His Majesty's Ship (23 page)

      
“Have this taken to the commodore,” he said, passing a parchment envelope to Tait. “Give it to a reliable midshipman, and tell him not to get into conversation.”

      
The envelope was light, and sealed with no more than a wafer. Tait guessed that it held the briefest of instructions; it was Shepherd's habit to be concise. Tait exchanged glances with Gregory, and knew that he could leave the job of manoeuvring the ship to him as he left the quarterdeck.

      
“Back mizzen tops”, take in t'gallants and jibs.” Gregory yelled, while Tait made his way to the poop. Another flurry of men sped up the ratlines, while a group of afterguard hauled the mizzen braces back.
Vigilant
staggered and checked in the apparent mishandling, then began a choppy roll as she lost speed.

      
“Bring her round,” The last order was spoken by Gregory to the quartermaster. The large double wheel spun in a blur of spokes, and
Vigilant
came to a brief halt.

      
The blocks squealed as the cutter was lowered into the water while Pite made himself comfortable in the stern. Once clear of the ship the small crew raised the twin masts, set the lug sails and the boat was bearing down upon the merchant ship before
Vigilant
had come back to the wind.

      
“Signal the commodore to stand by to accept a boat.” Shepherd said, without emotion.

      
King glanced back at his captain, knowing his penchant for irony. Anyone who missed a two masted cutter flying down towards them under sail would be stupid as well as blind. Still, protocol might be involved, and he ordered the hoist.

      
Shepherd watched the cutter dancing over the waves. As Tait had predicted, the orders left no room for argument. They also contained none of the politeness expected of a captain in the Royal Navy proffering advice to a superior in an associated service. Let them make of it what they might, within hours he and his ship would be in action, whereas the well paid civilians opposite would be free. It would be a freedom paid for by the men of his ship, and he would no more submit, advise or request the commodore's cooperation than he would have declined to fight. Besides, only an idiot would go against his plan, and despite all the evidence to the contrary, he could not believe the commodore to be quite that much of a fool.

      
The cutter stayed hooked on to the flagship's main chains for less than two minutes; exactly the time Shepherd had allowed for young Pite to clamber aboard, explain himself and hand the despatch to an officer. He watched the young midshipman recklessly skip over the main shrouds, swing down from the chains, landing almost exactly in his allotted space in the sternsheets of the boat. Immediately the cutter turned away from
Pegasus
, and set course for a point approximately three cables ahead of
Vigilant's
present position, to be there, waiting when the line-of-battle ship reached her. A glance back at the enemy confirmed the lookout's report. Now that they had slowed down the enemy had gained on them. The hulls were in plain sight from the deck, and Shepherd thought he could distinguish the individual colour schemes as they bore down.

      
“One's a three-decker,” Tait whispered excitedly to Gregory. The older man nodded.

      
“Ninety-eight, I reckon.”

      
“Signal
Badger
, repeat to
Taymar
;” the captain was addressing King, although he had the ear of every officer on deck. “Convoy will divide. Accompany flag and eleven ships heading Rochefort Blockade at best possible speed.”

      
King scratched at his pad once more.

      
“How many hoists?” Shepherd asked. King licked his pencil.

      
“Four, no, three; I can do it in three, sir.”

      
“Very good. As soon as they acknowledge make the size and bearing of the enemy.” He turned to the officer of the watch. “Mr Tait, please pass the word for the other lieutenants and the master to join me in my quarters. You have the deck, I believe?”

      
“Yes, sir.”

      
Shepherd's tense expression relaxed for the first time since the French were spotted.

      
“Worry not, Mr Tait; we will keep you in ignorance for as brief a time as possible.”
 

*****

      
Mr Rollston, the cooper, was less than five foot tall, although what he lacked in height was made up for in his bulk, which was princely and generous. Standing in his workshop on the orlop with his knuckles resting on his hips, he seemed almost square, filling the distance between bulwarks, as easily as that up to the deckhead.

      
“S'more than makin' barrels,” he said, obtusely, when Matthew, Jake and three other boys were sent down to him. “You got to know about wood, how it works, and how to use it. You got to understand 'bout the way liquid settles, how powder transports, an' when to use a copper or an iron band,” he paused to roll his eyes about his bounteous face. “They say they're gonna 'ave a battle today.” Now he tossed his head dismissively towards the upper decks. “Reckon on being a bit of fightin'—well that's as maybe. But I'll tell you this; none of them,” he paused once more for effect, “None of them would even be here today if it t'weren't for coopers, and the barrels we makes.”

      
Jake and Matthew exchanged glances in the gloom. When King had hurriedly detailed them to accompany Mr Rollston for a watch they had been somewhat disappointed. With the enemy in sight and a fight in prospect, four hours with the cooper seemed about the worst station possible. But Mr Rollston was not what they had expected, and now it seemed likely that the time might pass faster that they had originally thought.
 

*****

      
Light from the large stern windows cast strong shadows over the assembled group as Shepherd's glance swept over each man in turn. The majority of his officers had served with him for the entire commission and in the main he felt he could depend on them. In turn he had proved himself to be a reliable captain, if at times somewhat unpredictable. He smiled grimly to himself; this would be one of those occasions. And as for knowing his officers, the next few hours would tell him more than he had learnt in the last two years. It was one thing to sail with a fleet in eager anticipation of action and victory, quite another to face odds that made capture and prison the most promising outcome.

      
“You all understand the situation, and that I have been in contact with the commodore. Some of you also know of the signal recently sent to the other escorts. For those who do not; briefly, we will be staying with five merchant ships who cannot make sufficient speed. They are
Jenny Rose, Orcadese,
Hampshire Lass, Hever Castle
, and
Duke of Kent
. The rest will make for the blockading squadron off Rochefort, in company with the other two escorts. It is possible that the enemy will try to take them, as well as the slower members of the convoy, and it is up to us to see that they do not.” He cleared his throat, his mouth was unusually dry.

      
“It is not widely known, but the flagship is carrying British consular staff bound for the Far East; it was made very clear to me that they should not be allowed to fall into French hands, and I feel this to be the best course to take to see that it does not happen.” At that moment his mind stupidly wandered; on the cabinet to one side he could actually see an invitation delivered by boat the previous evening, inviting him and some of his officers to dinner that night, and he felt a mild sensation of relief that he would not now have to attend. With an effort he brought himself back to the matter in hand. “With luck
Taymar
will make contact with other British ships that can come to our aid.” There was a brief pause. “In which case it is even more important that we detain the French for as long as we can, possibly even until nightfall.”

      
A general murmur spread about the room. These men were professional officers, and knew the chances of help being found and arriving in time. Similarly, stretching out such a simple scenario as they were now presented with to last until dark would take some memorable manoeuvres.

      
“That is all. I shall delay clearing for action until after dinner, so the people will have hot food inside them. Are there any questions?”

      
Rogers raised his hand.

      
“The French, sir. Are they from Brest?”

      
The fact that Rogers should ask an unnecessary and unanswer-able question fulfilled all Shepherd's expectations of him. He swallowed, struggling to make something more from the answer. “Possibly, in fact it seems most likely. Either that or L'Orient. They could have dodged the blockade in the storm a week or so back.”

      
Any ship which had cleared harbour would have headed south, even if they had planned to cross the Atlantic. It was just unfortunate that they had come upon the convoy, and doubly so that Shepherd had not sufficient force to meet them.

      
Further murmurs spread throughout the room, and Shepherd thought he sensed a note of derision. It was generally held that Lord Howe, or Black Dick, as he was known, was not keeping a tight enough grip on things in the Channel Fleet.

      
“Admiral Howe, as you know, is not at sea at the moment; Admiral Bridport has charge until he returns. I think we all realise that both hold similar views when it comes to enforcing a tight blockade.” At sixty-eight Bridport was very much in the Howe mould and a less spirited man than his brother, Samuel Hood, whom Shepherd knew well and respected greatly, although it would not do to say as much in public. “Besides, if the squadron has come from Brest, it could be to our advantage.” There was silence, as he held their attention. “It would mean the enemy had only been at sea for few days. I think you all know the state of the French Navy; two days is not long enough to produce sailors.” It was a small point, but a valid one. French ships were well regarded for their fine lines, but the men sent to sail in them were certainly inferior. The revolution that had sprung up only a few years before had seen the departure of many skilled officers who also happened to be nobility, and even the
Corps d'Artillerie de la Marine
, the French system of seamen gunners that had proved successful in previous wars, had been abolished in the general drive against
élitism
. However Shepherd knew that if all four ships were entirely manned by seasick soldiers it could not discount the advantage that fire power and sheer numbers would give them.

      
“If there is nothing else, we will dismiss.” The tone of his voice forbade further questions, and the group broke up in silence.

      
“Mr Timothy.”

      
“Sir?” Timothy turned and faced his captain.

      
“Be so good as to acquaint Mr Tait with the situation.”

      
“Sir!”

      
Timothy and Tait were friends; it would do no harm to discipline for the junior to inform his senior. Besides, the captain had made a promise to Tait; remembering and honouring such things was the mark of a good officer.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      
On the quarterdeck Captain Shepherd and Lieutenant Dyson stood in silence. As he had predicted, the commodore had readily accepted Shepherd's directions, and even now the East India Company contingent, complete with diplomats, wives and attendants, were pulling ahead of their slower counterparts and making an easterly heading which should lead them to the French coast at Rochefort and, ironically, safety. The British blockading squadron stationed there would provide escorts to take them as far as Gibraltar.

      
Shepherd did not know who would be in charge, possibly Harvey, who had set out a few weeks before. Fresh forces could then be sent to look for the enemy squadron and the remains of the convoy. With the wind as it was the faster ships should be out of sight by the time the French squadron reached
Vigilant
and her charges, and it would be up to him to see that they remained so. Shepherd stared at the enemy again. They were holding their original course, which meant that either they had not registered the convoy splitting or were content with snapping up his ship, and the stragglers. It was strange how he felt a measure of relief in knowing that the enemy was making straight for him.

      
It was four bells in the forenoon watch: ten o'clock. Dinner would be served at twelve, which meant they would have ample time to clear for action and beat to quarters by one thirty; about an hour before Shepherd predicted they would be in range of the enemy. The wind had been holding at the same strength and direction for over fifty minutes, although the ship had started a shallow, choppy roll, which meant that there was an increase due, or a change hereabouts. Either would alter his estimations; a strengthening wind would affect the enemy first, allowing an increase in speed, whereas a localised squall may slow him down, giving them the same advantage. Of course if the squall were big enough, a storm like the one they had recently passed through, it might make matters very different. Shepherd's estimation of the quality of French seamanship was based on fact. Both England and France relied heavily on pressed men to crew their ships, and both were reasonably adept at turning such recruits into competent hands. But to do this needed sea going experience, and here the French Navy, spending much time in harbour, was at a definite disadvantage. Added to this the English press had access to men who knew the sea. These were usually from merchant ships, often taken from homeward bound convoys. They might not be trained fighters but their seagoing experience placed them far above the average landsman. The French merchant force was far smaller, and its men less experienced. Shepherd was reasonably sure that
Vigilant
would fare better in foul weather than any Frenchman fresh out of port.