formed by the leading, or van, ships, and a windward end, the centre and rear ships.
If the leading ships wanted to turn back to reinforce the rear they would have to tack or wear and then beat to windward to get into position, zigzagging along the line.
We shall be outnumbered, Nelson said. He did not know how many ships of the line he would have on the day of the battle, but the British would be heavily outnumbered. So he would not even try to pit all his ships against the thirty-four of the enemy. No, he was going to attack and overwhelm one section of their line with two columns. Breaking through the enemy's line at right-angles, he would cut off the centre and rear divisions, leaving the leading ships sailing on to leeward and out of the fight until they could beat back to help the centre and rear - by which time the British should have captured several ships.
The two columns would in effect be two knives slicing a section out of a long snake. He would lead one column in the Victory, and Admiral Collingwood the other: two columns each of a dozen or so ships. But he wanted to lure the Combined Fleet out: that was his most difficult task. At the moment it was expected they would sail and head north to the Channel, to try to seize control of the Strait of Dover for long enough for Bonaparte to sail over the invasion flotillas he had waiting (in Calais, Boulogne and all the other ports and anchorages) to land on the Kent and Sussex coasts. It is only in England, on English soil, that the French can finally beat us, Nelson said, and Bonaparte knows that well enough: he is camped on the hills at Boulogne; all he dreams about is his troops getting on shore in England.
My fleet here, blockading the Combined Fleet in Cadiz, is all that prevents Bonaparte from sailing his flotillas, Nelson said quietly. If we let them escape us, Bonaparte's flotillas will sail. Quite apart from that, we have a large British convoy of General Craig's troops sailing to the Mediterranean to join the Russians in Italy. Any French or Spanish ships at sea will threaten General Craig and his troops. Unfortunately, Nelson admitted, no one knew quite where the general and his convoy were at the moment.
But, Nelson emphasized, the Combined Fleet would not be lured out by the sight of a score of British ships of the line waiting on the horizon ready to attack. Therefore tonight - as soon as the captains had returned to their ships - the whole fleet would shift fifty miles to the westward, leaving a couple of frigates to watch Cadiz, and another frigate and three ships of the line (because he did not have enough frigates) would stretch out to the fleet, each within signalling distance of the other, and then they would wait.
Provisions, Nelson said abruptly. He did not know how long they would have to wait off Cadiz, but the men of the fleet must be kept fit. That meant fresh provisions. Yes, most of the ships had enough salt tack and water for three months but salt junk eventually meant scurvy, so for fresh meat he would be sending a few ships at a time the eighty-odd miles to get bullocks from Tetuan, watering at Gibraltar on the way.
And he intended introducing Sir Home Popham's new telegraphic code into the fleet, as a supplement to the Signal Book. "I brought out copies for each ship: make sure each of you collects a copy when you leave."
Nelson then asked if any of the captains had questions, or comments. It was already obvious that the captains were delighted with Nelson's two-column, cut-off-the-head attack. Several indicated that they were in no rush to go down to Tetuan and so risk missing the battle.
And then it was over. Captains took their farewell of Nelson like excited schoolboys leaving for the holidays, and soon the great cabin was empty again except for Ramage, Scott and His Lordship.
"Ah, Ramage, now for your orders. First, I don't suppose you have anyone else on board who speaks Spanish?"
"Yes, a midshipman speaks it fluently."
"Is he Spanish?"
"No, sir: he is the nephew of the Marchesa di Volterra."
"Ah, the beautiful Marchesa you rescued on the Italian mainland." Nelson's face clouded. "But wait a moment, didn't I hear recently that Bonaparte seized her when she decided to go home during the Peace of Amiens?"
Ramage nodded. "Yes, sir. As far as we know she's still a prisoner - unless he had her assassinated. But three or four years ago her young nephew escaped from Italy, and she asked me to take him as a midshipman."
"And how has he turned out, eh?"
"As lively as the Marchesa. A fine seaman and one of the most popular people in the ship. Once he passes for lieutenant he'll be one of the best in the Navy."
"Well, 'uncle'," Nelson said with a grin, "the job I have for you doesn't require seamanship but you'll both need Spanish - and courage. You have good charts of Rota and Cadiz on board the Calypso?"
When Ramage shook his head, Nelson said to Scott: "Please go and tell the master to make copies of the ones we have. Mr Ramage must have them."
As the chaplain left the cabin, Nelson dived his left hand into the pocket of his armchair, obviously searching for a particular paper. Do I offer to help him? Ramage wondered. He decided against it: no one had fussed around the admiral while the captains were on board: Nelson seemed a man who overcame his own problems.
Finally he brought out a black folder held together by tapes. Holding the folder between his knees, he tugged at the tapes and then opened it on his lap.
"Ah, yes, here it is. Take this and read it."
Ramage walked over and took the single sheet of paper. In neat copperplate writing was a Spanish name and the name of a church.
"Now give it back," Nelson said, and as soon as Ramage had handed it over he said, squinting his good eye and holding up the page to catch the light: "Now repeat the name and the church."
Ramage did so, and Nelson put the page back in the black folder.<
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"You can guess the rest," he said.
Most of it, Ramage thought sourly. The clues were speaking Spanish and the name of a Spaniard in Cadiz, his address being somewhere near that church. Go and see him. Find out from him all you can about the enemy.
"I think so, sir," Ramage said. "Is he one of our agents?"
"I don't know about 'one of our'," Nelson said. "He's our only agent in Cadiz or Rota. A disaffected Spanish nobleman who hates the French. His name and - such as it is - address was written down for you by none other than the Secretary of State for the Foreign Department, which gives you some idea of the need for secrecy. This man's son-in-law is one of the Spanish captains commanding a ship in the Combined Fleet - with not much enthusiasm, I gather. Now, this nobleman has been passing his intelligence to Gibraltar, somehow or other, and he will not be expecting you. You will say you are a friend of the Secretary of State, who assures me that will be sufficient. Then you will ask him about the following."
Nelson reeled off several questions and then said sternly to Ramage: "Nothing in writing, mind you. This man, apart from being a friend of the Secretary of State's family since before the war, is a very important agent. So you report to me as soon as you have the information.
"You notice I am not giving you any instructions about how to carry out this task: you have more experience than most officers in landing on the enemy's shore, so I wish you good luck, Uncle Ramage and nephew ... !"
CHAPTER TEN
The Spanish and the French must wonder what the devil is going on, Ramage thought. Last night they could see more than twenty ships of the line and some frigates, menacing sentries on the western horizon. When they woke this morning the horizon to the westward was clear of ships, except for a couple of frigates close in and another five or six miles out, and in the distance, its sails from time to time dipping below the curvature of the earth, perhaps another frigate: anyway, not a ship of the line.