The Stillwater Conspiracy (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 4)

by Georges Carrack

  “We’ll be in the thick of it, then. We sail to join the frigates.”

  The two stood near the binnacle casting the occasional eye to sea on larboard and to the green of England receding slowly to starboard.

  “Every ship feels different, doesn’t it, Lt. Towers?” said Neville. La Désirée leaned slightly to the pressure of a light northeast breeze. Ever-larger waves rolled beneath the hull once they cleared the shoals at the Nore.

  “True, but I have been aboard this one for two years now,” said Towers, “I’m not sure I can remember the feeling of another ship.”

  Neville made no further comment on the subject, but watched the bow rise and fall outside the harbor.

  “Set a course to clear the North Foreland, Mr. Worth. Ushant and the Bay of Biscay after that.”

  “It’s third of September, Sir. The weather should be reasonable.”

  “I don’t count myself superstitious, Mr. Worth, but I really wish you hadn’t said that…

  Neville noticed that the land of France was visible this clear day. “Mr. Worth, how long would you estimate the average sailing time from London to Brest?”

  “I’d say four or five days, Sir, all things considered – no storms or calms.”

  “That’s what I would have said, too.”

  “Why’s that then, Captain? Certainly we‘re not bound for Brest.”

  “No, no. Not unless you wish to die soon, or spend the rest of the war in one of Boney’s prisons.”

  Marion said, ‘It’s only a day’s sail to France, Neville remembered. If she had already investigated travel possibilities, she must have known. The harbors for Paris are only a day’s sail. Did she lie? Was Stearns’ letter correct? Is she going to Paris? To meet him? Joseph had told me that he and Ellen were to wed. Why didn’t Marion even speak of it? My Dear God, please let me have some misunderstanding.

  Neville stepped back aboard La Désirée after his visit to Vice-Admiral Collingwood’s ship, the Royal Sovereign. He had not yet gotten completely used to being piped aboard an Admiral’s flagship; bad memories lingered.

  He saluted the colors aft, and then Lt. Towers, and said, “Call the officers to my cabin, if you would please, Mr. Towers. Senior warrants included, and the doctor.”

  When they had gathered there, Neville began his summary of the orders he had just received:

  “The ships that were here when we arrived five days ago were indeed from the Channel Fleet,” he said. “They are under Vice-Admiral Calder, and they were ordered here by Lord Cornwallis a month ago to join with Nelson’s fleet – those with whom we sailed up from Jamaica.

  “I count twenty-four ships of the line, but I’ve missed a few. Once Admiral Nelson arrives in Victory we are supposed to be at twenty-seven, plus we’ve five frigates, a schooner and one little cutter.

  “How many enemy, Captain?” asked Lt. Coughlan.

  “Ho, ho. Keep your eyes peeled, Lieutenant. That’s the sort of thing we are supposed to find out. Just as many ships as we have, though, it is believed, maybe more; and some of the Spanish are larger than anything we have. If Villeneuve comes out we’ll see a lot of smoke, won’t we?”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  “Our orders from Vice-Admiral Collingwood are to form the inshore squadron and patrol the harbor approaches with the other frigates. Once Captain Blackwood arrives in Euryalis he will be our Commodore. It is suspected that he will arrive with Victory.

  “It was stated that Admiral Nelson will keep the fleet over the horizon in the hope that Villeneuve will come out. We are to keep our signaling to a minimum to further hide his presence, and communicate via Pickle and Entreprenante as best we can. They are the schooner and cutter.”

  “What do you think so far, Lt. Miller?”

  “Of what, Captain?”

  “Frigate duty. I know she’s been a month in ordinary, and you’ve been… where?”

  “Home, Sir, in Cornwall. Quite a treat, It was. I’m an uncle now.”

  “I’m pleased for you. I have my own nephew…

  “You’ve been with us for the sail from Jamaica and a little time now completing for this cruise. Are you glad of the change from Vanguard?”

  “I’ll not go back to a ship of the line, Sir. Maybe when I’m a captain, but otherwise it’s all chores and little else. We had a few good goes in the Caribbean, though, I must admit.”

  “You did for sure. A bit of prize money never hurts. How do you find your cabin, then?”

  “Small,” said Miller.

  “Did you see blockade duty on Vanguard before I came aboard?”

  “Not before, but at Saint-Domingue, Sir, as you know, and that was rather loose, as I understand it.”

  “You may yet change your mind about a frigate. We’ve only been inshore here for a week – and we’ve had good weather.”

  “Sail, Ho!” cried the lookout, “Starboard beam.”

  “Ours, Mr. Clark?” Neville yelled back.

  “Looks to be an English frigate, Sir.”

  “Carry on, Mr. Clark.”

  “I expect this to be Euryalis, then, and we won’t see Victory. She’ll stay fifty miles off or so with the rest of them. Pass word for Mr. Wynde to have his mates to be ready with my gig, if you would please.” My gig. Ha, ha! I have a proper gig instead of a little jolly boat.

  The weather had remained mild, with light winds, so it took a good three hours before Euryalis was bobbing, sails aback, with the other frigates.

  Where would Marion be now? Halfway across the Atlantic on her way home?

  “Signal, Sir. ‘Repair to flag’.”

  “Sway out the gig, if you please. I’ll soon know what Captain Blackwood would have us do.”

  “Pass word in the gunroom, if you would, please, Lt. Towers. There was only one small thing in the news,” said Neville after he had come aboard, saluted the colors, and touched his hat to the man. “Everything is as expected. The combined fleet of French and Spanish are here in Cadiz, Blackwood is appointed to command, we continue inshore as we have been doing, and our orders are to keep the admiral informed of any and every movement of the enemy.”

  “What’s new, then? Why did he call you over?”

  “Ah, yes, that. We are to paint all the insides of our ports a bright yellow. When they are all open our ships will display black-and-yellow checked hulls so we should not be firing upon ourselves. You’d best get to work on that while this fair weather holds.”

  The weather held fair. The frigates paraded back and forth before the harbor entrance while their companies painted.

  “It’s a ‘moon dog’, Captain,” said Lt. Miller just before sundown a week later. Neville had been pacing the quarterdeck, watching the moonbeams twinkle across the waves and thinking of Marion. Where will she be now? Arrived in the United States yet, or still upon the sea, watching this same moon as I see here?

  Neville glanced skyward at the large pale yellow rings encircling the moon. “So I see. And cirrus clouds all day. Have you seen many ‘moon dogs’?”

  “I haven’t, Sir. I was not long at sea before Vanguard sailed to the Caribbean. Before Vanguard I was in a coastal cutter out of Great Yarmouth. Weather’ different up there, Sir, and you don’t stay out much.”

  “Mr. Worth wished us good weather across the Bay of Biscay, but we’ve had nothing I would call unusual. Three more days, Lieutenant, and we’ll be battening the hatches, you’ll see. Just the thing for a blockade, ain’t it? I’m told we’re at full strength now. The last of the frigates was Phoebe. We have her, us, Euryalis, Naiad and Sirius, plus the two little ones. If there’s a battle, it will be up to us to run all the signals. Pray it’s after the blow.”

  “Sail, ho! Quarterdeck, there! Sails in the harbor!” cried Mr. Hande from the main top.

  “Signal, Mr. Hicks! Lively, there, man. Lively. Send up ‘enemy’.”

  “Lt. Towers, clear for action. Don’t beat to quarters yet. We’ll have time.”

  “I’d say so, Sir. After a w
eek of gales, the blooming Frogs have decided to come out when the wind’s gone. Look there. They can’t even fill their courses.”

  “It’s a shame for them, then, isn’t it.”

  The signal ball rose to the mast head and opened clean, displaying a signal flag that the light breeze was barely able to lift.

  “Signals on Naiad and Phoebe now, Cap’n,” shouted Hande, and I have ‘acknowledge’ from the fleet offshore.

  Almost all the officers lined the bulwarks of La Désirée to watch the French and Spanish working to sail out of the harbor.

  “Captain Burton,” said Dr. Elworth, “this is going to be like watching paint dry. In twenty minutes now only one ship has reached the mouth of the harbor. It will take them all day to come out.”

  “You are correct, I am afraid, Doctor, but we can’t do much about it, and neither can our fleet. We can move no faster. Without some wind, there will not be much of a battle…at least not today.”

  Neville leaned behind the doctor and said to Towers, “Today will be as normal as we can make it then, but we must be ready for a change of wind at any time. We will follow, whichever direction they go, and will endeavor to move off a league toward our fleet to make signaling easier. If nothing changes by nightfall, have the men sleep by their guns. We can’t afford to be caught in our hammocks.”

  All day the Franco-Spanish fleet straggled from the harbor and turned south.

  “They seem to be in no particular order, Captain. What do we report?”

  “I should say they have at least three rough columns, but for now just signal ‘sailing south’.”

  “Aye, Sir. We’re just reporting the obvious, though, I’m afraid,” said Towers. “We can see our fleet’s topsails from the deck now, and the Admiral has them pointed the same way.”

  It was early – three bells of the Morning watch – with the light growing over Spain. The men had slept by their guns for two nights, but the normal holystoning of the decks was now under way. Neville and his lieutenants, midshipmen, and warrant officers had gathered on the quarterdeck to decide whether any change of activity was warranted.

  “There’s enough light to see that all four of us are still with them, Captain,” reported Midshipman Foyle.

  “What do you suppose Admiral Villeneuve has been thinking, Captain?” Lt. Coughlan asked. “Yesterday he had them in three columns, but then back to a single line. Do you suppose that’s his line of battle?”

  The Quartermaster rang four bells. They all heard him say, “Turn the glass and heave the log.”

  “We might have enough wind to support it,” commented Towers. “We had that light northwest breeze all yesterday.”

  “And it seems to be holding this morning,” added Miller.

  “Signal!” hollered the lookout, “From Victory.” He paused, obviously trying to read it.

  “Take your young eyes and go up, Mr. Hicks,” said Neville. “We can’t afford to get it wrong.”

  “Prepare for battle!” yelled Hicks from above, after he had been up a few minutes.

  “Maybe you’re right, then, Lt. Coughlan. Whether he wants it or not, that sprawling line may be his line of battle…

  “How close to Gibraltar are we, Mr. Worth?”

  “Twenty miles, I would estimate.”

  “What point of land is that there, then?”

  “I believe the name is Cabo Trafalgar, Sir. They should not have a problem to weather it.”

  “I’m going below for an hour, Mr. Towers,” announced Neville. “Call me then unless something noteworthy occurs.”

  Neville returned to the deck when seven bells rang, “Pipe the men to breakfast, Lt. Towers,” he soon ordered. “It’s a bit early, but I’d rather they were fed before this begins, and it’s looking closer. Our fleet is hull up now. When I went below an hour ago I could only see sails.”

  “Deck, there! Captain!” yelled the lookout. It was Hande again.

  “What is it?” yelled Neville.

  “Dunno, Sir. Some of them looks to be turning.”

  “What’s this, now? Mr. Foyle, go up if you would, please. Give the man a hand to understand it. Sorry, no pun intended.”

  Foyle was quick on the climb, and his return down a backstay was even faster. “Captain, it would appear they are attempting to wear together, but with this variable breeze, it’s not going well for them. Naiad is signaling ‘wear’, and their ‘enemy’ signal is still aloft.”

  “Good enough. Mr. Hicks, repeat that signal.

  “Mr. Worth, sails aback, if you please. We can wait here for them, if they’re coming back.”

  The group watched for most of the morning while the Franco-Spanish fleet struggled in the contrary breezes to reform their line in the opposite direction.

  “What could the Admiral have in mind, Sir,” queried Lt. Miller. “Our ships are not in any line parallel to the French, but it looks as though he has every intention to engage.”

  “It does, indeed, Lt. Miller. Pass word for the officers to gather here on the poop. It is time for me to advise you of Admiral Nelson’s plans.”

  “As you know,” Neville began when his men were gathered, “I have attended two Captains’ dinners aboard Victory over the past few weeks. Admiral Nelson gave us the essence of his plans. He has no intention of forming a parallel line of battle against the French. Our fleet will attack in two lines at the perpendicular in order to cut the enemy line into three. If you look out there you will see that it is a perfect day for it. The enemy must be stretched over five miles and they are in disorganized groups. We cannot attack them very quickly, even with the wind fair for it, but they cannot easily move about, either…

  “Our duty is to station ourselves between the two British lines and pass signals. Euryalis is close behind Victory as the first frigate to repeat signals. In order next on the weather side of all are Sirius , then Naiad, and finally Phoebe, The little ships will be wherever they can… which brings me to another important point: Nelson is very extremely experienced, as you know, and he understands that no sea battle is a certain thing. There are always situations of chance. He orders us, therefore, to take our initiative - to attack where we can - to take any advantage. I intend to do just that. Questions?”

  “Captain, look to our fleet. They are setting all sail. That one forward is the Royal Sovereign. She is setting stuns’ls, Sir. Stuns’ls into battle!”

  “Verily, I see it, Mr. Wynde. She is Vice-Admiral Collingwood’s flagship, and is at the head of one of the two lines. Nelson will take no time to form a line. They will sail in to divide the French line as quickly as they can…

  “Mr. Worth, Lt. Towers, let us crack on as best the wind will allow. We’re still faster than the flagships. Beat to quarters! Dismissed, everyone.”

  “Signal from Victory, Captain.”

  “It’s a long one…’England expects’,” Neville read.

  “Right, Sir. You know your signals, I see,” said Caughlin, “that every man…” They waited while the previous hoist on Victory’s mizzen came down and the next went up.

  “… will do his duty’,” Neville completed. “I’ll say we will. Repeat the signal, Lt. Coughlan.”

  “Get on it, Mr. Hicks.

  “Here’s another, Sir. “Close action!”

  “After the previous signal is down, repeat that last, and leave it up until we have another.”

  Moments later they saw the flashes from the enemy’s cannon. The flashes were soon followed by the roll of thunder and a rising cloud of white smoke.

  “Royal Sovereign is out front of all. She will take a terrible beating from French broadsides before her guns will bear at all, Captain.”

  “Aye. So I see.” The smoke blew toward land, leaving the Royal Sovereign visible as she broke the French line between an immense Spanish vessel and the next behind. Royal Sovereign’s foremast went down, and she began to fire. The thunder increased to a continuous roar. La Désirée continued to approach the French line at a fretfully
slow three knots. A man from the fourth gun leaned over the rail and vomited.

  Miller had a glass to his eye, and reported, “Royal Sovereign’s mizzen course yard is down. So are the Spanish ship’s entire mizzen and main top hamper. She looks to list. No other British ship has yet to fire. Royal Sovereign is firing far more quickly than the French, Sir.”

  “Make sure your battery does the same when we engage, Lt. Miller,” said Neville. “Load langridge. Our little guns will not damage the hulls of these monsters, but we can cut their men and rigging.

  “They converge on her, Sir. Royal Sovereign may be doomed, but other British are coming to her aid now.”

  Neville had been watching the increasing melee with an eye to involving La Désirée in the action. Royal Sovereign had swung alongside the giant Spanish ship, whose name they could now read, to exchange broadsides.

  “She’s the Santa Ana. Three other French are joining…”

  They were much closer now. The thunder of cannon had increased to the point that ears were ringing. “There, Mr. Towers,” yelled Neville, “Follow Belleisle and Mars through the French line.”

  “They will crush us like eggshells, Captain!”

  “It is not yours to decide,” Neville screamed back at him, “Helm down!”

  A ball from L’Aigle howled low across the deck, cutting only a single main shroud. She and Belleisle drew up alongside each other and engaged each other with broadsides. La Désirée continued to follow Mars until she passed Belleisle and turned south to assist in the forward part of the French column.

  “Lt. Towers! Mr. Wynde!” screamed Neville, “Prepare for a hard Starboard…”

  “Lt's. Miller and Caughlin: Fire at will as she bears either side. Fire high. Cut rigging and men.”

  A moment passed while commands were yelled forward and braces were manned. “Mr. Worth! Now!” yelled Neville, “We must discourage this French two-decker from destroying Belleisle.”