'He'd be locking the stable door after the horse had gone,' said Hill reflectively.
'Quite so,' replied Drinkwater. 'And we could fetch the Ile de Ré on one tack under close-reefed topsails to clarify the situation. If Graves is not there we will have lost but a day in getting to Cornwallis. Very well,' Drinkwater made up his mind, clapped his hand over his hat and fought to keep his footing on the tilting deck. 'Course south-east, let us look into the Basque Road and see if Graves has regained station.'
On the morning of the 16th they found Graves off the Ile d'Oléron having just been informed by the Felix of Missiessy's departure. In his search for the admiral, Bourne had also run across the French squadron heading north. During a long morning of interminable flag hoists it was established that this encounter had occurred after Drinkwater's brush with the enemy and therefore established that Missiessy's task was probably to cause trouble in Ireland. This theory was lent particular force by Drinkwater's report that troops were embarked. It was a tried strategy of the French government and the signalling system was not capable of conveying Drinkwater's theory about the West Indies. In truth, on that particular morning, with the practical difficulties in handling the ship and attending to the admiral, Drinkwater himself was not overconfident that he was right. Besides, there was other news that permeated the squadron during that blustery morning, news more closely touching themselves. In getting into Quiberon Bay to warn Graves, the Don's had found the admiral already gone. Struggling seawards again, Doris had struck a rock and, after great exertions by Campbell and his people, had foundered. Felix had taken off her crew and all were safe, but the loss of so fine a frigate and the escape of Missiessy cast a shadow over the morale of the squadron. Afterwards Drinkwater was to remember that morning as the first of weeks of professional frustration; when it seemed that providence had awarded its laurels to the Imperial eagle of France, that despite the best endeavours of the Royal Navy, the weeks of weary and remorseless blockade, the personal hardships of every man-jack and boy in the British fleet, their efforts were to come to naught.
But for the time being Graves's squadron had problems of its own. The morning of signalling had thrown them to leeward and in the afternoon they were unable to beat out of the bay and compelled to anchor. When at last the weather moderated, Graves reported to Cornwallis, only to find Sir William in ailing health, having himself been driven from his station to shelter in Torbay. For a while the ships exchanged news and gossip. Cornwallis was said to have requested replacement, while it was known that Admiral Latouche-Tréville had died at Toulon and been replaced by Admiral Villeneuve, the only French flag-officer to have escaped from Nelson's devastating attack in Aboukir Bay. Of what had happened to Missiessy no one was quite sure, but it was certain that he had not gone to Ireland. A few weeks later it was common knowledge that he had arrived at Martinique in the West Indies.
Chapter Twelve
The Look-Out Frigate
'Well, Mr Gillespy, you seem to be making some progress.' Drinkwater closed the boy's journal. 'Your aunt would be pleased, I'm sure,' he added wryly, thinking of the garrulous Mistress MacEwan. 'I have some hopes of you making a sea-officer.'
'Thank you, sir.' The boy looked pleased. He had come out of his shell since the departure of Walmsley, and Drinkwater knew that Frey had done much to protect him from the unimaginative and over-bearing Glencross. He also knew that James Quilhampton kept a close eye on the boy, ever mindful of Gillespy's relationship with Catriona MacEwan; while Lieutenant Fraser lost no opportunity to encourage a fellow Scot among the bear-pit of Sassenachs that made up the bulk of the midshipmen's berth. He was aware that he had been staring at the boy for too long and smiled.
'I trust you are quite happy?' he asked, remembering again how this boy reminded him of his own son. He should not care for Richard Madoc to go to sea with a man who did not take some interest in him.
'Oh yes, sir.'
'Mmmm.' The removal of Walmsley's influence charged that short affirmative with great significance. Drinkwater remembered his own life in the cockpit. It had not been happy.
'Very well, Mr Gillespy. Cut along now, cully.'
The boy turned away, his hat tucked under his arm, the small dirk in its gleaming brass scabbard bouncing on his hip. The pity of his youth and circumstance hit Drinkwater like a blow. The boy's account of the action with the Magnanime read with all the fervent patriotism of youth. There was much employment of unworthy epithets. The Frogs had run from the devastating (spelt wrongly) thunder of our glorious cannon. It was the language of London pamphleteers, a style that argued a superiority of ability Drinkwater did not like to see in one so young. It was not Gillespy's fault, of course; he was subject to the influence of his time. But Drinkwater had suffered enough reverses in his career to know the folly of under-estimation.
The Magnanime had been commanded by Captain Allemand, he had discovered, one of the foremost French naval officers. It was too easy to assume that because the major part of their fleets was blockaded in harbour they were not competent seamen. With Missiessy's squadron at sea, several hundred Frenchmen would be learning fast, to augment the considerable number of French cruisers already out. Drinkwater sighed, rose and poured himself a glass of blackstrap. He was at a loss to know why he was so worried. There were captains and admirals senior to him whose responsibilities far exceeded his own. All he had to do was to patrol his cruising area, one of a cloud of frigates on the look-out for any enemy movements, who linked the major units of the British fleet, ready to pass news, to pursue or strike at enemy cruisers, and hold the Atlantic seaboard of France and Spain under a constant vigilance.
It was all very well, Drinkwater ruminated, in theory. But the practicalities were different as the events of January had shown. To the east the French Empire was under the direction of a single man. Every major military and naval station was in contact with Napoleon, whose policy could be quickly disseminated by interior lines of communication. No such factors operated in Great Britain's favour. Britain was standing on the defensive. She had no army to speak of and what she had of one was either policing the raw new industrial towns of the Midlands or preparing to go overseas on some madcap expedition to the east under Sir James Craig. Her government was shaky and the First Lord of the Admiralty, Lord Melville, was to be impeached for corruption. Her dispersed fleets were without quick communication, every admiral striving to do his best but displaying that fatal weakness of disagreement and dislike that often ruined the ambitions of the mighty. Orde, off Cadiz, hated Nelson, off Toulon, and the sentiment was returned with interest. Missiessy at sea was bad enough (and Drinkwater still smarted from a sense of failure to keep contact with the French, despite the weather at the time), but the spectre of more French battleships at sea worried every cruiser commander. With that thought he poured a second glass of wine. He doubted Ganteaume would get out of Brest, but Gourdon might give Calder the slip at Ferrol, and Villeneuve might easily get past Nelson with his slack and provocative methods. And that still left the Spanish out of the equation. They had ships at Cartagena and Cadiz, fine ships too…