be even worse, for then they'd be lost to the sea, and the storm!
The musicians were now staggering up and down between the tiers of guns in the waist, well into a medley of 'Banish Misfortune,' 'Go to the De'il and Shake Yourself,' and 'The Rakes of Mallow,' and the crew stamped their feet, and their gun-tools, on the deck in time, with the Marine drummer jauntily plying his sticks as if on Sunday parade on the ramparts of Southsea Castle in Portsmouth. A loud crack, and a lightning flash!
'Mister Langlie, does she look t'be hauling her wind a half a point?' Lewrie demanded. 'Putting the wind squarer on her stern?'
'About that, sir,' the First Lieutenant replied, trying to keep a fretful tone from his voice. 'Might she be readying to wear?'
'Possibly,' Lewrie said, rubbing his chin and looking aloft at his sails and yards. 'Helm up a point, Mister Langlie, bring us back to our original course of Nor'west.'
A look alee showed their merchantmen now off
The French frigate was closing with them, now within less than a mile, but foreshortening, her profile aspect turning more bows-on, just a tantalising bit. To follow the convoy, even if her first attempt had been mis-judged, and her captain now would settle for a stern-chase,
'Prepare to come about to larboard, Mister Langlie. I think we will attempt to wear,' Lewrie decided of a sudden. 'And, when we do I will have the tops'ls clewed up for the heavy haul, bat-wing them, in 'Spanish reefs' for a bit, 'til we're round. That'll ease the strain on the masts and spars,
'Aye, sir,' Langlie replied, though there was a leery squint to his eyes; it
Yet, they stood on for about a minute more, straining for sight of each other, waiting for the lightning to illuminate what their respective foes were doing. Nature obliged with another crackling bolt of lightning, one that seemed to leap
'Heads'ls are shivering!' Lt. Langlie yelled, pointing his useless night telescope at the French frigate. 'She's going about, sir!'
Sure enough, the enemy was swinging nearly bows-on to
'Helm up, Mister Langlie!' Lewrie shouted. 'Get us about, quick as dammit! Clew up tops'ls, there!'
And the wear
It was still a staggering, thrashing muddle for hands tending to the freed running rigging, for the gun crews, whose brutally heavy pieces along the larboard side strained breeching ropes and handling tackle 'til they groaned, with the frigate laid over nearly fourty degrees on her starboard side for a long minute.
And, as she slowly rolled back upright, as the tumbled waisters, brace-tenders, and gunners got back on their feet and regained control, the curtain like rain of the squall passed, and the stiff wind lowered its pitch and volume for a moment.
'Let fall the tops'ls!' Lt. Langlie shouted through his speaking trumpet. 'Sheet home, sheet home!'
Then, there was the French frigate, now also steering Due West on larboard tack, about a half a mile up to weather and three points off
'What d'ye plan t'do,
'One would hope, sir!' the First Officer replied, laughing like a hyena to see the French countered.
'Fire a challenge shot from one of the six-pounder chase-guns,' Lewrie demanded, chortling himself. 'The only way he gets to the merchant ships is through us, by God! Let's see if 'Monsieur Crapaud' has the 'nutmegs' for a stand-up fight!'
'Mis-ter A-Dair!' Langlie shouted over the din of the weather, and the rush of the sea against the hull as
The bows dipped in a steady hobby-horse fashion, spray flying up over the beakhead rails, over the top of the roundhouse and forecastle platform, but a 6-pounder's flintlock striker was cocked, then the trigger string tugged, and the chase-gun erupted with a sharpish noise, almost lost against the drum of rain, with a bright red flash, a spurt of grey-white gunpowder, and a shower of bright cloth embers from the cartridge flannel, and the crew cheered some more to know a formal challenge had been made, and the French could not pretend that they hadn't seen it, or the puny feather of ricochet that leaped from the sea before the enemy frigate's bows. Had they
'She's reducing her main course, sir,' Lt. Langlie pointed out, 'and shaking out a reef in her tops'ls.'
'Wants a bit more speed in-hand, aye,' Lewrie agreed, 'though she'll not pass ahead of us, and on this wind, there'll be no clever manoeuvring. Being on her lee will work in our favour. Hard as both of us are pressed, she'll not be able to fire on our masts and sails, as they usually do. Can't lower the breeches low enough for that.'
'Whilst we, heeled at this angle, have our choice of shooting at
'Well…' Lewrie replied, shrugging in perplexity for how best to answer, for the tactic truly
There came another flash of lightning, another peal of thunder, and with it, the burst of a cloud of white smoke on the enemy warship's starboard bow; the challenge had been noted, and accepted.
'D'ye
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO