*Hornblower at the Basque Roads*

Forenote: The major events in this story really did happen. All the characters except Hornblower and Bush are historical and represented as accurately as I can manage. The Basque Roads affair was one of the great controversies of the day and I found myself wondering what Captain Hornblower would have done if he had been caught up in it. Then I concluded there could be only one answer.

Although there is a battle in this story it’s basically a character piece and Hornblower is not exactly at his most heroic. As usual with me this story is heavy on the angst.

***********************

1. The Appointment

‘What a tempestuous world do we live in! Yet terrible as Buonaparte is in every point of view, I do not fear him as much as those domestic mischiefs – Burdett, Cochrane, Wardle and Cobbett.’

Hannah More on British Radicalism

*******

1809

“Surely they can’t do it, sir! A man like Admiral Harvey –”

“Not even a Rear-Admiral can be permitted to publicly insult his superior,” Captain Hornblower said curtly.

“But to court martial the man who captained the fighting Temeraire at Trafalgar! And all for a man like–”

“Enough, Mr Bush!” Hornblower snapped. He’d never known Bush be angry enough to speak out of line before. Come to think, he couldn’t remember ever seeing Bush really angry before. He’d served under Harvey of course, regard for his former captain must explain it. “The Rear-Admiral’s previous record has no bearing whatever on the matter. His language was far beyond excusing.” Beyond repeating as well. Unless called to testify, he would never in his life repeat the words Sir Eliub Harvey had used, all too publicly, to describe Admiral Lord Gambier. Canting hypocrite, useless psalm-singer and utterly unfit for command was barely the half of it.

“To a man of his temper,” Bush persisted, “being asked to serve under a markedly junior officer–”

“Are you questioning the Admiralty’s orders, Mr Bush?” Rather alarmed now, Hornblower made the words as brutal as he could manage.

Thankfully Bush checked himself. “No. Sir. But I would say that Admiral Harvey would be more than capable of leading the attack, and it surprises me that the Admiralty appointed Captain Lord Cochrane.”

“Captain Cochrane,” Hornblower said, “has a marked familiarity with the Basque Roads anchorage.”

“I know that, sir, and I’m not questioning his ability, but the Admiralty must surely have known the appointment of a relatively junior man would sit badly with the senior fleet captains.”

“Mr Bush,” Hornblower said with regrettable, but necessary, coldness, “I will not be drawn into discussions of Admiralty decisions, nor will I tolerate criticisms on that subject. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Bush said, unhappily. “Is that all, sir?”

Without meeting Bush’s eyes, Hornblower lifted the pamphlets that lay on his desk. “See that these are distributed to the men, Mr Bush.”

*

It was a good question, Hornblower admitted to himself when Bush had gone. Granted Admiral Gambier had no enthusiasm for the proposed fire-ship attack (an open secret within the Channel Fleet), granted another man needed to be found to lead it if there was to be hope of success: why had the Admiralty appointed Captain Cochrane?

A moderately well-connected man, son of an impoverished Scots earl and nephew of a Rear-Admiral. Yet very much in the Admiralty black books, if naval gossip – and probability – spoke true.

An able man. A man who knew the territory, his raids on the great French anchorage had made headlines a few years back. But a captain only since 1801; a captain who commanded a modest frigate, not one of the great ships-of-the-line; a captain who, to Hornblower’s certain knowledge, had never been in a general action. Why, with men like Harvey available and eager, why Cochrane?

Cochrane the rebel, the firebrand. Cochrane whose insubordination was as well-known as his exploits. Cochrane the Radical, who used a parliamentary seat to expose and attack naval corruption, inefficiency and callousness whenever he was not at sea. Cochrane, generally believed to be still holding an active command only because his popular reputation would make it difficult to remove him.

Why had the Admiralty appointed Thomas Cochrane?

*

“You’ve not met him?” George Seymour asked.

“No,” Hornblower answered neutrally. Cochrane had not been part of the Channel Fleet before the present appointment.

The fleet’s youngest post-captain smiled, “Just don’t take him for a fool, some do, but he’s not a fool at all.”

“His tactics are all that concern me,” Hornblower said, knowing he sounded pompous. He did not care to be lectured by a man over ten years his junior. “Is he likely to be reckless?”

“Oh no. Tom plans everything to a hairsbreadth. Ask any of his officers, or men for that matter, they’ll all say they never had a captain more careful of their safety. If you ask me, he’s never had the full credit he deserves because the papers can’t believe a victory is great unless there’s been large amounts of bloodshed. Not that he doesn’t make mistakes, mark you, but he doesn’t do it often.” Seymour chuckled. “I had to tow him home once, after he collided with the Minerve, he didn’t like that. But even that day – how many captains have engaged three corvettes and a frigate twice their own ship’s size single-handed and made the French come off the worse?”

There was affection as well as admiration in Seymour’s smile, Hornblower realised. Well, aristocrats did hang together, though to be fair there was not much of the snob about young Seymour. As for Cochrane, he would no doubt do a competent job, but Hornblower did not expect to like him. There were three reasons for this, although he was not proud of two of them. Cochrane was almost exactly his own age, and it raised Hornblower’s hackles to serve under a contemporary. Second, Hornblower did not much care for the aristocracy, having too often felt passed over because of his own lack of connections. Third, the most important reason, Cochrane was a Radical. Hornblower could not approve of that. Did the man want to undermine the whole fabric of the country, the very basis on which order rested? The things he proclaimed to the world should be kept decently under wraps. They were true of course, but that was all the more reason for not speaking them aloud. Surely every decent officer knew that.

Every officer except Thomas, Lord Cochrane.

*

Hornblower, Seymour and most of the other captains had come early to the flagship. Cochrane was precisely on time.

His first impression was of sheer size. Hornblower was generally counted a tall man, but Cochrane towered over everyone else in the room. He had short red-blond hair, side-whiskers, and a bony face with a very large nose. Once seen he was permanently unmistakable. His manner was a surprise, gentle and modest, not at all like Hornblower’s idea of a rebel – or an aristocrat.

“Captain Hornblower, of the Lydia.” All the captains previously unknown to Cochrane needed to present themselves, in order of seniority.

“Captain Hornblower, yes, I know of you.” Hornblower invariably reacted to such a greeting with inner apprehension, but whatever Cochrane had heard remained undisclosed for the present; there was work to be done. Within a few minutes Cochrane was presenting his plans to the assembled captains.

The situation was too well known to need much summary. The French fleet recently escaped from Brest and holed up in their great anchorage. Capable of wrecking havoc if allowed to escape, and Basque Roads was a hard place to blockade effectively. The Admiralty wanted the fleet destroyed, but that would be as tricky as if the French had chosen to beard the British in Portsmouth harbour. Nonetheless Hornblower was quite surprised to hear Cochrane say that he did not expect a fire-ship attack to succeed. The French, he said, would certainly be anticipating some such tactic, and would be prepared to intercept the ships and kill the crews. What he was saying made sense – but surely the man hadn’t come all this way just to say the attack could not be done?

He had not. Without a pause, Cochrane went on to outline his solution, which he called ‘explosion vessels’. Basically old ships would be packed with explosive according to a design drawn up by Cochrane himself, and loosed on the French with the crews abandoning them just outside the anchorage. With fuses carefully primed, the ships would explode within the harbour and spread panic and confusion throughout the fleet. At this stage conventional fire-ships would be sent in, and the French would most likely be too afraid these were more explosions vessels to intercept, in fact the fleet would probably be thrown into chaos trying to avoid them. With luck many of the ships would be set aflame, but if that did not happen, and it quite likely would not, the confusion should be sufficient for a follow-up raid to destroy the fleet. Probably many of the ships would run aground and be left disastrously vulnerable, unable to manoeuvre.

It was a striking plan, Hornblower had to admit. If Cochrane was actually capable of doing what he claimed to be able to do in designing the explosion vessels, it would be a very good plan. Certainly Captain Cochrane was no fool, although Hornblower could see how he might be taken for one. There was an almost childlike ingenuousness about the man, which might seem foolish under other circumstances. If he was aware of how much concentrated resentment was directed against him, by the captains so much his senior who had been passed over, he gave no sign. The plans, and his complete confidence in the plans, absorbed his whole attention.

“I will man the first explosion vessel, with selected members of my crew. The other vessels and fire-ships will be crewed by volunteers. I’m sure I do not need to tell anyone in this room that the French are prepared to execute any man captured aboard a fire-ship or in the wake of such an attack. I am not looking for volunteers now, there is ample time for that. Our first priority must be to prepare the ships.”

Despite himself, Hornblower was starting to like Cochrane. There was an infectious quality to his enthusiasm, a warm and open air about him that reminded Hornblower a little of –– the thought had half-formed unbidden, he pushed it ruthlessly away, and hardened his heart against the Scottish captain. The plans were the important matter. When the meeting ended he would have left at once, but Cochrane intercepted him before he could do so.

“Captain Hornblower, I would be glad of some further speech with you.”

“Of course,” Hornblower replied, noting that Cochrane seemed both urgent and diffident, an odd combination.

“There is a matter I have been wishing to ask you about for many years, but our paths never came into contact. I believe – there cannot be two men of your name within the service – I believe you served with my cousin.”

“Did I?” Hornblower hastily conned the list of men he had served with, trying to guess which one might have been related to the man before him. The unfamiliar feeling of being loomed over irked him a little, but he recognised the cause and knew it unworthy.

“Lt Kennedy,” Cochrane said.

*******

2. The Sea-Wolf

‘He was outspoken, whereas officials admire reticence and discretion. He was resolute in exposing abuses and therefore constantly creating trouble ... and he had a strong spirit of independence – a quality which ... is singularly obnoxious to the official mind.’

The Times, Obituary of Thomas Cochrane

*******

Hornblower had long since schooled himself to show no reaction to that name. “I remember him,” he said calmly, “I did not know he was your cousin.”

“Not a first cousin. I forget the exact connection, but we saw quite a bit of one another as boys.”

Of course it should have been obvious who Cochrane’s cousin must be. Would have been, had not the habit of blocking remembrance now been deep ingrained. And there was no physical resemblance – or ... was there? Cochrane was a much bigger man with a quite different cast of feature, but the colouring was similar, and the setting of the blue eyes, and – yes, the same direct and unassuming gaze.... No. He would not remember. He would not.

“You served with him on the Renown,” Cochrane was saying, “and I wish to know just how he came to die a convicted mutineer.”

“Surely you know that already,” Hornblower had been braced for the question, “He confessed, in open court.”

“But he was badly wounded, was he not?” Cochrane persisted. “Sick and feverish.”

“He was wounded, but his mind was clear enough. He knew what he said.” Why did this have to happen, after so many years? Kennedy’s immediate family seemed to have accepted his end with utter indifference, why did he have to be cousin to this man? Cochrane would not hesitate to challenge the official verdict if he could find the slightest grounds, the whole history of the man said that he would not.

“Was Captain Sawyer insane?” Hornblower had been braced for that one too. “There were rumours in the fleet....”

“Captain Sawyer,” Hornblower said, “was a leader of men and he died in battle.” Let that be enough....

It was not. “Was he insane?”

His choice had long ago been made; it was late and far too late, to change it now. “No. He was not.”

“Did Archie assault him?”

“How the devil would I know?” Hornblower snarled. Liar. You know. “He said he did.” But not to me. He didn’t say it to me. “He knew what he was saying. Isn’t that enough?”

“If Sawyer was fit for command why would he assault him?”

“I don’t know! These things happen….”

“All I want,” Cochrane said, “is justice for my cousin. If he did assault Sawyer, and Sawyer was fit for command, then that is that. But if he was made a scapegoat, then I want to know.”

And if I tell you he was, you’ll burn down the world to prove it, won’t you? “Justice was done,” Hornblower said flatly.

*

“He sent the tracts back, sir!” Bush was barely suppressing a grin.

“Sent them back?” Hornblower repeated, “What reason did he give?”

“Apparently he said that he had read the pamphlets, and considered to distribute them at the present might have unfortunate consequences for ship’s discipline, sir.” Bush was not hiding his satisfaction. Hornblower sighed. His first officer developing an admiration for Cochrane was about the last thing he had expected.

“That man,” he said, “is riding for a fall. What did the Admiral do?”

“As far as I’ve heard, he hasn’t done anything,” the words could not be faulted, the tone held barely concealed scorn. Hornblower sighed again. He had no religious beliefs himself, but rather admired Lord Gambier’s public championship of his Evangelical convictions. Unfortunately Cochrane was right: Gambier’s piety did undermine discipline. The men resented his opposition to alcohol and visits from women other than wedded wives, and simply laughed at the religious tracts he insisted on having distributed. A Howe or a Collingwood might have genuinely influenced the men, not so ‘Dismal Jimmie’ as the seamen called him. And when it came to holding musters whilst on blockade in order to satisfy himself the men had been made familiar with his everlasting tracts.... Hornblower cut off the thought.

“Mr Bush, I will need you to keep a particularly close eye on below-decks discipline. We cannot have criticism”, he could not say ridicule, “of the Admiral.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Bush would do it, despite his personal dislike for the man who had sent Rear-Admiral Harvey home for court-martial. Bush understood about discipline. Ultimately though, the problem wasn’t with the men.

Gambier, Hornblower told himself sternly, was his commanding officer and a man with the welfare of the fleet at heart. If he was not the man for spectacular successes nor did he perpetrate disasters. Yet somewhere, deep inside, the captain of the Lydia could hear the voice of a much younger Horatio Hornblower – and it was cheering Cochrane on.

*

Hornblower scanned the distant anchorage through his eyeglass. Sending in fire-ships was all well and good, but it would likely take more than that to see that the French fleet was destroyed.

“Mr Bush,” he said, “I will be taking a boat out tonight.”

“Sir?”

“Captain Lord Cochrane intends to launch the attack through the Boyant channel. I feel it would be advisable to know exactly what lies ahead, in the event of the fire-ships being followed up by a boat-attack, or even a general attack by the fleet. I intend to examine the entrance and take soundings.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Bush said, “I’ll see all is made ready. Will you be wanting me with you, sir?”

“No, Mr. Bush. I need you to stay with the ship.” Perhaps he ought to send Bush to do the scouting, but Hornblower was never happy with that kind of delegation. He trusted Bush, but if there was any danger in the mission he wished to face it himself, not send another in his place.

*

Hornblower stretched his fingers, cramped from the time he had spent writing out, and mapping, his findings of the previous night. They were encouraging on the whole. The channel was a good two miles wide, deep and clear. Ample room to take the fleet in, should it be needed. There were overlooking batteries on the island of Aix, but he judged them weak.

Now, should he convey the findings to others? Cochrane knew the area from his previous raids, and Seymour had said he was a thorough planner, but surely it would at least be courteous to ask if he had all the information he needed. A polite formality had prevailed between them whilst the fleet captains worked on constructing the attacking vessels, but enough uneasiness remained from their first encounter for Hornblower to have decided against volunteering to take a fire-ship in. However despatching information was another matter. He would send and ask.

The reply was back with in an hour, graceful thanks, but Captain Cochrane had all the information necessary already. Hornblower was not offended, he had expected as much, but he did wonder if he should make the same offer to Gambier. After some thought he decided against it. Cochrane was in charge of the raid, and would no doubt have conveyed any information he thought necessary to Gambier. For Hornblower to communicate directly with the Admiral would look like an attempt to bypass the proper chain of command. The situation in the fleet was tense enough already, he was not about to risk adding oil to the flames.

*******

3. The Admiral’s Command

Oh! Admiral Gam-- I dare not mention beer

In such a temperate ear;

Oh! Admiral Gam-- an Admiral of the Blue

Of course, to read the Navy list aright,

For strictly shunning wine of either hue,

You can’t be Admiral of the Red or White

Thomas Hood

*******

Hornblower scanned the signal with something close to disbelief. “Have a boat lowered, Mr. Bush.”

“A boat, sir?”

“You heard me!” Nine miles out from the Basque Roads the British Fleet was receiving orders for the captains to board the flagship to confer.

It was now many hours since the first of two great explosions had rent the night. The French anchorage had been lit by fire throughout the remaining hours of darkness, and he could see distant flashes as the rockets left aboard the fire-ships went off. Still more revealing had been the signals that had begun to issue from the Imperieuse, Cochrane’s ship, at first light.

5.48 ‘Half the fleet can destroy the enemy. Seven on shore.’

6.40 ‘Eleven on shore.’

7.40 ‘Only two afloat.’

The weather was too choppy for a boat attack – but only two afloat! Gambier had eleven battle-ships, six frigates and an assortment of smaller vessels. Only two afloat – the French fleet was at their mercy. Only two afloat, and the bulk of the British fleet hovered nine miles out, waiting for heaven knew what, while the tide turned ready to float the enemy fleet again. And now Gambier wanted to hold a conference.

The feelings in the flagship cabin were all too clear. Hornblower had realised that many of his fellow captains disliked Cochrane. He had not known they hated him.

‘No cause to go in,’ in different words and tone, that was the song that almost all were singing. No cause to go in and risk the ships. No cause to go in and add to what had been achieved already. No cause to hand a resounding triumph to that arrogant Scotch puppy – no one said the last, but the thought was all too clear. No cause to go in.

Gambier was saying that the object had been attained already, the fleet was aground and hence destroyed. Hornblower listened in stark disbelief. He knew Gambier had spent the bulk of his career behind a desk, but this was absurd! Only the rankest landlubber could be unaware that beached ships generally floated off at next high tide. They would be damaged, but they would not be destroyed.

He held his own tongue, no-one would pay heed to one of the most junior captains present. Only a couple of the battle-ship captains were in favour of going in, and it was plain they would be overruled. Gambier finally settled on proceeding to a position about five miles out, then dropping anchor, to be ready he said, if any of the French ships should make for open water. Hardly likely.

At noon Hornblower stood aboard the stationary Lydia, surveying the French fleet through his eyeglasses. They looked in a bad way, he could see guns being thrown overboard on some. Even once afloat, and that would not be long delayed, they could be no match for the British ships. But ‘No cause to go in....’

He swept the glass backwards, focused on the Imperieuse, where she lay anchored near the channel entrance. Then he gasped. Surely the ship was… moving.

Not underway though, drifting into the anchorage with the tide, as though she had slipped her cable. Could so mundane an accident in truth have happened to Cochrane?

Of course it had not! No, this was deliberate. The man was going in alone, in such a manner that he was not obviously defying orders. He was risking everything, rather than let the chance slip. He was going in alone.

His spyglass travelled back to the flagship, Caledonia, he pictured the slight figure of Gambier, with his thin hair and worried face, twittering in indecision. Almost he felt pity. A decent man at heart, James Gambier, but he had no business commanding a fleet.

More signals from Imperieuse:-

1.30 ‘The enemy’s ships are getting under sail.’

1.40 ‘The enemy is superior to the chasing ship’ (The sails of Imperieuse were unfurled now, the gloves were off.)

1.45 ‘The ship is in need of assistance.’

He’s got you! Hornblower thought exultantly as he looked back at the flagship. You can’t ignore that! What will it look like for you, if you don’t respond and a public hero meets his death because you wouldn’t face two ships with seventeen? And with his reputation he might just take down the fleet alone which would be even worse! Oh, he’s got you all right....

Just after two the flagship signalled the frigates to go in.

The guns on Aix boomed as Lydia entered the channel but the firing was weak and ragged, and a little damage to the sails was all she suffered as the five frigates swept down on the French fleet, opening up upon the larger ships with all their power. Looking back, Hornblower could see four of the great battle-ships also approaching the anchorage: Caesar, Theseus, Valiant and Revenge. Gambier must have had third thoughts and ordered in more of the fleet. The French were in chaos, panic stricken, quite a number of the ships were still beached and he could see men leaping overboard and running frantically across the mud flats. The others cared only for their own escape, struggling desperately for the mouth of the Charente river, where they would be sheltered by the great guns of the guarding forts. He had never been in such a one-sided action. Never even imagined one. The men of Lydia were laughing and cheering as they worked the guns. Hornblower felt quite sorry for the French.

The fighting wore on through what was left of the light, directed now by Rear-Admiral Stopford from the Caesar. Boats were launched, boarding actions against those ships still beached. Those too were one-sided, the ships were such wrecks that the French were glad enough to be taken off them, little thought of resistance. Others blazed in flame, some still on the sands, but more struggling away from their predators, making good their desperate escape. Towards evening a ship set ablaze by her own crew blew up with a tremendous noise. Others were fired by their British captors. Battle did not stop with darkness, but it diminished, most of the large ships either taken or away. A victory without a doubt, although most ships had escaped they must be damaged and their crews demoralised. A victory, yes, but not the overwhelming triumph the battle might have been.

Just before dawn a signal from Caledonia recalled the ships-of-the-line. Four of the great French battle-ships were destroyed, the others escaped, except for the wallowing flagship, Ocean. Taking the Caledonia’s signal as a general recall, the frigates began to peel off and rejoin the fleet. Reluctantly Hornblower ordered Lydia to quit the harbourage. The last he saw of the battleground Imperieuse and Seymour’s little frigate, Pallas, were closed either side of Ocean like a pair of small dogs attempting to bring down a wounded bull.

It would take an unambiguous recall from Gambier to bring Cochrane in, and with his usual hesitancy the Admiral was slow to issue it. At last, however, Ocean was left to complete her escape. As far as Gambier was concerned the battle was over, and he had no desire to put up with this turbulent junior for any longer than was strictly necessary. Within hours of the recall Imperieuse was bound for England, carrying the Admiral’s dispatches which would recount the battle for public consumption.

*******

4. The Admiralty’s Intent

‘If you have, in the exercise of your profession, acquired a right which is wrongfully withheld – demand it, stick to it with unshaken pertinacity – none but a corrupt body can possibly think the worse of you for it; ... you are doing your country good service by exposing favouritism, which is only another term for corruption.’

Thomas Cochrane, Autobiography of a Seaman

*******

“May I have a word, Captain?”

“Of course, sir,” Hornblower replied, surprised and wary. Vice-Admiral Sir John Duckworth should not have been asking a mere captain for a word.

“You will have received your summons to testify at the court martial, of course,” Duckworth said. “I am sure that a captain of your record has no doubts about the right course to be taken?”

That was a tricky question to answer. And Duckworth, second-in-command of the Channel Fleet, brutal disciplinarian, supremely sycophantic towards those in power, was a man it paid to watch one’s words around. “I am glad of your confidence, sir,” he said, carefully.

“I was certain we could rely on you, Hornblower,” Duckworth said forcefully, “It is a thousand pities that it ever came to this, but we cannot allow an Admiral’s reputation to be smirched. We are at war, and it is vital to maintain the public confidence in the armed services; nor must there be any publicity likely to give ‘aid and comfort to the enemy’. I am sure you understand that.”

Give the enemy a good laugh would probably be more accurate under the circumstances, Hornblower thought dryly. Still the point remained. “I certainly do not intend to give any cause for dissatisfaction, sir,” he said. Duckworth might really have saved himself the breath, Hornblower did not need lecturing on what was best for the service, or the country. He had known the answers for many years. “I am only surprised, sir, that the matter has actually come to court martial.”

“It was at Lord Gambier’s own request,” Duckworth told him. “He wished to see his name cleared. You know, perhaps, that Cochrane intended to oppose the parliamentary vote of thanks the government proposed to make to his Lordship?”

“No,” Hornblower replied, “I did not know that.” In fact he had not even known a parliamentary vote of thanks had been proposed. Such votes were normally awarded only for the greatest of victories, Nelson after the Nile, Howe after the Glorious First.... But of course Gambier was supremely well connected. And the government would want a great victory to ensure its own continuing grip on power.

“It is entirely necessary,” Duckworth said, “that Cochrane and his revolutionary friends should have the ground cut from beneath them before the vote is brought to Parliament And a court martial will give his Lordship full opportunity to make his defence.”

Yes, of course Gambier would have full opportunity to defend himself. The principles that were supposed to underlie Naval court martials might not always be kept so strictly... but that was unimportant here. Every rule intended to ensure the accused could make a full and fair defence would be observed at this trial. Gambier would have counsel, full-right of cross-examination, right to call witnesses and make free testimony in his own defence. In fact he would have everything in his favour except for the trivial fact that the charge was true. He had permitted the bulk of the fleet to escape. But in such a case as this, truth was not a virtue. He knew that.

*

“Captain Cochrane brought the charge, sir?” Bush repeated.

“No,” Hornblower said. It was technically possible, although very rare, for officers to bring court martial charges against their superiors, but it had not happened in this case. “He merely announced his intention of creating a scandal. Gambier asked for the charge.”

“But he could be executed!”

“You know better than that, Mr. Bush.” Technically, yes, Gambier could be executed. Practically, that was never going to happen.

“Of course,” Bush said bitterly, “And he won’t be expelled from the service either.” Rear-Admiral Harvey had been dismissed from the Navy at his own court martial, which had already taken place. “It’s not a man’s past service that counts, it’s –”

“That’s quite enough!” Hornblower snapped. Bush drew in his breath, with evident assertion of self-control. Then something seemed to occur to him, and he said,

“Sir, is it generally known that the court martial was brought about by Captain Cochrane’s accusations?”

“I don’t know,” Hornblower said slowly. “Probably. Admiral Duckworth was quite frank about it.” And when he came to think, that was really rather odd. Duckworth had had no need to explain about the parliamentary vote. He could simply have said that Gambier wished to clear himself; for there had been questions, quite independent of Cochrane. Gambier (with quite typical ineptitude) had included every one of Cochrane’s signals in his dispatches. And there were people – and newspapers – quite intelligent enough to ask why, when all but two of the fleet had run aground, only four had been destroyed, and why, when those signals were sent early in the morning, the fleet had not gone in until afternoon.

“So the public will see it as a duel between them,” Bush said.

A duel, yes. And the loser inevitably discredited in the public mind, even if not charged with anything....

Suddenly Hornblower knew the answer to the question which had troubled him when Cochrane’s appointment was first announced.

“Mr. Bush. Order a boat. I am paying a visit to the Imperieuse.”

*

“Don’t you understand?” Hornblower exclaimed. “Take a stand on this and you’ll be ruined, and for what? If the Admiral is acquitted – and he will be – your own reputation will be in the mud.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Cochrane said, “that has already been explained to me by Lord Mulgrave. Along with dire threats of government displeasure.”

So the First Lord of the Admiralty had tried to dissuade Cochrane from his course. Nonetheless Hornblower persisted. “But that must be what they’ve wanted all along. I don’t mean the court martial, they couldn’t have expected, or wanted, something like that. But didn’t you ever think it odd they gave you the command? If there’s one thing the Admiralty is sensitive to, it’s precedence. They must have known the fleet wouldn’t like it. And it was a tricky task enough they’d set you without resentment from the men you’d have to work with. They expected you to fail! They were hoping you’d fall on your face, one way or another.”

“And they could discredit the thorn in the side,” Cochrane completed. “Yes, I know. I’ve always known. I tried to refuse the command, but Mulgrave wouldn’t have it.” For a few moments he looked extremely tired.

“Then why give them what they want now?”

“Because there’s a principle at stake. And they didn’t want it this way. I’ll get the truth on record, no matter how loud they shout me down.”

“What principle?” Hornblower asked, in exasperation. “You’re just doing the job of the French for them. You are spreading disorder in the fleet, undermining public confidence, why? You’ve done well enough, I know Gambier slighted you in his dispatch,” in fact the Admiral had gone out of his way to make it appear Cochrane had had nothing to do with such success as had been achieved. Foolish perhaps, but he’d been under strong pressure from his bitterly resentful captains. “Still, that made no difference. You got recognition enough. You got a knighthood for heavens sake! Why go out of your way to hold a grudge?”

“Grudges have nothing to do with it. If acclaim is what I wanted – did you know Mulgrave offered to include me in the vote of thanks? I will not see a lie palmed off upon the country. It is wrong.”

It’s an injustice, Horatio.

No, he told his memory, It’s discipline.

“It is necessary,” he told Cochrane, “And it will happen, whatever you do.”

“But my conscience will be clear.”

“Damn your conscience!” Hornblower snarled. “There are more important things at stake.”

“If you were ordered to make this visit, Captain, you can go back to your superiors, and tell them you’ve done as much as you could.” It took a moment for his meaning to sink in.

“I was not ordered. I came here to help you, but I can see I waste my breath. Good day, Captain!”

*

“There’s no bearing with the man!” Captain John Poer Beresford of the Theseus was singing the same tune Hornblower had been hearing all week. “The arrogance of it, challenging his betters after being given far more honour for the attack than his seniority deserved!”

“And for the Admiral’s part.…” Hornblower said.

“Exactly! Between you and me, Gambier’s a long way from the best Admiral the Navy’s had, but he was remarkably forbearing to that young wretch. Not a word of impoliteness, though it must have been a hard pill to swallow. He may be an old psalm-singer, but that’s better than being a money-chasing Scotchman, out for what he can get.” Hornblower shrugged, he didn’t think Cochrane more mercenary than most captains, but that was by the way. “No,” Beresford declared, “Lord Gambier did nothing to warrant this. And even if he had, we can’t possibly let that young revolutionary get any more puffed up in his own esteem. He’s long overdue for a lesson.”

*******

5. The Court Martial

‘Necessity is the plea for every infringement of human liberty’

William Pitt the Younger

*******

Cochrane was the first witness called. No doubt the tribunal wanted to hear the worst at once. And ‘worst’ was exactly how some of its members would regard his testimony. The presiding Admiral was Sir Roger Curtis, Gambier’s old and close friend. Duckworth was another member, technically acceptable since, although Gambier’s number two, he had not been at Basque Roads. Admirals Young and Sutton, both known to loathe Cochrane. Three more admirals and four captains – the latter would undoubtedly follow the lead of their superiors.

Gold braid glinted everywhere he looked within the great cabin of HMS Gladiator. Most of the captains who had been at Aix Roads, and a fair number who were not. The trial of a full Admiral was not something that happened everyday, and a court martial was a public business. Justice must be seen to be done.

Surprisingly, Cochrane was a poor witness, nervous and easily flustered. Still Curtis’s attitude would be enough to fluster most men. He was treating the witness as though Cochrane were the accused and he prosecuting council. Yet that was hardly a surprise. What else could the Radical expect?

He was stubborn, no doubt of that. Angry and unsettled, still persisting in detailing the delay in sending in the ships, whilst the tribunal harassed and interrupted and insisted none of this was relevant, though the truth was it was all too much so.

“This has no sort of connection with the question which is asked and is only a series of observations of disadvantage to the prisoner,” Young scolded, for all the world as though testimony against the prisoner was not the business of a prosecution witness.

“I wish to speak the truth,” Cochrane fairly shouted, “the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!”

Fool. Losing his temper would only be to disadvantage. He was making himself ridiculous, appearing rash and prejudiced. And he was both this things in court, if not in action. The court was reprimanding him now for insolence. And so it went on.

“I have felt that if I had answered yes or no to all the questions which have been put to me, I ought to be hung: and that if a court martial was held upon me, and only the answers yes or no appeared to those questions I should be hung for them!”

And that was folly too, for although cutting short his answers, no-one had required him to answer merely yes or no. And no-one would be hanged here, although Cochrane might be excused for feeling as though on trial. But what had the man expected? Hornblower had tried to warn him. He could do no more.

The court was making a strangely detailed enquiry into the nature of the Boyant channel. Cochrane’s charts had already been thrown out, the court insisting he could not prove them accurate, since some parts were based on captured French material. Curious.

The importance of this issue became clear when Cochrane’s examination was concluded, and he left the court, still seething. The Admiralty produced the Channel Fleet’s most senior ships’ masters, and Masters Stokes and Fairfax testified that the Boyant channel was a bare mile wide and barred by a high reef of rocks, intensely dangerous for the great ships-of-the-line.

Hornblower sat up. This wasn’t true! He knew it wasn’t true, from his own soundings. The masters were claiming to have prepared the charts for Gambier, and the tribunal was making great play of the fact that both agreed. Yet how could they not agree, when Stokes had taken few soundings, as he frankly admitted, but relied on those of Fairfax. And Fairfax had gone no further than the channel’s entrance, that too was admitted. So where did the further figures come from? Why, from a captured French chart!

Hornblower waited to see if anyone would ask why this chart should be counted more reliable than that used by Cochrane, who had at least been inside the channel, on more than one occasion. Or how, if the channel were so dangerous, four British battle-ships had got in and out with no harm done. But he was not surprised when no-one did. Too dangerous to go in, yes, that was a good defence.

Then came his turn to take the stand.

It was a fairly brief questioning, he was just a frigate captain, after all. And he had no doubts, no hesitations, never had had from the moment he knew he had been called. He knew where his duty lay, just as he had... before.

Yes. Gambier had done all that could be done. No, he did not think any earlier attack would have been practicable (and no-one will ask why an attack practicable in the afternoon should not have been so in the morning) and the channel was plainly very dangerous (if that was their story he would stick to it). No, he had nothing more to add.

He was the last witness called that day. The further encounter was pure chance, he had to go ashore, it was pure accident that he should meet Cochrane.

“And what is your payment this time, Captain?”

“I do not comprehend you,” Hornblower said coldly.

“I know you had soundings taken. What was your price for silence? A ship-of-the-line?”

Hornblower stood stock still. “You go too far,” he could not control the shake of rage. “I did my duty, neither less nor more. The thing was done, what possible gain from undermining the Navy in open court?”

“Only the chance of preventing it ever happening again. Only to expose an incompetent before he does more damage. Only to prevent undeserved praise carrying the man to higher positions still. He’s spoken of as a future First Lord of the Admiralty, do you see nothing amiss with that? Or don’t you care?”

“How dare you insinuate that I would sell my honour so? How dare you?”

“Do you deny you sold my cousin’s reputation for your first command?”

The blood ebbed from his heart. “It isn’t true!”

“I’ve read the court martial proceedings,” Cochrane said, “you were denounced in court for insubordination, severely criticised by the tribunal. And yet, within days, you had a command. Those rumours about Sawyer... there could be many tales you might have told. And what would that have looked like for those complacent fools at the Admiralty who had failed to remove him? I hoped it wasn’t true – but now I know.”

“You hoped...,” Hornblower choked, “you mean others believe….”

“That you were bribed to keep your mouth shut? Yes, of course.” Cochrane laughed, without humour. “Had you really never heard the talk?”

“It isn’t....” But was it true? Had he not been surprised, back there in Kingston? Publicly slated for insubordination one day, his own command the next, yes, he had thought it strange. Oh God, was it true? The notion had not occurred to him, not for a moment, but had it occurred to them? To those who offered the appointment? The old friend that could prove awkward, never mind, a command will soon stop his mouth; who would put a dead man’s honour before promotion, especially if told clearly he might never get another chance? Had he taken a bribe, without even realising?

Dead and buried he had thought it all. Long blocked from memory. And now this man stood looking down on him with Archie Kennedy’s eyes, and tearing the last seven years of his life to filthy shreds.

“You hadn’t heard it, had you? I could tell you worse.”

“Worse?” What could be worse?

“You and old Pellew are quite thick, aren’t you? There were some thought it a plot between you, to throw the blame upon a badly injured man, a man weak and fevered, unable to resist pressure or persuasion....”

“NO!” Blessed fury came to his relief. “I would not do such a thing. Never.”

But Cochrane’s expression was unrelenting, the look of a man who saw no shades of grey in others. If a man had done wrong once, he was wrong to the core. And to Cochrane the testimony Hornblower had just given could only, ever, be wrong.

“I had a duty!” he insisted “A duty to the service! Then and now, I had a duty....”

“To what service, Hornblower? To the fat, heartless fools who send good men out to be sacrificed? Or to those who fight and die, in the front line, often die for nothing? You can’t always serve them both. Leave Gambier unchallenged, how much more damage will he do? How many more incompetents would be promoted? And Sawyer – he was gone, but those who had inflicted him upon that ship were still untouched. How many more unfit captains would be left in place? How many more good men condemned unjustly, because it is convenient for the Admiralty, because every time they make a disaster they can lay the blame on someone else and forget the whole affair?”

“I’d expect such talk from a revolutionary!” Hornblower said furiously.

“I’m not a revolutionary. I want reform, not revolution. But a country that insists on perpetuating injustice will suffer revolution. Sooner or later, it will come. Think on that, if you think of anything except your own advancement.”

“I did not exchange truth for advancement. Not then and not now!”

“Why should I believe you?” Cochrane said.

*******

6. The Verdict

‘I must in conscience declare that I do not think you were properly supported, and that had you been the result would have been very different.’

Francis (Frank) Austen to Thomas Cochrane

*******

Of course Cochrane was wrong. Partly wrong at least.

Yes, when he took the proffered command he had turned his back on Archie Kennedy and the friendship he had thought they’d shared and all the foolish, youthful notions Kennedy had tried so hard to hold him to aboard Renown. He’d known that much the whole time. But it had been the right thing to do, the only reasonable thing to do. He’d merely been accepting realities, and reality was that truth and justice were luxuries the Navy could not afford, and one man’s life and honour mattered nothing in the scheme of things. If Cochrane could not see that, it was just proof that he was flawed.

(And there were things Cochrane couldn’t know – although those made no difference to the principle involved, so it didn’t really matter.)

He’d consigned Kennedy’s name to mud, and with it nine years of – closeness, he had shut his soul against the past and he would not regret it now.

But – it did rend to know he had been thought to have taken a bribe. Thought, perhaps, even by those who had handed over his promotion. What could he do about it now, what could he possibly do? He had dwelt on that for hours, and it came back to the same point, there was nothing he could do. The Navy would continue to think of him as the officer whose silence had been bought with a command, and there was nothing he could do. Nothing at all.

He should probably have stayed away from the court martial, there was no reason to return, yet some morbid fascination drew him back.

*

Seymour was testifying. He looked very young as he attempted to champion his friend and hero, arguing that the ships might with advantage have gone in sooner, taking a leaf from Cochrane’s book as he defied the court’s attempts to cut him short, insisting he was sworn to tell the whole truth. A loyal man, but it wouldn’t be enough.

There had never been any doubt as to how the bulk of the captains would testify, between hatred for Cochrane and wary eyes on their careers, how many were likely to speak out? Seymour had been an outspoken supporter, so had another frigate captain, Frederick Maitland, but Maitland (conveniently) was on Irish duty and would not be testifying here. The senior captains: well, most of them had been against going in from the very beginning. What change was there likely to be now?

Even so, Hornblower was a little startled by the sheer barefacedness of Captain Poer Beresford’s claims.

“Lord Gambier seemed to be most anxious to act with his fleet, but that if he had sent them in there, it clearly appeared that few would have returned, if any....” How can anyone swallow that when all who were sent in returned with little damage? “Even one sail-of-the-line being lost would have been a disgrace to the enterprise and to England.” Call yourself a Naval officer? When did Nelson or St. Vincent – or Eliub Harvey – consider one ship too high a price for destroying a fleet?

Captain after complacent captain supported Gambier from the stand. Newman and Burlton and Douglas and Broughton....

But no. William Broughton of Illustrious was not sticking to the script. Broughton was saying that he believed the ships should have gone in earlier, “There were nine sail ashore, and if the British ships had been ordered in it would have been more advantageous....” Moreover he had argued for going in at the captains’ conference that morning, had said, “I thought ‘they were attackable from the confused way in which the French ships were at the time.’ ” Yes, Hornblower remembered, Broughton’s had been one of the voices that attempted to speak out against the tide.

Nor was that the end of Broughton’s revelations. He had entered the channel after the action and taken soundings in the very place where Stokes and Fairfax had recorded their reef of rocks. There was no reef.

Curtis hastily cut Broughton’s testimony short.

*

A foregone conclusion, Hornblower thought, boarding the Gladiator for the trial’s last day. Of course it always had been. Of all the captains only Seymour and Broughton and Pulteney Malcolm of the Donegal had spoken for Cochrane. A few of the lesser witnesses, junior officers and ship’s masters, had been inclined to take his part; but they had been quickly quelled, in any case it was the captains who would count. Yes, a foregone conclusion.

He took his seat beside a slight acquaintance, a stern faced captain of his own years who had not been at the Basque Roads. Captain Frank Austen, protégé of Gambier.

“A sad business,” Austen said.

“Yes indeed.” No doubt whose side Austen would be on, it was his family connections to Gambier that had advanced his career, just as it was Gambier’s own connections with some of the greatest political families that had taken him to the top, just as it was Seymour’s family ties that had made him a post-captain so young. That was the way the service worked, and no-one bit the hand that fed. Besides, Austen no doubt approved of Gambier. He himself had the reputation of a deeply religious man, even if he didn’t have quite Gambier’s crusading zeal.

Lord Gambier’s own testimony was concluding his defence, and Hornblower noted sardonically that the Admiral seemed to genuinely feel he had been vindicated. “I feel myself more and more confirmed in my opinion, that the measure pursued for the attack of the enemy were those best calculated for the object in view.”

Maybe he really did believe that. Gambier was a fool.

“He will be acquitted of course,” Austen said, during the adjournment that followed the conclusion of Gambier’s defence.

“Of course,” said Hornblower.

“And Cochrane will be discredited.... Does that please you?”

Hornblower blinked in surprise, “In the interests of the service...”

“Why do you believe the fleet did not go in?” Austen said. “I am curious for the answer, for you have never struck me as a jealous man, Captain Hornblower.”

“What has jealousy to do with this?”

Austen sighed, “I have talked to many men who were there, junior officers as well as captains, and one thing plain is that there was a profound resentment in the Fleet towards Lord Cochrane. I acquit Lord Gambier on that score, but he is, I know, very much aware of his comparative lack of active experience, and thus easily influenced by those around him.”

“I do not see your meaning, Captain.”

Austen hesitated, then seemed to reach a decision. “In plain words then, I believe Lord Gambier was swayed by men who placed personal dislike and anger before the honour of their country. His taking a position so far from the harbourage, meaning he was not in a position to see the state of the French Fleet for himself, was alone a great mistake, any man of reasonable experience can see as much.”

“You cannot expect me to comment on that.”

Austen turned to look him directly in the eye, “I did not hear your testimony, captain, nor have I heard how it went.”

“Naturally I supported the Admiral.”

“Naturally?”

“Would not you have done so?”

“I thought I had made my views clear. I am indeed, considering whether I ought not to write to Lord Cochrane and tell him my opinion. As a second-hand view, it would not amount to evidence, but I feel Lord Cochrane should know there are those in the service who agree entirely with him. Many of the junior officers are very indignant.”

“For heaven’s sake!” Hornblower exclaimed, “Gambier is your patron!”

“And I am grateful. But I must not allow gratitude for past favours, nor hope of future ones, to prevent me from speaking the truth.”

“And what of the good of the service. Do you care for that?”

“An action against a man’s conscience can never be for good. It is because I care for the service that I feel I should speak out. Some naval honour should be salvaged from this sad affair.”

Prig! Hornblower thought angrily, but there was no chance to say more, as the officers of the tribunal returned to court to pronounce the words of vindication.

In the congratulatory bustle that followed the return of Gambier’s sword, Hornblower surprised an almost stricken look on Austen’s face. Strange. A captain with a conservative reputation should have been pleased.

“He’s ruined himself,” said Austen. He was not referring to Gambier.

Hornblower said, “He has indeed.”

*******

Epilogue - Full Circle

Virtue owns a more eternal foe

Than Force or Fraud: old Custom, Legal Crime

And bloody Faith, the foulest birth of Time

Shelley, ‘Feelings of a Republican on the Fall of Bonaparte’

*******

1834

Barrow insisted on seeing him at least part of the way out. Lord Hornblower appreciated the small courtesy. John Barrow was well enough entrenched at the Admiralty to have no need to exert himself towards a former minister out of office, an ageing Admiral without current employment. Hornblower had been sensitive to slights these last four years, as the broom of Grey’s reforming government swept through the corridors of power.

He knew the man who was entering at first sight, still unmistakable after a quarter-century and despite the civilian dress. The recognition, however, seemed fortunately lost on Barrow, Hornblower’s self-control had been perfected by the years.

“I don’t know if you know.…” receiving no help from either party the Second Secretary embarked on a formal introduction, “Rear-Admiral Lord Dundonald: Rear-Admiral Lord Hornblower.”

Yes, of course it was Earl of Dundonald now, the eccentric, bankrupt father finally dead. He had known the man was back of course, back in England, back in the Navy, back after years of exile and near outlawry, back to a hero’s welcome.

Of course he had known. Whatever Cochrane – Dundonald – did was never quiet. He had known when the man was marooned without employment by a vindictive Admiralty after the Basque Roads business. Had known of his conviction and imprisonment, a few years afterwards, upon charges of fraud (even Hornblower, hardly impartial, had thought him almost certainly innocent and his trial blatantly unfair) and of his consequent ejection from the Navy. He had known (who did not?) of his subsequent selling of his services to other countries, Chile, Brazil, Greece, all new nations striving to free themselves from their old rulers. Of the victories that had made him once again a famous name in his home country. He had even known, as few did, about the crazy scheme to liberate Bonaparte from his island exile and make him Emperor of South America. He wondered sardonically how the mob that believed Cochrane a hero would react if they knew of that particular escapade, fortunately aborted by the ex-emperor’s early death.

He had known Cochrane was back, reinstated into the Navy with full rank and privileges; friends with several in the current government; approved of even by the king, old Sailor Billy. Gambier was dead, he had died an Admiral-of-the-Fleet but that was a hollow title now, a mere honorific without power. The Channel Fleet had been his last active command – and he had never become First Lord of the Admiralty, perhaps that court martial had not been a full victory after all. Most of Cochrane’s other longstanding foes were dead as well. Now was the old rebel’s hour, the age of reform, when the mob threw stones at Wellington’s house because of the rigid opposition to change which had finally brought down his government, and hissed Lord Hornblower in the street because he was Wellington’s ally and brother-in-law.

Politics was a fool’s game. But when the sea had finally become intolerable he had to do something with himself. And Barbara had been pleased.

“We have met,” Cochrane – Dundonald – oh, Cochrane, dammit, said coldly. “It was many years ago, but I have not forgotten.” Or forgiven, his tone said.

“Those days are... long past,” Hornblower said in an attempt at conciliation, although why he should be conciliating a man loathed by the whole of his wife’s family, heaven knew.

“Before you married so well, of course,” Cochrane said with significance. The loathing was mutual. “But I have never believed the passage of time alters the facts of any case. Good day, Mr. Barrow.” The snub to Hornblower was pointed. Cochrane strode further into the building without another word.

He was right in a sense. Time did not alter the past, but it did alter men, and Hornblower was not the man he had been twenty-five years ago. Although there was no reason why Cochrane should like the one he was now any better.

“I’m sorry for that,” the Second Secretary said with ready diplomacy, “Lord Dundonald is a brilliant man, but his manners leave something to be desired.”

“That’s quite all right,” Hornblower said, “No blame to you.”

Barrow, ever the perfect civil servant, asked no further questions and Hornblower volunteered no explanations. If asked he would have said that he counted John Barrow a friend, but he could not tell the Second Secretary what was in his heart now. There was no-one he could tell it to. There never would be.

He holds me responsible for his cousin’s disgrace and death. He’s only half right. Archie was driven to a felon’s grave, but not by me. I didn’t know what he intended. I would have stopped him if I could. I loved him....

But I let his good name be destroyed. I doubt he’d have cared much for that, but I did, I did, and yet I let it happen. I called it my duty.

Archie would have defended my memory with every breath in his body. Cochrane would have spoken out even if there was no memory to defend. But I... did not. But not for advancement. Because I needed to believe my superiors were right. I couldn’t adhere to them and to Archie. I made my choice, except I barely even realised I was choosing....

But I did know that when I dismissed justice as unimportant I rejected everything he believed. I set myself to be a man that he would not have liked at all. I believed that it was right, more than right, necessary. I had to believe that, or I could not have borne to keep my silence and serve those that had destroyed him.

So I had to support the cover-up over the Basque Roads business. I had to lie. I had to. Because if I ever accepted Cochrane was right, then it would mean that I’d been wrong. If exposing incompetence and corruption was justified then I’d betrayed Archie’s memory, not for duty, but for nothing... worse than nothing....

All long past, and what difference had it made? None to Cochrane: the outcome would have been the same whatever Hornblower had said. Probably none to Hornblower, those captains who had testified for Cochrane had not suffered, nor had Frank Austen, although as far as Hornblower knew his views had not reached Gambier’s, or the Admiralty’s, ears.

No difference except to his conscience – and perhaps his name. When the histories of this time were written some at least would see him as a man who sold his honour.

That was small penalty enough.

Keeping his silence Lord Hornblower left the Admiralty building.

**The End**

Endnote: It bears repeating that I have invented very little here. I would never have dared dream up Harvey’s professional suicide or Gambier and his tracts, let alone the character and history of Thomas Cochrane. Most of the dialogue is fictional of course, but any court martial testimony that is given in quotation marks is real. The accounts I’ve read differ over whether Frank Austen was at the court martial, but his opinion of the Basque Roads action is certainly genuine, as is his connection with Gambier. He was the brother of Jane Austen the novelist.

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