Chapter 24

 

That evening, as the rest of the fleet sailed off in accordance with their new orders, Cochrane raised more sail in the Emperor and set off after the Portuguese vanguard. Several times we passed within hailing distance of merchant ships that were valiantly trying to follow their admiral in the futile hope of protection. There was shouts and yells as we came looming out of the darkness, two even heaved to in anticipation of capture. They must have been relieved and no doubt puzzled to see us press on without making any effort to seize them. They were not the only ones; there were mumblings of discontent from the crew too, who stood to earn a share of all the ships captured in their prize money. Even Crosbie, who I gathered was not a wealthy man, came as close as I ever saw to criticising his admiral.

“The cargo on some of these merchant ships is worth a fortune,” he complained as another plump vessel ripe for the taking fell astern. “Taxes on them when they reach Lisbon will fund their government and help the fight against the emperor.”

“That is why Cochrane has sent the Nitherohy to capture as many as it can,” I pointed out. “But if he is right and they are going to land troops up the coast, we are going to need to know where.”

“Yes, but he thinks we will be able to blockade their fleet with just our one ship,” continued Crosbie. “That might have worked in Salvador where the admiral had a huge merchant fleet to guard as well, but it will not work in the new anchorage. Once the troops are ashore there will be nothing to stop his whole fleet coming for us. Thirteen ships against one, possibly more if the armed transports join in. I know we can beat all but the flagship easily one to one, but if they get us cornered against the coast we will not stand a chance.”

“Well you are a real ray of sunshine this evening,” I said giving him what was probably a rather wan smile. I had just about convinced myself that Cochrane knew what he was doing and now this fellow was filling my mind with all sorts of horrors. I generally needed no help in that – I had been a master of poltroonery since before Crosbie was born. The sickening thing was that I could see he had a point; he was no novice in naval affairs having served for years in the Royal Navy before joining Cochrane in Chile. I had visions of us being trapped against some savage shore. The choices then would be bleak: death in battle, drowning at sea or the trials of trying to survive in some hostile jungle. I envied Jackson then, who was still safely in Rio going through Cochrane’s papers. I might soon be finding out first-hand if the stories he had heard of murderous midgets were true, that is if crocodiles or other wild animals did not get me first.

Thanks to Crosbie, I did not get a lot of sleep that night as I fretted over what was to come. I was on deck the next day as the sun crept up over the eastern horizon to see how close we were to the Portuguese vanguard. It revealed that we were just five miles astern, which their admiral clearly thought was far too close. He must have been called up on deck when the Emperor was revealed in the early morning light. Other merchant ships we had ignored in our pursuit were still visible sailing unharmed in our wake. It must have been clear to the Portuguese admiral that Cochrane was now coming after him and the flotilla of troop transports that his warships were jealously guarding at the expense of the rest of their fleet. Within minutes long lines of flags rose up the signal halyards of the Portuguese flagship and were acknowledged by the other naval vessels.

“It seems we are exciting their interest at last,” said Cochrane watching the scene. As he spoke a distant signal gun was fired and six of the largest Portuguese naval vessels started to turn. In a few moments, they were all bearing down on us, the flagship leading the way and the rest spread out on either side like a net to reel us in. Cochrane did not look the slightest bit concerned. Instead, he was grinning broadly as though this was just the reaction he had hoped for, although I noticed him glancing up at the pennant on the masthead to judge the wind. He seemed to be gauging the time he had to react, but he was certainly in no hurry as he strolled about the deck. “Do you know if the cook has started breakfast?” he enquired of a cabin boy. “I’m starving.” The boy rushed off to find out, while other men standing nearby grinned at their commander’s cool as a hostile wall of wood and cannon surged down towards us.

“They will be having us for breakfast if we don’t move soon,” I grumbled, not quite able to share his equanimity after my restless night.

Crosbie pointed to a growing gap between the two ships on the right of the approaching line. “We could get through between that frigate and corvette, then they will have to chase us.”

“No,” warned Cochrane calmly. “The rest of their naval fleet is forming up at the rear of the transports. They might be smaller, but I will wager a year’s pay that they are loaded with chain shot. They will try to cut our rigging so that the rest of their fleet can close around us.” He stepped up to the rail and stared down at the main deck where a growing crowd of seamen was gathering to see what would happen next.

“Men” he called. “We are going to lead the Portuguese a merry dance. I want to draw them away from the transports so that we can attack at night. The gunners can stand down, but I want you top men ready for every trick in the book: our lives will depend on it.” He studied his crew and while many of his old hands appeared confident in their success, he caught some of the newer recruits glancing anxiously over their shoulders at the approaching ships. Cochrane grinned at them. “Those of you who were with me in Chile will remember that girl Connie, from the Broken Bottle tavern.” He shot a glance at Crosbie, who was going pink at the mention of the wench. “From what I hear she was an expert flirt and tease.” At this there were several ribald comments from the crew highlighting her other skills and who among them had enjoyed them. Cochrane held up his hand for silence, “Well we are going to show the Portuguese that a ship can flirt and tease too.”

At this, an anonymous voice in the crowd called out, “Will we be giving the Portuguese the pox like Connie too?” The men roared with laughter at that and even the more nervous ones seemed to be taking confidence from the old hands around them.

“We will give them the pox tonight,” Cochrane promised. “Now hands to the braces, for we will be going about in a moment.” The men ran to their stations, which was just as well as the Portuguese flagship was now less than two miles away. The Emperor heeled over onto a north-easterly course, sailing across the front of the line of ships coming towards us. They turned to pursue and, for a while, the smaller ships seemed to be gaining. A corvette even opened fire on us, although the balls fell hopelessly short. Cochrane let them creep closer and closer and gave them hope of catching us. Then we heeled around again to run south-east, and then due south, where our taller masts gave us an advantage and we started to pull away. Even then, Cochrane would tease them to encourage the Portuguese to follow. Crosbie went up into the rigging and a short while later our topsail appeared to give way, a great sheet of canvas now flapping uselessly in the wind.

“Come on, you hounds!” yelled Cochrane at our pursuers, not at all alarmed by the apparent catastrophe that had struck our rigging. I watched as the Portuguese flagship crowded on every inch of sail, even attempting stun sails at the end of their yards. Cochrane laughed at their efforts. He pointed to the new sails, “They won’t hold when we run before the wind in a while.” He let them gain again for half an hour before shouting new orders, then in a trice our topsail was restored. We turned once more, heading west, now running directly in front of the wind. Our sails filled and strained in the breeze as the bows dug deep into the waves, sending up a fine, cooling spray. But I wasn’t watching our ship; I was staring aft. Sure enough, moments after the Portuguese admiral had turned to mirror our course, one of their stun sails tore loose. Cochrane grinned as yardarm and sail were blown wildly about in their rigging and men swarmed aloft to get it under control.

It went on like that all day. Sometimes the frigates and corvettes would try to get either side of us, or the flagship would pile on sail in pursuit. But whatever they tried Cochrane was always one step ahead. Just one step, mind, for he always wanted to give them hope that they might win in the end. But as the sun started to go down late in the afternoon, even the most optimistic Portuguese sailor must have seen that their chances of success were slim. Eventually, their flagship heeled around and gave us a broadside, more in hope than expectation that their heaviest guns might reach us. One did in fact splash into the water a hundred yards off our hull. Then more signal flags went up the halyards of the flagship and the fleet started, at last, to turn away.

Cochrane watched them go and let the gap between us extend to some three miles before finally giving the order to sail on a parallel course. He looked down on the two helmsmen hauling on the double wheel and smiled in satisfaction at the day’s work. “Well, gentlemen,” he announced at large to those standing on the quarterdeck. “In the words of that sailor, I think it’s time to go and give the Portuguese the pox.”