‘I’m told as well that Missiessy’s Rochefort squadron of five of-the-line and four frigates is returning to join him and, further, that Admiral Magon with more sail-of-the-line has but yesterday reached here.’ Stirring among the captains showed the point was well taken – that now they were gravely outnumbered.
‘The God of Battles has delivered them to me!’ Nelson’s eyes glowed with conviction. ‘We now have a noble chance to meet and destroy them!’ Growls of agreement rose from around the table, Kydd’s enthusiastically among them. Who could possibly doubt that, with Nelson at the fore, a victory was certain?
‘To business. General Brereton’s information is that the French are headed south and our only colony of consequence there is Trinidad, which it is supposed is now taken by Villeneuve’s armament. Now, do mark that Port of Spain, which is sheltered around the inner side of the Gulf of Paria, may only be approached by one channel, here – the Dragon’s Mouth.’
This was the narrow passage between the island and South America, shallows and rocky islets on every hand. ‘A grim place for an encounter, my lord,’ came a low mutter.
‘Possibly,’ Nelson snapped. ‘Once through, I’d believe we’ll find the French and Spaniards at anchor off the town, and then – and then it will be the glorious Nile once again.’ It was there that Nelson had impetuously thrown his fleet at the French at anchor and achieved the most complete victory in naval history so far.
‘And we’ll trounce ’em once again!’ Kydd found himself saying.
‘God willing. The Barbados military are insisting we ship troops for the recovery of the island, and while I have my doubts of soldiers afloat I cannot refuse this handsome offer in such a laudable endeavour.
‘I have dispatched a schooner south. It will signal confirmation of the presence of the enemy, which shall then be your call to clear for action. We sail as soon as the soldiers are embarked.’
So it was to be a titanic struggle set in the hellish conditions of a brackish mangrove-ridden inland sea, ferocious jungle heat and tormenting insects. The soldiers could not be allowed on the gun-decks and would suffer appallingly in the fearsome hot stink of the orlop until the battle was won, but it couldn’t be helped.
The squadron weighed and stood south in the sultry easterly, the fleet that had endured a blockade in the depths of winter now sweltering in the blazing sun of the tropics in high summer. Ships and men had, without benefit of special storing or dockyard, made an immediate transition to full battle-readiness. This was the unsung glory of Nelson’s leadership, a tribute to the minute attention he always gave to the details.
Within twenty-four hours Tobago lifted into view and they altered westward for Galleon’s Passage keeping well out to sea for the last stretch before the Dragon’s Mouth. As the afternoon wore on, in light winds they closed with the coast – Trinidad.
The leading frigate, Amphion, suddenly sheered out of position on seeing a schooner close inshore with a red pennant over black hoisted. It was the exact signal they had been waiting for and Amphion’s ‘enemy are present’ soared up eagerly.
The distant thunder of drums rolled over the water as the squadron prepared. Now there could be no more doubting, no more conjecture. They had chased Villeneuve and had him cornered.
As they neared the craggy, palm-girt beaches, the flames and smoke of destruction could be seen, forts and guard-posts ablaze in the steaming interior. Did this mean they were too late, that the enemy had landed and were victorious?
Grimly they stood to their guns as they neared the swirl of currents about Chacachacare, the first islet, sweating in the heat but keyed up for the fight to come. Once around the dark-green point in the violent red sunset, would they burst like an avenging thunderbolt on Villeneuve at anchor, just as they had at the Nile?
First one ship, then another glided past – and then Kydd himself saw beyond the point into the wide bay of Port of Spain.
It was utterly deserted of ships.
Gasps of disbelief turned to cursing as those with telescopes picked out the English colours hanging limply above the white residence ashore and passed on the sight to others. The island was never under threat and, in what could only be the working of the devil’s magic, Villeneuve and the Spaniards had eluded them once again.
The next morning the Mediterranean Squadron put to sea for the return to Barbados. ‘What did Nelson say?’ Renzi asked quietly of Kydd.
Wiping his forehead, Kydd gave a lop-sided grin. ‘Not, as who should say, cast down but . . .’
‘How could it be? Everything pointed to . . .’
‘A failing of information, is all.’
‘Oh?’
‘A villainous American merchantman swore that he’d been stopped and boarded from a great French fleet that had then crowded on sail to the south. He was lying to deceive, of course, but when the signal post on St Lucia reported a host of ships bound southward as well, what else could be believed?’
‘The lobsterbacks saw a convoy as would seem to them a mighty fleet, I’d wager. But the schooner – she signalled—’
‘The schooner was a Bermudan who was innocently about her trade, signalling to her business agent ashore. That she chose the self-same flags is the greatest of coincidences – while ours was away still searching.’
‘The destruction we saw ashore? If the French were not responsible then . . . ?’
‘Ha! This is your local militia mistaking us for Villeneuve and being over-hasty to retreat and fire their defences.’
It was the damnedest luck, and now they were back where they had started. For the pity of it all, where were the French?
They had hardly cleared the Dragon’s Mouth when they had their answer. A fast cutter made for Victory and soon its dispatches became general knowledge.
Villeneuve had shown his hand. He had not deployed his forces in laying waste to English possessions: instead he had spent precious time throwing his battle-fleet against a rock!
Two years previously, in an epic of courage and adventure, sailors from Centaur had scaled a near vertical monolith and hauled up guns and equipment, arming the rock like a ship. It was rated by the Navy as HM Sloop Diamond Rock and, located at the very entrance to Fort de France, the main harbour of Martinique, it dominated the approaches to the port. From its lofty heights they could spy on every sea movement.
Only after several days’ bombardment and the failure of their water supply did the little ‘ship’ capitulate. But their sacrifice would not be in vain. Nelson was galvanised and, abandoning Barbados, still with the soldiers aboard, set his fleet’s course directly north to pass along the chain of islands that were the eastern limits of the Caribbean Sea and were among the richest in the world. Villeneuve would be sure to fall on them with the forces he commanded.
One by one the islands lifted above the horizon. Local craft were questioned about what they had seen before the ships sailed on to the next, Grenada, St Vincent, St Lucia. Amphion was sent to look into Martinique but found no fleet, Dominica, then Guadeloupe and on to Montserrat. A report there, however, had eighteen sail-of-the-line under French and Spanish colours slipping by not three days previously.
Was it to be Antigua, with the best dockyard in the Caribbean? Or had the enemy vanished into the blue as they had done so often before?
They raised Antigua at first light, the jaded gun-crews at their quarters in readiness – but yet again there was no word. If Villeneuve went much further there would be no more islands for him to assault. Unless he veered to the west and fell on Jamaica . . .
With the prospect of a cataclysmic battle at any moment against a foe with double his numbers, Nelson could not afford to send off his frigates on a thorough search and could therefore only piece together what could be gleaned from local report and rumour.