An Eye of the Fleet (4 page)

‘That Dane has just sailed from Cadiz. The Dons are at sea, a fleet of 'em. Bit of luck he was pro-British.' He paused reflectively. ‘Married to an English girl. Dammed handsome woman too . . .' he grinned, the marines grinned too—the message was going home.

It was dark when
Cyclops
rejoined the fleet. A full moon enabled Hope to take her in amongst the concourse of ships to where the three horizontal lanterns in
Sandwich
's rigging marked the presence of the Admiral.

Shortening sail the frigate sent a boat across and Devaux had reported to Rodney. The outcome of this momentous news was that
Cyclops
had been ordered to make sail and warn the advance frigates. The fleet had shortened sail at sunset to avoid dispersal and aid station keeping so that
Cyclops
soon drew ahead of the battleships, passing down the regular lines of massive
sides which dwarfed the swifter frigate as they lumbered along, creaking in the moonlight.

At dawn
Cyclops
was in sight of the frigates. Astern of her the fleet's topsails were just visible with one ship, the two decked seventy-four-gun
Bedford
, crowding on sail to come up with the cruisers.

Hampered by the poor signalling code in use Hope had difficulty in conveying the meaning of his message to the more distant frigates. By a happy coincidence, however, he chose ‘Clear for action' and two hours later
Bedford
came up flying the same signal, her two lines of gun muzzles already visible, for Rodney had thrown out the order to his fleet at dawn.

At the first beat of the marine drummer's sticks Drinkwater had sensed the tension in
Cyclops
. He raced for his station in the foretop where the swivel was loaded and primed. But there was no occasion for haste. All morning the British stood at action stations without any sign of the enemy. During the forenoon division after division of the fleet had altered course to the south east, rounding the pink cliffs of Cape Saint Vincent and heading for the Straits of Gibraltar. At noon half of
Cyclops
's company stood down for a meal of beer, flip and biscuit.

After a hasty meal Drinkwater, eager not to miss a moment of what popular comment was saying would be a fleet action, returned to the foretop. He looked around him. The frigates had drawn back on the main body and
Bedford
had come up to occupy the inshore station.

In the foretop his men had loaded their muskets. Tregembo was musingly caressing the toy swivel gun. Astern in the main top Morris's blue coat could clearly be seen. He was bending over a young Devon seaman whose good looks had excited some crude jibes from his messmates. Drinkwater could not quite identify the feeling engendered by the sight of Morris thus engaged beyond the fact that it was vaguely disquieting. He was still a comparative innocent to the perversions of humanity.

Astern of Morris Sergeant Hagan commanded the mizzen top and its marine sharpshooters. Their scarlet coats were a splash of vivid colour against the black hemp rigging that almost obscured the view. Looking down Nathaniel had an unimpeded view of the quarterdeck as, cleared for action, the maincourse
and cross-jack were clewed up.

He saw Captain Hope and Lieutenant Devaux there with the old sailing master standing by the quartermaster and helmsmen. A gaggle of midshipmen and master's mates were also in attendance to run messages and transmit signals. But as well as blue there was scarlet aft. Wheeler, resplendent in his brilliant coat, crimson sash and the glittering gorget of a military officer had his hanger drawn. He carried it negligently in the crook of his arm but the flash of its blade was a wicked reminder of death. It was very different from the ash single stick Drinkwater had thrust and parried with at home. He had not much considered death or the possibility of dying. Falling from the rigging had at first terrified him but he had overcome that. But supposing a mast, the foremast perhaps, was shot away? He looked down again to where nets were stretched above the deck to keep falling spars and rigging off the guns' crews toiling below. At the moment those gun crews were lazing around their pieces. Just visible to Nathaniel, below him on the main deck, beneath the gratings the second and third lieutenants conferred with one another on the frigate's centreline. Their demeanour was studiously casual as they waited to command their batteries.

Apart from the creaking of the ship's fabric, the passage of the wind and the noise of her bow wave,
Cyclops
was a silent thing. Upwards of two hundred and fifty men waited expectantly, as did the crews of all the fleet.

At one o'clock in the afternoon
Bedford
fired a gun, signalled
Sandwich
and let fly her topsail sheets. For those too distant to see the signal the flutter of her topsails was a time honoured indication of the presence of an enemy fleet in sight.

‘Wind's getting up,' said Tregembo to no one in particular but breaking the silence in the foretop.

The battle that followed was one of the most dramatic ever fought by the Royal Navy. The waters over which the opposing fleets contended were to be immortalised twenty-five years later when Nelson was to conquer and die off Cape Trafalgar, but the night action of the 16th/17th January 1780 was to be known by no geographical name.

In an age when admirals were absolutely bound, upon pain of death, to the tactical concept of the unbroken line ranged against that of the enemy, Rodney's unleashing of his ships was an innovation of the utmost importance, and the manner of its doing in that wild Moonlight Battle was an act of daring unsurpassed by sailing warships in such large numbers.

Tregembo had been right. An hour after
Bedford
's sighting of eleven Spanish battleships and two frigates the sky had clouded over. The wind backed westerly and began to freshen.

At
Bedford
's signal Rodney had thrown out the ‘General Chase' to his warships. Each captain now sought to out-do the rest and the vessels fitted with the new copper bottoms forged ahead. The two-deckers
Defence, Resolution
and
Edgar
began taking the lead. Officers anxiously checked their gear as captains, reckless as schoolboys, held on to sail. Still the wind rose. Telescopes trained with equal anxiety on the Spaniards who, faced with such overwhelming odds, turned away to leeward and the shelter of Cadiz.

Seeing the retrograde movement Rodney signalled his ships to engage from leeward, thereby conveying to his captains the tactical concept of overhauling the enemy and interposing themselves between the Spanish and safety.

It had become a race.

As the British ships tore forward dead before the wind, puffs of smoke appeared from their fo'c's'les as gunners tried ranging shots. At first the plumes of water, difficult to see among breaking wave crests, were a long way astern of the Spaniards. But slowly, as the minutes ran into an hour, they got nearer.

Aboard
Cyclops
Devaux stood poised on the fo'c's'le glass to eye as the frigate's long nine-pounders barked at the enemy as she lifted her bow. Almost directly above Drinkwater watched eagerly. His inexperienced eyes missed the fall of shot but the excitement of the scene rivetted his attention.
Cyclops
trembled with the thrill of the chase and giving expression to the corporate feeling of the ship, O'Malley, the mad Irish cook, sat cross-legged on the capstan top scraping his fiddle. The insane jig was mixed with the hiss and splash of the sea around them and the moan of the gale as it strummed the hempen rigging.

Captain Hope had taken
Cyclops
across the slower
Bedford
's bows and was heading for the northernmost Spaniard, a frigate of almost equal size. To the south of their quarry the high stern of the Spanish line of battleships stretched in a ragged line, the second frigate hidden behind them to the east.

A sudden column of white rose close to the
Cyclops
's plunging bowsprit. Drinkwater looked up. Held under the galleries of a Spanish two-decker by the following wind a puff of white smoke lingered.

Tregembo swore. ‘That's good shooting for Dagoes,' he said. It was only then that Drinkwater realised he was under fire.

As
Cyclops
crossed the stern of the two decker in chase of the frigate the battleships had tried a ranging shot. Suddenly there was a rush of air and the sound of two corks being drawn from bottles. Looking up Drinkwater saw a hole in the fore-topsail and another in the main. It was uncomfortably close. As their sterns rose to the following seas the Spaniards were firing at the oncoming British silhouetted against the setting sun.

Drinkwater shivered. The brief winter warmth was gone and the fresh breeze had become a gale. He looked again at the Spanish fleet. They were appreciably nearer. Then he saw two plumes of white rise under the Spaniard's quarter. Their own guns were silent. He looked interrogatively at Tregembo.

‘What the . . . ?' Then the seaman pointed.

To starboard, hidden from the huddling midshipman by the mast,
Resolution
, a newly coppered seventy-four, was passing the frigate. Conditions now favoured the heavier ships.
Resolution
, was overhauling the Spaniards rapidly and beyond her
Edgar
and
Defence
were bearing down on the enemy. Before
the sun set behind a bank of cloud its final rays picked out the
Resolution
.

The almost horizontal light accentuated every detail of the scene. The sea, piling up from the west, its shadowed surfaces a deep indigo, constantly moving and flashing golden where it caught the sun, seemed to render the warship on it a thing of stillness. The
Resolution
's hull was dark with the menace of her larboard batteries as she passed scarcely two cables from
Cyclops
. Her sails drew out, pulling the great vessel along, transmitting their power down through the masts and rigging until the giant oak hull with its weight of artillery and 750 men made ten knots through the water.

Drinkwater could see the heads of her upper-deck gunners and a line of red and silver marines on the poop. At her stern and peak battle ensigns stood out, pointing accusingly at the enemy ahead. Her bow chasers barked again. This time there was no white column. Devaux's glass swung round. ‘She's hit 'em, by God!' he shouted.

Somebody on the fo'c's'le cheered. He was joined by another as
Cyclops
's crew roared their approval at the sight of
Resolution
sailing into battle. Drinkwater found himself cheering wildly with the other men in the top. Tears poured down Tregembo's cheeks. ‘The bastards, the fucking bastards . . .' he sobbed. Drinkwater was not sure who the bastards were, nor, at the time, did it seem to matter. It is doubtful if Tregembo himself knew. What he was expressing was his helplessness. The feeling of magnificent anger that overcame these men: the impressed, the drunkards, the gaol birds and the petty thieves. All the dregs of eighteenth-century society forced into a tiny hull and kept in order by a ruthless discipline, sailed into a storm of lead and iron death cheering. Stirred to their souls by emotions they could not understand or control the sight of puissant
Resolution
had torn from their breasts the cheers of desperation. It is with such spontaneous inspiration that the makers of war have always gulled their warriors and transformed them into heroes. Thus did the glamour of action infect these men with the fighting anger that served their political masters supremely well.

Perhaps it was to the latter that the barely articulate Tregembo alluded.

‘Silence! Silence there!' Hope was roaring from the quarterdeck
and the cheering died as men grinned at one another, suddenly sheepish after the outburst of emotion.

Faintly across the intervening sea a cheer echoed from
Resolution
and Drinkwater realised
Cyclops
must appear similarly magnificent from the seventy-four. A shudder of pride and cold rippled his back.

Before darkness isolated the admiral from his ships Rodney threw out a final command to his captains: ‘Engage the enemy more closely.' He thus encouraged them to press the enemy to the utmost degree. Both fleets were tearing down upon a lee shore with off-lying shoals. By five o'clock it was nearly dark. The wind had risen to a gale and gloomy clouds raced across the sky. But the moon was rising, a full yellow moon that shone forth from between the racing scud, shedding a fitful light upon the baleful scene.

At sunset
Resolution, Edgar
and
Defence
had drawn level with the rearmost Spanish ships. Exchanging broadsides as they passed they kept on, heading the leeward enemy off from Cadiz.

‘Larboard battery make ready!' The order rang out. Drinkwater transferred his attention to port as
Cyclops
was instantly transformed. The waiting was over, tension was released as gunners leapt to their pieces and the British frigate rode down the Spanish.