The Corvette

you are chasing to the south-west, chasing an enemy ship, a French ship perhaps?'

Drinkwater looked at Bourne enquiringly. The first lieutenant shrugged. 'Yes,' said Drinkwater, 'that is correct.'

'Why do you think this ship is running south-west, sir?'

'Well, Mr Singleton, the wind is favourable, she is luring us away from our other charges and the sea is less encumbered by ice in this direction.'

'It is also in the direction of the coast, sir.'

'And…?'

'And I believe Meetuck, though he is not very intelligent, even for an eskimo, has seen white men before, white men who have been hostile to him. I believe that before setting out on the ice he may have come from the Greenland coast where white men were…'

'Frenchmen?' broke in Bourne.

'It is possible,' said Singleton, turning to the lieutenant.

'It is indeed,' said Drinkwater thoughtfully, remembering the cautionary words of Lord Dungarth in his room at the Admiralty.

'You have some information upon that point, Captain?' asked Singleton shrewdly, but before Drinkwater could reply the cabin door burst open. Midshipman Lord Walmsley stood in the doorway. His usual look of studied contempt was replaced by alarm.

'An enemy, sir, to windward a bare league…'

Drinkwater rose. 'Beat to quarters, damn it!'

Mr Rispin had been caught out again. The enemy ship had clearly sighted the pursuing sloop and whether she knew Melusine for a naval ship or took her for a whaler, she had left Faithful to head west-south-west alone and doubled back unobserved, to lurk behind a berg until Melusine came up. Drinkwater reached the quarterdeck as the marine drummer beat the rafale.

'Who was your masthead lookout, Mr Rispin?' he asked venomously, casting round for the enemy. He saw the Frenchman immediately, frigate-built and with the tricolour flying from her peak.

'As bold as bloody brass,' said Hill, taking up his station on the quarterdeck alongside the captain.

'Well sir?' Drinkwater stared unblinkingly at Rispin.

'Lord Walmsley, sir.'

'God damn and blast his lordship!'

'D'you wish me to take in sail, sir?'

'Aye, Mr Hill, turn down-wind and get the stuns'ls in. Mr Bourne, don't show our teeth yet, all guns load canister and ball but hold 'em inboard with closed ports.'

Hill altered course and Drinkwater watched the yards squared and the topmen work aloft, stiff monkeys in the frozen air as the studding sails fluttered on deck. He looked astern. A dozen burgomaster gulls flew in their wake and a few fulmars swept the sea to starboard but he no longer had time for such natural wonders. He was studying the strange ship coming up on their starboard quarter.

She was bigger than themselves, a frigate of twenty-eight guns, he reckoned, more than a match for the Melusine and wearing French colours.

A shot plunged into the water just astern of them. A second following a minute later struck the hull beneath his feet. Drinkwater hoped Cawkwell had lowered the window sashes. A third ball plunged under their stern. Her guns were well served and there was no doubt that, whether a national frigate or a well-appointed corsair, she was determined upon making a prize of the Melusine.

Drinkwater set his mouth in a grim line. He had fought the Romaine off the Cape of Good Hope from a position of disadvantage, but now there were no British cruisers in the offing to rescue him.

'Ship's cleared for action, sir.' Bourne touched his hat.

Drinkwater turned forward and looked along the deck. The gun crews were kneeling at their posts, the midshipmen with their parties in the fore and main tops, two men at each topgallant crossing and marines aloft in the mizen top. The sail trimmers were at the rails and pins; on the fo'c's'le the bosun stood, his silver whistle about his neck. The helm was in the hands of the two quartermasters with Mr Quilhampton standing casually alongside, his wooden hand holding the log slate. Gorton and Rispin commanded the two batteries, seconded by Glencross and Walmsley, while Mr Frey attended the quarterdeck, with Drinkwater, Hill, Bourne and Lieutenant Mount, whose marines lined the hammock nettings.

'Very well, Mr Bourne.' He raised his voice. 'Starboard battery make ready. I intend to haul our wind and rake from forward.' He paused as another enemy ball found their stern. 'You may fire as you bear, Mr Rispin, but take your time, my lads, and reload as if the devil was on your tail.' He nodded to Hill, 'Very well, Mr Hill, starboard tack, if you please.'

Melusine began to turn, heeling over as she brought the wind round on her beam. Gun captains pulled up their ports and drove home more quoins to counter-act the heel. Rispin, leaped from gun to gun, his hanger drawn.

'God damn! Mr Frey, pass word to Tregembo to get my sword… Where the devil have you been, Tregembo?'

'Sharpening your skewer, zur, 'twas as rusty as a church door knocker…' Tregembo buckled on the sword and handed Drinkwater a pair of pistols. 'An' I took down the portraits, zur.' He reproached Drinkwater, his old face wrinkling with a kind of rough affection.

Drinkwater managed a half smile and then turned his attention to the ship. Above their heads the braces were swinging the yards. From forward he heard the report of the first gun and watched the enemy for the fall of shot. He saw splinters fly from the vessel's knightheads. Each gun fired in turn as Melusine crossed the stranger's bow, and although one or two holes appeared in the Frenchman's fore course and several spouts of water showed on either bow, most seemed to strike home. But as Melusine stretched out on the starboard tack she too exposed her stern to the enemy. They fired a broadside and several balls furrowed the deck, one wounded the mizen topmast and holes opened in the spanker.

Somewhere below there rose the most horrible howl of agony and Drinkwater was aware of little Frey shaking beside him.

'Mr Frey,' said Drinkwater kindly, 'I don't believe anyone has loaded Captain Palgrave's fancy carronades. Would you and your two yeomen attend to it, canister might be useful later in the action, wouldn't you say?'

Frey focussed his eyes on the two brass carronades that Captain Palgrave's vanity had had installed at the hances. They still slumbered beneath oiled canvas covers. Frey nodded uncertainly and then with more vigour. 'Aye, aye, sir.' It would be good for the child to have something to do.

Astern of them the enemy hauled into their wake. The Melusine's French build began to take effect. She started to open the distance between them.

'Mr Bourne, pass word for the gunner to report to me.'

The gunner was called for at the hatchways and made his appearance a moment or two later, his felt slippers sliding incongruously upon the planking.

'Ah, Mr Meggs, I want a caulked keg of powder with a three-minute fuse sealed up in canvas soon as you are able to arrange it.'

The gunner frowned, raised an eyebrow and compressed his toothless mouth. Then, without a word, knuckled his forehead and waddled below. Drinkwater turned to Bourne.

'Well, Mr Bourne, whatever our friend is, he'll not get a gun to bear at the moment.'

Hill came up. 'D'you intend to mine him, sir?'

Drinkwater grinned. 'We'll try. It's a long shot, but I'm not certain that he's a national frigate. I have an idea that he may be a letter-of-marque, in which case he'll be stuffed full of men and we cannot risk him boarding.'

'I am of the same opinion, sir. There's something about him that marks him as a corsair.'

'Yes. Now, we don't want him to see the keg dragging down on him so we will put it over forrard and lead the line out of a forrard port. That way he will not observe any activity around the stern here…'

'Use the log-line, sir? It's handy and long enough,' asked Hill.