The Iberian Flame

Chapter 24

At anchor, Cadiz

One by one the captains of the Inshore Squadron filed uneasily into Conqueror’s great cabin. Each had been abruptly summoned from his station up and down the coast by dispatch cutter and held in his own ship until all had arrived, all, that is, except one. They’d then been called to a meeting with Admiral Rowley – not the usual ‘all captains’ but an individually written order requiring their presence on board the flagship at this hour.

Even more disquieting was the absence of both officers and men from the after end of the big ship: no midshipmen at work in the coach, no seamen at their various tasks on the poop deck, no one coming and going into the cabin spaces about their business. A marine sentry at sharp-eyed attention stood at each door.

The captains sat in their usual places, murmuring guarded greetings to each other and avoiding any comment on such strange goings-on.

As soon as they were assembled the admiral swept in, taking his place in the centre. His complexion was flushed with an air of barely suppressed excitement and his fists oddly clenched.

He called for his steward. ‘A snifter for all these gentlemen – the Amontillado, mind – then get out.’

In a tense silence Rowley’s eyes darted from one to another as he waited impatiently for the refreshments to be served.

‘Cap’n Mason,’ he barked. ‘Be s’ good as to see if we’re quite alone.’

The officer got up, mystified, but went to the door and looked out. ‘We are, sir, bar the sentry.’

‘Dismiss him, please.’ Rowley gave a tight smile. ‘My apologies for all this mystery, but it’s for a reason. A damned important – no, a vital one!’

Taking in the expressions of bafflement on his captains’ faces, he went on, ‘As sets fair to pull up Boney by a round turn, by which I mean it will be a stroke as will bring his haughty ally Spain to its knees.’

A rustle of relief went around the gathering. ‘Secret intelligence, what?’ Layton of Jason puffed. ‘The only thing it could be, I thought to m’self.’

‘Just so,’ Rowley purred. ‘An approach to me as reigning admiral from what I can say is a well-placed Spanish merchant cove, bearing on their most well-guarded secret of state, and I mean to act upon it.’

‘Has the commander-in-chief been informed of this, sir?’ Hayward of Vigilant wanted to know. Unspoken was the question that, if it was so vital, why hadn’t Collingwood assumed the initiative?

‘He’s still on passage,’ Rowley snapped. ‘In this instance, because time presses, I’ve taken it upon myself to move it forward without waiting to consult.’ He shuffled his papers meaningfully, his eyes challenging Layton’s.

‘Ah, of course, sir.’

‘Shall we go on? This secrecy is in force to preserve the unexpected, which is crucial to our success.’

He had their complete attention. If it was going to lead to a fleet confrontation and battle in the near future, that would certainly explain the admiral’s animation. Like Duckworth at San Domingo, even a mediocre commander, if lucky, could find fame and renown in a surprise descent on the enemy.

Rowley continued, ‘This operation will require precision and rapid obedience in all, not to say diligence.’

Several of the captains looked at each other in puzzlement. They were seasoned and tested in battle: such qualities were surely understood. And if it were a fleet action a frigate’s duties were secondary to the role of those lying in the line of battle – and there was none of that class of ship represented.

‘And self-restraint.’

Not courage, endurance, heroism? Just self-control?

‘Er, I don’t follow you, sir,’ Hayward said carefully.

Rowley gave a beatific smile. ‘That is because you don’t know what we’re going after, Hayward.’

‘Sir?’

‘Gentlemen. I’ve been given the sailing time and place of the flota de los galeones, which, for those of you without the Spanish, I should explain is the means by which the Dons ship across to their mine-workings in America the mercury without which they can’t swill out their ore to get at the silver.’

‘A mercury ship!’ breathed Mason, leaning back in admiration. Rare and legendary beasts, the mercury they carried was so much more valuable than the silver or even gold of the treasure fleets.

‘The loss of such will be a catastrophic blow to the Spanish. They are desperate to restore their fortunes in the Americas, for which they’ll need their quicksilver.’

‘And-’

‘And of course I cannot deny that in the process we ourselves shall be rewarded in full measure.’ Rowley’s eyes gleamed. ‘In fact,’ he said, his voice lowering, ‘my calculations are that each of you before me shall be the richer by not less than two hundred and forty years’ pay for that one day’s work.’

They looked at one another in wondering disbelief.

‘Yes, gentlemen, in a very short while you shall be wealthier than you could ever dream of.’

‘So … this is why the secrecy,’ Mason said in a whisper. ‘Don’t want to scare off the Dons.’

‘Er, just how good is your intelligence, may we know?’ rumbled Layton, with a grimace. ‘All seems too good t’ be true, if you ask me.’

‘I vouch for it personally,’ Rowley said loftily, ‘as the gentleman in question is both at an eminence in court and stands to share in our good fortune, as it were.’

‘Then …’

‘Yes, Mr Hayward?’ Rowley drawled.

The captain reddened. ‘Nothing, sir, do stand on.’ This was not the time to bring up that it would appear Rowley had kept the intelligence so secret to restrict the prize distribution to himself only and the captains under his direction. This would ensure that there would be no others on the scene to claim a share, the usual rule being that those in sight at the time were included in the proceeds.

‘Good. Then I shall be brief.’

Mercury, it seemed, came from a very few places in the world, by far the largest being the mines of Almaden in the centre of Spain, known since Roman times. It was prepared for shipping and sent down to Seville, then to Cadiz, where it made its way across the Atlantic.

‘The last flota was three years ago, and they’re in serious straits for want of it, our blockade being so active. Now they’re trying another way – bringing it by mule to a lonely part of the coast and taking it aboard a transport there. My information gives this as Mazagon, in two days’ time.’

‘Ah. That’s …’

‘Some fifty miles north of Cadiz, inside a sandspit at the mouth of some heathen river. I’ve no knowledge as to how many transports, the escort and so forth, which is why I’m making sure of it by bringing you all in.’

This was met with thoughtful expressions: he would need to be very sure of success to justify removing the inshore blockade even overnight.

‘A straightforward enough operation, I would have thought,’ Rowley continued smugly. ‘Two offshore north and south, the remainder to seaward, with one bearing my flag in the offing. A matter of lying in wait for them to come out to us. The flag vessel will take care of the transport,’ he said smoothly. ‘In the event there are two, Riposte will take the other,’ he added, smiling indulgently at Mason.

‘Orders?’ said Hayward, pointedly. He was asking for written orders, which in themselves would point to Rowley’s neat appropriation of the operation and its proceeds.

‘No time, no time,’ Rowley boomed, collecting up his papers. ‘We sail tomorrow noon. Now, are we all clear about our part?’

Layton shifted in his chair. ‘Just one thing, sir,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Don’t you think it a hard thing that Captain Kydd is not here, to take his portion with us all?’

‘Kydd is away to the south and can’t be reached,’ the admiral said quickly. ‘A sad pity, but I rather think that this must be accounted a party to which he’s not been invited.’

The Inshore Squadron sailed the next day, standing well out to sea until the land was sunk, then shaping a course north. Watchers on shore would no doubt conclude that these were fleet exercises again, but aboard every ship there was tension – confined to just one man: the captain. Their mission could not be compromised by excited talk so their true purpose was unknown to all others, officers and seamen.

The trap was simple but effective: an impenetrable semi-circle about the departing port, Mazagon, with every ship just below the horizon. When the mercury convoy sailed it would find itself facing the seaward frigates but by then it would be too late. Others to the north and south would have closed in behind to complete the circle and it would be over very quickly.

The one thing that could bring it all to a ruin was a frigate sighted from shore. Aboard each, therefore, the sailing master found himself under the harshest direction as to the ship’s position, and a mystified crew kept at the first readiness for … what?

As if in sympathy the Atlantic winds moderated to a useful south-westerly breeze and in perfect weather the frigates took up their positions, hours only from wealth immeasurable.