1805

They had received and acknowledged the signal by the time Drinkwater reached the quarterdeck. Lieutenant Fraser handed him the slate as he touched his hat. Drinkwater had grown to like the ruddy Scotsman with his silent manner and dry humour. Drinkwater read the message scribbled on the slate. Midshipman Wickham was already copying it out into the Signal Log.

Very well, Mr Fraser, we will close on Doris and see if Campbell has any specific orders for us. In the meantime watch the admiral for further signals.'

'Aye, sir.'

Drinkwater eased his right shoulder. Of all the stations to be consigned to during the winter months, the west coast of France with its damp procession of gales was possibly the worst for his wound. He drew the cloak closer around him and began to pace the deck, from the hance to the taffrail, casting an eye across the grey, white-streaked waves that separated him from the rest of the squadron. He watched the half-dozen ships of Rear- Admiral Sir Thomas Graves jockeying into line ahead, their yards braced up on the larboard tack as they began to move away to the north-north-westwards and the shelter of Quiberon Bay where they were to take in stores and water.

The two frigates Doris and Antigone, being late arrivals at this outpost of the Channel Fleet, were left to watch Rear-Admiral Missiessy's ships anchored off Rochefort, in the shelter of the Basque Roads. Drinkwater turned his attention to the eastwards. On the horizon he could make out the blue blur of the Ile d'Oléron behind which the French squadron was anchored, comfortably secure under the lee of the island, the approach of its mooring blocked by batteries. He had reconnoitred them several times, sailing Antigone under the guns of the French batteries and carrying out manoeuvres between Oléron and the surrounding islands. It was, he admitted to himself a piece of braggadocio; but it was good for the men, enabling them to demonstrate before the eyes of the French their abilities. Best of all, it broke the monotony of blockade duty. They had received fire from the land batteries and from the floating battery the enemy had anchored off Oléron which mounted huge heavy mortars and long cannon of the heaviest calibres, together with furnaces for heating shot. Beyond the batteries they had countered the ships of Missiessy's squadron anchored in two neat lines. They appeared so securely moored that their situation seemed permanent, but Drinkwater knew that this was an illusion. There were French squadrons like Missiessy's in all the major French and Spanish ports, joined now, since the declaration of war against Great Britain, by the splendid ships of the Spanish navy. Nor were they entirely supine. Missiessy had sortied in the previous August, only being turned back by the appearance of Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Calder with a stronger force. From the Texel to Toulon the naval forces of the enemy were now united under the imperial eagle of France. Against this mass of shipping the British blockade was maintained unrelentingly. The ships of Keith, Cornwallis, Calder, Collingwood and Nelson watched each of the enemy ports, detaching squadrons like that of Graves's to close up the gaps.

Now that Graves had been driven off his station for want of the very necessaries of life itself, the Rochefort squadron of Missiessy was checked by the rather feeble presence of a pair of 36-gun frigates, Antigone and Doris.

'Doris signalling, sir.'

'Ah, I rather thought she might.' Drinkwater waited patiently while his people did their work and deciphered the numerical signal streaming from Doris's lee yardarms. As senior officer it was up to Campbell of the Doris to decide how best to carry out their duties. Drinkwater listened to the dialogue between Wickham and Frey as the import of Campbell's intentions became clear.

'One-two-two.'

'Permission to part company…'

'Eight-seven-three.'

'To…'

'Seven-six-six.'

'See…'

'Two-four-nine.'

'Enemy… er, 'Permission to part company to see enemy', sir.'

'Very well, Mr Frey. Thank you. You may lay me a course, Mr Fraser. Shake out the fore-course, if you please, let us at least give the impression of attending to our duty with alacrity.'

'Verra well, sir.' Fraser grinned back at the captain. He was beginning to like this rather stern Englishman.

Drinkwater woke in the darkness of pre-dawn with the conviction that something was wrong. He listened intently, fully awake, for some sound in the fabric of the ship that would declare its irregularity. There was nothing. They had reduced sail at the onset of the early January darkness and hove-to. Their leeway during the night should have put them between Oléron and the Ile de Ré at dawn, in a perfect position to reconnoitre Missiessy's anchorage with all the daylight of the short January day to beat offshore again. The westerly wind had dropped after sunset and it was inconceivable that their leeway had been excessive, even allowing for the tide.

Then it occurred to him that the reason for his awakening was something entirely different; his shoulder had stopped aching. He smiled to himself in the darkness, stretched luxuriously and rolled over, composing himself for another hour's sleep before duty compelled him to rise. And then suddenly he was wide awake, sitting bolt upright in his cot. An instant later he was feeling for his breeches, stockings and shoes. He stumbled across the cabin in his haste, fumbling for the clean shirt that Mullender should have left. If his shoulder was not aching it meant the air was drier. And if the air was drier it meant only one thing, the wind was hauling to the eastward. He pulled on his coat, wound a muffler around his neck to suppress the quinsy he had felt coming on for several days and, pulling on his cloak, went on deck.

The dozing sentry jerked to attention at this untimely appearance of the captain. As he emerged, Drinkwater knew immediately his instinct was right. Above the tracery of the mastheads the stars were coldly brilliant, the cloudy overcast of yesterday had vanished. A figure detached itself from the group around the binnacle. It was Quilhampton.

'Morning, sir. A change in the weather. Dead calm for the last half-hour and colder.'

'Why did you not call me, Mr Q?' asked Drinkwater with sudden asperity.

'Sir? But sir, your written orders said to call you if the wind freshened… I supposed that you were concerned with an increase in our leeway, sir, not… not a calm, sir. The ship is quite safe, sir.'

'Damn it, sir, don't patronise me!'

'I beg pardon, sir.' Even in the darkness Quilhampton was obviously crestfallen.

Drinkwater took a turn or two up and down the deck. He realised that the wind had not yet got up, that his apprehensions were not yet fully justified. 'Mr Q!'

'Sir?'

'Forgive my haste, Mr Q.'

'With pleasure, sir. But I assure you, sir, that I would have called you the instant I thought that the ship was in any danger.'

'It is not the ship that concerns me, James. It is the enemy!'

'The enemy, sir?'

'Yes, the enemy. In an hour from now the wind will be easterly and in two hours from now Missiessy, if he's half the man I think him to be, will be ordering his ships to sea. Now d'you understand?'

'Yes… yes I do. I'll have the watch cast loose the t'gallants ready to set all sail the moment it's light, sir.'

'That's the spirit. And I'll go below and break my fast. I've a feeling that this will be a long day.'

Over his spartan breakfast of skillygolee, coffee and toast, Drinkwater thought over the idea that had germinated from the seeds sown during his extraordinary conversation with Mr Pitt. He knew that he would not consciously have reasoned a grand strategy for the French by himself, but that game of shuttlecock with ideas at Walmer had produced the only convincing answer to the conundrum of Napoleon's intentions. It was clear that the French would not move their vast armies across the Channel until they had a fleet in the vicinity. Now, with Admiral Ver Huel's Dutch ships joining a Combined Franco-Spanish fleet, the pre-posterous element of such a grand design was diminishing. Drinkwater did not attempt to unravel the reasoning behind Pitt's deliberate provocation of Spain.