True Colours (The Third Book in the Fighting Sail Series)

by Alaric Bond

  He stared out, keeping his concentration on the same bearing, as Pandora solidly plunged her way forward. Another glimpse, but no more; the ship, if it were a ship, was equally well blacked out. He was certain the second sighting was further off their beam, which meant they were converging on almost reciprocal courses. He glanced down and could just make out Cobb and Ford sitting companionably together on the crosstrees. Cobb was sweeping the larboard sector, and Ford the starboard, and both seemed oblivious to any actual sighting.

  "Object off the starboard beam!" King muttered, his voice hoarse with the effort of shouting in a whisper. Ford immediately glanced up, then across to where the lieutenant was pointing. King looked also, and the sight came and went almost in the same instant. This time it was deeper on their beam, and he was reasonably sure it to be a sail, set a little lower than his own position. He glanced down again, but Ford was shaking his head; clearly he had caught nothing. Cobb was climbing up to join him; King stopped the midshipman as his head drew level.

  "Down to the deck; quick as you can," he whispered urgently. "Ship in sight on the starboard beam; probably a cable or so off, and on the opposite course; got that?"

  The lad nodded, and disappeared at once. The fastest way down to the deck was by a backstay, but the landing could also be noisy; Cobb was the best judge of that however. King had a history of being the only one to make a sighting and, as he stared out to sea, he almost wished that the enemy were more apparent.

  * * * * *

  "You’re sure?" the captain asked.

  Cobb shook his head. "I didn’t see it myself, sir, but Mr King: he was positive."

  Banks stared out to starboard in a futile effort to see from the level of the deck. But the dark was complete; he could hardly make out the lad Cobb, or Caulfield standing next to him.

  "Very good, return to the top; ask Mr King to continue to watch. Send Ford out to the larboard royal halyards - larboard mind. If the sighting becomes clearer, he is to give three tugs; d’you follow?"

  Cobb nodded his head in the darkness, adding a forgotten "Yes, sir."

  "And if it is the enemy, and he alters course or there is little doubt that he has seen us, you are to call out as usual. Now off you go." Banks turned to where he thought Caulfield still stood. "With luck we will pass them in the darkness."

  A ship on the reciprocal course would be gone in no time, even if she were travelling as slowly as Pandora. And, should the enemy have caught as brief a sighting as they had, there would be little likelihood of them opening fire. In the Dutch captain’s position, he would continue on his present heading until Pandora had passed, then tack, turn back, and try to creep up behind and rake her.

  "Aye, sir," Caulfield replied thoughtfully, his mind running on very similar lines. "But if they have seen us..."

  "If they have seen us we shall know about it soon enough."

  * * * * *

  "David, David; it’s me, Katharine."

  Powell turned in his misery and stared in the direction of the voice. "Miss Black?" he asked, in a voice that was considerably above a whisper and must have turned a dozen heads.

  "Quiet now," she came closer, and felt about in the darkness. "You seemed restless, David; are you all right?"

  "Yes, miss," he said, feeling foolish. "I don’t like the dark, but I’m all right."

  "I don’t like the dark, either. It’s horrid; but it won’t last," her voice was soft and strangely reassuring. "We’re all here together. Mr Doust, Mr Manning, the other loblolly boys, they’re all back there, not five yards away."

  "I know."

  "And Mr Everit, the carpenter, with the men that help him; they’re hereabouts." She thought quickly. "And there is Mr Donaldson, the gunner, and the cook, and several more, in the magazine, just a bit further back." As soon as she had, Kate regretted mentioning the proximity of explosives to a frightened man, but he seemed to be taking it well enough.

  "I just felt a bit… on me own," he had settled himself now; the touch of skin in the darkness as he reached out for her hand was balm enough.

  "You might feel on your own, but you have an important job."

  That was no exaggeration; Naval protocol demanded that the wounded were seen in strict order, regardless of rank or, in theory, degree of injury. Powell, who was charged with comforting those awaiting attention, knew the rules, but also understood instinctively when some would benefit from the surgeon's time, and some would not. Consequently a few of the more desperate cases might be deftly moved ahead of the less demanding while, for the truly hopeless, there was rum and laudanum a-plenty.

  "But David, there is no need for us to worry about that now." He quivered slightly, remembering the last person to have called him by his first name. His eyes grew moist and then began to flow with silent tears. But she was still there, still talking in that soft reassuring way, still holding his hand, childlike, in the absolute black that had suddenly become a friend. "What say we keep company, David? See this wicked darkness out together? And if there comes a time when we do meet action, I’m sure there will be plenty to make us occupied."

  "And no shortage of company then, miss." The pressure was easing now, to be replaced by a warm feeling of peace and a gentle smile.

  "That as well," she agreed and smiled also as they sat together in the darkness while Pandora continued to creep through the night.

  * * * * *

  King had seen the sail twice more, and both times the sighting was further off, and towards the stern. If pressed he would have said the other ship was steering a point or so to larboard of the reciprocal; which might mean the enemy were searching for her further to the north. If that were the case every second was taking them further away from danger. Or Pandora could have been spotted already: the Dutch would have no mark to aim at, and might be gathering speed to tack, and come back on a closer heading. He continued to stare into the darkness; Cobb had returned and relayed the captain’s instructions. He was with him now, sweeping the larboard sector, as King continued to peer out to starboard. Then, as he stared and strained, all darkness suddenly vanished, and the night was split into a thousand tiny fragments of deep, intense, almost torturing luminance.

  The vision grew, rising up, up into the black sky, bringing strange colour, and savage contrast to all about. But most of all it brought light, blinding light that lit the sails, yards and lines about King making him feel stupidly exposed as he clung to the mast. He all but gasped as the rocket continued skywards, leaving a trail of yellow flame where it had been, and brilliantly picking out the two heavy frigates to stern of them.

  * * * * *

  They were several cables off and one, the nearest, had been King’s mystery sighting. The second, further away and steering several points northwards, had fired the rocket. Clearly they had guessed Pandora would manoeuvre; they might even have caught the beginning of her turn, but they had thought she would pull back, away from the immediate danger of a hostile fleet. Had she done so the British frigate would have been trapped between the two and they would now be firing into her helpless hull. Banks nodded quietly to himself; no one would know how close he had come to that very decision; on another night it might easily have been so, and they would be suffering two deadly broadside at that very moment. But there was no time for further speculation; the Dutch would realise their mistake, and be mildly humiliated. Pandora was still close enough to be spotted, and now he could expect to be the subject of a lively chase. Both ships would have to tack or wear to catch them, however; he had to take advantage of the situation, and pile on as much speed as possible while he could.

  "Make sail!" he shouted, his words sounding unusually loud, although the deafening bellows of Caulfield, Fraiser and the boatswain soon surpassed them. The men thundered into position, their horny feet on the deck sounding reassuringly familiar. Light from the rocket was fading, and the black swiftly returned, but months of exercise and practice bore fruit as the men continued to work effectively in the darkness.<
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  The wind was growing fitful, although still held enough force for Pandora to pick up speed. "Light one binnacle lamp and below deck," Banks ordered. "And the slow match; but keep the ports closed." To travel at any speed in the darkness had been foolish; to do so now, while under full sail, would be reckless in the extreme. Pandora was already bucking and jolting as she ploughed through the waves, and soon they might have to call for some delicate manoeuvring.

  "They’re going about," King called from the masthead, he had seen a swirl of movement in the dark, and made the obvious assumption. Banks immediately turned his attention to the enemy liners, now some way off their larboard quarter. He might be trying to outrun the frigates, but to do so and lose the fleet he was shadowing would totally defeat the objective.

  "Take her two points to larboard," he glanced at Fraiser who nodded his head in the dim glow from the binnacle and reached for the traverse board to chalk up the order. The sailing master did not need to consult his charts. They were far enough offshore to be free of any known shallows, at least for the time being; besides, the wind was not exactly constant and he had a suspicion it would start to fail before the night grew very much older.

  "The wind is dying," the captain was clearly of the same mind.

  "Aye, sir. An’ I’d thought it set for the night," Fraiser nodded seriously in the darkness. "Belike there’ll be a few out there who would wish they hadna’ ventured out this evening."

  * * * * *

  But in Vrijheid the mood was still buoyant. The weather might be fickle and the night was certainly growing more cold but the ship, like every other in the fleet, was manned almost entirely by experienced seamen, and they were actually free of the land; something many of them had not achieved in several years. Better, they were sailing as a fleet, a mighty fleet, and in their own North Sea; the waters their ships had been designed for. Van Leiden was watching the tell tale lights that marked the position of each ship. One, he was reasonably sure it was Beschermer, a fifty gun fourth rate, was inclined to carry too much sail, and had twice almost overtaken the next in line. Were this to be daylight he would doubtless have been occupied, sending countless signals, and generally chivvying them into close order. But night signalling was a far more primitive art; one that would involve the use of coloured lights, guns and even rockets. The admiraal was reluctant to advertise their position by anything more than the essential but tiny masthead lamps, so van Leiden had been relatively idle for the first time since he had stepped aboard the flagship. Besides, they were making reasonable progress, even with the fluky wind; daylight was only hours away and there would be plenty of time for manoeuvring in the morning.

  It was just past midnight; the quarter moon had risen, although the minimal amount of light it shed only made the night seem darker. The British frigate was still plaguing them somewhere off their starboard counter; occasionally she could be seen from the flagship’s masthead, along with the two frigates that had been sent to deal with her. They seemed to be having less luck in spotting Pandora, as van Leiden had now decided her to be. Two more rockets had been sent up, but on each occasion the British were well out of range and had immediately disappeared into the darkness, apparently altering course as soon as they were enveloped once more. The rockets had achieved little, other than to reveal the frigate’s own positions, and raise the admiraal’s anger. He had been keen to despatch a further ship to help the search, but the captain had prevailed upon him. To do so could only add to the confusion and it was quite likely that the first two frigates would find and fire upon the third; a dreadful start to any expedition.

  That had been an hour ago, and de Winter had since retired to his quarters, obviously resigned to having his course and position monitored throughout the night. Things would change in the morning; with daylight there should be little difficulty in prising away their constant spy, and they could continue unseen to collect the other ships. Van Leiden was glad; what he had learnt of the officers in Pandora, and King in particular, reassured him that the British were no fools, and would not risk an engagement with a superior force without reason. The wind might be fading, but it was expected to rise with the daylight when their frigates would have every chance of chasing the British away; faced with such a fleet as theirs, only a dwaas would do other than run.

  The main course above his head flapped loudly, filled once, and then flapped again. From aft came the soft sound of a flute, the admiraal’s instrument; clearly he was still up and the music made an odd accompaniment to the still, dark night. Just a few more hours; tomorrow, and they would be free.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  BUT as dawn broke upon the fleet the wind stayed low. Worse, for the Dutch; true to the vagaries of the North Sea, that which found Pandora, six miles off their starboard beam, was stronger and backing round to the west, giving the frigate a distinct advantage when Mars and Monnikendamm, her two frustrated adversaries from the night before, made for her. The heavier ships lumbered under full sail while Pandora skipped to the southwest, dipping in towards the fleet, round and away again faster than the Dutch could anticipate. The game continued until noon, when Pandora’s masthead sighted another vessel coming in from the north. It was Circe, and they were no longer alone.

  Banks and Caulfield smiled at each other; both had spent the bulk of the night and all of that morning on deck, and now they knew the time had been well used.

  "She’s sighted us, and is altering course," the masthead confirmed. The Dutch were currently nine miles off Pandora’s larboard beam; had she not been there it was quite possible that Circe would have missed them completely. The frigate was within signalling distance in no time, and had called up Russell. Trollope’s ship came together with two other liners that had intercepted the lugger sent to alert Duncan, half way across the North Sea. Now, with three proper battleships the British had a force that could really keep an eye on the enemy; one that would not be brushed aside by bluster and a couple of frigates. Trollope quickly organised the shadowing force so that Pandora and Circe could keep the enemy under constant observation, while the larger ships stretched out to sea in the hope of catching Duncan when he came looking.

  Throughout the night, which passed without incident, and on to the following day the British stayed on station, matching any slight variation of heading, with Pandora occasionally sweeping in for a closer look, and to taunt the outlying frigates. Then, on the following afternoon, when the fragile day was giving in to dusk, the enemy made a distinct change of course.

  "Two points to larboard," Fraiser ordered, and Pandora came round, following the fleet exactly as she had for all of the watch. Dorsey was on hand, and the signal flags raced up; within minutes all the ships of the observation squadron knew and Trollope had ordered the appropriate alteration. They were fifty miles or so from Texel; no distance considering the time taken, but now the enemy appeared to be heading for the coast.

  "What land have we, master?" Banks had rested for most of the night, and all of the officers and men had stood down for a brief period, although there were few places of comfort in a ship cleared for action.

  Fraiser busied himself with his charts and looked up. "We’re just off the Hague, sir."

  "Fair sized port," Caulfield added. "They’ll find shelter there for certain."

  "Belike it ain’t shelter they’re after." It was Newman’s voice, and all looked at him in mild surprise.

  "There is no need to take on so, gentlemen," he smiled. "I might not have your nautical talents, but I read the papers. The river Meuse empties hereabouts and is a holding anchorage; ask me, our friends won’t be looking for shelter, but reinforcements."

  That made sense, although it also worsened the situation somewhat.

  "If it is the case," Caulfield said slowly. "We had better hope Admiral Duncan is with us directly, and that he brings a sizeable force along with him."

  * * * * *

  Van Leiden sat in the launch as it headed back to Vrijheid. Next to him de
Winter was motionless and fuming. The meeting ashore had not gone well; he had never known the admiraal to be so angry. Their intention had been to call briefly and collect further ships. According to a despatch received only hours before they set sail there were three line-of-battleships ready to put to sea. Such an addition to the Dutch fleet would have made victory over the British an absolute certainty, and had been a major deciding factor when it came to the fleet leaving harbour. Since then the harrying force of British ships that stalked their every move had been annoying enough. Adding to that the fluky, meagre wind, and many stupid mistakes from both seamen and officers—men who were out of practice and, in a few cases, physically unfit—meant that any progress they made had been slow and frustrating. But to have crept, stumbled and staggered their way down the coast as far as this, only to face disappointment and incompetence had clearly been the final straw for de Winter.

  Rather than a sizeable force, they had found only one solitary sixty-four, and she would not be ready for sea within the month. The admiraal was angry, and it was the cold, repressed wrath of a man betrayed; a man placed in an impossible position, a man who had been pressed into a command that was beyond his own experience but had risen to the challenge, only to find himself in turn controlled by forces far less competent, informed and honourable.

  But now they were committed; they had put to sea and the British were shadowing. If they stayed in one place they could expect to meet with Duncan’s ships within a few days. And if they travelled south the chances were strong they would find Bridport’s Channel Fleet. Either way there would be a battle, a battle that, even when won and won decisively as was expected, would not be without cost. The ships that de Winter now commanded represented the greater part of the entire Dutch fighting navy and would be bound to require extensive repair and refitting before they could put to sea again.

  The alternative, and there always was an alternative, was to head north, attempt to dodge whatever Duncan had sent to meet them, and return to Texel. The wind, which had backed further, was stronger now and would serve for a passage home. With luck they should be off port by tomorrow afternoon; tomorrow evening they might all be sleeping ashore, with the entire force safely back at anchor.