So that was it! The pride of a Spaniard that would never allow him to suffer the humiliation of begging, cap in hand, even for his own salvation. It was understandable and impossible to counter. Unless …
‘This I do allow is nothing an honourable man can tolerate,’ Renzi agreed. ‘Yet it seems to me there is a way that at one stroke you can achieve a standing with the English that lets you look them in the eye as an equal. That enables you to accept anything they offer at the same degree as they offer it.’
Morla paused, his eyes speculative. ‘Go on, Ingles.’
‘The French are not just on the road from Madrid. They are here, now.’
The general narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
‘With an artillery detachment of a hundred cannon and more, quite able to reduce Cadiz in hours.’
‘What are you blathering about?’ he barked.
‘The French squadron, new shifted into the Carracas arsenal. If you move against them as they lie, set them to the torch or batter them to submission with your own pieces, you’ll have the whole glory of finishing the battle of Trafalgar for the English, for these are the last survivors remaining. You’ll do what Admiral Nelson did not and the world will hear about it, be assured of that, General. Will you not then be able to stand before any Englishman with this victory at your back and demand what you will?’
Morla’s eyes gleamed. ‘I hear you well. It will not be easy – the ground at the arsenal is well chosen by our fathers, marshes, soft going for guns of size. Yet I’ll do it, I believe! It’ll give much heart to our brave soldados as will lead them on to triumph later. Hey – wine for my friend! You’ll drink with me, mi amigo.’
Chapter 34
Aboard Conqueror
Rowley put down the dispatch irritably. If there was one thing he disliked more than anything, it was another admiral telling him what to do. Here, Collingwood was claiming superior intelligence that Cadiz was in some state of anarchy in the face of the French advance from Madrid. Civil disorder, assassinations and similar.
He was being ordered to take advantage of this to make an approach to the authorities, offering assistance leading to some sort of entente, a manner of collaboration possible. It was all very vague.
He snorted. It was nonsense, of course. His entire professional career had been with Spaniards as foe, and there’d been nothing that indicated they’d made any kind of turncoat move. Indeed, the letter of his fighting instructions was that they were enemy and in consequence he should bend all possible efforts to their destruction. What if he were fool enough to fall for some knavish trick and took his fleet into an entrapment? He’d be blamed.
And the closing paragraph of the dispatch: it was of the first necessity to neutralise the French squadron while the situation was fluid – presumably before Murat’s army reached Cadiz to put down the unrest. Well, that was now out of his hands. Reconnaissance had shown them moved from their usual anchorage, assumed to be taking refuge within the inner anchorage where they were essentially untouchable.
‘Flags!’ he called peevishly.
‘Sir?’
‘What’s the form to parlay with the enemy?’
‘T-to-’
‘For God’s sake! I want to talk to whoever’s still in charge ashore. Encourage ’em to, well, come around to our way of thinking, that sort of thing.’
‘Sir.’
‘Well, get on with it. We haven’t time to dither, man.’
He started pencilling notes, points at issue, a list of gun salutes and their number in case the heathen Spanish had no notion of honour due a flag. Absently, he tapped with his pencil, trying to bring things to some sort of order, but it was impossible. Just what was meant by assisting the enemy? Helping them haul down their flag?
He brightened at a thought: if they were willing to surrender to him, they would have no need to face the French and would thank him for it. Spain capitulating to Rear Admiral Rowley? It would be in the history books to the end of time.
The admiral’s barge put off from Conqueror and, under a large white flag, boldly pressed on into the outer anchorage. From the castle of San Sebastian, at the end of its long causeway, a challenging shot thudded out.
The boat rounded to, its sails lowered, and waited, the huge flag wilting in the light breeze. Eventually an aviso under oars ventured out, Spanish colours vivid against the grey sea. Watchers from the flagship saw it go alongside the barge and a letter handed over before it turned about and returned, the barge remaining patiently where it was.
It was well over an hour before there was further movement: the aviso came out again and, with much bowing and ceremony, gave a letter to the flag-lieutenant. An impatient Rowley paced Conqueror’s quarterdeck until it was passed up and the contents disclosed, courtesy of Ransome, the thin-faced translator-cleric from Leviathan.
‘A meeting! On a neutral ship that they’ll provide from those in port. A military cove, Morla, and some junta or other. This afternoon at three.’
Shortly before the due time a homely barque of useful size beat its way out to the centre of the bay, which was the outer harbour, and cast anchor. Rowley boarded his barge, delayed only by discussion as to whether the Union Flag of Great Britain, as representing the national interest, should be at the single masthead or his own admiral’s pennant. It was decided in favour of the latter: the Union Flag being flown as a pennant indicated a full admiral. A temporary staff was found for it at the transom.
Morla stood on one end of the main hatch, with equerries and attendants, a formidable figure in the magnificence of a captain general of Andalucia, stiff with gold lace, aiguillettes and an impossibly long rapier.
Mounting the other end of the hatch, Rowley took position, flanked by Ransome and the flag-lieutenant. His secretary stood ready to make record.
Bowing stiffly, Morla fired off some Spanish, his granite features alive with distaste.
‘Says as what brings the English to seek parlay after twelve years of insults to their flag.’
Rowley smiled winningly. ‘Tell him I’m here to offer the Spanish Crown any assistance they require to stand against the French.’
‘He says he stands insulted. He is not the Spanish Crown: he is of the ruling Cadiz junta and reminds you that you are the sworn enemy of Spain.’
‘Ah. We have a means to deal with that little problem.’
It took Morla by surprise and there was a sharp interchange before he threw back his reply.
‘Er, sir. It is, that is to say, he wonders if you are here to offer terms … for your capitulation to, um, Spain.’
Rowley nearly choked. ‘No, no! Tell the fellow it’s the other way round. Does he wish to render up Cadiz and Spain to me in preference to the French, who are known to be merciless in their conquering?’
It brought an incredulous burst of savage laughter and Morla leaned forward to hiss his response.
‘If this is why we’re here, he declares it a contemptible waste of time.’
‘Wait! There’s another matter. The French squadron taking shelter in Cadiz. It is a powerful one, too great a weight of metal to consider engaging yourself. If it is not an inconvenience might I request the general to drive them out to us? We’ll put them down in fine style, be assured of that.’
Morla’s contempt was plain. ‘If the French ships need assaulting, that is our business. Anything else?’
Thankful to be back in the sturdy refuge of his great cabin, Rowley smouldered. He’d done precisely what Collingwood had asked, offered help, tried to deal with the French squadron, and the cantankerous, ignorant Spaniard had gone out of his way to be obstructive. The trouble was, the navy didn’t take kindly to excuses and he’d have to admit an achievement in the sum total of nothing.
It wasn’t for some time that he came up with a solution. He would put it about that the reduction of the French squadron before the relieving force arrived was of prime importance to strategy at this stage of the war, which was not altogether an exaggeration. Every effort must be devoted to this end. Unhappily, the French had retired to the inner harbour but there was opportunity here for a brave and dedicated officer to press home a surprise attack in boats – fire craft, mortars, rockets, whatever was needed to bring ruin and destruction to the anchored ships.