A Man of No Country Page 27

  ‘I have given the boatswain every top man we have, sir, but he still thinks it will be a while before the rigging is to be relied on.’

  ‘Yes, it took the main force of the blast,’ said Clay. ‘In the meanwhile, let the other hands catch some sleep on the deck between the guns. They must all be exhausted.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Preston. He stifled a yawn before he turned away. Clay felt waves of tiredness himself, but was determined not to show it. He grasped his hands behind his back and walked over to the quarterdeck rail, where Armstrong stood in the dark and looked out across the sea. He drew in a deep lungful of air, and tasted the tang of burnt wood overlaying the fainter smell of powder smoke.

  ‘It is vexing to have had our ship’s bell dismounted,’ he said. ‘What time do you suppose it to be, Mr Armstrong?’ The American looked up at the moon where it rode high over the bay.

  ‘Five bells in the mid watch, I would say, sir,’ he replied. ‘The night grows old.’

  Both men gazed at the ships still clustered together in a ragged line across the bay. As they watched a row of orange tongues stabbed out in the night. Moments later the roar of a broadside echoed across to them. A sparkle of little lights glittered in the dark from the same direction, the flashes reflected in the calm water.

  ‘Small arms fire, sir,’ said the master. He focused his night glass on the point. ‘I think I can see one of our ships lying across the bow of a French one. Might be the Majestic?’ Another broadside roared out from a different part of the line, followed by a third, and slowly the sound of gun fire increased until it became a steady roar. In the silver light, Clay could see dark shapes on the move as more and more British ships returned to the action. They pushed on down the French line, searching for fresh opponents. Clay watched for a while, and then turned back towards the wheel. He expected to see Preston there, but his place had been taken by the figure of his first lieutenant, without his coat, and with his splinted left arm strapped across his chest.

  ‘George, what are you doing back on deck?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘It’s only a small break, sir,’ said Taylor. ‘Mr Corbett has set all to rights. I heard the sound of gunfire, so I returned to my post.’ He looked around him, taking in all the damage the explosion had caused, and the mass of seamen at work aloft. ‘It looks as if we may be ready for action again shortly. I had best get another three blue lights swayed aloft to replace those we have lost. Before our own side take us for a low Frenchman, sir.’

  Clay thought about ordering his deputy below again, but in the faint light of the binnacle he caught sight of the pleading look in his eye.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Taylor,’ he said. ‘A timely suggestion. Please make it so.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’ Clay cupped a hand against the side of his mouth and called up towards the main top.

  ‘Mr Hutchinson! The battle has resumed. When can I make sail again?’

  ‘Another hour, sir,’ replied the harassed boatswain. ‘These here main shrouds have been wounded something cruel. If we was to set any sail now, I couldn’t answer for the consequences.’

  ‘Very well, you shall have your hour, and then we sail. Understood?’

  ‘Aye aye, sir!’

  *****

  An hour later the first rose hint of dawn was visible on the eastern horizon. Some desultory fighting still went on towards the rear of the French line, but across most of the bay, the dark shapes of warships, both victors and their prizes, swung in clumps at anchor in various states of damage. Tendrils of powder smoke drifted like river mist over the surface of the sea. The still grey water was covered by dark shapes that bobbed and slopped in the gentle current. Clay looked at them in the dim light. He could see shattered pieces of wood and fragments of spars, together with other pieces of flotsam that rolled low in the water. One drifted nearer to the ship and he realised that it was a body. There were hundreds of them, dotted all across the sea.

  Towards the shore lay the wreck of the frigate they had fought, L’Artemise. She was tipped over to one side on a sand bank, where her crew had abandoned her and taken to their boats. The cutter Clay had sent across to set fire to her had only just returned. He could see a thick column of smoke that rose up over her, and the first orange flames, bright in the grey morning light. A little farther east was the blackened and dismasted hull of the French eighty-gun Tonnant, hard aground too. Captain Dupetit-Thouars’s ship had been just behind L’Orient, and had taken the full brunt of the explosion.

  On board the Titan, the guns were run out and manned once more, and the capstan clanked round as it drew the frigate sternward towards her anchor. Clay stood at the very back of the ship and watched as the thick, wet anchor cable slithered on board. He was so concentrated on the frigate’s progress that Taylor had to tug at his sleeve to get his attention.

  ‘Sir,’ he hissed. ‘Look over there!’ Out of the gloom behind them, three huge elephantine shapes had appeared, drifting down towards them. None of them showed any blue lights. Clay called over his shoulder towards the wheel.

  ‘Easy there at the capstan, Mr Preston!’ he ordered, and the ship stopped moving through the water. ‘Mr Blake, stand by larboard side guns! Mr Russell, a speaking trumpet if you please.’ The midshipman ran over to the captain and handed him the cone of brass. Clay pointed it towards the nearest of the ships.

  ‘Ship ahoy!’ he yelled. ‘What ship is that?’ There was a pause, and the huge vessel loomed closer still. Then the angle changed a little, and he saw a row of blue lights appear from behind the spreading square of its topsail.

  ‘Goliath!’ came the reply in a deep bass. ‘Is that you, boyo?’ Clay briefly closed his eyes and sighed with relief. The big seventy-four stood on a little farther, and in the pearly light of dawn he could now recognise the ship. The shaggy-haired figurehead had lost most of its beard, replaced with a white gash of splintered wood, but the angry eyes still glared down at him. The sides of the Goliath were blackened with powder smoke, and her topsails were full of holes, but all her guns were run out, and she seemed ready for more action.

  ‘Captain Foley!’ said Clay. ‘I give you joy of this victory, sir.’

  ‘My thanks, but it is not quite over yet,’ replied the Welshman. ‘Their van and centre have surrendered to us, or blown up like, but their rear is still game. We’re off to conclude matters. What state are you in?’

  ‘Just finished repairs and about to weigh anchor,’ he replied.

  ‘Good man!’ rumbled Foley. The Goliath was now level with the frigate, and the Welshman looked straight down on Clay from his quarterdeck rail. He waved a hand towards the other ships. ‘I’ve got Saumarez in the Orion and Ball in the old Alexander with me. Why don’t you join our happy band?’

  ‘With all my heart, sir,’ replied Clay. ‘Where is the admiral?’

  ‘God knows in all this confusion. Make haste, or the battle will be over.’

  By the time the Titan had pulled up her anchor, the three battered seventy-fours were a quarter of a mile ahead of the frigate, and stood in towards the remains of the French fleet. The sun had slipped above the horizon, and Clay could now see where another tentacle of British ships advanced down the outside of the French line, to cut off the enemy’s escape.

  ‘Did you ever see such a completed victory, sir?’ enthused Taylor. He wanted to thump the quarterdeck rail with his fists, but with only one hand available the effect was rather diminished.

  ‘Surely the last French ships can see their peril as clearly as we can, sir,’ said Preston from Clay’s other side as he looked up from his telescope. ‘They have fought well, but they must fly now unless they are all to perish.’

  ‘They must,’ agreed Clay. He looked through his own spy glass. ‘And I believe they may well be about to, if you direct your gaze towards the nearest ship in that line.’

  ‘What have you seen, sir?’ asked Taylor.

  ‘Yes, I see, sir,’ said Preston. ‘The same is happening with the one beyond it.’<
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  ‘What is happening?’ demanded Taylor.

  ‘And now on board the others,’ supplemented Clay.

  ‘So it is,’ said Preston as he swung his telescope in that direction. ‘Although two have been so badly damaged that I doubt they will succeed in escaping.’

  ‘Sir! Mr Preston! I beg of you! I cannot operate my spy glass with a single arm. Please, please, tell me what is going on!’ exclaimed the first lieutenant, his face flushed.

  ‘Your pardon, George,’ said his captain. ‘That was unforgivable. With our glasses we were able to observe—’

  ‘There they go, sir!’ said Preston. Clay’s telescope was half way back to his eye when he caught sight of his first lieutenant. He forced his telescope back down again. ‘—that the crews of the French ships have all been sent aloft,’ he continued. ‘See, that nearest frigate is weighing anchor.’

  The remaining French frigates that were moored near the shallows blossomed into sail, their canvas pink as shell in the light of the early morning sun. They turned tail at the approach of the battered British ships and fled for open water.

  ‘We have little chance of overhauling them, with our patched up rigging, sir,’ moaned Preston. ‘Au revoir, till we meet again.’ He turned his attention to the last four ships of the line.

  ‘They have cut free their anchors and are making sail too,’ said Clay. ‘But you need no spy glass to see that now, Mr Taylor.’

  The officers all watched as the four ships diverged before the menace of the British fleet’s approach. The two undamaged seventy-fours headed for the open sea to join the frigates. The two damaged ones turned the other way and limped towards the shallows. The Goliath, Orion and Alexander bombarded them as they went, till the French ships had run themselves aground.

  ‘Get in sail and drop anchor again, if you please, Mr Preston,’ ordered Clay. ‘There is little more we can do now. Once all is secured we will let the hands sleep.

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ replied the lieutenant.

  While the frigate moored, Clay and Taylor looked at the two ships that had run themselves into the shoal water. They had launched their boats now, and the first of them were heading for the shore, full of crewmen anxious to avoid capture.

  ‘A fat lot of good that shall do them,’ said Clay. ‘Without ships they will be doomed to spend the rest of their days here in Egypt.’

  ‘I wonder what they will make of this victory at home, sir,’ said Taylor, after a while.

  ‘How do you mean, George?’ asked his captain. His head drooped with tiredness.

  ‘I meant the scale of it, sir. Apart from those four that have got away, we destroyed the whole damned fleet! I can’t recall ever hearing of such a triumph. Not even Hawke achieved as much at Quiberon Bay.’

  ‘No, you are right,’ said Clay. ‘It was terrible at times, but I do believe we have played out part in something extraordinary.’ He turned from the rail at the approach of the surgeon. He was dressed in shirt sleeves and a blood-spattered apron, and his arms were stained black to the elbows. In odd contrast his hands looked pink and clean, where he had washed them.

  ‘I fear you have had a very busy night, Mr Corbett,’ he said.

  ‘I have indeed, sir, but perhaps the butcher’s bill is less than you may have feared. Most of those I treated later in the action had minor burns. They at least should all recover.’ He handed the list of names across to his captain. Clay scanned through the paper, his lips moving as he counted.

  ‘Joshua Rosso?’ he said looking up. ‘That is a sad loss. He has served with me since I was a lieutenant.’

  ‘He was killed outright, sir,’ said the surgeon. ‘I never had the opportunity to treat him.’ Clay continued to read, the names flowing past him unnoticed as he thought about the man from Bristol, until another name caught his attention. He backtracked a few lines and looked up.

  ‘How did John Grainger come to fall?’ he asked.

  ‘He was part of the quarterdeck carronade crew that was struck by a piece of debris,’ said Corbett. ‘Your coxswain brought him down to me, while I was treating Mr Taylor here. I had to remove his leg, but he had such massive trauma to his abdomen that he perished soon afterwards.’

  ‘Twenty-two dead and forty-eight injured, said Clay. ‘It could have been considerably worse.’

  Chapter 17

  Home

  Two weeks later, Captain Alexander Clay hurried up the front steps of Sir William Hamilton’s villa once more, conscious that he was going to be late. He yanked at the bell pull and then stepped back from the door to better see his reflection in the glossy green paint. He pulled his coat straight and checked that his neck cloth had not become too disordered in his rush up from the landing stage, where he had left Sedgwick and his barge. After what seemed like an eternity to the fretting Clay, the door was swung open by the bewigged footman he remembered from his last visit.

  ‘Good day, capitano,’ the man intoned.

  ‘Good day to you,’ said Clay. ‘Is the admiral here?’

  ‘Of course, signore. Please to follow me.’ He glided across the polished wooden floor in the direction of the orangery at a stately, but leisurely pace. Clay followed behind him, trying his best not to hop from one foot to the other. When they entered the room, Nelson was reclined next to Lady Emma on the chaiselongue he remembered from his last visit. He thought he had caught sight of her stroking his hair, but they moved apart when he was announced. The admiral rose with a smile towards him and held out his left hand.

  ‘Captain Clay, a pleasure as always,’ he said. There was genuine warmth in the blue eye that peered out from below a large white bandage.

  ‘My apologies for being late, Sir Horatio,’ said Clay. ‘When I received your note I made haste to find you onboard the Vanguard. I had no notion that you would be ashore. How does your injury progress?’

  ‘Well enough, I thank you,’ he said, touching a hand to his bandage. ‘I tell you, Clay, when I was struck on the head, I thought my end was come. I dropped senseless to the deck with a flap of my forehead the size of prayer book hanging down over my good eye. But once the surgeon had stitched it back in place, all was well.’

  ‘So you missed much of the battle, I collect?’ said Clay.

  ‘Quite so,’ replied Nelson. ‘I felt the shock when L’Orient took fire, of course, but little else besides. Perhaps you now comprehend why I insisted on rehearsing every possible eventuality with my captains beforehand? They had such a thorough knowledge of my wishes that my inability to direct matters was of little consequence to the outcome of the battle.’

  ‘And you are quite restored, then, Sir Horatio?’

  ‘I still get the most vexing of pains in my head, but I daresay they shall pass in time. The ministrations of Lady Emma have been most beneficial.’ Clay turned towards her.

  ‘Good day to your ladyship,’ he said. ‘I trust I find you well?’

  ‘Tolerably so, I thank you, captain. As ever it is a joy to see you,’ she said. If it was a joy to see him, Lady Emma concealed it well. Her face displayed as much pleasure as one of her husband’s marble busts. ‘But should you not be addressing the admiral as His Grace?’ she continued.

  ‘I am not sure that I follow your ladyship,’ said Clay.

  ‘King Ferdinand of the Two Sicilies made me a duke this morning,’ explained Nelson with a smirk. ‘The whole country is quite enthralled by my victory. I am to be guest of honour at a ball tonight at the palace, in which all the ladies are to come dressed á l'Egyptien. Isn’t it splendid! Apparently news of my victory is spreading like fire across the courts of Europe.’

  ‘I give you joy of your new rank, Your Grace,’ said Clay. Nelson held up a deprecating hand.

  ‘Please, Captain Clay, I shall remain plain Sir Horatio in the service. Well, at least until George of the One Britain confirms my earldom, eh what!’ Nelson and Lady Emma laughed together at the prospect, and after a moment Clay joined in.

  ‘Do take a seat,’ urged Nel
son at last. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘A glass of Sir William’s Marsala would be pleasant, thank you,’ said Clay, and Lady Emma waved the footman forward. Nelson accepted a glass and then regarded his frigate captain over its rim.

  ‘I read the surveyor’s report on the state of your ship this morning,’ he said. ‘It would seem that the Titan was decidedly pulled about by that explosion. He states that only a major rebuild of the hull will answer to restore her fully.’

  ‘He is quite correct, Sir Horatio. She has become rather crank since the battle. The large frigate we had just defeated had done a deal of damage, and then we were roughly handled by the blast when the L’Orient sunk.’

  ‘That is my one regret,’ said Nelson, ‘that I missed the explosion. Everyone tells me it was truly spectacular. Do you know, she took an absolute fortune down with her? The French looted Malta most thoroughly, as is their wont, and then left all that treasure aboard. Can you imagine all the wealth accumulated by the Knights of St John over the centuries? The gifts of medieval kings, the loot of crusader armies, all of it gone, in an instant.’

  ‘Goodness!’ exclaimed Clay. ‘Why was it not landed?’

  ‘Frogs thought it was safer aboard.’ The twinkle returned to the single eye. ‘It was one of many matters in which Admiral de Brueys was sadly mistaken, what?’ Lady Hamilton laughed aloud at this and was rewarded by a pat on her knee from her companion, before he returned his attention to Clay.

  ‘I meant to imply no criticism earlier when I raised the state of your ship,’ said the admiral. ‘It is every Englishman’s duty to annoy the French. You can hardly have taken such a forward role in the battle as you did without incurring some damage. I consider your conduct and zeal in the campaign to have been quite exemplary.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir Horatio.’

  ‘No, my problem is that I have thirteen ships of the line, all of which stand in need of considerable repair, and only the modest resources of the dockyard here in Naples to perform them. The state of poor Darby’s Bellerophon is truly shocking — he fought L’Orient for an hour on his own, and had over two hundred of his people killed or wounded. And that is before I even consider the repairs required to the French ships that we captured. I will send some of them into Gibraltar for a refit, but even so, it will be many months before the Titan can be repaired here.’