While the wind freshened, Tripp climbed the weather shrouds to join Neville in the main top. Smythe was still there. “Can you see any more, Smythe?” they asked.
“A trifle, Sir. She’s moving across our bows larboard to starboard, like, and I can see a bit ‘o her tops’l now. I was wrong before, Sir, sorry. It was t’garns’ls I seen, not tops’ls. French built for sure, as I said before, but no change I can see.”
“She’s faster than we are on this course,” said Tripp to Burton. We’re close hauled, and she has the wind on her beam. She’s sailing with her t’gallants for the speed. It’s just as well she leaves the safety of shore behind. We’ll follow behind her as we reach her wake. Maybe the captain will send Mermaid off more east, so to decrease the chance she drops down on the wind to run. I would.”
“Cor!” exploded Smythe, “I’m wrong again, I am. I just got a better look at her; it’s Royals as well.”
“Curses. Thank you, Mr. Smythe. Mr. Burton, slide down and tell cap’n would you? Corvette full to the Royals. This will take longer than expected. She won’t wait on us. We must be closer than we thought, though, if she’s small. Don’t tell captain anything but ‘corvette’ and ‘royals’, or he’ll think you impertinent.”
“The chase is afoot, Doctor,” Mr. Goode explained. “You may have work to do soon. Cap’n’s not beat to quarters yet, so we can watch from here for awhile. You’ll have time to see to your saws after that.” It seemed that they had become friends in the few weeks the doctor had been aboard. Or, maybe from before that, since the purser had been asked to assist in sourcing medical supplies.
“It’s rather like cat and mouse, isn’t it? Or, maybe ‘hide and seek’. We don’t know if Frenchie has even seen us yet.”
Troubridge noticed them and queried, “As you are here, doctor, I should ask how you find our company.” It seemed an awkward question but, quite possibly, it was asked intentionally to change the subject or break the tense mood.
“Quite well, Sir,” responded Dr. Mills. “There have been a few whose hands were raw from the unfamiliar tasks at the ropes, but that seems mostly behind us and, other than Moore, whose leg you saw broken by a great gun, no more than some small cuts which will heal soon. We’ve been away from shore long enough to survive the ailments of land.”
“Excellent. Doctor, I thank you for your report.”
The captain broke off from the doctor and said to his sailing master, “Let’s haul our wind a bit, Mr. Graesson.”
“The course change is to our favor, doctor. I’m sure of it,” said Goode.
Troubridge turned to give Goode a stern look, but said to the first lieutenant, “I’ll come up on the bells, Mr. Froste. Signal Mermaid to make more sail. She’s falling behind. Call me if anything changes.”
The breeze had freshened a bit more and backed another point. The dog watches were more exciting than usual. Shustik kept busy with his fiddle, and another accompanied him with a bucket drum. Small groups took their turns dancing hornpipes by the foremast. Other groups had gathered where the old hands were telling great sea stories. There was no doubt that a chase was on. At the end of the afternoon watch, the French corvette could be seen down to her topsails from the masthead. The captain stated that he assumed they had been seen by the enemy and ordered topgallants. The breeze began to fall with the night, however.
“It will probably be morning before the wind backs enough to carry stuns’ls,” Froste grumbled aloud.
The sun hung above the water to the west for long hours in the days around the summer solstice, and sails to the east became very easy to see. The enemy, however, would be squinting into the sun to get a look back at them, if it could see them at all, leaving some small chance that they had not yet even been discovered.
As night fell, glimpses were seen of the corvette’s stern lantern, giving some credence to the theory that the frigates had not been seen. There was little else to steer by, however, the moon being only three days beyond new and enough cloud cover to hide most of the stars. By five bells in the graveyard watch, the breeze was a mere zephyr, but still steady, and the two frigates ghosted eastward at about two knots and a half. However, by three bells of the morning watch, when the sun rose, the breeze was gone entirely, and the damp sails hung heavily above their heads. The watch on duty was already at the holystones.
Lt. Frost climbed to the maintop as soon as he estimated it to be light enough to see the French sails. He joined the lookout, this time Mr. Peake, on the small platform.
A signal gun was fired by Mermaid, its low peal rolling eerily over the flat water.
“Deck, there! Lieutenant Tripp!” he howled. “Call all hands! ‘Bout ship! Call the captain!”
The tramping of calloused feet, bellowing boatswain’s mates, and twittering whistles were enough to rouse the captain before any messenger reached him. He appeared on deck in shirt sleeves, unshaven, hatless, and with tousled hair. By the time he had stepped onto the quarterdeck, Froste had slid down a backstay. Tripp and Graesson were already there. Froste waited only a few seconds for the captain and then explained, “Mermaid’s there, Sir,” he said, pointing to slightly south of east if front of them, “but Frenchie has got round behind. He’s tried to fool us with a light on a small boat, Sir. We followed the boat while he went about.” Now his finger was pointing not east, but northwest, where a small gray rectangle showed clear in the rising sun. “She is there,” he said, with a nervous edge to his voice.
“Ho, ho, ho! What a trick,” roared Troubridge, to Froste’s obvious relief. “He knew we were here all along. An empty sailing boat with a light on it, ho, ho! He might have got away, too, if the wind hadn’t gone in the night ….”
“About, Mr. Graesson! Bring us about!”
With no wind, however, they were not going anywhere.
“Boats, Captain?” queried Froste.
“Yes, Llieutenant, get ‘em out there. We can at least get the ship turned ‘round and ready for whatever wind comes, and it’ll give the men more to do than swab decks.”
Half an hour later, the Castor was turned and pointing her bows toward the corvette. Two rowing boats were towing her slowly toward the French ship. Ratcliffe was in one boat and Colson the other, urging the men to bend to their oars. Mermaid was doing the same. With the heat of the rising sun, the limp sails began to steam above, and a thin mist rose from the decks.
“Why do you suppose we tow, Neville,” Daniel asked. “I understand turning the ship around, but we will have to tow muchwhat all day and into the darkness of night to reach that French bastard.”
“Even that won’t do it, Daniel,” he answered. If we close, you can be sure they will sway out their rowing boats as well. I think if the wind begins, we will at least have some way on, and steerage.”
A half hour later, the boats were back aboard, and the ship was moving, though not fast, under a bit of pressure of the wind. All sail was abroad, including the flying jib and studdingsails aloft and alow, in an effort to catch a breeze that was a point east of north.
“How fast must we go to catch the rascals?” Dr. Mills was asking Mr. Goode. They had joined the midshipmen and several others on the foredeck.
“Only faster than they, of course,” was his sarcastic reply. “Look there, they heave the log. We shall know our speed momentarily.”
“Three knots it is,” Captain, Lt. Tripp relayed to Troubridge. “What do you suppose is her plan, Sir – run for Spain between Ibiza and Mallorca? At any rate, it’s a good job we didn’t send Mermaid tearing off south of east yesterday.”
Troubridge stopped his speculating with “I don’t know her plan, lieutenant. Mine is to catch her.”
The wind was increasing, hardening the sheets and the canvas; not a wrinkle left to be seen, and the studding sail booms beginning to bend.
“Get the stuns’ls off her, Lieutenant Froste,” the captain ordered. “I’ll not be turning these booms and all the hemp that hold ‘em into firewood just to catch
a little packet. We’re on the way to join Lord Hood, and he will expect us to come prepared to fight, not with hat in hand for whatever sticks he has to offer. We will see what the day brings. We shall rejoice if we catch her and not cry over spilled milk if we don’t. Pipe the hands to dinner before it gets too rough out here.”
The wind continued to increase and, with it, the seas. By the time the midshipmen took their sights and the captain ‘made it noon,’ a Tramontane was blowing, the nasty Mediterranean weather pounded their bows with short six-foot waves. The pitching and rolling had become quite uncomfortable, and had encouraged everyone not assigned there to forsake the foredeck for drier stations. Neville noticed that Daniel had settled himself high on the weather shrouds to keep above the spray. The sky remained clear, however, so the sun and wind dried wet clothing quickly. Neville’s stomach was reminding him how much it disliked certain motions.
Neville had gone forward with Lt. Tripp for a better look at the chase. “This heavy sea will be much harder on that little ship than on us,” Tripp was saying to Neville. “They must be having it rough, indeed, and I think we are gaining.”
An unusually large wave hit the bows hard, throwing a solid wash of green water over them, and spray as far back as the quarterdeck. “Pffftt,” was Neville’s response, blowing the salty water off his lips just before he leaned over the rail.
“Excellent, Burton!” exclaimed Tripp. “Downwind. A good vomit is good for the soul and will certainly straighten out your stomach. Hand me that glass, will you, before you drop it over the side.”
“Ah, we can see,” he continued after taking some time to hold himself and the big telescope steady enough on the chase. “She is the Angelique. I cannot say what she is, but she is flush-decked and built to outrun anything else her own size. She’s come down a point to try for more speed, too. And, of all else, she flies Spanish colours.”
“Look there at Mermaid. Captain Trigg doesn’t seem to have Troubridge’s concern for spars and cordage. She’s cracking on like the fox with hounds upon it – lee stuns’ls abroad – while we have our t’gallants reefed. I’m going back to tell Captain Troubridge what we see here.”
By the middle of the afternoon watch, there was a small crowd of officers on the foredeck, including the captain, several with glasses trained on the chase.
“Spanish colours? A mockery, lads. Does he think me a fool? If he’s Spanish, why does he run? Are we not allies? Do we appear to be privateers?” posed Troubridge. “Raise the French colours and see if he lets all fly to speak us. I seriously doubt he will.”
Men could plainly be seen on the chase’s poop at this distance. Mermaid had almost drawn even with Castor, leaning far to leeward and throwing a monstrous bow wave on the weather side of Angelique.
Shortly, a puff of smoke curled out from the prey. It was followed by a waterspout half a cable ahead and to larboard of Castor.
“That settles it. Not Spanish. That’s what I would do, if I didn’t plan to strike,” said Troubridge. “And that’s a long gun with a good gunner, or a lucky shot. If they get luckier yet, and hit us, they might slow us down. Unlikely they’ll stop both of us, though.”
“Shall I get Benson up here, Sir, to try our range?” asked Tripp.
“Not yet. Even this long six here won’t shoot that far, and the carronades will be useless, unless she wishes to fight when we’re close in. Oh, bother; yes, get him. The practice won’t hurt. It’ll be another hour before we might strike each other. Call me then,” he ordered, and walked aft.
Another puff from the Angelique and a splash nearer, both on range and direction, answered the speculation about their gunner. He was, indeed, good.
Benson the gunner and two of his mates came forward and stared for a few minutes, muttering amongst themselves while apparently gauging the distance and the pitching of the ship. They all wore handkerchiefs about their heads, but had respectfully kept their shirts on with the sleeves rolled as high as they could. Benson removed the tarpaulin off the cannon and put his mates to selecting a few good balls. His crew then set about their work, carefully chipping them round as ever could be. They worked painfully slowly, it seemed, to the onlookers. When they were finally ready, they politely asked the spectators to step wide. Benson waited for two more rolls of the ship, and then yanked the lanyard. It leaped backward with a serious bark, but not so much noise as the great guns. Everyone watched for a splash.
“Half a cable short and well to larboard,” announced Lt. Ratcliffe, who watched without a glass.
A few minutes and a few adjustments later, they fired again. This shot was as close as a third of a cable and just wide by twenty feet.
Yet another puff came from Angelique, the gray smoke more drifting than whipping away downwind, and they saw the splash of a skip dead ahead, just before the heavy thump of the ball hitting the bow. The deck timbers shivered with the shock, but the small black orb was seen to bounce off the heavy hull; it could actually be followed with the eye, flying high and wide to starboard.
Troubridge came forward then, after hearing the thump of the ball, and stood judging the distance to the chase. “It’s time to clear for action, Lieutenant Froste,” he said calmly.
“Beat to quarters, Sir?”
“No, it will be some time yet, as you see.”
The noise and activity of clearing began.
“ ‘Some time yet,’ he says, Neville,” commented Daniel to Neville quietly. “This is not what I expected of a naval battle. We have been at this for over a day. We’ve shot these toy cannons at each other, had endless changing of sails, towing with rowing boats and muchwhat, but no battle. The only thing we haven’t had is rain, God be thanked. Is this what you expected?”
“No, Daniel, this isn’t.”
A ball from Angelique found a better target, smashing the forward rail and throwing splinters into the assembled crowd. An atmosphere of intermission at the theater suddenly became panic. One of the gun crew was down, as were Lt. Ratcliffe and Mr. Goode. Ratcliffe was bleeding from the head and Goode from the leg. The ball, after tearing a hole in the forward rail to starboard, had struck the mainmast – with a force greatly reduced – and bounced down into the waist where it struck yet another crewman. The crewman was lying in a pool of blood, and the ball was rolling back and forth on the deck with each passing wave.
In what seemed to Neville slow motion, people began to move again. Ratcliffe, acting more confused than injured, was getting to his feet, calling men from the waist to come take Mr. Goode and the injured gun crewmen to the Orlop. Tripp was urging Dr. Mills to get below ‘with great haste’ to attend them.
Dr. Mills took a quick look at Ratcliffe’s scalp, declaring, “It’s only a superficial wound. No wood in it. Head wounds bleed terribly, you know. Wrap a cloth ‘round it and come down later. It may need a few stitches.”
“Fetch me that ball, Mr. Burton,” ordered the captain.
Neville scampered into the waist after the thing, finding it lodged in a larboard scupper. Its time rolling about had allowed it to cool sufficiently to permit him to carry it up to the captain, juggling it from one hand to the other.
“Hmmmpf; a four-pounder,” was Troubridge’s response when he saw it. “No wonder it did no damage to the hull,” then adding: “Get an eighteen-pounder up here, Lieutenant Tripp.” He was thinking aloud, an unusual thing for a captain: “It looks as if she is going to keep running. She certainly will not turn into the wind unless it’s to strike, so her other two choices are to run and keep shooting at us with that little fowling piece, or cross our bows and fire her piddling broadside in hopes of disabling us. In the latter event, we had better be ready to return the favor. I’d rather take her home in one piece, however, so let’s see if we can slow her with the big gun. She’s too far to turn yet, Lieutenant Froste, but beat to quarters directly after dinner, and run out the guns to starboard.”
“Watson, after your men are in place, get me word of the injured, if you please.
I’ll be in my cabin.”
With great effort, a half dozen men swayed up one of the larboard cannons to the foredeck rail and lashed its breechings there. Benson stayed with the gun, his crew chipping larger shot for another try at bashing the pretty ship ahead of them into submission.
Mermaid was moving considerably forward on her prey into a position where her bow chasers could begin to do damage. Troubridge had gone back to the quarterdeck with Lt. Froste and Mr. Graesson. Watson had come to report not despairing for Mr. Goode’s life, having had a large splinter removed from his thigh and no arteries cut, with all bleeding stopped. By this time, three shots had been fired by the twelve-pounder forward, each time closer to the fleeing ship.
By the end of the first dog watch, Troubridge was back on deck. “Her turn must come soon or not at all,” he said to Graesson. “Or Mermaid will run our fox to ground.
“If she turns she will be betting that she can turn across our bows and fire a broadside at us before we can get all the way around and reciprocate; then, she’ll run downwind while we take time to make repairs.
“If she turns, do the same – without waiting for me to order it – because we will have precious little time to fire.”
“She’s turning, Captain, she’s turning!” came the cry from forward. The nimble Angelique was making her bet.
“Turn and fire as she bears, Lieutenant Froste.”
HMS Castor was displaying her full starboard bow by the time Angelique’s broadside was fired. Tongues of flame shot toward the Castor from half a cable away. The first salvo was langridge, irregular shot, aimed high and intended to tear apart men or rigging, demonstrating that their intention was to cripple the Castor. It was unlikely they could get off another broadside before Castor could fire.
It was close enough to use the foredeck starboard carronade, it being angled slightly farther forward than the long guns; it roared first, throwing eighteen pounds of metal screaming toward their smaller adversary. The forward cannon spoke next – almost the same instant. It was also loaded with langridge, and for the same reason.
The Glorious First Of June (Neville Burton: Worlds Apart Book 1) Page 5
