Any Approaching Enemy: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars (21 page)

“Yes, sir.”

“Now what is happening?” Penny asked, still standing beside him.

Charles had almost forgotten she was there. “That French ship has opened fire on us with her bow chasers,” he said. “We are trying to run away.”

“Are we faster than they?”

“I hope so,” Charles said. “I would be more comfortable if you went below.”

“It does not seem so dangerous,” Penny answered. “I wish to stay. I will go if it becomes more menacing.”

Charles didn’t have time to argue with her. He turned to the sailing master. “Mr. Eliot, I want every fathom of speed we can manage. Send up the royals if you think it advisable.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Stephen,” Charles said next, “pass the word for the carpenter to see if he can cut ports for stern chasers. We could move two of the quarterdeck nine-pounders aft.”

Twin clouds of gun smoke ballooned again from the frigate. The booms of the cannon reached him a moment later. Charles saw one splash forty yards to port, even with the mainmast. He didn’t see the fall of the second ball.

“Sir,” Beechum said, arriving on the deck and touching his hat.

“Yes, what have you to report?”

The acting lieutenant took a moment to collect his breath. “I couldn’t see anything for certain. The visibility is very poor. There was a moment I thought I saw the barest outline of something, but it could have been an illusion. I‘m sorry, sir.”

“Thank you anyway, Mr. Beechum,” Charles said. “You’ve done well. You may speak to Mr. Winchester for your duties.”

Charles looked aft again and did not like what he saw. Both enemy warships looked noticeably closer, perhaps only half a mile astern.
Pylades
lay a cable length to starboard, her bow even with
Louisa
’s mainmast.

Since Charles had hoped that the French would be satisfied with chasing him well away from the shore and then turning back, he became increasingly disappointed as the morning wore on. The wind freshened, and before long, the distance between
Louisa
and the leading frigate stabilized at just under a half mile, the corvette lagging somewhat behind. The frigate continued to methodically fire her bow chasers, although at very long range, and while several balls had passed through the rigging, no real damage had been done. He knew this was a situation that could change in the blink of an eye, however, if a lucky ball struck a mast section or cracked a yardarm. He had the guns housed and allowed the crew to stand down, but kept the gundeck cleared.

As vexing as it was to be under fire without being able to answer, this was not his biggest worry. Hour by hour, Bevan’s brig slipped slowly behind. The two had been about even when they had turned away to run. Soon
Pylades
’s bow was level with
Louisa
’s mainmast, then the mizzen, later the rudderpost. Now, as Charles looked, she lay nearly a half a cable’s length behind.

“Why does not Daniel Bevan keep up?” Penny asked anxiously.

“Because we are the faster ship on this point of the wind,” Charles answered. “Bevan’s doing all he can.”

“Surely the French warship will overtake him,” she said. “What will happen then?”

“It depends on whether he decides to surrender or fight. If he surrenders, he will be taken prisoner. If he fights, the two French warships are both larger, and one of them is much stronger.”

Penny bit her lip. “I fear Daniel Bevan will resist,” she said finally. “Thou canst not allow that to happen.”

Charles knew that his duty, at whatever cost, was to carry his information about the location of the French fleet to Nelson or, failing that, to St. Vincent at Gibraltar. The fate of Bevan’s brig was small beer in this calculation. At the very least he must communicate with the British consul at Syracuse, in Sicily, who was the closest British representative in that direction and could pass the intelligence forward. Charles could not, no matter his personal feelings, unnecessarily engage two enemy ships of war, even if he had better than half a chance of success, which he judged he did not. He also knew that as soon as Bevan decided his situation to be hopeless, he would throw tiny
Pylades
into the path of the French in hopes of delaying them long enough for Charles to escape. If
Louisa
had half a chance,
Pylades
had none. There had to be something he could do. He conceived of a plan—a plan that he knew to be flawed.

“Stephen,” he called to Winchester.

“Sir?”

“Belay moving the nine-pounders aft. Get the men back to their battle quarters.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Sykes, signal to
Pylades,
if you please,
Set course for Syracuse.
You’ll have to spell out ‘Syracuse.’ Tell me the moment he acknowledges.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

“What art thou preparing to do?” Penny asked.

Charles looked at her for a long moment before he spoke. “I am going to try to slow the leading frigate,” he said. “I plan to cut across her bows and fire at long range, then sail to the west. Maybe we will disable her. If we don’t, and the larger one turns to follow us, Daniel can outsail the second.” He knew that it was a compromise, to keep his ship and his wife out of harm’s way for as long as possible. The chances of disabling the frigate at this range were less than small. If the frigate ignored him and continued after
Pylades,
Charles would be unable to come back against the wind in time to do anything. On the reverse of the coin, it was just possible that he would damage the frigate enough for Bevan to escape. In the back of his mind, he knew that part of his plan was guided by a caution against exposing his wife to danger. He didn’t like it; he didn’t know what else to do.

Penny’s mouth set in a hard straight line. She stood rigidly erect, looking at the near French warship, then up at Charles. “Will that accomplish thy goal? Will it permit both Daniel Bevan’s ship and thine to escape?”

“Maybe,” he said, a trace of doubt in his voice. “I don’t know. It depends on what the captain of the first one, the bigger one, does.” Finally, he said, “Possibly not.”

She was silent for a moment, then asked, “What would thou do if I were not present?”

“If you were not on board?” Charles did not have to think long. “In that event, I would attack her directly to be certain of stopping her, regardless of the consequences.”

“Then do that,” she said. “I expect thou to do nothing different on account of me.”

“No,” he said. “It is too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous for whom?” she persisted. “Thou or Daniel Bevan?”

“For you,” he said in frustration. “If we are defeated, you may be killed. If not killed, you will surely be captured. I do not know what would happen to you then, and I do not wish for either of us to find out.”

“Would it be different for Daniel and Molly Bevan?” she said.

“No,” Charles said reluctantly.

“Thy ship is larger than Daniel’s,” she said quietly. “Surely we have the better opportunity.”

Midshipman Sykes interrupted: “
Pylades
has signaled
Interrogatory,
sir.” Charles had expected some such response. Bevan was protesting his orders.

“Repeat the signal with an imperative,” Charles said, “then ignore him.”

The frigate fired her bow chasers again, one ball screaming loudly through the air close above their heads.

Turning back to his wife, Charles said, “What about your Quaker beliefs? Do you really want me to attack?”

“I abhor violence in every form,” Penny said, her expression anguished. “But I cannot allow others to be sacrificed for my benefit.” She hesitated, then added, “Perhaps thou can only damage it and sail away?”

Charles smiled thinly. “I would be pleased to do so, were it possible. Once we begin, it will not likely end until the thing is finished, one the victor and one defeated.”

She nodded silently in what he took to be approval, or at least resignation.

“All right,” Charles said. He glanced across at
Pylades,
even farther behind. He turned to Winchester. “We will soon present the armament on the starboard side.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do not have the gunports opened until we begin to turn. I want the first broadside to be chain shot. Aim high for her rigging. The range will be about four hundred yards. Tell me when we’re ready.”

Winchester called down the orders to Talmage, who commanded the gundeck. The round shot in the guns would have to be drawn, then replaced with specially manufactured projectiles consisting of two half-balls connected by a yard of medium chain. Their purpose was to wreak havoc among an opponent’s lines, cables, yards, and canvas aloft. Chain shot was notoriously inaccurate at long range. If he was lucky, very lucky, Charles thought, he might sufficiently damage the frigate’s upper works to effectively disable her in a single salvo. If so,
Louisa
might turn again and resume flight before the corvette even came within range. Of course, it was also possible that daisies grew on the moon.

“Mr. Eliot,” he continued, close to completing the necessary sequence of preparations, “we will come about on the starboard side in a moment. Send no one aloft until after we begin the turn.” There was no point in giving away their intentions until the last possible instant.

Sykes approached from the forward quarterdeck rail. “Lieutenant Talmage reports that the guns are prepared, sir.”

“Thank you,” Charles said. He turned to Penny. Her gaze was directed over the stern at the following frigate. There were clouds of sail on the masts and white water curling back from the stem, the hard bulk of the hull in between. “It’s time that you go below,” he said. “We are about to begin.”

She tore her eyes away only for a moment to glance at him. “I do not wish to,” she said.

“Penny,” he said patiently, “you must. I told you, it will be too dangerous.”

“It will be dangerous for thou as well,” she argued. “I want to see that Molly and Daniel are safe.”

“No,” Charles said. “Go down and assist the surgeon. I cannot engage an enemy warship with you on the deck; I fear too much for your safety.”

Penny looked at him, undecided.

“You must go,” he said firmly.

Reluctantly, she nodded, then turned and went toward the hatchway leading below. The moment she had disappeared, Charles said, “Mr. Eliot, put the helm over.”

Louisa
began her turn to put the wind behind her and the French frigate off her beam.

“You may fire when ready,” Charles said to Winchester. As he watched, the starboard gunports flipped open, the gun crews straining on their lines to drag the cannon up hard against the bulwarks. The frigate did not anticipate
Louisa
’s turn but reacted quickly to it, veering belatedly, her port side gunports opening.

“Fire,” Winchester shouted.

The deck erupted in a deafening blast, half hidden in billowing smoke as the guns lunged inward on their breechings. The gun crews were already at work sponging out as Charles looked for the trajectory of the shot descending toward the Frenchman. Even as he watched, he knew that his gunners’ aim had been thrown off by the frigate’s turn, most of the shot falling into the sea, although one or two ripped through the mizzen sails, causing the canvas to jerk and tear. No mast tilted; nor did he see any yardarm snap.
Louisa
’s guns were just being hauled back out when the frigate produced her own billowing gray broadside, the orange flash of the explosions stabbing through. A second later, round shot screamed across the deck and through the halyards and stays.

Louisa
’s cannon fired again, this time with solid shot. The salvo told against the Frenchman’s hull, striking a gunport and pounding her bulwarks. The two ships angled closer as they exchanged broadsides. Four hundred yards became three; three hundred, two. Charles concentrated his fire against the Frenchman’s gundeck, the frigate mainly toward
Louisa
’s masts. He thought to search for the corvette, but a quick look yielded nothing, and he decided she must be somewhere behind the frigate.

Another increasingly drawn-out broadside, as the faster gun crews fired early, the slower later; and another, with the carronades barking sharply in between. The distance closed to a hundred yards, musket range. So far all of
Louisa
’s masts still stood, although the sails were punctured in dozens of places, and strings of severed rigging swung like vines in the wind. The French frigate’s hull had taken some damage, with gaps in her railing and her sides along the row of gunports pierced and scarred.

Charles was not pleased. His ship and crew were holding their own against the more powerful Frenchman, but he could not keep it up indefinitely. All he had wanted was to rob the frigate of her speed until he and Bevan could escape into the darkness of night. Now he had been forced into a grueling match, like two bare-knuckle fighters facing each other tied to a bench at half arm’s length, until one beat the other insensible. Charles did not wish his ship to be pounded into the equivalent of insensible; nor did he need to subject his opponent to such treatment. He would like it better if he could get up off the bench and run, but he couldn’t with the French ship intact.

Louisa
’s broadside thundered in a long ragged discharge, sending fresh clouds of dense smoke along her deck. Charles smiled as he saw the frigate’s mizzen shiver and then twist sideways, straining the main topgallant backstay and pulling the mast section with it. The ship’s crew gave a loud cheer. They’d wounded her, he should take the opportunity to run, he thought. But with a little more damage, he could take her. If he could bring down one more mast, she could not maneuver and would have to strike. To Winchester, he ordered, “Keep the men about their business.”

“Silence on deck,” Winchester shouted. “Attend to your guns.”

The Frenchman fired her broadside together. Someone must be calling out the firing sequence, probably to make sure it was done correctly in the heat of battle. Two of her gunports, Charles noted, had remained empty. If he had wanted to carry her, it would be best to close now and board. No, that would be risky, she would have a far larger crew. If he could knock down one more mast, he could cross her bow and rake her. He thought about the options. Did he really want to be encumbered with the badly damaged prize? It would be better to run while he still had the masts to do it. He hesitated, trying to make up his mind. Where was the corvette?
Louisa
’s cannon fire was becoming almost continuous. He quickly looked around the surface of the sea and found the smaller French warship in an unexpected place, beating up to get windward of his stern. That was enough; it was time to break it off and flee. Only the corvette could follow, and he could deal with that.