Tenacious

almost certain death—or, at best, survival and humiliating capture by the French.

'We have to do something, damn it!' Houghton rasped. The other two ships were lying tentatively on her beam; in these surging conditions it was too risky to get closer.

'Could stream rafts for survivors when ...' No one took up Kydd's thought and he resumed his sorrowful gaze at the doomed vessel. In all conscience they could stay with the ship only until that fatal last half-mile.

Then there was sudden movement on her decks. The rags of sail still up were brought in until the ship was bare. Without the steadying of high canvas she began a sickening wallow, the merciless wind nearly abeam. A flicker of paleness showed around her plunging bow.

'Ah!' All eyes turned to Hambly, who cleared his throat selfconsciously. 'Er, that is t' say, it's clear they have right seamen aboard Vanguard. That's a sprits'l they're setting an' they'll wear ship with that.'

A spritsail was an ancient sail from another age, one spread below the bowsprit and long since disappeared from modern warships. The effect of the diminutive sail, set so far forward, was immediate. Painfully, Vanguard began to pay off under the leverage, rotating slowly until the seas previously battering her from abeam now came under her stern. She gathered steerage way and, bracing the spritsail yard hard round, showed canvas on her mizzen, completed the turn and finally wore round. At last the threat of shipwreck was averted.

The quarterdeck of Tenacious erupted in shouts of admiration—now their flagship had a chance! Only one frigate could be seen: the others must have been blown to—who knew where?

The storm showed no sign of calming and the last frigate fell away into the spindrift, then disappeared.

It was now a matter of enduring the jerking, bruising motion; a tedious, wearying period that stretched time and deadened the spirit. A second night drew in, but before the light faded a flutter of colour showed at the admiral's mizzen.

'Mr Kydd!' Houghton handed over his telescope. The image danced uncontrollably and Kydd adopted a foul- weather brace, right elbow jammed firmly to his side, the other against his chest with his feet splayed wide. Without needing to refer to his pocket signal book he knew the hoist. 'Alexander's pennant, 'pass within hail.''

Then Orion closed cautiously, and finally it was the turn of Tenacious. Coming up slowly on the flagship's leeward side they saw the damage— topmasts missing, foremast a splintered stump, lines of rigging tangling on the decks—it could not possibly be repaired at sea.

Without doubt the cluster of figures on her quarterdeck would include Admiral Nelson. Kydd clung to the shrouds listening as Houghton brought up his speaking trumpet and hailed, 'Flag ahoy!' His voice was strong and well pitched, but it was nearly lost in the uproar of the swashing seas between the madly surging vessels.

'Do ye hear?' came distantly across from the flagship quarterdeck.

'I do, sir.'

'Have—you—charts—' Houghton held up a hand in acknowledgement '—of Oristano?'

Sardinia. So the admiral was seeking a dockyard in Sardinia under their lee. 'Have we? Quickly, Mr Hambly.'

'No, sir, nothing more'n a small-scale o' that coast.'

' Regret—no—charts.'

The remote figure waved once and the ships began to diverge. The admiral had three choices: to chance unknown waters and a possibly hostile port in Sardinia; make a lengthy return to Gibraltar in his crippled ship; or, when the weather abated, transfer to one of the others and scuttle Vanguard.

Darkness came and the long night brought no relief from the hammering northerly. Only when dawn's cold light imperceptibly displaced the blackness was there a moderation in the welter of torn seas. Alexander, Orion and Tenacious came together once more.

'She's signalling!' Kydd's eyes were sore with salt spray as he tried to read Vanguard's hoist. 'To Alexander: 'prepare to take me in tow.''

'Now we'll see what they're made of, I think,' said Bryant, wedging himself against the outside corner of the master's cabin and calmly contemplating, across the chaotic, tumbling seas, the heroic feat of seamanship now demanded.

'Boats won't swim,' said Kydd, similarly exercised.

'Can float off a keg wi' a messenger line,' mused the master, 'if Alexander dare take a wind'd position.' This was where the main difficulty lay: to allow the keg to float downwind, or any like manoeuvre, implied placing Alexander upwind. The huge windage of the 74s at slow speeds would ensure they drifted inexorably to leeward but it would be at differing rates for different ships and weather conditions. The consequences of the ship to weather drifting faster and colliding with the one to leeward, with all the inertia of one and a half thousand tons, was too horrific to think about.

Alexander lay off, preparing her move. Any close manoeuvring was deadly dangerous in the wild seas and it would take extreme care to pass over the line safely. She wore round in a big circle and approached Vanguard from astern and to windward.

Sail was shortened down to goosewinged fore-topsail and storm staysails, and she approached with the buffeting wind on her quarter. Closer, she eased the sheets of two of the three staysails and lined up for her run— she was clearly trying for a close glancing approach to Vanguard's poop with one fleeting moment to get the line across.

The voluted beakhead of Alexander slowly approached the carved stern of Vanguard. As she did so, the scale of the independent plunging and rearing of the two ships was evident. Alexander's bowsprit and its complex tracery of rigging speared closer. Then, in seconds, the situation changed. A chance convergence of wave crests into a larger one rose up on Alexander's outer bow at the same time as its trough allowed Vanguard's stern to slide towards her.