Chapter 15: A Near Miss

Captain Sir Anthony Carter K.B., in acting command of HMS Agamemnon, 64, stood on his quarterdeck and watched the huge fleet coming into sight. He knew that Lord Nelson had every line-of-battle ship under his command that could be spared for what the Admiralty hoped would be a decisive battle. Still, the two columns of ships, each with thirteen sail of the line, were impressive. At the head of the weather column stood Victory with her three rows of gun ports, followed by Temereire, a second-rate.

“Mr. Carlisle, kindly prepare to salute the flag,” Tony addressed his 1st lieutenant.

“Aye aye, Sir Anthony,” Mr. Carlisle responded. The guns were cleared in preparation when the signal lieutenant made report.

“Signal from flag, Sir Anthony: ‘No salute’.”

“Mr. Carlisle, belay that, if you please.”

The guns were secured again, and Mr. Carlisle joined his captain on the quarterdeck.

“Obviously, his lordship does not wish to announce his presence to the French,” Tony remarked, and his second-in-command nodded sagely. The fleet commanded by Nelson stood well out in the offing, out of sight from the land. Villeneuve was to be left in the dark as to the true strength of the British.

“Flag to Agamemnon: ‘Welcome back. Report to flag’.”

“Very well, Mr. Carlisle. Kindly have my gig readied. Grimm! My sword and coat!”

Whilst Agamemnon took up position to leeward of Victory, the gig was lowered, and Tony climbed down with some difficulty. His leg, although greatly improved, still hurt considerably. He did not look forward to climbing the side of the huge flagship.

Climbing up proved to be easy due to Victory’s substantial tumble-home, and Tony entered the Victory’s deck through the port to the twitter of the boatswains’ pipes. Captain Hardy welcomed him and led him aft to the admiral’s cabin. Nelson looked even thinner than the first time he had seen him, but he stood to receive him and shook his hand.

“I am glad that you recovered sufficiently to replace poor Sir Edward. Your leg does not bother you too much?”

“Not at all, milord,” Tony lied. To complain about pain to a man who had given an arm and an eye in the service would have been tasteless.

“Excellent. I need captains who can think in tactical and strategic terms and who do not shy away from the consequences.”

“Thank you, milord.”

“You will take up position as my Nº 8 in the weather column, between Orion and Minotaur. As I have told the other captains already and given the opportunity, we shall attack the enemy in two columns and break their line. You are to match your ship against suitable targets. Let our first rates take care of the Spanish first rates. Agamemnon is a handy ship, so you may feel free to grasp opportunities as they present themselves.”

“Aye aye, milord. Is there a chance that the French might sortie? From what I learned from a captured French officer, Villeneuve is not too anxious to give battle. He seems to distrust the abilities of his captains, and from what I heard, he’s afraid of going up against you.”

“That’s an interesting news, Captain, but he will come out. His replacement is already en route to Cadiz, and our own agents are feeding this information to Villeneuve. He can either come out and give battle or be replaced and cashiered. How is Captain Berry, by the way?”

“I have not met him, milord. Lord Melville only told me that he was carried off his ship on a stretcher, unable to walk by himself.”

“Tsk, tsk, a real shame that. Should he return in time, you will stay with the fleet as a supernumerary, likely on Collingwood’s staff.”

“Aye aye milord. Should I return to my ship now?”

“Yes, by all means. I need to see all those papers their lordships sent me.”

Tony returned to the Agamemnon and manoeuvred her to her proper position behind Orion. This was a completely new situation for him. He had never commanded a ship in a formation, except for the exercise after he had been given command of the Medusa, three years before. Fortunately, he had capable officers; Lt. Carlisle alone had over twelve years seniority as an officer. He was also ten years Tony’s senior. Tony often noticed how Carlisle watched him, probably asking himself how this young upstart of dubious Jamaican origin had become his superior. Yet, even if he was envious, he was a loyal subordinate who did his best to give his new captain all necessary information.

During the next days, the twenty-seven ships of the line, aligned in two columns, incessantly practised tactical evolutions. The two columns would also engage in mock battles. During the first of these, Agamemnon almost collided with her counterpart in Vice Admiral Collingwood’s squadron, simply because Tony misjudged her momentum. He recognised his error immediately. He had to get used to the fact that he did not command a frigate anymore. The 64-gun third-rate sailed quite differently even from a big frigate. Yet, he got the feel for his new ship over the next days, and Agamemnon held her place in the line with credible accuracy. The confidence that Tony regained was subconsciously felt by his officers and crew, and it inspired their trust in return.

They had arrived off Cadiz in late September, and after three weeks, there was still no sign of the French. The weather had been friendly, the low winds uncharacteristic for that time of the year. On the morning of October 19th, the fleet was sailing in good order in a westward direction when sails were sighted. One was Sirius, 36, one of the frigates that guarded Cadiz. An excited cry from the masthead made everybody jump.

“She’s letting fly her sheets, Sir!”

That was an old signal to warn of the approach of an enemy fleet. Had the French indeed sortied? There was also a second sail, coming from the east and approaching the fleet. It was an old acquaintance, the Aquila, one of the ships that brought despatches from England. When she drew nearer, flags rose along her halyards.

“Sir, Aquila to Agamemnon: Send boat!”

Within a minute, the quarter boat was on its way to the transport. When it returned, a man in captain’s uniform was sitting in the stern sheets. Tony did not know the man, but he was certain that it was Sir Edward Berry, reclaiming his ship. Tony’s forced smile barely hid the disappointment to be relieved of his command almost in the face of the enemy. When the boat was hailed, the coxswain answered with “Aye aye!”, showing that an officer was approaching. Berry was not yet captain of the Agamemnon again, but the boatmen hooked onto the weather side chains nonetheless, a prerogative of the captain. The side guard was hastily summoned, and the pipes twittered whilst Sir Edward entered the ship through the weather port. Tony stepped forward.

“Welcome back on board, Sir. Captain Sir Edward Berry, I presume?”

“Indeed, Sir. Sir Anthony Carter?”

“Yes, Sir Edward. Please, after you, Sir.”

They walked aft to the quarterdeck, and Tony noticed the stiff posture of the other captain.

“Sir,” the signal midshipman squeaked, looking between back and forth between both captains.

“You still report to me, young man,” Tony barked. He was not yet relieved of his temporary command.

“Sir, flag to all: tack in succession.”

“Very well. Mr. Carlisle, kindly prepare to go about.”

“Aye aye, Sir.”

The men looked at Tony curiously. It must be bitter to be relieved when a battle loomed, but Tony had his face under control and showed no emotion. With perfect politeness he complimented Captain Berry into the cabin.

“I take it, Sir, that you are here to relieve me?”

“Indeed, and I feel sorry for you. What will be your plans?”

“His lordship already decided that I should remain with the fleet as a supernumerary captain. He has not yet specified where.”

“We shall see. Until further notice, would you consider staying on board as my guest?”

“That is exceedingly kind of you, Sir Edward.”

“Let us not talk about it. I feel bad to supplant such a distinguished if junior captain, but I just could not stay ashore once the worst of my pains were gone.”

“That is perfectly understandable, Sir. Do you wish to read yourself back in?”

“Yes, let us do it.”

For a brief moment, all work rested, whilst Sir Edward read out the order that reinstated him as captain.

After that, Tony felt like a fifth wheel, a guest on board the ship he had briefly commanded. Sir Edward was nice enough, even entering in a discussion on the state of the ship. However, it was clear that he had been sidelined. He could not help feeling slightly bitter. This state was not to last long, though. Flags rose along the Victory’s halyards.

“It’s for us, Sir,” the signal midshipman cried. “Flag to Agamemnon, transfer C-a-r-t-e-r to Royal Sovereign.” The boy looked at his captain without understanding.

“I think this concerns you, Sir Anthony,” Captain Berry said. “Have the longboat ready, Mr. Carlisle. It seems they have a need for you on Collingwood’s staff.”

The last words were addressed to Tony again. Tony had already given a quick order to John Little as soon as the signal had been read, and within five minutes his sea chests along with Little and Grimm’s belongings were on deck. The longboat had been lowered already, and once the dunnage had been stowed in the boat, Tony saluted the quarterdeck and Captain Berry.

“Permission to leave, Sir?”

Grinning, Berry saluted back.

“Permission granted. Bonne chance, Sir Anthony!”

“The same to you, Sir Edward!”

As quickly as his leg allowed, he climbed into the longboat. With the large lugsail set, the longboat made a quick dash to leeward where the Royal Sovereign was leading the lee division. At the port, Captain Rotheram, Collingwood’s flag captain, greeted him.

“Welcome aboard, Sir Anthony! Your cox’n can bring your dunnage into your cabin. Please follow me. Sir Cuthbert is waiting for you.”

“That is very kind of you, Sir,” Tony answered. Rotheram had more than ten years seniority on him, and Tony was careful to show proper respect. They both walked past the marine sentry and into the great cabin. The Royal Sovereign was a 100-gun first-rate, and her great cabin was the largest Tony had ever seen. Even the Victory’s cabin seemed small by comparison, her being an older ship, built 40 years ago, and a second rate under the 1804 classifications.

Collingwood was busy dictating a letter, but he stopped when the captains entered.

“Welcome, Sir Anthony. It’s good to have you with us.”

“Thank you, Sir Cuthbert. May I ask what my duties will be?”

“Certainly. Captain Ruark, my Captain of the Fleet, is incapacitated and was shipped to Gibraltar last week. Captain Rotherham agreed to fill the gap, and I want you to fill in for him.”

“You mean for me to command this ship, Sir Cuthbert?” Tony asked incredulously.

“Captain Rotherham will still have the command, but you will act under him as second captain. He can fill you in. I suggest you acquaint yourself with the officers and the ship whilst there is still some time. The French are out, or at least they started to leave Cadiz. Another day or two, and we shall be at each other’s throats.”

“Aye aye, Sir. Permission to leave?”

“Yes of course. Captain Rotherham, kindly introduce Captain Carter around.”

When they had left the cabin, Rotherham showed Tony to the deck and introduced the officers to him. With his mind whirling, Tony tried his best to connect the names, ranks and faces.

“Gentlemen,” he said after introductions had been affected, “I sincerely hope that we shall get acquainted soon, although there will be hardly enough time.”

“Captain Carter will do most of the handling of the ship, gentlemen. He commands the ship whilst I shall serve on Sir Cuthbert’s staff.”

The officers nodded, curious about this change in command, whilst Captain Rotherham led Tony into his own cabin and out of earshot.

“Do not get this wrong, Sir Anthony. I know of your reputation and your bravery, but you are still a frigate captain, and it showed in your handling of the Agamemnon, at least during the first days. This ship displaces over 3,000 tons, and she sails like nothing you ever handled. Try to get comfortable with her but mind that I shall interfere when I see that something is going wrong.”

“Please, Sir, do not hesitate to do so. I am aware of my lack of experience, and I shall appreciate any help.”

“Fine. You can use Captain Ruark’s cabin on the upper deck. Do you think you can take over?”

Tony nodded. “Certainly, Sir.”

He turned and left. On the quarterdeck, he nodded to the officer of the watch and began to walk up and down on the weather side, taking in the dimensions of the ship. Briefly after, the first lieutenant, Mr. Croft, showed and asked him whether he wished to inspect the ship. In the next forty-five minutes, Croft gave Tony a tour of the decks, from the orlop deck through the three gun decks. Tony felt awed by the sheer size of this ship, but he tried not to show it. Once back on the quarterdeck, he thanked Croft, and walked to join the quartermasters at the wheel. He ordered them aside and took the wheel for a few minutes to get a feel for the ship. Laying the rudder briefly, he noticed how slow she responded. He grimaced to the quartermasters.

“Is she always like that?”

“Mostly, Sir,” came the reply from the senior quartermaster, “unless we have a real blow, and then she drifts real bad, Sir.”

With three decks above the waterline and in the wind, that was to be expected. Tony stepped back. A few minutes later, signals rose on the flagship.

“Flag to all, Sir: tack in succession,” the signal lieutenant reported.

“Very well,” Tony sighed. “All hands, if you please,” he addressed the officer of the watch.

At the call, more than 800 men streamed on deck and to their stations.

“Man the braces!” Tony’s command made it clear that he wanted to perform the manoeuvre himself. He watched the Victory intently. There, the signal was hauled down, and the Victory’s bows turned into the wind.

“Quartermasters, helm a-lee!”

Ponderously, the Royal Sovereign turned into the wind and her sails flapped. She moved sluggishly but with an enormous momentum, Tony observed. Soon they were through the wind, but Tony had the quartermasters counter the turn to catch her.

“Haul the lee braces!”

The braces were hauled, and the yards swung around. The sails filled again with the weak breeze, and the Royal Sovereign was on her way again without the loss of a single fathom. Captain Rotheram had appeared behind Tony.

“Excellent timing, Carter,” he commented in a low voice. “You will get the feel of her in no time.”

Tony grinned back. “I was almost as nervous as when I commanded my first manoeuvre back in my father’s sloop,” he answered in a low voice.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were a tar,” Rotherham commented with a touch of surprise.

“I was second mate in my father’s sloop before I joined the Navy, Sir.”

“I was twelve when I started as a cabin boy in an East Indiaman,” Rotheram grinned. “It’s good to know that you’re a real sailor.”

With a nod, Tony indicated to the officer of the watch to take charge again. Whilst Rotheram went below to confer with Collingwood, Tony retired to his cabin to change into a clean shirt and to rest his leg. Sitting at his desk with his legs stretched out, he continued a letter to Harriet that he had begun the day before, telling her of the strange turn of events. The Aquila was to sail for England the next day, and he wanted to include his letter with the ship’s mail, conscious of the looming battle and the perils he would have to face.

Dinner was shared with Collingwood and Rotheram. Afterwards, Tony briefed the officers and gave orders to avoid all hands calls during the night if possible, to give the crew enough sleep. The officers had worked the crew on the guns one more time during the afternoon. It had been curious to see how the crew had performed with dogged determination. The men knew perfectly well that their own survival would soon depend on silencing the enemy guns as quickly as possible. However, it was also imperative that they had enough rest.

The light winds prevailed during the next day, the 20th, whilst the British ships sailed to meet the French and Spanish fleet. The Aquila sailed for England, and Tony reflected briefly that his letter to Harriet might be the last thing Harriet would ever see of him. Royal Sovereign was leading the lee division, and she would receive the first, well prepared and laid broadsides when they engaged the enemy. He found himself reflecting on his injury, not three months ago. That was not good, he told himself. He needed to busy himself. That went for the crew as well. It would not do well for them to sit idly and worry themselves. He made sure that every hand on board was kept busy during the day. By evening they still had not sighted the enemy, and the tired men gratefully slept during their free watch.

Tony was walking along the quarterdeck, planning for the next morning, when Collingwood came on deck.

“Good evening, Sir Cuthbert,” Tony greeted him.

“Good evening, Sir Anthony,” Collingwood answered approaching him. “I noticed that you kept the lads rather busy?”

“Yes, Sir. They will hopefully sleep enough tonight to be rested.”

“How about you? You’ve been injured, what, three months ago? How do you feel?”

“Slightly apprehensive, Sir Cuthbert, to be honest. I am not as agile as I wish I were with that sore leg. Let’s hope there will be no boarding fight.”

“That’s not what I meant, Carter.”

Tony grinned. “A bit uneasy, Sir Cuthbert. There is a lot to be uneasy about. Shall I be able to handle the ship properly? Who shall we be matched against? Also, of course, shall I keep my nerve? To give truth the honour, I am mostly worried about the first point. If we meet the French, our actions will be scrutinised by all the second-guessers and armchair admirals back home.”

“True, that,” Collingwood conceded. “They expect a complete victory, and nothing less. There’s a lot of pressure on Lord Nelson. With St. Vincent out of office, he lost his main support at the Admiralty.”

The Earl of St. Vincent, a lifelong Whig, had been replaced as First Lord of the Admiralty upon the second ministry of Mr. Pitt, a Tory.

“I suppose we just have to do our best tomorrow and hope that it will suffice.”

“Well spoken. I, for my part, will turn in, and so should you. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

That was a good advice, in all likelihood, but Tony did not dare to turn in. Not with the enemy about to show. Not with the responsibility for a first-rate. Seeing that his new captain planned to stay on deck, Mr. Croft offered a deck chair that Tony gratefully accepted. Wrapped in a boat cloak, he even dozed a little bit, but with the first light of dawn, he was up again. The combined French and Spanish fleets were in sight.

A signal was made by Victory, ordering a general chase, and the two columns changed course to intercept the enemy. Villeneuve had given up his attempt to sail for Gibraltar and the Mediterranean and tried to make for Cadiz again. For this, the French sailed close-hauled on a northern course in the light wind, making them slow compared with the British ships, which held the weather gauge and sailed before the wind. However, in the course of the morning, the wind died down more and more, and their slow progress taxed the nerves of all involved.

In the Royal Sovereign, the tension was palpable, too. The men had had their breakfast early, and then the ship had been cleared for action. Since then, there had been nothing to do, and that was bad.

By ten o’clock, a signal was made by Victory: ‘England expects that every man will do his duty’. Collingwood called for all hands and relayed Lord Nelson’s message to the crew. Some of the men felt insulted; they did their duty all right and did not need to be reminded anyway. Others, however, nodded with grim resolution.

Their slow approach continued. As the French had aborted their attempt to reach the Mediterranean and changed to a northerly course, their battle line was in complete disarray. Their rearguard was their van now, and vie versa. Also, each of their ships had turned at their own leisure, or so it seemed, and in the light wind, they found it hard to reach their respective position in their battle line again. The British lee column, with Royal Sovereign in the lead, also did not present a perfect line, but Collingwood scorned the idea of delaying the approach to get them in better order. Royal Sovereign, blessed with a fresh coppering, had drawn ahead, whilst Mars was lagging, and it was clear now that they would engage the French and Spanish line somewhere near a huge Spanish first-rate.

“Captain Carter, kindly try to cut the enemy line behind that big Spaniard,” Collingwood ordered.

“Aye aye, Sir,” Tony answered automatically, studying the enemy through his telescope. Yes, it would be the point where they would cross the enemy line of battle. They were close to gunshot range now he estimated. Suddenly, the side of the big Spanish ship was clouded in smoke. Two fountains of water shot up, five to six cable lengths ahead. They were not quite in range yet, or the officers had misjudged the roll of their ship. It was the latter, because of the next broadside, one shot struck in their hull. One man was wounded by splinters and carried below.

“Sailing Master, please enter ‘Begin of engagement at six bells’ in the log,” Tony ordered with assumed calmness. He walked up to Collingwood.

“Sir Cuthbert, we are in range of the enemy.”

“Thank you, Sir Anthony,” Collingwood answered with the same casual tone of voice. Of course he had observed the hit, but it was Tony’s duty to inform his admiral. “Another hour before we pass them?”

“Most likely, Sir Cuthbert. Almost two miles.”

“Quite, Captain.”

Tony turned to Rotheram. “Sir, have we any music in the ship? It might cheer up the men.”

“There’s a fiddler, Thomas is his name. Have him play on the upper deck.”

Tony passed the word for the man Thomas. He appeared, grinning in a self-conscious way. He put the fiddle to his shoulder and started to play a popular tune. The men on the upper deck quickly picked up the rhythm, and started to slap their thighs with the tune. A few even began to dance on the deck, provoking shouts of encouragement. In the meantime, and at Tony’s orders, water and bread were once more distributed. There was no telling when the men would get their next meal.