recalling how terrified he had been, the first time he'd been forced aloft, so long ago. All these years, and it still hadn't gotten any easier! He thought, surely, he would be senior enough, and like many post-captains too stout, to
Most careful for a good handgrip and sure feet, puffing some, he got to the deadeyes of the fighting-top after a breathless dangle on the futtock shrouds, scaling the underface of the outward-leaning ropes and ratlines. Then on to the mizzenmast crosstrees, far up by the doublings of the topmast, to take a perch on the bracing slats.
The vessel off to the east wavered in his ocular as he embraced the topmast with one arm. Ship-rigged, he saw; three sets of yellow-tan ellipses-tops'ls, t'gallants, or royals visible, with her hull and course sails still below the horizon. Swiveling to the nor'east, he spotted the second. She was more broadside on, with three umber rectangles of sail peeking over the indistinct rim of the sea.
He returned his interest to the nearest ship. Had she changed her aspect to them? When he first espied her, he'd thought she'd been beam-reaching west-nor'west across the wind, her upper yards and sails fatter and wider. Now, they looked narrower, more edge-on, her masts beginning to overlap in his narrow view-piece.
'Altering course,' he muttered sourly. 'Comin' over to 'smoak us'. Discover what we are. Well, sufferin' Jesus!'
An infinitesimal gay splotch of color burst forth upon her upper yards, vivid bits of flapping cloth. She was making a signal, as she came about hard on the wind. But, to whom? he wondered. It was hard to make out- plain red square flag atop, what seemed like the Blue Peter next-below, a yellow-white beneath that, and a fourth he couldn't make out. That, of a certainty, wasn't a recognition signal in the Howe System
He turned back to the ship up in the nor'east. Sure enough, she was replying. Making a single hoist of what he took to be a red square with a white speck in the center. A one-flag signal-that could only be a reply to an order. More like, an affirmative. And it was not a
They had to be French!
A brace of frigates, he decided, out scouting in the van of the main body of that fleet Howe had been seeking. And had just discovered a weak and tasty treat!
'Deck, there!' he shouted. 'Pipe 'All Hands'! Mister Knolles? Make sail! Royals, t'gallants, and stays'ls!'
A little faster now, though heeled perhaps a bit too far hard-over,
Five weeks in port, and not a shot fired! he lamented.
Port admirals didn't like the sound of guns going off in their harbors. Bad for their digestions, he supposed; interrupts any naps they take. And was a 'waste' of good gunpowder that they'd have to replace, at Admiralty expense, before a ship sailed.
There'd only been a week of dry-firing, using an entire broadside at once, and that wasn't nearly enough.
'Would you say this seems a bit familiar, sir?' Knolles said, after going below to change into clean clothing, and silk stockings and shirt, which were easier for the surgeon to draw out from wounds.
'It appears pretty much the way we
'Damme, Mister Knolles,' Alan said more loudly. Again, for the crew's ears. 'Chased by two corvettes. Shot one to flinders, and took this'un! Do you think, sir, that the French'll oblige me a
He got the appreciative laugh he'd expected, though most of his inexperienced new men merely tittered nervously; and that only because the older hands had done so.
French frigates, he pondered, pacing aft to the taffrail for a peek. Longer on the waterlines, perhaps 120 feet, to his 100. They'd be at least a full knot faster. The one down to the nor'east was too far off, and with only a knot advantage, would take until sundown to catch him up. No, the main threat was the one to the east, now almost abeam. She'd cut the corner on
When she came up to shooting range, Lewrie decided, he'd have no choice but to wear off the wind himself, reach across the wind due west, to escape,/ar out into the Atlantic. Scouting frigates, that'd be most likely, he thought; out ahead of the French fleet's van division, looking for Howe's fleet, so they could steer their admiral into a massive battle. If
'We're nigh on 350 miles out to sea,' he mused; '350 miles west of Ushant
And the weather…! Alan felt like ordering 'All Hands' up on the gangways to begin whistling, if it would stir up one more
Just warm enough a day, as it progressed, to bring a stronger wind as the seas warmed. Or enough heat to stifle
'Mister Knolles,' Lewrie called out, coming back to the center of the quarterdeck. 'We'll run in the starboard battery to loading position, and bowse the carriages to the deck ringbolts. Then, open the larboard gun ports and run out the larboard battery to firing position. That
'Aye aye, sir,' Knolles responded. 'Mister Bittfield?'
If
'It occurs fine, sir…' Knolles began in a soft voice, minus his confident japery, and a tad shy of making a suggestion at all.
'Aye, Mister Knolles?' Alan rejoined with a smile.
'Well, Captain…' Knolles coughed into his fist nervously as he dared advise a senior officer. 'Should we stand