A King's Cutter by Richard Woodman Read Free Book Online Page A

cleared. All the same it was deuced odd that the French had failed to capitalise on the violation of their littoral.
    He dismissed the thought. Now the cutter was ordered to join the growing number of brigs and sloops of war keeping the French coast under observation. Since Lord Hood had cruised with home-based frigates and guardships in the summer, the dockyard had been busy. Thanks to the Spanish and Russian crises of the preceding three years the fleet was in a reasonable state of preparedness. Across the Channel the Paris mob had massacred the Swiss guard and in September the French had invaded Savoy. It was known that Rear-Admiral Truguet had been ordered to sea with nine sail of the line. In November the Austrian Netherlands were overrun and the French seized control of the Scheldt. This made the whereabouts of all French naval squadrons crucial to the defence of Great Britain.
    There were thirty-nine battleships at Brest, ten at Lorient and thirteen at Rochefort. As 1793 approached the Admiralty was taking a close look at them.
     
    The grey overcast of Saturday 29th December 1792 seemed leaden, but the wind had backed into the north-west, the showers had ceased and the cloud was beginning to disperse. Griffiths and Drinkwater stood watching a brig-sloop running down the Sound for the open sea.
    ‘Childers, Commander Robert Barlow,’ muttered Drinkwater half to himself.
    Griffiths nodded. ‘Off to reconnoitre Brest Road,’ he added confidentially.
    On the last day of the old year, the wind veered northerly and blew from a clear sky. At noon a guard boat brought Griffiths the orders he had been expecting. By sunset Kestrel had left Smeaton’s Eddystone lighthouse astern and was scudding south to the support of Childers.
    During the night the wind freshened to a severe gale and Kestrel was hove to, her bowsprit reefed, her topmast and yards sent down and double breechings securing her guns. At first light a sail was seen to the westward and an exchange of signals revealed her as Childers. Taking the helm himself Griffiths steered Kestrel under the brig’s lee and luffed. In his tarpaulin Barlow bellowed at them: ‘Fired on by French batteries at St Matthew
    honour of the flag, return to port
    making for Fowey
    ‘ His words were ripped away by the gale.
    ‘Probably of the opinion he’s the first to be fired on, eh, Mr Drinkwater?’ growled Griffiths, regarding his junior from beneath a wet and bushy white eyebrow.
    ‘Aye, sir, and hastening home to make a noise of it if I’m not mistaken.’
    Griffiths chuckled. Barlow’s indignation was clear, even across the strip of white and foaming water. ‘He’ll be in a post-chaise before that brig’s fetched an anchor, I’ll warrant,’ said Griffiths, heaving on the tiller and calling two men to relieve him.
    The two little ships parted, plunging to windward with the spray shooting over them, the sea streaked pale by parallel lines of spume that tore downwind. Here and there a fulmar banked and swooped on rigid, sabre-shaped wings, breaking the desolation of the view.
    Three weeks later Louis XVI was guillotined and on the first day of February the French Naval Convention declared war on the Dutch Stadtholder and His Majesty King George III.
    *Nelson’s spelling

Chapter Four March-September 1793
A Hunter Hunted
    ‘Cap’n’s compliments, sir, an’ he’d be obliged if you’d attend him in the cabin.’ Odd that a little cutter could produce a servant as diplomatic as Merrick. Drinkwater turned the deck over to Jessup and went below, crabbing down the companionway against the heel.
    ‘Nothing in sight, sir,’ he said removing his hat ‘apart from Flora, that is.’
    Griffiths nodded without looking up from his orders just received from the frigate. ‘Sit down, Mr Drinkwater.’
    Drinkwater eased himself on to the settee and stretched. Griffiths pushed a decanter across the table without a word, flicking a glance in Drinkwater’s direction only to see