An Awkward Commission (10 page)

‘What’s Barclay about, Shenton?’ demanded one of them, to lighten an atmosphere that had suddenly become tense.

‘Why ain’t you smoked it, matey,’ hooted the steward. ‘We’s goin’ to sail right into the port and take on the whole French fleet. Death for you, but glory and a Gazette for our beloved captain. Must be off, got to get his pistol primed and ready.’

‘D’ye reckon he licks Barclay’s boots?’ asked Martin.

‘Kisses his arse, more like, mate,’ said the cook, before raising his heavy meat cleaver, and waving under the bully’s nose, daring Devenow to gainsay him. ‘And he’s too spavined a creature to even consider the arse we all hanker after.’

Ralph Barclay did not enjoy his dinner; he found seamen’s fare brought back unpleasant memories of a life spent in a midshipman’s berth, that and wardrooms where he and his fellows had lacked the funds necessary for the luxury of private stores. But it had the effect of pleasing him, nonetheless, making him feel that he was at one with the men he commanded, which in turn decided him to do a touch of ‘Harry in the night’, to tour the ship like Shakespeare’s King Henry and impart encouraging words to his crew. He was unaware that the smiles he bestowed on most of those he encountered induced feelings of deep distrust, that was until he came to Devenow.

‘Is we goin’ to have a fight, your honour?’

It seemed a strange question from a man who had more fights than most, usually with people he beat, though there had been one, which Barclay was not supposed to know about, who had bested him.

‘Only one we can win, Devenow.’

‘I have a fancy to board an enemy, capt’n.’

‘Then I hope you get your wish.’

‘If we do, your honour, rest easy that I will be at your right arm, an’ God help the sod who tries to harm you.’

Even in the gloom of the t’ween decks, the lanterns picked up the sincere look in the man’s eyes. Common seamen’s fare did not extend to doing without wine, and Ralph Barclay had allowed himself several glasses more than normal to cover the taste, so that his temper was doubly mellow. Devenow’s words touched him in a way they would not have done had be been strictly sober, indeed he might had told him brusquely to keep to his station, for outside young midshipmen and junior officers he had brought on in the service, he had never had what could be called a personal following, certainly not amongst the lower deck.

‘Why I thank you for that, Devenow. And may I say, if you were to moderate your drinking, I daresay you might find that your station aboard ship would improve.’

‘God help us,’ said Coyle, the master-at-arms, still on crutches, but over-seeing the sharpening of the cutlasses and tomahawks, and close enough to hear the exchange.

Kemp, the rat-faced individual who had got himself moved to ship’s corporal, and so was doing the actual grinding, replied. ‘Amen to that.’

‘Mr Glaister’s compliments, your honour, came a voice from the gangway. ‘There a sail been spotted due east, and the lookout thinks it is one o’ them French frigates.’

‘If it is only one, Devenow, you will get your wish.’

Back on deck, Ralph Barclay nodded to his wife, who was taking the sun with Surgeon Lutyens on the poop. He then took up a telescope and trained it in the direction indicated. In the heat of the early afternoon there was a haze in the air that made a clear sight of anything from the deck hard, but he held his station for an age until the first faint
outline of the enemy vessel, a wisp of topsails and a wind blown tricolour pennant, came into view.

‘
Lutine
.’ He said finally, the bigger of the two he had faced before, which would mean quite a contest. ‘Lookout! Any other ships in the offing?’

‘None, sir.’

‘Do you think he means to takes us on, sir?’ asked Glaister.

‘Possibly.’ For once Ralph Barclay wanted to think aloud, to share his thoughts rather than husband them. He answered his First Lieutenant, but in a voice loud enough to be heard over a decent stretch of the ship. ‘His task has changed, Mr Glaister. He cannot afford the luxury of us getting sight of what is at anchor in the Grande Rade. He must seek to drive us off before we get close enough to see that, unaware as he is, that we already know.’

‘And us, sir?’ the Premier asked, emboldened by this display of openness.

‘Why, in order to carry out the plan I have in mind, we must get past him, either by fighting him or, since we have the wind, out-sailing him.’

‘If we slip past him, sir, we hand him the wind.’

‘That is true, Mr Glaister,’ said Ralph Barclay, dropping his telescope and looking directly at his junior officer. ‘Which is why I expect to fight him at some point. But I will add that I wish that point to be one of my own choosing. Mr Collins, ease the braces a fraction, I want some of the way taken off the ship, but I desire to give our friend yonder the appearance that we are sailing at our best.’

‘You mean to try and avoid him, sir?’ asked Collins.

‘I mean to get close enough to Toulon, to the Grand Rade, to spot what ships are anchored there. Then I mean to put up our helm and run west with all speed with our signal flags flying. Our friend here, will be in our path, and
as Mr Glaister has so properly pointed out he will have the weather gage, but he will struggle to tell anyone our message is a negative. We may manage to avoid him once, yet once he has the wind in his favour, I doubt we will do so twice. The notion is simple. The admiral commanding the Toulon fleet will be given something to think about, like is there a British squadron just over the horizon, enough perhaps to think twice about putting to sea.’

He did not add that the whole thing hinged on his taking or beating the
Lutine
, a message for which he could have got a cheer. That was forthcoming anyway, when he announced a tot of rum for every hand.

Those at quarters on deck were doing what had been ordered, manning the falls and easing them slightly so that the lower parts of the sails were not drawing properly. It was slight, but the increase in the wind playing on Ralph Barclay’s back told him just how much speed they had lost.

‘Not too much Mr Collins. Remember he has seen us before on a wind.’

‘Aye, aye, sir.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Glaister, ‘we should gather the hands, sir, while we still have time, and give a rousing speech.’

It was at that point that Ralph Barclay regretted his prior openness, realising that by relaxing his habitual silence he had raised the expectation that it would be the norm. It was with something of a tone more familiar to his premier that he snapped.

‘What a strange notion, Mr Glaister. The crew will know what to do when the time comes, and if they fail in that they will answer to me. Now, I think we must complete what has gone before. Clear for action.’

‘Topsails, Mr Collins, if you please.’

The orders were shouted, and the topmen began to clew up the courses out of harm’s way, as well as everything forward bar the flying jib. It was not wise to go into action with all sail set, hanging low, the mainsails were prone to catch fire from either shot, or the flaming wads that were discharged with the ball leaving the enemy cannon. If such a stretch of canvas ignited, bone dry after a week without rain, it could spread to the whole ship, which meant certain destruction. As soon as they were out of harm’s way, the hose from the fire engine was hauled aloft, and the crew on deck pumped hard to wet the topsails and make them less vulnerable to the same danger, though their elevation, high up on the masts, was the main protection. It had the added advantage of sending a message to his opponent, that he was preparing to fight.

There were some fine calculations for Ralph Barclay to make; he intended to get by this enemy frigate, now hull up, but that would not happen unless he could bluff his opposite number. Positions reversed he would be calculating when to wear on to the same course as
Brilliant
, so ensuring that the British ship had to fight a running battle, hoping they might decline for fear of too much damage. It would not be cowardice on the Frenchman’s part, he would have done his duty, as well as the task to which he had been assigned
and kept secret the state of the Toulon fleet.

Because of the sea haze, it was impossible, even for the lookout high on the foremast, to yet see into the Grand Rade, and a mere sighting in this case would not do. He needed to convince his enemies that he had learnt their strength from observation; anything else would not affect their preparations or their intention to weigh. With yards braced right round to take the wind, and sailing some twenty points free, the enemy deck was in plain view, and he paid close attention to the position they had taken up.

‘I thought, Captain Barclay, that I would take a last breath of air, before going below to aid Mr Lutyens.’

Ralph Barclay spun round to face his wife, irritated that she had not asked permission to be on what was about to be a fighting platform, but then he softened at the sight of her.

‘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 enemy 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.