Sails on the Horizon: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars (29 page)

“Sergeant of the marines! Show this gentleman over the side. Throw him over if necessary.”

Charles had no sooner indignantly climbed down
Syrius
’s side into his gig than the larger frigate dropped her sails and started north. Soon after he returned to
Louisa
’s quarterdeck, she was nearly hull down and receding quickly.

For the next several days he exercised the hands at the guns with a new intensity. Charles ordered contests between the starboard and larboard gun crews to see who could fire off the most broadsides in a ten-minute interval, with an extra half-ration of spirits to the winners. He offered prizes from his own pocket to the crews that came closest to hitting a floating barrel at one hundred, two hundred, and four hundred yards. When he was at least partially satisfied with their performance, he began his assigned patrol toward Cape Peñas, sailing purposefully along the beautiful high-mountain coast with its great spurs and gorges running down to the sea. The “Costa Verde,” this part of Spain was called, and for good reason, given its forest covered coasts and highlands. They looked into each of the numerous fishing villages and minor ports along the way. The only other boats they saw were small fishing vessels that scurried in all directions to give the
Louisa
a wide berth.

At Cape Peñas they brought the ship about and started the long beat against the wind back to the west. Off the port of Figueras, the lookout spotted a single brigantine merchantman, but it darted into the fjordlike harbor under the guns of a coastal battery before the
Louisa
could close on it.

SINCE HIS MEETING
with Ecclesby, Charles had spent much of his time thinking about the
Santa Brigida.
Allowed to roam the seas, she was a menace to shipping. Huge amounts of critical British cargo sailed past Cape Finisterre on its way between England and Gibraltar. Most of Jervis’s fleet was supplied that way. A single Spanish frigate could do untold damage, slipping out of the Ferrol yards to snatch up a fat transport or two and then running for shelter behind the forts guarding the bay. He would have to do something, but what? Fighting her on anything like even terms was out of the question. The
Santa Brigida
could throw more than twice the weight of metal as the
Louisa
in a single broadside. Yet there had to be some way he could gain an advantage. And there was the element of revenge for what she’d done to
Argonaut.
Charles’s jaw clenched whenever he recalled the Spanish frigate’s shot screaming the length of the defenseless ship’s decks. One thing was clear: Jervis would have to be notified of the changed situation as soon as possible, and, until some opportunity presented itself, the
Louisa
’s responsibility was to dog the Spaniard wherever she went, to warn friendly shipping of her presence, and to strike if the opportunity arose. The question was how to inform Jervis without the
Louisa
deserting her station.

The afternoon the
Louisa
passed the entrance to Coruna Bay for the second time, Charles stood her far out to sea so as not to incite a chase. That evening Bevan and Winchester dined with him, as was their weekly custom. Over mutton, potatoes, and pease porridge, the three men talked easily about the progress of the crew and several small discipline problems that were easily dealt with. Over the sherry, Winchester brought up the subject that was on all their minds.

“What about the Spanish frigate in Ferrol?” he asked offhandedly.

Bevan leaned forward, his expression serious. “We’ll need help, Charlie. She’s too big. It’s a pity that old bag Ecclesby shot off like that.”

“Well, we need to inform Admiral Jervis in any event,” Charles responded. “To do that we need a boat, any boat. Preferably a Spanish one.”

The next morning they sailed south along the coast, examining each of the inlets and harbors with great care. They found what they were looking for well south of Cape Finisterre two days later—a small Spanish
guarda costa
lugger anchored in the Vigo estuary, under the guns of the fort at Bayona. The moment she was sighted, Charles had the
Louisa
come about and stand out to sea, well out of the sight of land. After nightfall, with a three-quarter moon showing intermittently through broken clouds, they crept back in. Charles had already written his report to Jervis about the
Santa Brigida
and the abrupt departure of the
Syrius,
stating that it was his intention to hamper the Spanish ship in any way possible until help or fresh instructions arrived. The report lay in a canvas satchel in his cabin along with the rest of the ship’s mail.

The
guarda costa
lugger was only forty feet long and would have a crew of no more than a dozen, along with a few tiny four-pounders for armament. Some of the crew might even be sleeping on shore. The trick would be to board and subdue her in silence, cut her anchor cables, and get under way before the guns in the fort could react. The wind was in their favor, blowing moderately but steadily from the southwest. Charles’s greatest worry was the moonlight—too much when it shined through gaps in the clouds and too unpredictable as to when and where it would. He also knew that delay would not necessarily bring a better opportunity.

The
Louisa
cautiously approached the Spanish shore as close as she dared along an uninhabited stretch of beach under a high bluff, four miles south of Bayona. The Spanish landmass rose as an impregnable wall of silent blackness in the night. The loudest sounds were the surf against the shore and the more distant cicadas in the treeline above. “Stay in the shadows as much as you can,” Charles said to Winchester, who was preparing to climb down into the
Louisa
’s cutter, where sixteen of the crew were already assembled with cutlasses and axes.

“Yes, sir,” Winchester answered tersely. They had gone over the plan several times already.

“If it goes badly, get out as fast as you can. We’ll think of something else.”

“Let him go, Charlie,” Bevan said, putting his hand on Charles’s shoulder. “He knows what to do.”

Charles stepped back. “Good luck, Stephen,” he said, intensely aware that he could be sending these men—including his brother-in-law—to their deaths, or years of miserable confinement in a Spanish prison. Stephen Winchester slipped over the side and into the cutter. Charles heard him say, “Let go all,” and heard the oars dipping into the water. The cutter soon disappeared, indistinguishable against the black void of the shoreline.

Charles stared hard into the dark for a moment longer, then turned back to Bevan. “Put the ship on the larboard tack and let’s get to our station.” Bevan nodded to the bosun beside him, and in a minute the hands climbed silently into the rigging without the usual whistles or shouted orders. As the topgallants and topsails were crowded on one by one,
Louisa
’s head began to swing and he felt the ship gain way. They stood a little out to sea, then sailed north, approaching the shore again just out of cannon range on the other side of the fort, with luck undetected in the night. If something did go wrong—if a cry was raised or the fort opened fire—they would stand in and try to create a diversion so that Winchester and his men could escape. When they had worked out the plan the evening before, it had all seemed plausible. Now, staring over the railing into the darkness and straining his ears for any sound, Charles thought it possibly the most irresponsible, stupidest notion he had ever come up with.

A ray of moonlight pierced the clouds, briefly illuminating the fort on the headland. Snatching a glass, he could just make out the lugger still anchored where she had been the day before. Everything seemed deceptively quiet, peaceful, normal. A few dim lights from Bayona flickered in the distance, glittering off the wave tops. Time passed at a crawl. Charles’s stomach muscles began to ache. He could see nothing. Maybe the cutter had gotten lost, he thought, or hit a reef and sunk, or been intercepted by a Spanish guard boat, or…Surely the cutter should have gotten there by now. He waited, drumming his fingers on the lee railing until he noticed it; then he balled his hand into a fist and jammed it into his pocket.

After an interminable time there was a noise, distant and insubstantial. A warning yell perhaps, or a cry for help. Then the clear sound of a musket being fired echoed across the water. That was bad—Winchester’s men weren’t armed with muskets. Almost immediately a bugle sounded its warning from the fort. The clouds over Bayona parted again and with his glass Charles saw that the lugger had set her sails and was moving. If he saw it, he was sure the gun crews in the fort could see it, too.

“We’ll stand in. Prepare to fire, Daniel.”

“All hands to set sail!” Bevan bellowed, there no longer being any reason for quiet. “Run out the larboard guns.”

A bright flash from the fort lit the harbor for an instant, followed by three more almost simultaneously. The great bangs of the guns reached them an instant later. Charles couldn’t see where the shots fell but he would be surprised if they could hit the tiny lugger on their first salvo. “Come about and fire,” Charles ordered. The fort was out of range of
Louisa
’s twelve-pounders, but the muzzle flashes and noise would divert their attention.

The
Louisa
turned into the wind and the deafening crash of her broadside sounded, heeling her slightly with the guns’ recoil. In the instant of light Charles saw the lugger, with the ship’s cutter in tow, rounding the Bayona Point with all sail set.

“Time to go,” Charles said quickly.

Bevan shouted out orders.
Louisa
dropped her courses and began to pick up speed. One gun, then two more, followed by a fourth spit yellow flame from the fort. The first three were well wide of them; the fourth threw up a towering geyser far too close to their port side. And then they were out of range.

Three-quarters of an hour later, the
Louisa
found the lugger near the place where they had left Winchester and the cutter.

“Any trouble?” Charles asked when Winchester climbed aboard.

“Not really, sir,” the lieutenant replied. “One of them had a musket across his lap that went off when he woke up. We must have startled him. There were only four in the boat.”

Charles saw no prisoners. “Where are they?” he asked.

“Two died,” Winchester answered grimly. “Two jumped.”

Charles noted splashes of blood on the young lieutenant’s waistcoat and breeches. “I see,” he said, then turned to the master’s mate who was standing with four experienced seamen nearby. “Mr. Cleaves, check the lugger for food and water. When you’re sure you have everything you’ll need, take her to Lisbon.” Charles handed him the satchel with the report he’d written for Jervis, his very long letter to Ellie, and the other mail the crew had ready to send home. “You’re to take my report directly to the flagship. Tell them it’s urgent. Then get back here with the admiral’s reply as quick as you can. Most likely we’ll be off Coruna somewhere.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Cleaves said, touching his forehead. The first hint of dawn began to lighten the clouds over the Spanish mainland. Charles felt unreasonably pleased with himself, although he struggled not to show it.

THE
LOUISA
SAILED
north and took up a position about five miles outside the entrance to Coruna Bay. The
Santa Brigida,
they could see from the masthead, was still moored near the entrance to the naval yard with her yards crossed and sails furled. She made no effort to exit the bay and challenge them, however, and Charles wondered why. Perhaps, he thought, her stores were not complete, or she lacked a sufficient crew. Most intriguing to him was the thought that she might be short of powder and shot. In normal times the Ferrol yards would be supplied almost exclusively by sea. The roads of Galicia were notoriously poor, and in any event the tip of northwestern Spain was a long, long way from Madrid. Charles had no way of knowing how much of her ammunition the
Santa Brigida
may have used at St. Vincent, but it might have been a lot, or even nearly all. The task of transporting the tons of powder and shot overland by cart or pack mule would require a train of several hundred animals and months to accomplish. The Spanish, who were frequently casual about such things, probably wouldn’t bother to try. And if the frigate only had a few broadsides to throw at him, then it was Charles’s duty to somehow draw her out and destroy her. He would wait for instructions from Jervis, as he had promised in the report he’d sent to Lisbon. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make a nuisance of himself to the Spanish and see how the frigate reacted.

A series of rain squalls and a violent August thunderstorm delayed his plans by forcing him to stand out to sea to avoid being blown against the lee shore or under the guns guarding the bay. Charles watched with satisfaction, however, as the hands repeatedly raced up the shrouds to shorten sail in the howling winds and heavy seas without mishap. They had become at least a competent crew during the few months they had been at sea. Now they only remained to be tested in a serious action with the guns.

As soon as the storm abated, he put his ship before the wind and stood her in toward Coruna. Before they reached sight of land the lookout called down: “Sail ho! Fine on the starboard bow.”

“What can you make of her?” Charles shouted back. As yet, not even the approaching ship’s topgallants were visible from the
Louisa
’s quarterdeck. After a moment the lookout reported, “A sloop of war. One of ours, I think.”

“Show our number, Mr. Beechum, and the recognition signal.” A tiny rectangle of gray canvas was just visible on the horizon to the south as
Louisa
rose on a swell. As she dipped into the trough, it disappeared.

“She’s the
Speedy,
sir,” Beechum reported, peering through his telescope at the little ship now frequently visible from
Louisa
’s decks. Beechum hurriedly consulted a book by the binnacle. “Fourteen-gun sloop, sir. Commander James Allenby.” Signal flags shot up
Speedy
’s halyards. “He has dispatches for us, sir,” he translated.