The Flag of Freedom (5 page)

Nathan observed her with a professional detachment. As he had told Admiral Jervis, his knowledge of such vessels and their weaponry was not great, but he knew a little of their history and structure. They were originally a French concept, built for the wars of the last century. The plans for their design had been brought to England by the Huguenots – French Protestants fleeing the oppressions of Louis XIV – and the first to be made in British yards had been ketches with their two masts stepped further aft and the mortars mounted side by side on the foredeck, firing forward. But they had been awkward sailors, particularly in a rough sea, and since the last war the British versions were all ship-rigged, with the weapons mounted along the centreline on a revolving platform.

The
Thunder
, however, was not a British design. She had been captured from the Dutch, shortly after their surrender to the French and their decision to declare war on their former allies. From where Nathan stood, she looked much like a ship-rigged sloop, her sides pierced with gunports for ten 24-pounder carronades. He could see no sign of her more lethal armament, which he assumed must be carried below decks and somehow winched into position for whenever it was required.

Nelson had already explained the basic plan. Careful soundings had been taken of the waters around Cadiz and a position had been located in what was said to be a blind spot for the Spanish batteries.

‘It will be like lobbing stones into a hornets' nest,' he told Nathan, ‘and if we make them mad enough, I dare say they will overcome their natural reluctance to come out and fight.'

In Nathan's experience, Spaniards were no more reluctant than hornets to take on a perceived aggressor. But from what he had been told, their ships were manned mainly by soldiers who might have been steady enough on land but had little notion of how to sail a ship or fire a gun at sea. Besides which, their superiors seemed to be convinced that it was only a matter of months, if not weeks, before a general peace was declared, and so they had no particular desire to risk their lives for nothing.

Hence the decision to bring on the
Thunder
.

‘Depend upon it,' said Nelson, ‘even if they do not care a fig for their own people, they will not stand idly by while their precious cathedral is brought down around their ears, for they have been more than a hundred years building it, and their priests have doubtless assured them they will spend ten times as long in Purgatory if they permit it to be destroyed by heretics.'

Nelson was the son of a country parson and maintained a proper Anglican contempt for Papist superstitions.

‘Never trust a Spaniard,' he had warned Nathan, even when His Most Catholic Majesty was an ally of King George, and he considered the current ascendancy of the French Party in Madrid to be the complete justification of this prejudice. It was said that Nelson hated a Frenchman more than the Devil. In taking their part, the Spaniards had clearly invoked the wrath of God – which the
Thunder
was about to dispense.

The main problem, it appeared, was moving her close enough to the port to do some real damage. Her draught was shallow enough to go closer inshore than any of the other ships in Nelson's squadron, but she would need protection from the Spanish gunboats. This was where Nathan came in.

‘You may take your pick of the ships' boats,' Nelson told him. ‘And we will give you whatever backing we can from out in the bay.'

Nathan had studied the position carefully on the map and he could already name most of the salient features of the port and its defences, but he begged leave to go aloft with a borrowed telescope so he might view the real thing at close hand – or as close as the
Theseus
was likely to get. Nelson kindly lent him his own.

Nathan climbed high into the crosstrees of the main topmast. From this lofty perch, a good 180 feet above the upper deck, he had as perfect a view of the port as he could have wished. It was at the end of a long, narrow peninsula, surrounded by a massive seawall and guarded by the fortress of San Sebastian with over eighty heavy guns at its disposal. Just beyond the fort, Nathan could see the mosque-like dome of the cathedral, still under construction, and the church of Santiago on the opposite side of the same square. He could even see a number of the citizenry walking out on the mall – women mostly, judging from their parasols. And on the far side of the peninsula, in the channel Nelson had called the Diamond, he could just make out the masts of the Spanish fleet – twenty-six sail of the line. A formidable number, even if they were handicapped by their lack of trained seamen.

He was about to return to the deck when he noticed something else. Closer to the port, right under the guns of the fort, there was a fleet of much smaller vessels. These must be the gunboats – and there were a great deal more than he had imagined. There must have been at least a score of them, and he could see a few more in the dockyard beyond, apparently being equipped with heavier cannon.

Nathan slid the glass shut and made his way back to the deck, a little more slowly and thoughtfully than he had made his ascent.

Nelson was no longer to be seen, but in his place stood another officer of Nathan's acquaintance, a stout, ruddy-faced individual who had been appraising him with the amused air of a spectator at the monkey-house in the zoo. He, too, wore the uniform of a Post Captain, though rather more elegantly tailored than that of his associate.

‘You're slowing down a bit,' he observed, as Nathan joined him on the quarterdeck. ‘Quite the staid old gentleman. Thirty next month, is it not?'

‘Twenty-nine, as a matter of fact,' Nathan replied, trying not to breathe too hard from his exertions. ‘How are you, Thomas? You look even fatter than when I last saw you. And even more pleased with yourself. Must be marriage.'

‘Cannot speak too highly of it,' the Captain replied content edly. ‘You should try it yourself, Nat, if you can find someone who will have you. I'd change your tailor, though, if I were you. He ain't doing you any favours, you know.'

Thomas Fremantle was Nathan's senior on the Post Captain's list by several months and they had served
together in the Gulf of Genoa under Nelson. Both had been involved in the evacuation of Leghorn in '96 and Fremantle had profited from the experience by acquiring a wife – Betsey Wynne – the daughter of an Anglo-Venetian gentleman whose family he had evacuated to Corsica from under the guns of the French. He and Nathan were friends, of a sort; Nathan thought of them more as old protagonists. He would not trust Fremantle further than he could throw him – which was not very far, given his propensity for rich food and fine wines – but their shared experiences had bonded them somewhat and they both enjoyed being able to say pretty much what they liked to each other. Most of the time.

Nathan flicked at the fibres of hemp adhering to his sleeve.

‘It's one of Miller's cast-offs,' he said. ‘Lost mine. I expect you heard the
Unicorn
went down with all hands off Montecristo.'

‘I did. I did.' Fremantle looked properly grave. ‘Fortunate you were not aboard at the time.'

Though his tone was sympathetic the elevation of his brow added a questionmark.

Nathan dropped his voice. ‘As you know, I had official business in Venice. The authorities decided to extend my stay with a spell in the Doge's prison.'

He had been advised by the Admiral not to discuss the circum stances of his absence from the
Unicorn
, but Fremantle was well aware of his mission to Venice. The two men had been serving together at the time of his despatch there and it would have been pointless, as well as pompous, to say nothing of it. However, Fremantle was
notoriously indiscreet and Nathan had no intention of being drawn any further on the subject.

‘So, Thomas, what brings you aboard?' he said. ‘You've missed dinner, I think.'

‘I am here for the same reason as you, I expect. To help push the boat out. See some fireworks.' He flicked his head in the direction of the bomb vessel.

‘What – are you to lend a hand at the oars?'

‘Good God, no! I leave all that small-boat stuff to you younger fellows these days.' Fremantle was all of three years older than Nathan. ‘No. My role is to give support with
Inconstant
, in case they send something bigger out – and you take fright at all the noise.'

The
Inconstant
was one of the new, heavy, 36-gun frigates of the
Perseverance
class. Her name was as much a joke in the fleet as the irony of Fremantle's commanding her, for he was known to be somewhat random in his attachments to the fairer sex. Or had been before his marriage.

‘Well, that is good to know,' Nathan remarked vaguely. ‘I thought it was just the
Theseus
.' He dropped his voice again. ‘Tell me, Thomas, what do you make of the scheme?'

‘What do
I
make of it?' Fremantle looked more deliberately over towards the
Thunder
. ‘Well, it seems simple enough to me, m'dear. We lob a few firecrackers over the wall and wait to see what happens. Used to do it at school. Nothing to it. Get a hiding, of course, if you're caught.'

He spoke with the smug assurance of one who knows that he is a lot less likely to be caught than the object of his wit.

‘It don't bother you, then, making war on women and children?'

‘I say, coming the Quaker a bit, are we not?' Fremantle recoiled with mild indignation. ‘When did you go all sanctimonious on us?'

‘I imagine I took your lead, Thomas. When you were sound ing off about the French, do you remember? When they were lobbing “firecrackers” into Leghorn and the place swarming with refugees. “Typical Frogs,” you said. “Spineless Johnny Crapaud. Making war on women and children.” I must have thought you had a point. Or was it only because the future Mrs Fremantle was there?'

‘Well, if the Dons would only come out and fight, we would not be put to such an extreme, would we?' But Fremantle had clearly been stung into a more reflective mood for, after a moment's silence, he added: ‘It ain't the most honourable course, I grant you, but then …' He shrugged. ‘Nelson was talking about storming the place. Doing a Drake on it. Singeing the King of Spain's beard and all that.'

Francis Drake had led a raid on Cadiz in 1587 – the year before the Armada – and carried it off with his usual panache, looting and burning to his heart's content and taking or destroying three dozen Spanish sail. But then the Spaniards had not known he was coming.

‘He asked my advice, as a matter of fact,' Fremantle confided modestly.

‘Drake?'

‘No!' An irritable frown. ‘Nelson. We had a look at the charts together. I reckoned if we landed a few men on the isthmus, we could hold off a small army.'

‘What about the men in the fort?'

‘Well, obviously, one would have to take care of them. But if we could storm San Sebastian, you would have the whole Spanish fleet at your mercy. They would come out then, all right – else we could take them at their moorings.'

‘So what happened?'

‘Oh, Jervis sent back to London for approval and their lordships took against the plan. Said it ain't feasible. And Spencer came up with this instead – as you might expect.'

He kept his voice low but there was no disguising the contempt in it. Earl Spencer was the First Lord of the Admiralty. A political appointment to buy off those Whigs who continued to support the war. Not a Navy man; nor even a soldier like his predecessor, the Earl of Chatham. He was not widely liked in the fleet, and not only because he was a Whig.

‘Even so, I'm surprised Jervis went along with it,' Nathan observed. ‘And Nelson, too.'

Fremantle eyed him doubtfully. ‘Thought they might share your scruples, did you?'

‘I did, as a matter of fact – certainly in Nelson's case.'

‘Well, let me put your mind at rest, young man. Nelson sent to Mazarredo a few days ago to tell him what to expect.'

Mazarredo was the Spanish Admiral.

‘He did
what
?'

‘Thought that would interest you. Told him we were preparing to burn Cadiz to ashes and that he might be advised to remove the civilian population to a place of safety.'

‘Dear God.'

‘I trust that restores your faith in the man? Of course, Mazarredo has done no such thing. But he cannot complain he was not forewarned.'

‘So the Dons know we are coming.'

‘They do indeed.' Fremantle eyed him complacently. ‘I am told the harbour is full of gunboats. And they have armed every ship's boat with carronades.' He clapped Nathan on the shoulder. ‘So you need have no fear, my friend. Your Quaker scruples need not be troubled by the venture. You may greet your Maker with a clear conscience.'

‘Thank you, Thomas, I am touched by your concern. It is reassuring to know you will be in close support.'

‘I said nothing about close, Nat. Nothing at all. We shall be staying well out to sea. Lot of rocks about, I am told. No, you had better put your trust in God and hope He ain't turned Papist. The Dons, I have heard, are not averse to shooting a sitting duck, especially when it is intent upon spreading murder and mayhem among their own chicks. You had better pray for a dark night, m'dear. Plenty of cloud cover, and no moon.'