The Iberian Flame

Chapter 39

From the shore Renzi had watched it all with a heavy expression. He knew what would be in his friend’s thoughts and he was wrung with remorse. How could he look him in the face when next they met? And there was still the possibility that Morla would fail and the ships would fall to the French, their only chance to deal with them snatched away.

His explanation to Morla for his betrayal of his countrymen had been only half believed: that it was to prevent useless bloodshed, given that he knew Morla was man enough for the job but the British didn’t, and there wasn’t time to do other than warn of the attempt. Renzi wouldn’t be pressed as to how he had come by this information.

He was now a ‘guest’ at the Spanish headquarters, watched all the time but free to follow Morla as he went about readying for the attack. He knew why. Confident of victory, the general wanted witnesses and, above all, someone who could take him to the English admiral afterwards to speak of his valour when he made his demands.

The general was energetic, imaginative and unforgiving. The royal governor’s residence was now his headquarters and a constant stream of military men hastened in and out. Horsed messengers, crashing to a stop outside, wasted no time in reporting to him.

The inner harbour, it seemed, was nothing much more than a depression in a marshy expanse of shallow islands, the naval base at its furthest interior. The French admiral had moored his ships not far from this, deliberately distant from the defending batteries and forts.

In the short term there was only one way to proceed.

The next day, without ceremony, the Cadiz junta showed its teeth. Across the bay a division of gunboats and mortar chaloupes set out in a broad phalanx, heading directly for the moored battleships. The French opened fire immediately, the light winds doing little to clear the mountainous roils of gun-smoke from the hundreds of guns at their command.

In a forest of splashes the courageous gunboats did their best, their single heavy guns thudding out as they closed to bring down the range but at the same time making themselves a bolder target. Within hours, pitiful floating wreckage marked the end of ten, then fifteen craft, with no visible effect on the French.

By nightfall it was clear that it was a hopeless cause and Morla called them off.

Renzi could see no way forward. The marshy shallows that the early defenders of Cadiz had taken advantage of to safeguard the naval base were working against Morla.

No ship of size could venture there, unless along the single deep channel that was now occupied by the French ships. More significant, the same treacherous tidal mud flats made any offensive by enemy artillery inconceivable. With no roads or tracks firm enough to support wheeled guns the area was safe from hostile operations. Morla was prevented from bringing up guns of anything like the same weight of metal as the French ships carried.

That night the crowds came out again, restless and dangerous. They knew they’d shown their hand and taken up arms against the French, who would now have every reason to exact swift and terrible vengeance. Only if General Morla could snatch a victory would they be in a position to make any kind of demands when it came to treating for terms.