Things did not stand as they were: the wind strengthened, veering westerly, so that they could carry no more than closereefed topsails; and even those hurried them along at a breakneck pace. As thick a night as could well be imagined, the sky entirely covered by clouds that barely cleared the masthead, frequent rain, often in very heavy squalls. Not the least possibility of an observation, and little reliance could be placed on dead- reckoning.
The Bellona had her three great stern-lanterns all ablaze, and from time to time Jack Aubrey left either his fiddle or the game of cards he was playing with Stephen to stand by them on the poop, watching the rain sweep past in their rays or searching the darkness astern for his squadron: at eight bells a suffused glow as the watch changed aboard the Stately, and once or twice a small light in what he took to be the Ringle right abeam; but almost all the time it was a roaring darkness, another manner of being. After a little while of this the binnacle lamps were so bright when he returned to the quarterdeck that in their mere reflection he recognized the midshipman of the watch, almost extinguished by his waterproof clothes and hat. 'A dirty night, Mr Wetherby,' he said. 'I trust it don't damp your spirits?'
'Oh no, sir,' said the boy, laughing with excitement. 'Ain't it a lark?'
Every few bells he walked - or sometimes clawed his way- on the poop, sensing the changing forces of the air and sea: a great spring tide would flow tomorrow, and already in the countless pressures working on the hull he thought he could discern its first stirring.
'The wind is almost due west now,' he told Stephen, returning from one of these tours, very near the night's end: but Stephen was asleep, bowed in an elbow-chair, his head moving with the roll and pitch of the ship, and she racing through the blackness with him.
For what seemed no more than a moment Jack did the same: but the cry of the lookout on the forecastle 'Breakers on the starboard bow' pierced through the rising doze, and he was on deck before the messenger could reach him. Miller, the officer of the watch, had already started sheets to reduce the ship's pace, and he and Jack stood listening: through the general din of wind and the crash of tumbling seas there came the grave, regular beat of surf breaking on the shore or on a reef. 'Two blue flares,' said Jack, the agreed signal; and for once, in spite of wind and the omnipresent spray that wetted everything, they soared away at once, their unearthly blue showing clear.
'Indeed the sky is higher, almost clear,' said the lieutenant. 'It will be day in half a glass,' said the master. 'You can make out a glimmer in the east already.'
The glimmer spread: the west wind, though still very strong, bore less rain, more cloud, and presently their nightaccustomed eyes made out first a long cape to larboard, cloud still covering all its height above a hundred feet, with islands at the seaward end, and then to starboard the even longer, even more cloudy headland on whose western side the sea was beating with such tremendous, rhythmic solemnity: between them lay a narrow rocky-sided bay reaching away into the land, losing itself in the murk; and as the light increased and the water grew lees dark they saw another rounded island some way down, close in on the northern shore. On this side of the island lay two ships. Jack took Miller's glass. They were the French seventy-fours, and as he fixed them, with the utmost intense concentration, he grew more and more convinced that they too were uncertain of their landfall. Indeed, with this visibility, it might have been any one of half a dozen. And that they were trying to make it out, hoping for pre-arranged signals, friendly pilots: they had a green flag flying.
'Do not strike the bell,' he said, stopping the ship's routine: he wanted none of the morning ceremonies at this point.
'No bell it is, sir,' said the quartermaster.
'If you please, sir,' said Miller, pointing to the first island beyond the northern arm of the bay - an island that now proved to be a small group.
'Yes,' said Jack. 'Very good.' For there, in a cove as neat and sheltered and concealed from view as could be wished, invisible from the offing and from the lower bay, there lay the troop-ships and both frigates.
With a fierce pleasure he grasped the situation. The narrow bay ran directly north-east: if the French commodore took his squadron well in, with this wind he could never bring them out. He was trying to make sure whether this was his right destination or not, and already he was most dangerously far along.
All the officers were on deck. 'We have no pilot left from Irish waters?' asked Jack.
'No, sir,' said Miller. 'Even Michael Tierney died in the Bight of Benin. But the master is searching through and through and through his charts - he has called for a sounding.'
'It's all one,' said Jack. 'Beat to quarters.' He ran on to the poop, looking aft. Everyone was present, Stately within a cable's length, except for Thames, who had sagged right away to the east, almost beyond the other horn closing the bay. The Ringle, like a dutiful tender, was rising and falling on the great swell fifty yards on the Bellona's quarter.
'Good morning, William,' he called. 'How are you bearing up?'
'Good morning, sir,' answered Reade. 'Prime, sir, thank you very much.'
Returning, Jack made first Thames's signal to rejoin and then Stately's to come within hail.
The sixty-four came under the Bellona's lee, and in his strong voice Jack said 'Captain Duff - there lie the French two-deckers. Let us attack them directly; and while we are bearing down let us at least have a bite and a sup. I shall tackle the pennant-ship, if you and Thames will look after the other.'
'Very happy, sir,' said Duff, smiling, and his crew gave three cheers.
Before going below Jack gave the Aurora, Camille and Laurel orders to maintain a discreet watch on the transports and their escort between the islands. He had every hope of snapping them up with neither damage nor casualties if he were successful in the bay.
A spirit-stove and a willing mind can do wonders, even in a heavy sea with a full gale blowing, and Jack Aubrey, leaving Stephen to carry their coffee-pot down into the cockpit, came on deck again warm and well-fed. He was wearing his usual rig: an old uniform coat, threadbare brass-bound hat that had turned many a cut, a heavy cavalry sabre by way of fighting sword, boots and silk stockings (much better in case of a wound). He glanced along the decks, all in the perfect battleorder Captain Pullings knew so well: over to the other side of the bay, where the Thames was making good progress: towards the Frenchmen, who for their part had moved from the island towards what seemed to be a cloudy village on the south side, where they lay a-try, perhaps with a kedge out ahead. The Stately was keeping a cable's length astern, coming along under the same close-reefed topsails with the same air of competence.
'Shipmates,' said Jack in a conversational voice, but one that carried well over the roar of the wind, 'we are
