Read Nelson: The Poisoned River for Free Online

Are we coming under fire? Shall I fetch your shirt and tunic?’
    ‘Not a bit of it, worse luck. That is a signal gun. God’s bones, sir, if that man has—’
    Has what? Hastie did not need to wonder. The door opened and the master hurried in.
    ‘Beg pardon, sir, it is the Penelope. She’s on a reef, sir. Did you hear the signal?’
    ‘I am not deaf yet, sir. Good Christ alive, we must go to her immediate. If that damned pilot… Mister, get the capstan rigged. How is the wind? Man the yards! Shit!’
    To Hastie’s eyes the scene on deck was utter chaos, especially as the soldiery were being ‘cleared below to make some space.’ The capstan was manned, all boats were either brought on board or strung out astern, and the decks were a riotous noise of tramping feet and whistles. He watched in awe as the huge sails dropped down from the yards to be braced and sheeted in, the sailors transformed from a mass into groups and lines of ordered, straining men.
    Captain Nelson, a stickler for ceremony in other men, stood on the poop deck less than fully clothed; his white face and ragged yellow wig in a state he would have deemed disgraceful in any of his officers. Hastie hovered with drinks and napkins, to be sent away with a flea in his ear for ‘fussing like a nursemaid.’ Nelson was unwell; Nelson had work to do. There could only be one winner in that contest.
    By the time they came within telescope range of the Penelope, the extent of the disaster could be seen. They were jettisoning guns to lighten her to get her off the reef. Not just her carriage guns, but artillery pieces being shipped to the Mosquito Shore for the raid upriver. Colonel Polson was beside himself with rage.
    ‘Are they mad! Are they demented! Christ, Captain, stop them instantly!’
    Nelson did not deign a reply to this, but Despard muttered, ‘Who chose the pilot, pray?’
    Before the Hinchinbrook had reached Penelope, Nelson had directed smaller vessels of the convoy to run ahead and stop the jettisoning, then go alongside to take off weight. First and mainly that meant soldiers, who made a dreary song and dance of it, many being not quite sober. Then, as her hull still ground on the coral, more desperate measures were required. Rations, butts of beer, spare chain and anchors, grappling hooks for castle ramparts, then muskets, swords, small arms and ammunition were transhipped. It was a never ending, wearisome parade.
    It did not work, though, and when night fell the flotilla was in major disarray. As the wind was getting fresher the ships must separate for fear of collisions, and some made anchor, including the Hinchinbrook. Dinner in the great cabin that night was an uncomfortable affair, and not just because of the constant rolling lop, and the sight and sound of army officers vomiting. Nelson, when he went to bed, was as weak as a sick kitten, to Hastie’s eyes. Dancer dared suggest the gout was getting worse.
    Polter, throughout the evening, showed signs of growing nervousness, and even Nelson’s legendary loyalty looked to be under a certain strain. Polter kept bleating on that time was of the essence, and Governor Dalling would not take kindly to any more delay.
    At which the captain, finally, said he would dispatch a cutter in the morning to contact Superintendent Lawrie, although it seemed ‘damned unlikely’ that he would have tracked all the way to Cape Gracias a Dios with a thousand men merely to track back home again in a huff because the navy had not been there on time to meet him.
    With near twenty four hours lost, Hinchinbrook raised her anchor later in the morning to follow the swift cutter to the coast, leaving Penelope to trail them if and when she could. The flotilla was greatly overburdened now, with men and stores and ordnances, but Hastie woke the fevered captain later with some welcome news.
    ‘Sir! The first lieutenant begs to inform you, the Penelope has made sail! She has broke free, sir, and is under way. His best