by Alaric Bond
The admiraal swore suddenly, and beat the gunwale of the boat with the side of his fist. Van Leiden turned to him, then away again, trying to set his concentration on the flagship they were nearing, and avoid the probing eyes of Sweelinck pulling stroke oar. In a situation such as this it was not unlikely that the two men were thinking similar thoughts, and clearly de Winter was as much at a loss as his junior.
To return home was to do so with ignominy. The Dutch navy was a proud force, and with reason. Until so very recently it had been one of the strongest maritime powers in the world, and the main reason why the country’s trade and empire had expanded. To the uninitiated, and those who had ordered them to sea naturally fell into that category, to them there was no reason why they should not meet the British. Only later, when they were asked for replacement spars, copper and timber, only then would the problems start, and the proud and victorious ships would gradually deteriorate into worthless hulks as they rotted at their moorings for want of supplies. Much might be made of their victory but, however decisive it turned out, the final cost would be the destruction of the Dutch fleet.
So north was effectively ruled out, and south. To the east lay Dan Hagg; they might put in there for a while, although there would be little benefit; at least at the Texel they were known, and had some power over the dockyard and victuallers. Besides, many men had family ashore; some might even desert if they were taken to a different port that was still relatively close to their homes. So it would have to be the west.
Van Leiden felt the excitement grow. It would have to be the west; they could beat out against the contrary wind and gain sea room. There may well be a good deal of merchant shipping about; entire convoys to be raided; their ships and cargoes taken and sent back to the republic where they would be of immeasurable value. Duncan might even have been delayed, and could be caught in harbour; how would it be if the Dutch were to set a blockade on the British: what would the world say to that? And if not, if they simply fell in with the enemy fleet; with luck they might be to windward of them. Then they could close and force the British ships against the Dutch coast: the entire fleet might be wrecked or run aground without a shot being fired. To the west: with all matters taken into consideration, it really was the only option.
He smiled smugly to himself knowing he had the answer, although equally aware that it would do little good. He was merely a junior luitenant and had to rely on de Winter; the angry man who sat next to him now as the Barkas neared the black hull of his flagship; he was the one who must have the fine thoughts and come to the great decisions.
The custom in the Dutch navy was the same as in many others; the most senior officer was the last to board a small boat, and the first to disembark. They were close to the entry steps now, and the coxswain was standing with the boathook. De Winter was also getting ready to leave, and pulled himself up from the thwart stiffly, resting his hand on van Leiden’s shoulder. The luitenant looked up and was surprised to see the admiraal smile down at him. All traces of anger seemed to have vanished; he was as affable and relaxed as ever; it was the face of a contented man.
"I think I might have the solution, luitenant," he said simply; and van Leiden found himself smiling in return; if that was the case they would all start to feel a great deal more easy. "We will sail to the west," he said, and van Leiden very nearly laughed out loud. Yes, the admiraal had it: the only feasible option; they would sail to the west.
* * * * *
In fact their actual course was roughly south-southwest for the starboard tack; or as near to the wind as they could come without pinching. The Dutch ships were making reasonable speed close hauled, and had formed into a creditable sailing pattern. Now, in the position of prey rather than predator, Pandora and her sisters were about five miles ahead of them, and spread out just within signalling distance to cover any further moves de Winter's fleet might make. But it was growing dark and soon they would have to move together and allow the enemy to close if they were to remain in touch. The hours of darkness would be tense, with the likelihood that the Dutch might change course at any time, or even forereach on them; were that to happen, and any of the British ships fell back amongst such a powerful fleet, they would be snapped up within minutes.
Pandora was still cleared for action and, although the hands had gone back to the usual watch routine, food was served cold and no one relaxed or slept for very long. King’s beard had not been attended to for several days now, and was starting to grow rough and noticeable. He felt at his chin as he gazed back at the enemy fleet, a sight that had almost become commonplace. As he watched a trail of signal flags broke out on the nearest ship, her jib sheets suddenly eased and the forecourse started to shiver.
"They’re tacking!" he yelled, just as the masthead lookout called to the deck. Sure enough the first two ships were preparing to come about.
"Enemy is tacking in succession," the masthead dolefully reported.
"Make to Russell, enemy is altering course to starboard," Dorsey touched his hat to Caulfield and began to raise the signal that he had already prepared. The nearest Dutch ships were in irons now with the braces on the main and mizzen masts set for the new course. Both payed off smartly enough, and soon the sails were trimmed and they were gathering way on the new tack, while those behind began to follow.
"Smoothly done," Caulfield said grudgingly as they watched. Indeed it was a distinct improvement on some of the evolutions they had witnessed before. "Make enemy course now nor-nor west, and prepare to tack."
"Strange they didn’t wait until night," Fraiser commented, in one of his rare displays of spontaneity. "You’d ha thought they’d use the dark to try an’ shake us off."
"Belike they didn’t trust themselves," Caulfield mused.
"Or they were making too much to the south," King added.
"You mean they’re purposely heading west?" Caulfield looked at King in surprise.
"Why should they not?"
The first lieutenant nodded. "Why not indeed? The admiral must have got word by now, and should be at sea, I merely felt they wouldn’t be so keen to meet him."
King said nothing, he remembered the words of de Winter and despite all that had been said since, he remained convinced that the Dutch were ready to fight and totally confidant of victory.
"At least we should have some light tonight," Caulfield said, looking up at the sky, clear for the first time for many days.
"Aye, it will last the night, but not much longer," Fraiser added. "Be set for a light rain on the morrow; then it will clear a wee while, before rain again in the next day."
Caulfield was impressed. "Sure that is a bold and accurate prediction, Adam."
"Nothing less than what I have been told."
"What you’ve been told?" The first lieutenant eyed him with an amused twinkle. "Hear him, our fine and scientific sailing master, so fond of his instruments and charts, and yet he relies on hearsay!"
King grinned, but Fraiser apparently remained defiant. "There’s not the reason for fancy glasses when we have one as gifted as Powell aboard. He says the rain will come and go, an’ because he does, I believe it will."
"Well, he has been proven right in the past." King added.
"Aye, but can he tell us where Duncan might be?" Caulfield again, but Fraiser shook his head.
"Indeed he can not; neither would I listen if he said he could."
"There is a difference?"
"Between judging the actions of men against those of nature? Oh yes," Fraiser smiled enigmatically. "I’d say there was all the difference in the world."
* * * * *
In fact both Fraiser and Powell were correct. The night, though dark and seemingly endless, was starlit, and the moon had gained strength. The British remained just ahead of the Dutch, matching them with each and every tack and, as dawn broke, the situation remained essentially unchanged.
As it did for the following day; Pandora and her consorts kept pace with the Dutch as they slowly clawed
their way to windward in the gentle rain, with each tack taking several hours, and gaining but a few miles of sea room. The watches were as tense as they were without incident, although all remained aware that it might only take the slightest mishap; a spar carried away by accident or freak wind, and they would be at the mercy of the oncoming enemy.
And that night it was truly dark once more; too dark to maintain a close watch without endangering the watcher. Trollope signalled a recall at the start of the second dog, and Pandora gratefully increased sail, leaving a deeper margin between her and the enemy. The following morning might show an empty sea; indeed they could have lost the entire Dutch fleet, but their luck had already been stretched far enough; to draw it further would be foolhardy.
Dawn broke slowly and with it came a few more spots of rain and a sea far more crowded than they had expected. As the first true light spread across the grey seas the Dutch fleet was revealed, about five miles directly to leeward; very much the position that Banks and Trollope had anticipated. But the enemy were divided; a group of five liners had detached themselves from the main force and were even now on the opposite tack, straining under optimistic sail and clearly intending to get to windward of the British.
Once more the signal flags went soaring up Pandora’s halyards, although now there was more to report. In addition to the advance squadron, seven transports were approaching the Dutch from the north.
"Fortune out there in prize money," Caulfield grumbled as he stared at the merchants. "And all flying the Batavian flag."
"Part of an invasion fleet?" King asked, but Caulfield shook his head.
"You wouldn’t find troop or army transports sailing without an escort, even if they had intended to meet up with the main Dutch force; my guess is they’re traders from the north, and taking a chance."
"If they’d tried it a fortnight back we could have had them." A healthy convoy would bring a sizeable amount to any junior officer involved in the sharing of prize money; King had heard of some who had been set up for life, and the idea was not exactly abhorrent to him.
"You forget, we were tied up to the Dutch coast; who knows what has passed us by while we’ve been on blockade. Seems they’ve called off the hounds though," Caulfield pointed to the separate group of five ships now some four miles to starboard. They might have been within range by noon, forcing the British to pull away or offer battle, but it seemed they were being recalled. A stream of signal flags had been flying for some while from the nearest Dutch ship in the main fleet, and the separate squadron was starting to come back on to the opposite tack and take in sail. Meanwhile the transports were hove to in the midst of the Dutch fleet.
"Speaking with them," Caulfield commented. "Wonder what news they bring."
"Can only be from the north," Newman added, joining them. "Unless they have been in sight of a semaphore of course, then there is no telling."
They watched for a while in silence until King asked the obvious, unanswerable, question: "Do you think they know of Duncan?"
Caulfield snorted, "If they do, I would that they might tell us."
* * * * *
Breakfast on the berth deck was not a pleasant meal. For all the time Pandora had been cleared for action the galley had been quiet and the fire cold. The small amount of cooked salted meat that had been left was gone after the first day, since when they had been surviving on banyan provisions; cheese, pickled cabbage, onions and biscuit. Burgoo, the oatmeal porridge usually served hot and with molasses, became nothing more than horse feed when mixed cold. Hot tea, popular in the colder months, was also just a memory, and they were all back to small beer, with pressed water and not even the chance of stolen goat’s milk to brighten the fare. Flint sat at the mess table stirring despondently at his wooden bowl with his spoon.
"I’ve put raisins and apple in mine," Jameson said brightly. "Don’t taste so bad then."
"You’re at the age when it don’t matter," Flint grumbled. "Give you the sack it came in, and you’d eat it all an’ ask for more."
"Try letting it get cold," Jenkins suggested.
"Let it get cold?" Ford this time. "But it is cold."
"I’ve not touched mine for a spell, nor will I." Jenkins continued determinedly. "An’ I don’t look at it, I don’t think about it, an’ I don’t annoy it with me spoon." he looked pointedly at Flint. "I lets me mind wander over other things, then I turns to it as if it had been forgotten, tells myself it’s gone cold, an’ when I does eat it, well it don’t taste quite so bad."
* * * * *
In less than five minutes the enemy came back to the wind, leaving the transports to continue to the south. Then the British officers watched in silence as the Dutch began to slowly turn their backs and head northeast.
"Well, there’s a thing," Caulfield grunted, as King was ordering a signal to Russell. "Whatever it was they discovered it certainly made a difference."
"Heading for their coast." King returned and stated the obvious.
"Aye, but is it for home, or Duncan?"
"Much depends on when Duncan heard the news," Newman said enigmatically. "And I would suppose it better he was told later, rather than earlier."
Caulfield turned to him. "How so?"
The marine had the undivided attention of both officers.
"Were the fleet already at sea and already at the Dutch coast, we can expect them to be heading south."
"Heading south, and clinging to the coast." Caulfield nodded then sighed; he was following Newman’s supposition and had already reached its dreadful conclusion.
"It would be the sensible course," Newman continued. "Duncan would not have expected the sudden turn to the west."
"Indeed, it took us all by surprise." Caulfield agreed.
"So you fear the Dutch know where the fleet is, and can see the chance to trap them?" King was also there now.
"You must grant it possible."
"And Duncan has no knowledge of the enemy," King added. "If he is to the east the first he will know is when the Dutch come down on him; we can give no warning."
The three men were quiet; for Duncan to be trapped on a lee shore, with a powerful fleet to windward and his force divided, was just as terrible as it was likely.
"Well gentlemen," Newman said wryly. "We can assume one of two things; that they are either heading home, after a little excursion, or they have been told of our fleet and are ready to squeeze them against the shore."
The captain came up on the quarterdeck, he appeared fresh and well rested, although King noticed that he also had a slight bristle to his face.
"What course?" he asked briefly as he touched his hat in acknowledgement of their salutes.
"The enemy have spoken with a merchant convoy and are turning to the north east, sir." Caulfield said, pointing back across Pandora’s counter.
"Any news of the fleet?"
"None."
Banks nodded. "Mr Fraiser?"
"He is below, sir: shall I raise him?"
"No," Banks shook his head in emphasis. "No, let him rest," he studied his first lieutenant briefly. "And you should do likewise, Michael. Mr King, you have slept I gather?"
"Yes sir."
"Then we can hold the deck together."
"Russell’s making a signal, sir," Dorsey had the book in his hand and thumbed through the pages as the seaman read out the numbers. "Ordering us to follow."
Banks nodded at Caulfield who touched his hat and left the deck, while King began to bellow the orders that would set Pandora on her new course. Once more the braces heaved her creaking yards about, and she turned her head towards the enemy.
"Where is Circe?" the captain again.
"Further to the north, sir," King replied, adding in a softer tone. "I think Captain Trollope is keen to raise the admiral."
"As well he might be," Banks was silent for a moment. Trollope had been carrying the bulk of responsibility for the last few days. To track an enemy force at sea was hard; given the difficult and ch
angeable weather and a fleet seemingly wandering without purpose, he had done well. But to do well was only what was expected; it was one of those jobs that could not be excelled at: Trollope could either complete it competently or fail, and he had had plenty of opportunities for the latter.
The morning drew on, with the Dutch steadily heading to the northeast, and the British squadron doggedly following in their wake. At nine, Banks decided that they had endured enough and authorised the galley fire to be lit, although there was no relaxation in the constant tension that seemed to have become part of the ship’s very fabric. In the past there had been times of ‘make and mend’, of mess nights, with stingo, singing and stories. Men had danced hornpipes on the forecastle, and all had known japes and tattletale, tournaments and a little unofficial gambling. But Pandora was a warship, a frigate currently engaged in tracking and signalling an enemy force, and nothing could be closer to her true role. The heady days of casual sailing, when men could sleep in hammocks and eat regular meals: banyan days and Sunday worship, all that had been swiftly brushed to one side; forgotten as if they had occurred in a completely different ship as she assumed her true raison d'être.
* * * * *
The race was on; the Dutch had settled to their new course and had set as much sail as they could carry. If they were intending to trap Duncan, clearly they must not delay. The wind was now in the north west and blowing fresh and constant. Banks had been able to add top gallants and staysails, and Pandora was creaming through the seas with the enemy square on her bows. By two bells in the afternoon watch they had regained their previous station and reduced sail once more. Most on board were more settled, having had their first hot food in days, although the thought that they were following a fleet destined to destroy their own, and would be able to do very little about it, still haunted officers and men alike. Then it was time for 'Up Spirits'; Banks glanced down to see Katharine in her usual dark long dress, wearing a warrant officer’s blue jacket against the cold. She was standing just below him in the waist, to one side of the launch, and he noticed, with a pang of desire, how some of her long hair had been blown free, and was trailing charmingly in the wind. Two stewards carried a pin of rum, and a larger cask of water, which Katharine proceeded to mix in the usual manner. The boatswain’s pipes called all hands and the men were assembling on the half deck ready to collect the freshly mixed ration when Dorsey’s voice rang out.
