fetch them, say. For now, they are no longer our main concern,' he disparagingly said, hope, and rage, and a long unused acuity for tactics awakened in his breast, 'We have a battle to fight!'
'Three-to-one, sir,' Lt. Langlie said, slyly grinning. 'Almost even odds, that. After all, they are French!' he japed.
'Takin' 'em long enough,' Lewrie grunted back, brooding on the larboard bulwarks facing their foes. 'They beat up to us, they'll hope to bracket us. I would, in their position. The lead corvette to lie off our bows, the second abeam, and the schooner t'play the 'bull-dog' and stern-rake us often as she can. Our Yankees?'
'Oglethorpe has worn about, and is after those merchant ships,' Langlie said, craning about for a good look. 'They're mostly out of it, bound due South, or thereabout, sir. Sumter and Hancock are still bound directly for us, 'bout five miles up to windward.'
Lewrie took himself a long look-see, too, feeling oddly calm, and satisfied. Proteus still lay Nor'east of the French, only slowly angling closer to them as the escorting warships swanned about to get ready to fight. They were separated by little more than two miles of water, now, tantalisingly beyond even extreme gun-range. The leading French corvette was bound Nor'west, as close- hauled to the Trades as she could bear. The second corvette was still about a mile astern of the first one, perhaps a quarter-mile alee of her consort, and unable to pinch or claw up closer. The armed schooner showed much more dash, though; her fore-and-aft sails allowed her another point higher on the eyes of the wind, steering North-by-East, almost bows-on to Proteus's larboard quarter. Lewrie turned to slouch with his right arm on the bulwarks, most un-captainly-like, and squinted at her. He imagined a 'dashing' schooner captain might haul up close, then tack and try to rake him, getting in his licks before the others, perhaps to fire up into his frigate's rigging and carry away something vital that would allow the corvettes to get into knife-fighting distance. Well… two could play that game, Lewrie thought. His ship had not yet reefed or clewed up her main course, which would be drawn up out of the way for fear of fire once the guns began to sing; she still had all the power of the wind to utilise. Proteus's yards, though she steered a point 'free' of close-hauled, he'd had drawn in loose-braced, not quite gathering as much wind as they could if braced in sharp. Not that obvious to the approaching French yet, letting them gain, but…
Yes, there she went, starting to tack… the ambitious young shit! Get a bit to windward, then tack and fall down on his vulnerable stern… or so he thought!
'Mister Langlie, brace in hard and get a proper way back on her. Then we will wear,' Lewrie decided of a sudden.
'And close them, sir?'
'For a while, Mister Langlie,' Lewrie cheerfully replied. 'In the process, we'll force them to tack, if they want at us that badly, upset whatever they're planning, and… bear down on yon schooner so frightful we'll make her commander squirt his breeches,' Lewrie quickly sketched out. 'Once about, we will go close-hauled on larboard tack and chase the little bastard, splitting their forces and isolating him. And give the 'cousins' the time to get up and have a proper whack at 'em.
'I'm feelin' devilish generous today, Mister Langlie,' Lewrie said with a chuckle. 'New course, East- Sou'east.'
'Aye aye, sir,' Langlie said with a sly grin.
'She wears!' Griot exclaimed.
'Then get us about, too, at once!' Choundas snapped. 'Signal to La Resolue to conform to our manoeuvres.'
'At once, m'sieur' Capt. Griot said, turning to pass the order to his First Officer, then turning back to Choundas. 'Such a tack will bring us much closer to the American warships. Once we engage Proteus they will have time to sail up and take us on our dis-engaged side.'
'If I cannot have that salaud Lewrie this time, I will at least damage him in passing, Griot,' Choundas growled. 'A quick action at three-to-one odds to cripple and kill, then we will break away and go to the rescue of our merchant ships… hacking that puny American brig of war apart in the process. Perhaps even taking her and teaching a lesson to those rustic ingrates. Oh, to be just a mile closer… what Hell we could play upon Lewrie as he wears!'
For HMS Proteus was coming about, first swinging to present her stern to the Trades, then only slowly, handsomely, swinging her yards, jibs, and stays'ls as she wore across the eyes of the wind, offering up her profile to the French corvettes, which were swinging their bows at her as they tacked. The slowness of the British frigate's manoeuvres,
and their tacks, brought all three square-riggers closer to each other- yet still frustratingly out of even a most hopeful gunner's attempt to hit her, one mile beyond Range-To-Random-Shot.
Guillaume Choundas hobbled to the head of the larboard gun-deck ladder, wrapping his left arm about the stanchion for a swivel-gun, his walking-stick tucked under his arm, and thumping his fist on the rails as if to flog Le Gascon into a break-neck gallop. Griot, canny sailor that he was, had the larboard guns run out and the starboard artillery run in near to amidships, to loading positions, to get her flatter on her bottom. Le Gascons, and La Resolue's, bottoms were mostly clean their entries were finer than most, and their length of keel was just a bit shorter than the frigate's. Given enough time, and both corvettes should stride up to Proteus and bracket her between their guns. Lewrie could squirm about5 but that would only quicken his death.
He looked Sutherly, noting that La Resolue was positioned for an engagement on Lewrie's starboard side, while Le Gascon was high enough to take him under fire on his larboard side, even allowing for leeward slippage, which was unavoidable going hard to windward.
'Your protege, Hainaut, has courage, m'sieur,' Griot commented. 'His schooner might get to her before we do.'
'Yes, he does,' Choundas replied, irked that his vital calculations of wind, leeway, and speed were interrupted, yet with a sound of grudging pride in his voice, even so. 'Cleverness, too.'
'Let us hope more cleverness than brute bravery, m'sieur' Capt. Griot gloomily intoned. 'Once we savage Proteus, and get past her, we must bear away Southeast, else we approach the Americans, line-abreast… unable to aid each other, m'sieur' he pointed out.
'I do not fear their rough-cast, home-made, and light pop-guns, Griot!' Choundas declared with a sneer. 'American foundries and powder mills are… merde. And their gun crews a pack of clumsy children in comparison to how well you and MacPherson have trained ours.'
'Very well, m'sieur,' Griot said, keeping his voice neutral, in dread of what Choundas might order in the heat of rising expectations for battle. He feared pointing out how quickly the Americans stalked down on them, were starting to haul their wind a point or so, as if to aim between Proteus's stern quarters and his own ship's bows, and cut them off from pursuit. Capt. Griot was fearful, too, to express what qualms he felt after taking a long look at the trailing 'small frigate' that his lookouts had reported, as she loomed taller and taller in his ocular, beginning to appear as massive as a cut-down Third Rate still bearing two decks of guns… Madness, the doughty Griot thought, his heart heavy; we are sacrificed to this ogre's revenge. Madness!
'The Frog schooner's now about one mile off our starboard quarters, sir,' Lt. Langlie adjudged, his telescope to his eye, 'and those corvettes are a mile and a half astern, but coming fast. One about dead astern, t'other on our larboard quarter.'
'And our Yankees only four miles up to windward,' Lewrie added, with a satisfied sniff. 'Time for some fun, Mister Langlie. Haul our wind and steer due South. Mister Catterall?' he shouted forward, over the hammock nettings. 'Stand by, the starboard battery, and take that schooner under fire once we've fallen off! Your best gun-
