Captain Hardy appeared and stood next to him. ‘I conceive they cannot escape us now, sir,’ he said gravely. ‘And we shall give them a drubbing such as all the world may notice.’
‘I shall not be satisfied with less than twenty taken, Hardy.’ He lifted his head to sniff at the wind. It was calm – barely enough to kick up more than wavelets that sparkled in the misty sunshine, the picture of peace and serenity. Yet underneath, a long, heavy swell rolled in massively towards the land, token of a great storm out in the Atlantic and certain to be heading for them.
‘A west-sou’-westerly,’ he mused, and threw a light-hearted smile at Hardy. ‘It couldn’t be bettered.’
There were knowing looks about the quarterdeck. For the enemy it was going to be difficult. Heading south as they were they had no choice – the shoals and rocks of Spain to the east, and to the west the British Fleet advancing on them, forcing them into a passive defence, the line-of-battle.
Nelson’s plans, on the other hand, had given his fleet the weather gage; upwind from his opponents he could choose the manner and direction of his strike, and everyone knew now how this was to develop.
‘Let’s be about our business then, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Mr Pasco, I’ll trouble you to close up your signals crew – there’s a mort of work to be done.’
‘I have the ship, then, Mr Pasco,’ said Captain Hardy, releasing the officer-of-the-watch, who wasted no time in nodding to Bowden, transforming him in that instant from lowly midshipman-of-the-watch to a far more important signal midshipman.
Bowden mounted the ladder to his station – the poop-deck. Higher even than the quarterdeck, it afforded a magnificent all-round view of the ship forward to the bowsprit and on either side out to the ships in company. He tried to put away the thought that this was also probably the most exposed position on board.
King, the yeoman of signals, was already at the flag lockers, and the rest of the crew mustered quickly. The mizzen signal halliards were cast off and shaken free, an able seaman sent to verify others on the fore and main. The signals log was initialled and begun – and the first signal order of the day came from the quarterdeck: ‘Form the order of sailing in two columns.’
Robins, the master’s mate, flicked the pages of the Admiralty signal code expertly. ‘Number seventy-two!’ he called to the signals yeoman, who pulled out the two blue and white flags and thrust them at a pair of seamen to toggle on in the right order.
Robins pointed upwards immediately – this was not a difficult ‘lift’ to check. The seamen hauled lustily and the hoist soared up. Checking the expensive fob watch his father had presented to him, Bowden scrawled in the log that the signal had been made at six a.m. Then, glancing out to the fleet, he noted down the acknowledgements as they came.
This signal had essentially been to call the fleet to order after the loose formation of the night. Then, with a chill, Bowden remembered that the order of sailing was also the order of battle and, sure enough, it was closely followed by the order to bear up and sail east. Nelson’s first signals of the day were to lunge at the foe.
The next made it formal – number thirteen, ‘Prepare for battle’, which put into effect a two-pronged charge into the very centre of the massed enemy fleet, the lee column to the right led by Admiral Collingwood in
It was becoming obvious, however, that unless the breeze picked up it would be many hours before they could hope to grapple and every sail possible was set, including the cumbersome stunsails, temporary extensions to the yardarms.
The sun rose above the horizon, strengthening and lifting a dreamy opalescent mist through which the stately progress of the Combined Fleet seemed a fairy argosy. Nelson ascended to the poop with Hardy to take advantage of its panorama of enemy and friend, the two staying in amiable conversation while the ship was piped to clear for action.
The well-practised evolution turned
Next it was necessary to clear away some of the stanchions in the gun-decks with heavy mallets to provide more room to serve the guns, as well as unshipping inessential ladders until each of the three gun-decks was clear from stem to stern.
All hammocks were passed up and stowed, tightly rolled, in the nettings at the sides of the ship, protection against musket-balls. A net was stretched over the fo’c’sle and quarterdeck to catch falling wreckage from aloft while the two cutters at the davits aft were lowered and towed, other boats remaining on their skid beams.
The boatswain and his party were everywhere, laying out stores in strategic places for the repair of rigging torn by the French, notorious for firing high, together with preventer shrouds and braces, which duplicated vital lines. Where the tons weight of the lower yards was suspended at the mast, chain slings were secured. A lucky shot by the enemy at this point could end in unravelled rope and the heavy yard crashing down on the quarterdeck and men at the guns.
A spare tiller was brought and relieving tackles provided to work the steering from the tiller directly if the ship’s wheel was damaged. The carpenter and his crew laid out their tools and ensured that the narrow passageway circling the orlop at the waterline was clear. In action his duty was to make his rounds to watch for the sudden bursting in of a shot strike and then to move fast to stem the inward rush of sea with shot plugs, lead sheeting and bracing.
And the great guns were readied: gun-captains collected their pouches from the store with their quill firing tubes, prickers and reamers, spare gun-flints and slow-match. A slung powder-horn completed their outfit. Each then went to his gun and ensured the great beast was able to do its duty. Were the ready-use shot garlands fully populated by balls? Was there a salt-box with two cartridges in place waiting? Wads in the overhead net? The gun- lock was fitted and tried, equipment mustered in the racks – worms, wad-hooks, crows. Side tackles were ranged along and a training tackle applied to the rear of the gun.
The gun-decks were provided with arms-chests: pistols, muskets and cutlasses. All that was needed to board the enemy – or to repel boarders. In the centre of the deck broached casks of water and vinegar were placed at regular intervals.
Meanwhile the gunner and his mates unlocked the Grand Magazine and the powder rooms, passing through fearnought flapped screens and moving along cramped, lead-lined passages in felt slippers to the most dangerous place aboard. The smallest spark here would mean instant destruction and death not only for the men inside but the
