Chapter 21: Little Eleanor

Portsmouth, England, November 1808

Tired to the bone, Tony watched as the rest of the squadron followed his ship around the Isle of Wight. There was Bembridge, at the easternmost tip of the island. With the still gusty western wind from abeam, they had a clear run for Portsmouth Harbour. It was about time. For the past eight days, the crews of the four British ships and even a sizeable number of the captive French sailors had slaved to keep the damaged Malta and the two French prizes afloat. At one point, off Ouessant, it had looked as though Malta was a lost case when she shipped a large breaker. Dropping the quarterdeck and forecastle guns and all shot overboard, Captain Dunleary had saved the situation until additional crews from the other ships relieved his exhausted men at the pumps. Now, in lee of the Isle of Wight, the sea was much calmer already.

Dunleary, Tony marvelled, what a character! With his head in a blood-soaked bandage, the grizzled captain had fought tirelessly to save his ship, wearing out his much younger officers. As a precaution, Malta already had the remaining launches of the other ships trailing to facilitate an immediate evacuation, but somehow Dunleary and his crew had managed to bring the half-burned wreck back to England. She even had a jury rig now: three short spars shipping an assortment of staysails, helping the towing Asia in her task.

Next to Malta, the French Endurance was following under her own sails. She had stricken to Warspite with the loss of only one mast, but after losing most of her officers. Warspite herself had probably taken the least punishment, both in term of material damage and by loss of life, and she towed the second prize, the almost brand-new Toulon which had gotten the worst in the exchange with Asia. She, too, had her pumps going at all hours and was still lying deep.

The only ship that had not suffered damage was Daring. She was sailing as rearguard to assist any of the damaged ships. Tony knew that she was chock-full with wounded whilst part of her own crew had been detailed to help keeping Malta afloat.

There was the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour ahead, with Gosport to port and Southsea to starboard. Asia was flying the wounded Admiral Maynard’s flag, and she was the first to exchange salute with Southsea Castle. For days, the hours had crept along like molasses, but now everything seemed to happen at once. They were already passing the Round Tower and entering the harbour, and Tony stared at the docks like a desert wanderer would regard an Oasis. Malta needed a dry dock if she was to be saved at all, and Tony sailed forth until they were outside the dry dock basin before he had the anchors cast. They cast off the tow line, and then it was time to pick up Captain Dunleary with the gig.

Dunleary looked like an old scarecrow, but he had a fresh bandage around his head and was wearing a clean uniform. Tony, too, looked the worse for wear, but he’d had neither the time nor the energy for shaving. When the gig reached the quay, a large crowd had assembled who cheered them, for they saw two ships that were flying the Blue Ensign over the French Tricolour.

The port admiral, Sir Charles Foster, had a lifetime of experience. He needed but little time to realise the urgency of the situation. In a brief flurry of orders he had two dry docks readied for Malta and Toulon, and he ushered the captains out to make the preparations whilst inviting them back for the evening to give a full report over dinner. For the next three hours, the crews worked to get the damaged ships into the docks. Luckily, the tide was high when the ships were manoeuvred into them, with the running ebb tide soon to assist in emptying the docks. Meanwhile, the crews, assisted by dockyard and victualling yard workers, removed the rest of their ordnance and provisions. Come the evening, Malta and Toulon were sitting safely on the hocks inside the dry docks. The exhausted crews returned to their ships where they just dropped into their hammocks, whilst Malta’s remaining crew was transported to a receiving ship.

Neither of the three captains was much of a dinner guest that evening, but Sir Charles was satisfied with their preliminary reports. He showed his concern about Maynard, but Tony assured him that the Admiral was recovering in the Asia’s admiral’s cabin, a much better place than any shore infirmary, under the care of two excellent surgeons. Being aware of his guests’ exhaustion, Sir Charles released them after only two hours.

Returning to their ships, Dunleary paid a visit to his son-in-law. William Maynard was conscious and in no little pain, but his wounds were looking good according to Jonathan Wilkes and his German colleague. Jonathan had told Tony that they had operated on two of his wounds simultaneously, thereby cutting down time and bleeding to a minimum, and the third splinter had only caused a superficial wound. All three wounds were healing with no sign of mortification, likely thanks to the charred consistence of the wood splinters.

Maynard asked for his wife to be notified, and Tony readily agreed to send John Little to High Matcham, with letters and his oral report, and he would also convey Mrs. Maynard to Portsmouth, so that she could visit her wounded husband. It was close to midnight when Tony was finally able to drop onto his own cot. He reckoned to have five, perhaps six much needed hours of sleep, but when he awoke it was already light and he heard the eight bells that closed the Morning Watch — eight o’ clock in the civilian world.

Mister Chalk made his report whilst Tony sat at breakfast, and he invited his new second-in-command to join him. The crew was still mostly resting, and that was needed, Tony agreed. Chalk had kept only a small watch on deck over night, but now the repairs would begin. They discussed that for some time, stressing the need for a new top hamper. They had not sustained any damage below the waterline, and the shot hole in the hull had been repaired en route. The severely wounded and those unfit for service had been brought ashore whilst those expected to make a full recovery were being attended in the sickbay...

After breakfast, Tony sat down to compose a letter to Harriet.

With the help of Tony’s secretary, Maynard had a number of letters written to his wife, and now, John Little was entrusted with them. Admiral Foster had offered his own carriage for the journey, and John Little took off before the Morning Watch was over.

With fresh food available from the shore, the luncheon shared with the wardroom was a delightful affair. Tony had seen to it that Admiral Maynard received a share of the fresh roast, but they were astonished when Maynard entered the main cabin, helped along by his personal steward and his coxswain, the latter also with his arm heavily bandaged for burns. He gave the assembled officers a lopsided grin whilst they scrambled to make room for him.

“Can’t let small things interfere with the social life of this ship,” he jested with a weak voice before his attendants safely placed him in a high-backed chair. “Good God, but it feels great to be upright again!”

The other officers sat down, and Maynard received reports of the events of the last days. He had been briefed once he regained his consciousness, but now he was strong enough again to ask questions.

He returned to his cabin after the luncheon, but he accepted Tony’s invitation to dinner. Captain Dunleary came too, anxious to see his son-in-law. Captains Masters and Dougherty made the fourth and fifth, and the former brought the news that two Admiralty agents had begun to assess the prizes. Then he dropped a bomb on the table. During the inspection of a private hold underneath the Captain’s cabin in the Toulon, they had found a cache of gold in the form of coins, bullion and artefacts — goblets, crucifixes and picture frames. Obviously, Toulon’s captain had looted Spanish possessions or had agreed to transport the loot of another officer. The hidden treasure was easily worth £8,000 on top of the value of the ships, bringing the share for each captain to £3,000 and Maynard’s to £4,000. Those were substantial sums of money, enough for Tony to send his steward for two bottles of his oldest wine to celebrate. Time and again, they toasted their success. Dougherty was nearly speechless over the windfall he would receive whilst Masters entertained them with his prognosis of how his wife would spend his share.

There was more. Watching Maynard unobtrusively, Tony could see that his Admiral was glowing with pride. The reasons were obvious. Preciously few admirals ever fought a successful battle at sea, and this one had resulted in an almost complete annihilation of the enemy. One ship sunk, two captured, and only the small frigate escaped; that was a perfect outcome. Even being wounded would add to his merits. In Tony’s estimate, the coveted knighthood was in Maynard’s immediate future.

A rather drunk Admiral Maynard was carried to his cot later whilst his equally drunk captains had a noisy farewell on the upper deck. Tony did not imbibe often, in fact barely ever, but the windfall of monies had been too overwhelming. Once his brother captains had climbed down into their gigs, Tony staggered to his cabin. Grimm helped him undress, and Tony dropped back onto his cot, falling asleep in no time at all.

Tony woke from the noise of the work parties who began to repair the damages wrought by foe and stormy seas. He showed on deck briefly, content to see Mister Chalk overseeing the disassembly of the top hamper. A lighter was alongside, loaded with the first replacements for their topgallant and royal masts. Tony had the carpenter come and inspect the wood, much to the displeasure of the dockyard official who was supervising the lighter. Indeed, one of the royal masts had a fissure all along its length, and the angry dockyard man had to take it back.

After a hurried breakfast, Tony took over the supervision whilst Mister Chalk went ashore for talks with the commissioner of the dockyard. Coils of new ropes and cables had also arrived, and the boatswain had half the crew in the rigging, replacing frayed halliards and braces, and setting up the stays for the upper masts.

The work continued into the afternoon. Tony had the grog hour delayed, causing some grumbling among the men, but he did not want drunk men up in the unfinished rigging. Instead, he had the men work until sunset. For their supper, the men received ale as compensation for the missed grog, whilst a steady trickle of women made their way aboard. By Admiralty rules, when a King’s ship was in port, the wives — self-proclaimed or real — were allowed on board.

It was dark already when a boat approached the Asia where a lusty orgy was in progress between the decks, and the boatman had some difficulty making himself heard over the ruckus. The midshipman of the watch finally noticed the boat, and a minute later, Tony stood at the entry port to welcome Margaret Maynard.

“Welcome aboard, Madam. Shall I convey you to Admiral Maynard’s cabin?” Tony offered.

“Good evening, Sir Anthony. Please, do so. I take it, the wives have come aboard?”

“Indeed. Please excuse the noise, madam.”

“Say nothing, Sir Anthony. Your crew certainly earned what little comfort they can get. How is my husband, honestly?”

“He looked bad when he was brought on board, but the surgeons were able to extract the splinters. He has attended luncheons and dinners in the day cabin since yesterday. You will find him recovering.”

Margaret Maynard briefly touched Tony’s arm.

“Thank you, for the excellent care. Before I forget, Harriet sends her love and this letter. She is not in a state to travel anymore, else she would have come along.”

“I imagine that. Now, if you will follow me?”

Leading Maynard’s wife aft, he remembered in time to congratulate her.

“Madam, may I also offer my felicitations over your own exploits?”

In spite of her worries, Margaret Maynard giggled.

“Oh dear, thank you, Sir Anthony! That was quite the adventure.”

The sentry at Maynard’s cabin announced them.

“Sir, Sir Anthony to see you. ‘E’s ‘aving a lady with ‘im:”

“Send ‘em in!” came the surprisingly strong reply.

Tony showed Margaret Maynard in and bowed.

“By your leave, Sir.”

He closed the door and retired to his own cabin where he hastily read Harriet’s letter. She was heavy with child, but so far, the delivery had not set in. Jenny had given birth the night before, Harriet wrote, and to a healthy son. Lucy was torn between her loyalty to her friend and her wish to see her husband, and Harriet asked for Tony to find out if Jonathan might be able to visit, too.

In his mind Tony made plans for the next days. If everything went according to plan, he could perhaps make a brief run to High Matcham and back. They were still waiting for spare yards, and they had lost a bow anchor in the battle. The superintendent had promised them those parts a week hence, and that was it. Once the major repairs were finished, he could ask Maynard for a brief leave, leaving Chalk in charge.

In^ the next morning, Tony had a brief breakfast by himself before he immersed himself again in the refitting of his ship. He had been pacing the decks for two hours already when Maynard’s coxswain emerged in front of him.

“Admiral Maynard’s compliments, Sir Anthony, and would you join him for breakfast?”

There were ten or twelve things Tony thought more important but an invitation from the squadron commander was an order.

“My respectful greetings to Admiral Maynard, and I shan’t be longer than five minutes.”

Poor Chalk had to take over, together with a Mister Prince who looked the worse for wear. Probably a night of drinking if not more, Tony thought with an inward grin. The young man was growing up and shrugging off Grossmann’s influence. He had really performed well during the battle, taking over the command of the lower gun deck, and Tony had been careful to name him in his report, along with the other officers who had distinguished themselves.

Exactly five minutes after the summons, Tony entered the main cabin and found the Maynards already at table. One look at Margaret Maynard told Tony that his superior could not be a full invalid, for she exuded the languid sensuality of a woman who had just had her needs taken care of in a satisfying manner.

“Ah, Sir Anthony! May we entice you to sit with us for a spell? Steward, more coffee!”

Obediently, Tony sat, finding that he indeed could stand a bite or two to eat.

“I take it the repairs are proceeding according to your expectations, Sir Anthony?”

“We have effectively rebuilt the entire top hamper, Sir. We even have some spare timbers now, and the boatswain has restocked his supplies. Were it not for the lost bower and for some spare yards, we could be ready in five or six days. As things are, we shall be ready in eight days, provided the superintendent keeps his word.”

“Anything that should require your personal supervision until then?”

“Not really, Sir. Mister Chalk has handled himself most ably.”

“Then, for God’s sake, Captain, take a coach and visit your wife! Asia will still be afloat when you’ll return in a week.”

“I was going to ask for leave tomorrow, Sir,” Tony answered, giving Margaret Maynard a grateful smile.

“Well, your leave is granted, Captain. I want you gone by early afternoon.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” Tony answered with a smile. “Thank you, Sir.”

“We shall probably sail next week, and until Malta’s repairs are done, I shall use Asia as my flagship. I shall explain to Captain Masters that I wish for the continued care by your able surgeons. My cox’n will move the remainder of my dunnage today.”

“On behalf of my officers and crew, I thank you for the distinction.”

“Splendid. I shall await you back a week from now. Kindly give my regards to Lady Carter.”

Thus, an hour later found Tony inside a four-horse carriage tumbling along the highway north of Portsmouth. With the sickbay slowly emptying, he had ordered Jonathan to come along for the ride, and young Eric Johnsen sat perched on the opposing bench, beside a sleeping John Little.