captains, to fire as they bear, mind! Let 'em take their time at it!'
'Aye aye, sir!' Catterall bellowed back, pleased as punch to be loosed on their foes, at last. 'Right, you bawdy whore-sons…!'
Proteus heeled, groaning, almost putting her starboard outboard shroud chain platforms into the sea as her helm was put up, as braces and sheets were eased. Once settled on her new course due South, the port lids swung up to make a regular blood-red chequer against the pale paint of her gunwales, and the heavy truck-carriages rumbled and squealed as her 12-pounder guns were run out in-battery. A long minute passed as gun-captains fussed and fiddled with the elevating quoin blocks, directing their crews to shift aim left or right with the long crow-levers to 'sweat' tons of oak and iron a few inches. Rope tackles and blocks were overhauled for clear recoil paths, before the experienced gun-captains took up the lanyards to their flintlock strikers, then shot their free fists skyward to show readiness, reducing the slack in the lanyards to the last, remaining inch…
'As you bear… fire!' Lt. Catterall roared.
Bow to stern, her thirteen starboard 12-pounders stuttered out a bellicose thunder, some gunners waiting for the scend of the sea to raise the decks nearer to dead-level before jerking their lanyards; in ones, twos, and threes the guns erupted and lurched inboard, with both guns right-aft in Lewrie's great-cabins adding the final kettledrum coda of a quick Boo-Boom! To Lewrie's ears it was almost excruciatingly… musical!
The French schooner had been almost bows-on to Proteus, following her turn off the wind, and her stunned master had kept her bows-on… most-likely to present the slimmest target he could to that sudden broadside. Great, lovely columns and feathers of spray leaped skyward about her… to either beam, or short before her bows, but terrifyingly close, and bounding upward as darting black specks from First Graze barely slowed to howl, keen, or shriek over her decks or down both of her sides, as if she had been assailed by a flying coven of witches!
Thinking quickly, the schooner's captain ordered her helm hard over to leeward to tack her Northward towards the nearest corvette to escape a second pummeling, hoping to flit beyond Proteus's limited gun-arcs. As she bared her starboard side to them, rolling, heeling, and every sail panic-flogging, Proteus's gunners raised a jeering howl at the sight of holes that their shot had punched in her canvas!
'Now, back on the wind, Mister Langlie!' Lewrie ordered. 'All for now, Mister Catterall, sorry! Close your ports, but reload, then stand by to serve 'em another!'
'We've lost a quarter-mile to the corvettes, sir,' Lt. Langlie pointed out.
'Aye. Temptin',' Lewrie snickered, beaming fit to bust, with a playful double-lift of his brows, 'ain't we. Those poor bastards back yonder, Mister Langlie… they should be running, but they're not. I doubt they could scuttle back to Choundas, 'thout dirtyin' their guns a time or two. He'd scrag 'em for cowardice, else. Counting on it!'
The schooner ploughed on Northerly for a minute longer, before tacking again to lay herself half a mile in advance of the nearer corvette, now up on their larboard quarter. Some quick flag hoists were made, then both vessels hauled their wind a point free, to fall off on a bow-and-quarter line, 'lasking,' 'til they lay off Proteus's starboard quarters once more, then came back to in-line-ahead, hard on the wind. The far corvette had fallen off, too, to match the distance to leeward that Proteus had lost with her Sutherly swing, all of them yet intent on bracketing, then pummeling, her.
But, by then, they had left it too late, and the Americans were upon them. Sumter swept in, abeam of Proteus and thrashing between on a furiously boiling bow and quarter wave, her gun-ports already opened and her curious bright red figurehead of a fighting cock with its neck outstretched and its wings spread in anger catching the reflections of sea-glint and appearing as if alive.
The French schooner hauled her wind, again, ducking to leeward to upset the aim of Sumter's larboard gunners, showing the Yankee her stern. As she turned, she fired a ragged salvo from her larboard pop-guns, moments before Sumter returned the favour, and the sea about her frothed, leaped, and feathered anew with near-misses. And the schooner visibly trembled as heavy round-shot hammered into her. The French corvette astern of her hauled her wind, too, beginning to swing Sutherly. To stand on close-hauled to windward would open her vulnerable bows to a punishing rake, and to haul her wind too late would make the bow-rake even closer and more damaging! She would match her larboard guns to Sumter's starboard cannon while running for home, and hope for the best!
While Hancock, massive as a rocky island fortress, bore down on the farther corvette, remaining upwind of her to oppose larboard guns to larboard guns… and just slavering for the Frenchman to haul off and expose her fragile stern timbers.
'Mister Catterall, stand by to engage the schooner, again! Do you haul off South, Mister Langlie,' Lewrie bade.
Sumter arrowed in at an angle before swinging abeam of her foe, and both broadsides went off almost as one, instantly wreathing both ships in an angry grey thunderhead of spent powder smoke; upon which the schooner stood out in stark profile after Proteus had altered her course. The range was only half a mile, this time, but…
'Hold fire, Mister Catterall, 'til she sails below Sumter! We don't want t'hit our friends with 'overs'!' Lewrie cautioned. But all four vessels were running off the wind to the Suth'rd, denying Proteus a clean shot for long minutes whilst topmen aboard the schooner raked her tops'l gaskets free and let her extra canvas fall. With more sail aloft, she slowly began to inch ahead-then had the sauce to let loose her starboard guns at Sumter's dis-engaged side, and, once settled down on course, raised her larboard ports and let fly at Proteus, to boot! The sharp, yipping bangs didn't amount to guns much larger than 4-pounders, and her small-diametre shot grazed twice or thrice, before sinking close-aboard with no effect, but Lewrie found it galling. And, as she finally sailed alee of Sumter and the battling corvette, out in clear air where they could fire on her, Proteus had to swing two points to windward so her guns could bear, even as the range began to open…
'Fire!' Lt. Catterall at last could howl, slashing his sword at the
deck after long stomp-about-cursing moments of utter frustration. Low-aimed roundshot pillared and columned the waters round the French schooner, bounding from First Graze to dash low over her decks, gnaw a vicious bite from her bulwarks here and there, but… she sailed on, still firing-as if it were an equal contest!
'Point more to windward, Mister Langlie! Hit her, again, lads! Gut that poxy, slug- eatin' whore!' Lewrie raged, knowing that the schooner was out-footing his frigate, that if they didn't cripple her soon, he'd be forced to fall in astern of her and spin out a day-long stern-chase in hopes of a few lucky hits from his forward chase-guns to whittle off her speed advantage. Had he been able to fire on her when she'd been closer, and dead abeam…!
Far down to leeward, USS Oglethorpe had merged with those fleeing merchantmen, a quick peek with a glass showed him. It looked like they had already struck their colours and fetched-to.
There goes all hope o'profit, Lewrie miserably surmised; damme. .. / said / was feelin ' generous, but not that generous, by God!
'Hancock is engaging, Captain!' Lt. Langlie screeched, the only way he could be heard over the general din.
'This ought t'be int'resting,' Lewrie muttered, turning aft.
The American frigate had clewed up her main course, and had let her way fall off a bit. Better than a mile and a half astern, she now appeared close enough to the French corvette to crash her yardarm tips against the French ship's yard ends, though there probably remained at least two cables' separation between them.
There was a concerted crash as Hancock's weather-deck guns, the 12-pounders
