and pin rails were tending the trim of the yards, driving Andromeda at her maximum speed as she swung to port, right under the bows of the Gremyashchi.
Drinkwater saw the officer with the long glass lower it and look directly at the British ship, as though unable to believe what he had first observed in detail through his lenses; he saw the man turn and shout aft, but Gremyashchi stood on, and even fired a gun in the excitement, a shotted gun, for Hyde cried out he had spotted the plume of water it threw up, yards away on their starboard beam. As Andromeda turned to port, the component of her forward speed was removed from the equation. The approach slowed, allowing Andromeda time to cover the distance of the offset from her windward station.
Then the forwardmost gun of Frey's starboard battery fired, followed by its neighbours. The concussion rolled aft as each successive gun-captain laid his barrel on the brief sight of the Russian's bow as it flashed past his open port, like a pot shot at a magic lantern show. And on the upper deck, first the chase gun, then the short, ugly barks of the carronades as they recoiled back up their slides, followed the same sequence, the gun crews leaping round with sponges and rammers, to get in a second shot where they were able. As for Hyde's marines, they afterwards called it a pigeon shoot, for they claimed to have picked off every visible Russian in the fleeting moments they were in a position to do so, though whether this amounted to four or seven men remained a matter of dispute for long afterwards.
Andromeda's rolling fire was more impressive than a broadside; there was a deliberation about it that might have been coincidence, or the fruits of twenty years of war, or the sheer bloody love of destruction enjoyed by men kept mewed up in a wooden prison for months at a time, year-in, year-out, denied the things even the meanest, most indigent men ashore enjoyed as their natural rights. And if the liveliness of the sea deprived Drinkwater of the full effect of a slow raking, the destruction wrought seemed bad enough to allow him to coolly pass his ship clear to leeward of the faltering Russian as, obedient to her helm, Andromeda swung back on to her original course and swept past the Gremyashchi, starboard to starboard. So confident had Rakov been that Drinkwater would hang on to the weather gauge that hardly a starboard gun opposed her.
'Run down towards those French ships, Mr Birkbeck, then we will tack and come up with the Gremyashchi again ...'
'Drive a wedge between 'em, eh sir?' It was Marlowe, darkened by powder smoke and the close supervision of the upper deck carronades, who ranged up alongside Drinkwater and suddenly added, 'By God, you're unarmed, sir!'
Drinkwater looked down at his unencumbered waist. Neither sword nor pistol hung there. 'God's bones, I had quite forgot ...'
'I'll get 'em for you sir.' And like a willing midshipman, Marlowe was gone.
Drinkwater turned and looked at the Gremyashchi, already dropping astern on the starboard quarter. Her starboard ports were open now, and several shots flew at Andromeda, but there was no evidence of a concerted effort and it was clear Rakov had been completely outwitted and had had all his men up to windward to assist hauling his cannon quickly out against his ship's heel.
'How far from her were we, sir?' Birkbeck asked conversationally. 'I was rather too busy to notice.'
'I'm not sure,' Drinkwater replied, 'thirty or forty yards, maybe; perhaps less; long pistol shot anyway'
Both men spared a last look at the Gremyashci. It was impossible to say what damage they had done; none of her spars had gone by the board and only two holes were visible in the foot of her fore-topsail, but they were fast approaching the two French ships, the nearer of which had the appearance of an Indiaman and was clearly frigate built. It was oddly satisfying for Drinkwater to read the name L'Aigle on her stern, beneath the stern windows. Hortense and her intelligence seemed a world away from this!
Beyond L'Aigle, lay the smaller French ship, a corvette by the look of her, and both had their guns run out.
'Not too close, I don't want to risk them hitting our sticks, but would like a shot at theirs.'
'Aye, aye, sir.' Birkbeck replied, impassive to his commander's paradoxical demand.
'Down helm, my lads, nice and easy' Birkbeck conned the ship round and Drinkwater walked forward and bellowed down beneath the booms, 'Now's your chance, Mr Ashton; larbowlines make ready and fire at will when you bear!' He turned, 'Ah, Marlowe, you're just in time ... Thank you.'
Drinkwater took the sword and belt from Marlowe who laid the brace of pistols on the binnacle and hurried off. Drinkwater caught Birkbeck's eye and raised an eyebrow.
Then Ashton's guns fired by division, the foward six first, then the midships group and finally the aftermost cannon, by which time the forward guns were ready again, and for fifteen minutes, as Andromeda ran parallel to L'Aigle, they kept up this rolling fire. It was returned with vigour by LAigle, but the corvette scarcely fired a shot, being masked by her consort.
Drinkwater could see the spurts of yellow flame and the puffs of white smoke from which came the spinning projectiles, clearly visible to the quick eye.
'Have a care Birkbeck, they're using bar shot...'
A loud rent sounded aloft and the main-topsail was horizontally ripped across three cloths and half the windward topmast shrouds were shot away, but the mast stood. A few innocuous holes appeared in L'Aigle's sails and even the corvette suffered from some wild shot, but there appeared to be little other damage until Hyde called out there was something wrong amidships and that he had seen a cloud of splinters explode from a heavy impact.
Drinkwater was far more concerned with the conduct of Andromeda herself. As long as he struck without being hit, he was having at least a moral effect upon his enemy. He raised his glass and could see the blue and white of infantrymen on the deck of LAigle.
'Pass word to Mr Frey, I am going to rake to starboard!' he called, turning to Birkbeck, but the master was ahead of his commander.
'Let fly the maintops'l sheet...!'
Andromeda began to slow as the driving power of the big sail was lost; LAigle and the corvette appeared to accelerate as they drew ahead, and then Birkbeck put the helm up and again Andromeda swung to port, but instead of passing under the bow of an enemy, she cut across the sterns of L'Aigle and then the corvette, whose name was now revealed as Arbeille.
They were, however, moving away, and although having achieved his aim in allowing them to pass ahead before turning, Birkbeck's swing to port was a little later than the copybook manoeuvre. Nevertheless, it was clear who was dominating events as Andromeda drove across the sterns of both French ships, cutting through their wakes as Frey's guns thundered again. Nor was there any mistaking the damage inflicted, for the shattering of glass and the stoving in of the neatly carved wooden columns, the caryatids and mermaids adorning their sterns, was obvious. Staring through the Dollond glass, Drinkwater could clearly see a flurry of activity within the smashed interior of L'Aigle. By a fluke, the Russian ensign worn by the Arbeille had been shot away and a replacement was quickly hoisted in the mizen rigging: it was the tricolore.
'Shall I wear her now, sir?' Birkbeck was asking, and Drinkwater swung round, snatched a quick look at the Gremyashchi, almost two miles away by now, but still holding on to her original course. She had either sustained some damage, or was breaking off the action.
'If you please, Birkbeck, let us give chase to the Russian and see what he does.'
'Now they're discarding pretence and showing their true colours, sir,' remarked Marlowe as he returned to the quarterdeck, gesturing to the French ships. L'Aigle had joined her consort in sporting the ensign of the Revolution and Empire and both were also turning in Andromeda's wake.
'Well, sir,' Marlowe remarked cheerfully, 'at least we drew first blood.'
'Indeed we did, Mr Marlowe,' Drinkwater replied, 'indeed we did.'
