Honour This Day

carry word of our finding to Sir Richard Bolitho and the squadron.'

A solitary voice raised a cheer and Dunstan gave a broad grin. 'So stand-to, my lads, and God be with you all!'

He stood back to watch as they scattered to their various stations, while the boatswain and his own party broke out the chain slings and nets for the yards to offer some protection to the gun crews should the worst happen.

Dunstan said quietly, 'I think we may have found La Mouette.' He kept the other thought to himself. That he hoped Sinclair was as ready for a fight as he was with the lash.

The thuds of screens being taken down, stores and personal belongings being lowered to the orlop deck, helped to muffle the occasional sound of distant thunder.

Lieutenant Meheux touched his hat and reported, 'Cleared for action, sir.'

Dunstan nodded and again recalled Bolitho. 'Ten minutes this time. They take fairly to their work.' But the mood eluded him and he smiled. 'Well done, Josh!'

The sails billowed out loudly, like giants puffing their chests. The deck canted over and Dunstan said, 'Bring her up a point! Steer nor'-nor'-west!'

He saw Meheux clipping on his hanger and said, 'The people are feeling this.' He looked at the crouching gun crews, the ship's boys with their buckets of sand, the others at the braces or with their fingers gripping the ratlines, ready to dash aloft when the order was piped to make more sail.

Dunstan made up his mind. 'Load if you please, I -'

There was a great chorus of shouts and Dunstan stared as the mist lifted and swirled to one violent explosion.

He said sharply, 'Load, Mr Meheux! Keep their minds in your grasp!'

Each gun captain faced aft and raised his fist.

'All loaded, sir!'

They looked aloft as the mist faded more swiftly and laid bare the rippling ensign above the gaff.

Dunstan plucked his chin. 'We are ready this time anyway.'

All eyes turned forward as the mist lost its greyness. Something like a fireball exploded through it, the sound going on and on until eventually lost in the beat of canvas, the sluice of water alongside.

'Ship on the starboard bow, sir!'

Dunstan snatched a glass. 'Get aloft, Josh. I need your eyes up there today.'

As the first lieutenant swarmed up the mainmast shrouds a warning cry came from the forecastle.

'Wreckage ahead!'

The master's mate of the watch threw his weight onto the wheel with that of the two helmsmen but Dunstan yelled, 'Belay that! Steady as you go!' He made himself walk to the side as what appeared to be a giant tusk loomed off the bow. It was always best to meet it head on, he thought grimly. Phaedra did not have the timbers of a liner, nor even a frigate. That great pitching spar might have crashed right through the lower hull like a ram.

He watched the severed mast pass down the side, torn shrouds and blackened canvas trailing behind it like foul weed. There were corpses too. Men trapped by the rigging, their faces staring through the lapping water, or their blood surrounding them like pink mist.

Dunstan heard a boatswain's mate bite back a sob as he stared at one of the bobbing corpses. It wore the same blue jacket with white piping as himself.

There was no more doubt as to who had lost the fight.

Some of the small waves crumpled over as the rising wind felt its way across the surface.

Dunstan watched the mist drawing clear, further and further, leaving the sea empty once again. He stiffened as more shouts came from forward.

Something long and dark which barely rose above the uneasy water. There was much weed on it. One of the vessels which should have been released for a much needed overhaul. Surrounded by giant bubbles and a great litter of flotsam and charred remains, it was a ship's keel.

Dunstan said, 'Up another point. Hands aloft, Mr Faulkner! As fast as you like!'

High above it all, Lieutenant Meheux clung to the mam crosstrees beside the lookout and watched the mist rolling away before him. He saw the other ship's topgallant masts and braced yards, and then as the mist continued to outpace the thrust of the sails, the forepart of the hull and her gilded figurehead.

He slid down a backstay and reached Dunstan in seconds.

Dunstan nodded very slowly. 'We both remember that ship, Josh. She's Consort- in hell's name I'd know her anywhere!'

He raised his telescope and studied the other vessel as more sails broke to the wind, and her shining hull seemed to shorten while she leaned over on a fresh tack. Towards Phaedra.

The midshipman was pointing wildly. 'Sir! There are men in the water!' He was almost weeping. 'Our people!'

Dunstan moved the glass until he saw the thrashing figures, some clinging to pieces of timber, others trying to hold their comrades afloat.

Dunstan climbed into the shrouds and twisted his leg around the tarred cordage to hold himself steady.

The masthead lookout yelled, 'Ships to the nor'-east!'

But Dunstan had already seen them. With the mist gone, the horizon was sharp and bright; it reminded him of a naked sword.

Someone was shouting, 'It'll be th' squadron! Come on, lads! Kill them buggers!'

Others started to cheer, their voices broken as they watched the survivors from La Mouette. Men like themselves. The same dialects, the same uniforms.

Dunstan watched the ships on the horizon until his eye ached. He had seen the red and yellow barricades around their fighting-tops in the powerful lens, something the lookout had not yet recognised.

He lowered the glass and looked sadly at the midshipman. 'We must leave those poor devils to die, Mr Valhant.' He ignored the boy's horrified face. 'Josh, we will come about and make all haste to find Sir Richard.'

Meheux waited, dazed by the swiftness of disaster.

His captain gestured towards the horizon. The Dons are coming. A whole bloody squadron of them.'

The air cringed as a shot echoed across the sea. The frigate had fired a ranging ball from one of her bow chasers. The next one -

Dunstan cupped his hands. 'Hands aloft! Man the braces! Stand by to come about!' He bit his lip as another ball slammed down and threw up a waterspout as high as the topsail yard. Men ran to obey, and as the yards swung round Phaedra's lee bulwark appeared to dip beneath the water.

Another shot pursued her as the frigate made more sail, her yards alive with men.

Meheux was waving to his topmen with the speaking trumpet. He shouted breathlessly, 'If they reach our squadron before we can warn them -'

Dunstan folded his arms and waited for the next fall of shot. Any one of those nine pounders could cripple his command, slow her down until she reeled beneath a full broadside as Sinclair had done.

'I think it will be more than a squadron at stake, Josh.'

A ball crashed through the taffrail and seared across the deck like a furnace bar. Two men fell dead, without even uttering a cry. Dunstan watched as two others took their place.

'Run, my beauty, run' He looked up at the hardening sails, the masts curving like coachmen's whips.

'Just this once, you are the most important ship in the fleet!'

17. Prepare For Battle!

Captain Valentine Keen walked up the slanting deck and hunched his shoulders against the wind. How quickly the Mediterranean could change her face at this time of year, he thought. The sky was hidden by deep-bellied