The shadow of the eagle

the Gremyashchi which was now slightly to windward of the French ships, though still to leeward of Andromeda, and a little less than a mile ahead, on her port bow.

'Rakov dare not wear, for it would cast him too far to loo'ard and he dare not tack for fear of missing stays ...'

'By God, sir! You're wrong! He's going about!' Marlowe's voice cracked with excitement as ahead of them the Russian frigate turned into the wind and prepared to come round to pass closely between the French ships and Andromeda. It was a bold move and while it would mask the gunfire of her consorts, a broadside from the Gremyashchi could well serve to incapacitate the British frigate and thereby deliver her to the guns of the combined squadron.

'Mr Paine!'

'Sir?'

'Run up a different hoist. Make us look a little desperate.'

'A little desperate, sir. Aye, aye.'

For a brief, distracted moment Drinkwater thought there might have been a hint of sarcastic emphasis on the diminutive adjective, but then he was passing word to the gun deck: 'Larboard battery make ready; langridge and round shot if you please.'

Drinkwater heard the order taken up and passed below. With the angle of heel the elevating screws would need winding down. He would have to lessen the angle of heel to assist the gunners.

'Mr Birkbeck! Clew up the fore-course!'

He levelled his glass on the Gremyashchi again. She was passing through the wind now, hauling her main yards. White water streamed from her bow as she plunged into the head sea as she turned. Then she had swung and her sails rippled and filled on the port tack. She began gathering speed towards Andromeda on a reciprocal course to leeward. Instantly Drinkwater saw his opportunity. He felt the surge of excitement in his blood, felt his heartbeat increase with the audacity of it. Bold though Rakov had been, Drinkwater might out-Herod Herod.

'Starboard battery make ready!'

'Chain shot ready loaded sir!' It was Frey's voice, Frey at the quarterdeck companionway, ducking below at the same moment.

'Mr Birkbeck, I want the ship taken across his bow ...'

'Sir?'

'At the last moment, d'you hear?'

'You'll rake from ahead sir?'

'Exactly. Will you do it?'

'Aye, sir!'

'At the last moment...'

'We risk taking her bowsprit with us.'

'No time to worry about that, just carry us clear. Man the braces and square the yards as we come round. Mr Hyde, some target practice for you lobsters!'

'Can't wait, sir!' Hyde called gaily back.

No one on the upper deck was unaware of Drinkwater's intentions and, thanks to Frey, most men on the gun-deck understood. Those that did not, knew something was about to happen and both batteries waited tensely for the opportunity to open fire.

Drinkwater cast a quick look at Marlowe. He was so pale that his beard looked blue against his skin. 'Remember what I said, Mr Marlowe,' Drinkwater reminded his first lieutenant in a low voice, 'if I should fall.'

Marlowe looked at him with a blank stare, into which comprehension dawned slowly. 'Oh yes, yes, sir.' Drinkwater smiled reassuringly. Marlowe smiled bravely back. 'I shall not let you down, sir,' he said resolutely.

'I'm sure you won't, Mr Marlowe,' Drinkwater replied, raising his glass again and laying it upon the fast- approaching Russian.

Andromeda remained the windward vessel and Drinkwater knew at once that Rakov intended to use his heel to enable his guns to fire higher, aiming to cripple the British frigate, cross her stern with a raking fire and then take his time destroying her. It was always a weakness of the weather gauge that although one could dominate the manoeuvring, when it came to a duel, the leeward guns were frequently difficult to point.

Rakov was clewing up his courses, confident that Andromeda was running into the trap with her futilely flying signals and every gunport tight shut.

'D'you wish me to try another hoist, sir?' asked Paine.

'Good idea, Mr Paine,' responded Drinkwater, adding, 'and a gun to windward, Mr Marlowe, to add to the effect.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Details were standing out clearly now on the Gremyashchi. Her dark hull with its single, broad buff strake was foreshortened, but the scrollwork about her figurehead, her knightheads and bowsprit were clear, so clear in the Dollond glass that Drinkwater could see an officer forward, studying his own ship through a huge glass.

'Keep the guns' crews' head down, Mr Marlowe, we're being studied with interest.' A moment later the unshotted starboard bow chaser blew its wadding to windward with a thump. In an unfeigned tangle of bunting and halliards which trailed out to leeward in a huge bight, Mr Paine was the very picture of the inept greenhorn struggling to get a flag hoist aloft in blustery weather; the matter could not have been better contrived if it had been deliberate!

Beside Drinkwater, Birkbeck was sucking his teeth, a nervous habit Drinkwater had not noticed before. 'Shall I edge her down to loo'ard, sir?'

'A trifle, if you please ...'

Drinkwater's heart was thumping painfully in his breast. What he was about to attempt was no ruse, but a huge risk. If Andromeda turned too slowly, or the men at the braces did not let the yards swing, the wind in the sails would tend to hold the ship on her original course. If he turned to early, he would give Rakov time to respond and if too late all that might result was a collision, and that would spell the end for Drinkwater and his ship.

'Stand by, Mr Birkbeck!'

Drinkwater's voice was unnaturally loud, but it carried, and Birkbeck was beside the wheel in an instant. If only Rakov would show his intentions ...

'Make ready on the gun-deck!'

Drinkwater was conscious that in another full minute it would be too late. The two frigates were racing towards each other, larboard to larboard at a combined speed of twenty knots. Gremyashchi, having the wind forward of the beam, was heeling a little more than Andromeda, exposing her port copper which gleamed dully in the sunshine. Andromeda's heel was less, but sufficient to require almost full elevation in her port guns. Not, Drinkwater thought in those last seconds, that she would be using them first.

The time had come for Drinkwater to commit himself and his ship to a raking swing by passing Andromeda across Gremyashchi's bow, come hell or high water. Just as he opened his mouth to shout the order to Birkbeck, the Gremyashchi's larboard ports opened and her black gun muzzles appeared, somewhat jerkily as their crews hauled them uphill against the angle of heel.

'Now Birkbeck! Up helm!' Birkbeck had the helm over in a trice, but Drinkwater's heart thundered in his breast and his skin crawled with apprehension as he watched Andromeda's bowsprit hesitate, then start to move across the rapidly closing Gremyashchi, accelerating as the frigate responded to her rudder.

'Braces there!' Birkbeck shouted.

'Starboard battery, open fire when you bear!'

Marlowe was running aft along the starboard gangway and beneath their feet the faint tremble of gun trucks running outboard sent a tremor through the ship. Along the upper deck the warrant and petty officers at the masts