A King's Cutter (10 page)

When he descended again to return the borrowed telescope to Griffiths Drinkwater said, ‘The two frigates and the corvette are still hull up, sir, but beyond them are a number of tops'ls. It looks as if we have just escaped from a fleet.'

Griffiths raised a white eyebrow. ‘Indeed . . . in that case let us forget
Flora
, Mr Drinkwater, and take our intelligence home. Lay me a course for Plymouth.'

‘Aye, aye, sir,' Drinkwater turned away. Already the excitement of the past two hours was fading, giving way to a peevish vexation at the loss of his Dollond glass.

What neither Griffiths nor Drinkwater knew was that the frigates from which they had escaped off Ushant had been part of Admiral Vanstabel's fleet. The admiral was on passage to America to reinforce the French squadron sent thither to escort the grain convoy safely back to France. The importance of this convoy to the ruined economy of the Republic and the continued existence of its government had been brought to British notice by Major Brown.

Vanstabel eluded pursuit but as spring of 1794 approached the British Admiralty sent out the long awaited flying squadrons. That to which
Kestrel
was attached was under the command of Sir John Borlase Warren whose broad pendant flew in the 42-gun frigate
Flora
. Warren's frigates hunted in the approaches to the Channel, sometimes in a pack, sometimes detached.
Kestrel
's duties were unimaginatively recorded in her log as ‘vessel variously employed'. She might run orders from
Flora
to another frigate, returning with intelligence. She might be sent home to Falmouth with dispatches, rejoining the squadron with mail, orders, a new officer, her boats full of cabbages and bags of potatoes, sacks of onions stowed between her guns.

It was a busy time for her company. Their constant visits to Falmouth reminded Drinkwater of Elizabeth whom he had first met there in 1780 and the view from Carrick Road was redolent of nostalgia. But he enjoyed no respite for the chills of January precipitated Griffiths's malaria and while his commander lay uncomplaining in his cot, sweating and half-delirious, Drinkwater, by express instruction, managed the cutter without informing his superiors.

Griffiths's recovery was slow, interspersed with relapses. Drinkwater assumed the virtual command of the cutter unopposed. Jessup, like all her hands, had been impressed by the acting lieutenant's resource in the escape from Vanstabel's frigates. ‘He'll do all right, will Mr Drinkwater,' was his report to Johnson, the carpenter. And Tregembo further enhanced Drinkwater's reputation with the story of the retaking of the
Algonquin
in the American war. The Cornishman's loyalty was as touching as it was infectious.

Unbeknown to Warren, Drinkwater had commanded
Kestrel
during the action of St George's Day. Fifteen miles west of the Roches
Douvres Warren's squadron had engaged a similar French force under Commodore Desgareaux. At the time Warren had with him the yacht like
Arethusa
commanded by Sir Edward Pellew,
Concorde
and
Melampus
, with the unspritely
Nymphe
in the offing and unable to come up in time.

During the battle
Kestrel
acted as Warren's repeating vessel, a duty requiring strict attention both to the handling of the cutter and the accuracy of her signals. That Drinkwater accomplished it shorthanded was not known to Warren. Indeed no mention was even made of
Kestrel's
presence in the account published in the
Gazette
. But Warren did not diminish his own triumph. Commodore Desgareaux's
Engageante
had been taken, shattered beyond redemption, while the corvette
Babet
and the beautiful frigate
Pomone
were both purchased into the Royal Navy. Only the
Resolue
had escaped into Morlaix, outsailing a pursuit in which
Kestrel
had played a small part.

‘No mention of us sir,' said Drinkwater dejectedly as he finished reading Warren's dispatch from the
Gazette
.

‘No way to earn a commission is it, eh?' Griffiths commiserated, reading Drinkwater's mind as they shared a bottle over the newspaper. He looked ruefully at his subordinate's set face.

‘Never mind Mr Drinkwater. Your moment will yet come. I met Sir Sydney
*
Smith in the dockyard. He at least had heard we tried to cut off the
Resolue
.' Griffiths sipped from his glass and added conversationally, ‘
Diamond
is at last joining the squadron, so we will have an eccentric brain to set beside the commodore's square one. What d'you think of that then?'

Drinkwater shrugged, miserable with the knowledge that Elizabeth was not far from their mooring at Haslar creek and that the addition of
Diamond
to the squadron opened opportunities for Richard White. ‘I don't know, sir. What do you predict?'

‘Stratagems,' said Griffiths in a richly imitated English that made Drinkwater smile, cracking the preoccupation with his own misfortune, ‘stratagems, Sir Sydney is the very devil for audacity . . .'

‘Well gentlemen?' Warren's strong features, thrown into bold relief by the lamplight, looked up from the chart. He was flanked by Pellew, Nagle of the
Artois
and the irrepressibly dominating Smith whose bright eyes darted restlessly over the lesser officers:
Flora
's first lieutenant and sailing master, her lieutenant of marines and his
own second lieutenant who was winking at a slightly older man, a man in the shadows, among his superiors on sufferance.

‘Any questions?' Warren pursued the forms relentlessly. The three post captains shook their heads.

‘Very well. Sir Ed'd, then, leads the attack . . . Captain Nagle joins me offshore: the only problem is
Kestrel
 . . .' They all looked at the man in the shadows. He was not so young, thought Sir Sydney, the face was experienced. He felt an arm on his sleeve and bent his ear. Lieutenant Richard White whispered something and Sir Sydney again scrutinised the acting lieutenant in the plain blue coat. Warren went on: ‘I think one of my own lieutenants should relieve Griffiths . . .' Smith watched the mouth of the man clamp in a hard line. He was reminded of a live shell.

‘Come, come, Sir John, I am sure Mr Drinkwater is capable of executing his orders to perfection. I am informed he did very well in your action in April. Let's give him a chance eh?' He missed the look of gratitude from the grey eyes. Warren swivelled sideways. ‘What d'you think Ed'd?'

Pellew was well-known for promoting able men almost as much as practising shameless nepotism when it suited him. ‘Oh give him some rope, John, then he can hang himself or fashion a pretty bowline for us all to admire.' Pellew turned to Drinkwater. ‘How is the worthy Griffiths these days, mister?'

‘Recovering, Sir Edward. Sir John was kind enough to have his surgeon repair his stock of quinine.'

Warren was not mollified by this piece of tact and continued to look at Drinkwater with a jaundiced eye. He was well aware that both Smith and Pellew had protégés of their own and suspected their support of a neutral was to block the advancement of his own candidate. At last he sighed. ‘Very well.'

Sir John Warren's Western Squadron had been in almost continual action during that summer while Admiral Howe's desultory blockade conducted from the comfort of an anchorage at Spithead or Torbay found many critics. Nevertheless the advocates of the strategic advantages of close blockade could not fail to be impressed by the dash and spirit of the frigates, albeit with little effect on the progress of the war. There had been a fleet action too, the culmination of days of manoeuving had come on the ‘Glorious First of June' when, in mid-Atlantic, Earl Howe had beaten Villaret Joyeuse and carried away several prizes from the French line of battle. Despite
this apparently dazzling success no naval officer aware of the facts could fail to acknowledge that the victory was a strategic defeat. The grain convoy that Villaret Joyeuse protected and that Vanstabel had succoured, arrived unmolested in France.

Alongside that the tactical successes in the Channel were of little importance though they read well in the periodicals, full of flamboyant dash and enterprise. Corrosive twinges of envy settled round Drinkwater's heart as he read of his own squadron's activities. Lieutenant White had been mentioned twice, through the patronage of Smith, for Warren was notoriously parsimonious with praise. It was becoming increasingly clear to Drinkwater that, without similar patronage, his promotion to lieutenant, when it came, would be too late; that he would end up the superannuated relic he had jestingly suggested to Elizabeth.

Yet he was eager to take part in the operation proposed that evening aboard
Flora
, eager to seize any opportunity to distinguish himself and guiltily grateful to White whose prompting of Smith's intervention had clearly diverted Warren's purpose.

Six months after his defeat Villaret Joyeuse was known to be preparing to slip out of Brest once more. Cruising westward from St Malo
Diamond
had discovered a convoy of two storeships being escorted by a brig-corvette and a
chasse marée
, an armed lugger. Aware of the presence of Warren's squadron in the offing they made passage at night, sheltering under batteries at anchor during daylight.

The weather had been quiet, though the night of the attack was heavily overcast, the clouds seeming to clear the mastheads with difficulty like a waterlogged ceiling, bulging and imminent in their descent. The south-westerly wind was light but had a steadiness that foreshadowed a blow, while the slight sea rippled over a low, ominous swell that indicated a disturbance far to the west.

With Griffiths sick Drinkwater and Jessup felt the want of more officers but for the descent on the convoy they had only to keep station on
Diamond
, Sir Sydney having left a single lantern burning in his cabin for the purpose. Just visible to the westward was the dark bulk of
Arethusa
.

Drinkwater went below. The air in the cabin was stale, smelling sweetly of heavy perspiration. Griffiths lay in his cot, propped up, one eye regarding Nathaniel as he bent over the chart. The acting lieutenant was scratching his scar, lost in thought. After a while their eyes met.

‘Ah, sir, you are awake . . . a glass of water . . .' He poured a tumblerful and noted Griffiths's hands barely shook as he lifted it to his lips. ‘Well Mr Drinkwater?'

‘Well, sir, we're closing on a small convoy to attack a brig-corvette, two transports and a lugger . . . we're in company with
Arethusa
and
Diamond
.'

‘And the plan?'

‘Well sir,
Arethusa
is to engage the brig,
Diamond
will take the two transports–she has most of
Arethusa
's marines for the purpose–and we will take the lugger.'

‘Is she an armed lugger, a
chasse marée
?'

‘I believe so sir, my friend Lieutenant White was of the opinion that she was.
Diamond
recconoitred the enemy . . .' He tailed off, aware that Griffiths's opinion of White was distorted by understandable prejudice.

‘The only opinion that young man had which was of the slightest value might more properly be attended by fashion conscious young women . . .' Drinkwater smiled, disinclined to argue the point. Still, it was odd that a man of Griffiths's considerable wisdom could so misjudge. White was typical of his type, professionally competent, gauche and arrogant upon occasion but ruthless and brave.

Griffiths recalled him to the present. ‘She'll be stuffed full of men, Nathaniel, you be damned careful, the French overman to the extent we sail short handed . . . What have you in mind to attempt?' Griffiths struggled onto one elbow. ‘It had better convince me, otherwise I'll not allow you to carry it out.'

Drinkwater swallowed. This was a damned inconvenient moment for a return of the old man's faculties. ‘Well sir, Sir John has approved . . .'

‘Damn Sir John, Nathaniel. Don't prevaricate. The question is do
I
approve it?'

Six paces forward, six paces aft. Up and down, up and down,
Diamond
's bell chiming the half hours until it was several minutes overdue. ‘Light's out in
Diamond
's cabin, sir.' It was Nicholls, the poor lookout, sent aft to interrupt Drinkwater's train of thought.

Smith was to signal which side of
Diamond Kestrel
was to pass as soon as his officers, from the loftier height of her foremast, made out the enemy dispositions. ‘Call all hands, there, all hands to general quarters!'

Minutes passed, then: ‘Two lights, sir!'

So it was to larboard, to the eastward that they were to go. He gave his orders. Course was altered and the sheets trimmed. They began to diverge and pass the frigate, shaking out the reef that had held them back while
Diamond
shortened sail. Giving the men a few moments to make their preparations Drinkwater slipped below.

‘Enemy's in sight, sir . . .' Griffiths opened his eyes. His features were sunk, yellow in the lamplight, like old parchment. But the voice that came from him was still resonant. ‘Be careful, boy-o,' he said with almost paternal affection, raising a wasted hand over the rim of the cot. Drinkwater shook it in an awkward, delicate way. ‘Take my pistols there, on the settee . . .' Drinkwater checked the pans. ‘They're all ready, Nathaniel, primed and ready,' the old man said behind him. He stuck them in his belt and left the cabin. On deck he buckled on his sword and went round the hands. The men were attentive, drawing aside as he approached, muttering ‘good lucks' amongst themselves and assuring him they knew what to do. As he walked aft again a new mood swept over him. He no longer envied White. He was in a goodly company, knew these men well now, had been accepted by them as their leader. A tremendous feeling of exhilaration coursed through him so strongly that for a moment he remained staring aft, picking out the pale streak of their wake while he recovered himself. Then he thought of Elizabeth, her kiss and parting remark: ‘Be careful, my love. . . .' So like Griffiths's and tonight so enormously relevant. He was on the verge of breaking that old promise of circumspection and giving way to recklessness. Then, unbidden, a fragment of long past conversation rose like flotsam on the whirlpool of his brain. ‘I have heard it said,' Appleby had averred, ‘that a man who fails to feel fear when going into action is usually wounded . . . as though some nervous defence is destroyed by reckless passion which in itself presages misfortune . . .'