An Eye of the Fleet (6 page)

Cyclops
was once more under control. The cross-jack was furled and the headsail sheets slackened. Again her bowsprit turned towards the shoal as Hope anxiously wore ship to bring her onto the starboard tack, heading where the Spanish frigate still wallowed helplessly.

The British frigate paid off before the wind. Then her bowsprit swung away from the shoal. The wind came over the starboard quarter . . . then the beam. The yards were hauled round, the headsail sheets hardened in. The wind howled over the starboard bow, stronger now they were heading into it.
Cyclops
plunged into a sea and a shower of stinging spray swept aft. Half naked gunners scurried away below to tend their cannon.

Hope gave orders to re-engage as
Cyclops
bore down on her adversary, slowly drawing the crippled Spaniard under her lee.

Cyclops
's guns rolled again and the Spaniard fired back.

Devaux was shouting at Blackmore above the crash of the guns. ‘Why don't he anchor Master?'

‘And have us reach up and down ahead of him raking him?' scoffed the older man.

‘What else can he do? Besides there's a limit to how long we can hang on here. What we want is offing . . .'

Hope heard him. Released from the tension of immediate danger now his command was again under control, the conversation irritated him.

‘I'll trouble you to fight the ship, Mr Devaux, and leave the tactical decisions to me.'

Devaux was silent. He looked sullenly at the Spanish ship and was astonished at Hope's next order: ‘Get a hawser through an after port, quickly man, quickly!' At first Devaux was uncomprehending then the moon broke forth again and the lieutenant followed Hope's pointing arm, ‘Look man, look!'

The red and gold of Castile was absent from the stern. The Spanish frigate had struck.

‘Cease fire! Cease fire!'

Cyclops
's guns fell silent as she plunged past the enemy, the exhausted gunners collapsing with their exertions. But Devaux,
all thoughts of arguing dispelled by the turn of events, was once more amongst them, rousing them to further efforts. Devaux shouted orders, bosun's mates swung their starters and the realisation of the Spanish surrender swept the ship in a flash. Fatigue vanished in a trice for she was a war prize if they could save her from going ashore on the San Lucar shoal.

Even the aristocratic Devaux did not despise his captain's avarice. The chance of augmenting his paltry patrimony would be eagerly seized upon. He found himself hoping
Cyclops
had not done too much damage . . .

On the quarterdeck Captain Hope was enduring the master's objections. The only person on board who could legitimately contest the captain's decisions, from the navigational point of view, Blackmore vigorously protested the inadvisability of taking
Cyclops
to leeward again to tow off a frigate no more than half a league from a dangerous shoal.

But the exertions of the night affected men differently. As Blackmore turned away in defeat Hope saw his last opportunity. Shedding years at the prospect of such a prize his caution fell a prey to temptation. After a life spent in a Service which had consistently robbed him of a reputation for dash or glamour, fate was holding out a fiscal prize of enormous magnitude. All he had to do was apply some of the expertise that his years of seagoing had given him.

‘Wear ship, Mr Blackmore.'

The captain turned and bumped into a slim figure hurrying aft.

‘B . . . Beg pardon sir.'

Drinkwater had descended from the foretop. He touched his hat to the captain.

‘Well?'

‘Shoal's a mile to leeward, sir.' For a minute Hope studied the young face: he showed promise.

‘Thank you, Mr, er . . .'

‘Drinkwater, sir.'

‘Quite so. Remain with me; my messenger's gone . . .' The captain indicated the remains of his twelve-year-old midshipman messenger. The sight of the small, broken body made Drinkwater feel very light headed. He was cold and very hungry. He was aware that the frigate was manoeuvring close to the
crippled Spaniard, paying off downwind . . .

‘First lieutenant's on the gun deck see how long he'll be.' Uncomprehending the midshipman hurried off. Below the shadowy scene in the gundeck was ordered. A hundred gunners lugged a huge rope aft. Drinkwater discovered the first lieutenant right aft and passed the message. Devaux grunted and then, over his shoulder ordered, ‘Follow me.' They both ran back to the quarterdeck.

‘Nearly ready, sir,' said Devaux striding past the captain to the taffrail. He lugged out his hanger and cut the log ship from its line and called Drinkwater.

‘Coil that for heaving, young shaver.' He indicated the long log line coiled in its basket. For an instant the boy stood uncertainly then, recollecting the way Tregembo had taught him he began to coil the line.

Devaux was bustling round a party of sailors bringing a coil of four inch rope aft. He hung over the taffrail, dangling one end and shouting at someone below. Eventually the end was caught, drawn inboard and secured to the heavy cable. Devaux stood upright and one of the seamen took the log line and secured it to the four inch rope.

Devaux seemed satisfied. ‘Banyard,' he said to the seaman. ‘Heave that at the Spaniard when I give the word.'

Cyclops
was closing the crippled frigate. She seemed impossibly large as the two ships closed, the rise and fall between them fifteen to twenty feet.

The two ships were very close now. The Spaniard's bowsprit rose and fell, raking aft along
Cyclops
's side. Figures were visible on her fo'c's'le as the bowsprit jutted menacingly over the knot of figures at the after end of
Cyclops
. If it ripped the spanker
Cyclops
was doomed since she would again become unmanageable, falling off before the gale. The spar rose again then fell as the frigate wallowed in a trough. It hit
Cyclops
's taffrail, caught for an instant then tore free with a splintering of wood. At a signal from Devaux Banyard's line snaked dextrously out to tangle at the gammoning of the bowsprit dipping towards the British stern.

‘Come on, boy!' shouted Devaux. In an instant he had leapt up and caught the spar, heaving himself over it, legs kicking out behind him. Without thinking, impelled by the force of the first lieutenant's determination Drinkwater had followed. Below
them
Cyclops
dropped away and was past.

The wind tore at Drinkwater's coat tails as he cautiously followed Devaux aft along the spar. The dangling raffle of gear afforded plenty of handholds and it was not long before he stood with his superior on the Spanish forecastle.

A resplendently attired officer was footing a bow at Devaux and proferring his sword. Devaux, impatient at the inactivity of the Spaniards, ignored him. He made signs at the officer who had first secured the heaving line and a party of seamen were soon heaving in the four inch rope. The moon emerged again and Devaux turned to Drinkwater. He nodded at the insistently bobbing Spaniard.

‘For God's sake take it. Then return it—we need their help.'

Nathaniel Drinkwater thus received the surrender of the thirty-eight gun frigate
Santa Teresa
. He managed a clumsy bow on the plunging deck and as graciously as he knew how, aware of his own gawkiness, he handed the weapon back. The moonlight shone keenly on the straight Toledo blade.

Devaux was shouting again: ‘Men! Men! Hombres! Hombres!' The four inch had arrived on board and the weight of the big hawser was already on it. Gesticulating wildly and miming with his body Devaux urged the defeated Spaniards to strenuous activity. He pointed to leeward. ‘Muerto! Muerto!'

They understood.

To windward Hope was tacking
Cyclops
. It was vital that Devaux secured the tow in seconds. The four inch snaked in. Then it snagged. The big ten-inch rope coming out of the water had caught on something under
Santa Teresa
's bow.

‘Heave!' screamed Devaux, beside himself with excitement.
Cyclops
would feel the drag of that rope. She might fail to pay off on the starboard tack . . .

Suddenly it came aboard with a rush. The floating hemp rose on a wave and swept aboard as
Santa Teresa
's bow fell into a steep trough.

Drinkwater was astonished. Where she had been rolling wildly the seas had been breaking harmlessly alongside. He sensed something was wrong. That sea had broken over them. He looked around. The sea was white in the moonlight and breaking as on a beach. They were in the breakers of the San Lucar shoal. Above the howl of the wind and the screaming of the Spanish officers the thunder of the Atlantic flinging itself
onto the bank was a deep and terrifying rumble.

Devaux sweated over the end of the ten inch rope. ‘Get a gun fired quick!'

Drinkwater pointed to a cannon and mimed a ramming motion. ‘Bang!' he shouted.

The sailors understood and a charge was quickly rammed home. Drinkwater grabbed the linstock and jerked it. It fired. He looked anxiously at
Cyclops
. Several Spaniards were staring fearfully to leeward. ‘
Dios
!' said one, crossing himself. Others did the same.

Slowly Devaux breathed out.
Cyclops
had tacked successfully. The hemp rose from the water and took the strain. It creaked and Drinkwater looked to where Devaux had passed a turn round
Santa Teresa
's fore mast and wracked lashings on it. More were being passed by the sailors. The
Santa Teresa
trembled. Men looked fearfully at each other. Was it the effect of the tow or had she struck the bottom?

Cyclops
's stern rose then plunged downwards. The rope was invisible in the darkness which had again engulfed them but it was secured and
Santa Teresa
began to turn into the wind. Very slowly
Cyclops
hauled her late adversary to the south west, clawing a foot to windward for every yard she made to the south.

Devaux turned to the midshipman and clapped him on the back. His face broke into a boyish grin.

‘We've done it, cully, by God, we've done it!'

Drinkwater slid slowly to the deck, the complete oblivion of fatigue enveloping him.

Rodney's fleet lay at anchor in Gibraltar Bay licking its wounds with a sense of satisfaction. The evidence of their victory was all about them, the Spanish warships wearing British colours over their own.

The battle had annihilated Don Juan de Langara's squadron. Four battleships had struck by midnight. The Admiral in
Fenix
surrendered to Rodney but
Sandwich
had pressed on. At about 2 a.m. on the 17th she overhauled the smaller
Monarcha
and compelled her to strike her colours with one terrible broadside. By this time, as
Cyclops
struggled to secure
Santa Teresa
in tow, both fleets were in shoaling water. Two seventy gun ships, the
San Julian
and
San Eugenio
, ran helplessly aground with terrible loss of life. The remainder, Spanish and British, managed to claw off to windward.

In the confusion of securing the prizes one Spanish battleship escaped as did the other frigate. With the exception of the
San Domingo
and the escapees, De Langara's squadron had fallen into Rodney's hands. It was a bitter blow to Spanish naval pride, pride that had already suffered humiliation when late the previous year the treasure flota from the Indies had fallen to marauding British cruisers.

Now the great ships lay at anchor.
Fenix
was to become
Gibraltar
and others were to be bought into the British service. Their presence boosted the morale of Generel Elliott's hard pressed garrison and forced the besiegers to stop and think. Behind the fleet the convoy had arrived safely and the military dined their naval colleagues. Midshipmen, however, at least those of
Cyclops
dined aboard, on hard tack, pease pudding and salt pork.

During her stay at Gibraltar
Cyclops
became a happy ship. She had come through a fleet action with distinction and the experience had united her crew into a true ship's company. Her casualties had been light, four dead and twenty-one wounded, mostly by splinters or falling wreckage. Every morning as the hands turned up there was not a man among them who did not
cast his eyes in the direction of the
Santa Teresa
. The Spanish frigate was their own, special badge of honour.

The men worked enthusiastically repairing the damage to
Cyclops
. It was a task that fascinated Drinkwater. The elements of seamanship he already knew were augmented by the higher technicalities of masting and rigging and when Lieutenant Devaux turned his attention to the
Santa Teresa
his knowledge was further increased. The first lieutenant had taken a liking to Drinkwater after their sojourn together on the captured frigate. Revived from his faint Devaux had found him an eager and intelligent pupil once his stomach had been filled.