The Victory (47 page)

Complicated arrangements had been made amongst them
for the inheritance of personal effects should they fall in
battle, but otherwise most of them did not seem to be
concerned by the prospect of death. They were excited at
being able to see the enemy at last, and constantly put their
heads out of the gun-ports for another squint at the opposing
ships. Haworth stopped here and there for a word with a
familiar face, and they grinned cheerfully and expressed
themselves eager to get at 'Johnnie Crapaud'. Some of them had chalked a slogan on the bulkhead above their gun, such
as 'Victory' or 'Death or Glory'. One crew had written
'Maria' on the gun itself, leaving Haworth to wonder whether
it were the work of a Catholic gunlayer or simply their
nickname for the gun.

At eleven it was obvious that they were not going to be in
action for another hour or more, and so he ordered bread and
cheese and beer for the men, so that they should not have to
fight on an empty stomach. He himself ate a cold chicken and
some Portuguese grapes on the quarterdeck with Africa, for
his cabin had been dismantled, and all his cabin furniture
hoisted aloft in a net between the main- and the mizzen
masts for safety. The ships moved so slowly through the water
that there was hardly a sound from the rigging, or from the water under the ship. Haworth had an extraordinary, dream
like feeling that this would go on for ever, and to shake it off,
he ordered Hudson and Oldroyd and McAfee on to the fo'c'sl
to play some cheerful tunes to pass the time as they sailed
slowly towards the enemy.

At last they were close enough for individual ships to be
identified. Near the centre of the line was the unmistakable
bulk of the giant
Santisma Trinidad,
with her four red stripes
and one broad white one along her hull — the biggest ship in
the world, which Haworth had encountered before at the
Nile. Four ships further back was the crow-black
Santa Ana,
112 guns, and Collingwood, well ahead of his division in the
fast
Royal Sovereign,
seemed to be steering for her. Because
of the curvature of the enemy line, it was clear Collingwood's
division would make contact before Nelson's: to them would
fall the honour of first blood. It was time for Haworth to send
Africa below to safety.

She had been at his elbow all this time, her toy lamb, which
she had elected to keep with her when the cabins were
cleared, tucked firmly under her arm. Haworth stooped to
kiss her, and called young Morpurgo to escort her below to
the orlop deck and place her in the care of the carpenter's
wife.

‘You'll be safe there, my love,' he said, 'but you must stay
there until I send for you again. You would be very much in
the way anywhere else. Do you understand?'

‘
Yes, Papa,' she said, lifting her cheek for his kiss. It felt
like warm velvet under his lips. Her eyes met his anxiously.
‘You will send for me as soon as it's over?'

‘Of course I will. Off you go, now.’

She went without fuss, walking between the gun crews
who grinned after her and called out 'God bless you, miss!'
and 'We'll thrash 'em, miss, don't you worry!' Haworth
watched her go, with a small smile as he saw her take
Morpurgo's hand, a weakness she would not normally have
permitted.

She glanced back, just once, as she disappeared from view,
and Morpurgo, understanding her very well, bent his head to
whisper, 'Don't worry, the Cap'n'll be all right.’

Will you stay with him? All the time?' she asked urgently.

Morpurgo nodded. He was message midshipman, and his
battle station was on the quarterdeck. 'Yes,' he said. 'All the
time. I promise.’

Africa smiled, reassured, and followed him down into the
dark and odorous safety of below-decks.

*

Collingwood's division was no longer in a column, for each
captain was steering the shortest route into battle, which
meant that each was a little to starboard of the ship in front.
Nelson's ships were still in line-ahead, heading for the centre
of the enemy fleet, their numbers increased by the
Prince,
which had sagged so far out of line it had crossed from
Collingwood's to Nelson's division. To port and astern of Nelson's line were the frigates, and the schooner
Pickle,
returned from Tetuan. She had her four tiny guns run out in
readiness, as Lieutenant Webb pointed out to his captain.

‘
They look about as dangerous as two pairs of sea-boots,
sir,' he added, which raised a laugh and eased the tension a
little.

Haworth was studying the enemy line through his
telescope. Astern of him, Cooke had swung old
Billy Ruffian
still further to starboard and was heading for the Spanish
seventy-four
Bahama.
The ship in front of her was the French
Furieux,
also a seventy-four, and Haworth pointed her out to
his officers.

‘
There she is, gentlemen, our chosen target, all ready and
waiting for us. Mr Angevin, starboard a point, if you please.’

It was a quarter to twelve. 'Flagship signalling, sir,' said
Webb. 'General signal ... ‘

Haworth looked towards the
Victory.
It was a long signal, twelve groups, and he waited with slight impatience that they should be receiving more instructions at this late stage, when
they all knew very well what to do. At last Webb turned to
him with the slate in his hand.

‘
Message reads, "England expects that every man will do
his duty", sir,' he said, sounding faintly puzzled.

Biggs, one of the larboard side carronade crews, was heard
to mutter, 'Do my duty? I've always done my duty. Just lay
me alongside the Frenchies, and I'll do my duty all right.'

‘
Thank you, Mr Webb,' Haworth said. ‘Mr Angevin, you
will read the Admiral's message to the men, if you please.’

Shouted out from the quarterdeck taffrail, it had a more resounding ring to it, and the men at the weatherdeck guns
sent up a cheer which Haworth could hear echoed from other
ships across the water. The cheering died away to a buzz as
the message was repeated from hand to hand, and the
musicians on the fo'c'sl struck up with a squeaky but heartfelt
rendering of 'Rule Britannia', with which many of the men
joined in, in a sort of muted roar.

Moments later the song was drowned by a different kind of
roar, as the
Fougeux,
the ship next astern of the
Santa Ana
opened fire on the
Royal Sovereign.
She made no reply, steer
ing steadily to pass close under
Santa Ana's
stern and swing
up her starboard side.

‘
Look at old Cuddy!' Biggs said cheerfully. 'Brave as a lion!
He don't care about a few pebbles rattling round 'is ears!' There was a chatter of approval from all the larboard-side
crews, who were watching
Royal Sovereign's
progress with
interest.

At exactly noon she fired her first broadside, and she and
her opponent disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Next astern of the flagship, the
Belleisle
was now under fire
from the
Fougeux
without replying. 'Hargood means to cut
through the line, whatever it costs him,' Haworth muttered to himself. He turned his glass on to the
Mars,
steering to pass astern of the
Fougeux,
and saw her torn by a terrible raking
broadside.

‘
Tell the men to lie down, Mr Angevin,' Haworth said. It
would be some minutes more before any of their guns would
bear, and they were about to come within range of the
Furie
ux.

‘
Here it comes,' muttered somebody. Tor what we are
about to receive ...’

The French ship vomited smoke, the roar coming a
fraction of a second later, and then the crashes as the shot
struck home. There was a terrible shriek from somewhere
forrard, and a swirl of disturbance at one of the weatherdeck
guns as the surviving crew drew back in instinctive horror
from the remains of a colleague, beheaded and flung across
the deck by a cannonball.

‘
Still, there!' the midshipman of the division shrieked at
them, his voice slipping several years upwards in his excite
ment.

‘Starboard a little,' Haworth said. 'Steady.’

The next volley struck murderous splinters from a
bulwark, and there was a crash and an ominous creaking as
the foretop stays parted and it began to sag.

‘Foretopmen! Mr Styles, see to that damage!'

‘Aye aye, sir!’

There were more wounded now. One man was sobbing
with fright as he staggered towards the hatches with a great
rent across his chest from a two-foot splinter.

‘
Steady, men,' Haworth shouted. 'We'll have our turn by
and by, and then we'll give 'em as good as we get.’

There was a cheer from the carronade crews, and then all
hell seemed to have been let loose. The Spanish
Bahama,
astern
of the
Furieux,
had opened fire on the
Cetus.
The
quarterdeck disappeared in a dense billow of smoke. Haworth felt the hot wind of something passing close by him, followed
by a stunning crash, and half a dozen screams, rising in pitch
to an insanity of pain.

‘
Starboard guns, open fire!' Haworth yelled, coughing as
the bitter smoke filled his mouth. Feet were running through
the fog behind him, and as it rolled away upwards he saw that
one of the shots had struck the starboard carronade nearest
him, smashing two of the crew into pulp, and toppling the
gun over on top of two others. It was one of these who was
shrieking. The other was staring upwards at nothing and
panting shallowly, like a dog run down by a carriage.

But
Cetus
was no longer a silent victim. Her starboard-side
guns were bellowing out her rage at her enemy, and moments
later, as the gilded stern of the
Furieux came
into range,
Haworth ordered the larboard guns to open fire.