Any Approaching Enemy: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars (22 page)

The frigate fired again. A loud rending crack came from above, and
Louisa
’s foretopmast and main topgallant mast came crashing down. The main topgallant landed in a heap of rope, mast, and yard on the deck; the foretopmast fell over the starboard side of the bow and splashed into the water.

“Damnation,” Charles swore, furious with himself. “Clear that wreckage forward,” he yelled to Talmage in the waist. He had hesitated, greedy for a prize. The moment to escape had passed.

With the foremast acting as a sea anchor,
Louisa
slowed, her stern swinging to port. The Frenchman, with her mizzenmast dragging astern, could not maneuver. Of her own volition,
Louisa
drifted sideways across the enemy’s stern.

“Belay that!” Charles screamed down at Talmage. “Leave the mast where it is. Rake her!”

Charles stared at the frigate’s stern directly across from him. The maindeck twelve-pounders crashed out as one into the undefended after-structure of the frigate. Charles saw briefly that her name was
Félicité
before the thunderous barrage smashed gap after gap in the transom and exploded the stern windows. A second broadside widened the holes so he could see the men inside running from their guns, some trying to drag wounded shipmates below. After a third broadside, her mainmast, repeatedly struck between decks, broke and fell forward. The fourth sent ball after ball screaming the length of the deck, upending guns, smashing timbers, and killing almost every remaining living thing. He saw a man with both legs blown off attempting to crawl to a hatchway.

Something pulled violently on Charles’s arm; a small fist beat frantically on his back. He turned to see his wife wide-eyed in horror. When the French ship had stopped firing, Penny must have come back on deck to see what was happening.

“Stop, you’ll kill them all. They cannot even defend themselves,” she screamed at him. Tears welled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. “Look, look,” she said, pointing into the void of the stern galley. “Look how many are dead.”

Charles rubbed his palm across his eyes. He could see the length of her gundeck, a scene of hellish carnage, the deck awash with blood and deserted except for unmoving forms, and parts of forms, lying by overturned weapons. A revulsion came over him. He had not wanted to fight the frigate at all, and now he was shocked by what he’d done, saddened that his wife had seen it. He should have stopped it sooner. He temporized that the French ship had not struck her colors; of course, with two masts gone, she had no obvious flag to strike.

“Cease firing, Stephen,” he said. “Send Talmage across to see if she will yield. Send him with enough marines to encourage her to do so.”

Charles quickly looked to windward for the corvette. He found her lying to just out of cannon range, as if undecided what to do. Behind her, he saw Bevan’s
Pylades
closing to attack. He sighed.

“We have to help them,” Penny said, pulling on his arm to attract his attention. “There must be very many injured.”

“We will,” Charles said, trying to order his thoughts. “I am just now sending Lieutenant Talmage to ask if they will permit it. Mr. Sykes!” he yelled.

“Yes, sir?” the young midshipman answered, skidding to a halt in front of him.

“Signal to
Pylades,
please,
Maintain position.
”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then run up a white flag on”—Charles looked upward and surveyed the damaged rigging”—the highest mast we have.”

“A white flag, sir?”

“Yes, a white flag, a big one. Quickly, please.”

“Why a white flag?” Winchester asked. “A truce?”

“A parlay,” Charles answered. “I want to talk with the captain of that corvette before Daniel does something foolish, like sink her. Will you please hoist out the cutter with another flag and go over. Invite her captain on board with my compliments and my guarantee of his safety. I have a proposal to make.”

“What can you possibly need to ask him?” Winchester said.

“I require his assistance,” Charles answered. He had to force himself to concentrate. How many officers did he have left? “Mr. Beechum,” he called, seeing the young lieutenant in the waist, supervising the clearing away of the remains of the topgallant mast.

“Sir?” Beechum yelled back.

“You will please see that the starboard guns remain manned and run out.” This to emphasize the desirability of Félicité’s surrendering without further argument. He saw Talmage, Cooley, and the marines climbing down into the ship’s cutter.

“Mr. Keswick!” Charles was beginning to feel that he was trying to deal with too many things at once. “Someone pass the word for the boatswain.”

“The signal to
Pylades
has been acknowledged, sir,” Sykes reported. “I’ve sent a white flag up the mizzenmast.”

“Very good,” Charles said. “Get you down to the surgeon with my compliments. Request a report on our dead and injured. Would you also ask when he will be free.”

“Yes, sir,” Sykes said, and departed at a run. Charles wished he had half as much energy. He felt drained, tired, disgusted with himself.

“Yes, sir?” Keswick said, arriving on the quarterdeck and touching his hat.

“How long before you will be able to report on our damage aloft?”

“Within the half hour, sir,” the boatswain replied. “We’re working on it now.”

“Thank you, keep me informed. You may draft as many men as you see fit to effect the repairs.” Charles paused as another thought came to him. “I believe you may also be able to go across to that French frigate to take off whatever spars and cordage may be of use.”

“That’ll be a help,” Keswick said. “If I may ask, what are you planning to do with her?”

Charles considered. “We’ll burn her, I think that’s easiest,” he said. “Feel free to take off whatever you need.”

Penny overheard the exchange and reacted with alarm. “Burn that ship? Thou canst not burn the ship. What will happen to all of the people? To burn them would be inhuman.”

Charles exhaled slowly. “We will take everyone off first,” he said to reassure her, “the wounded as well as the healthy. It will be all right.”

“Canst thou do that? Canst thou just burn a whole ship?” she asked, somewhat calmer. “It seems a terrible waste.”

“I have captured her,” Charles said patiently. “I can do as I think necessary. We have no time to make repairs and sail her to a prize court. I cannot allow the French to retain her; therefore, I shall sink her. But not until the crew are taken off.”

“Where will thou put all the people?” she asked, looking around. “We are not so large a boat.”

Charles saw that Talmage and the marines had reached
Félicité
and were climbing onto her abandoned deck.
Louisa
’s gig, with Winchester and his white flag aboard, had hoisted her fore and aft sails and was standing toward the corvette.

“Captain, sir,” Sykes reported, “Mr. Lincoln’s respects. He says we have three injured, only one seriously. That’s a broken arm from when the foretopmast fell. He asks me to tell you that he will be at liberty in just a moment.”

“Thank you,” Charles said. He was only moderately surprised at how few casualties
Louisa
had sustained. It was well known that the French navy preferred directing their fire into an opponent’s masts and rigging, in hopes of quickly impairing mobility, while British tactics normally concentrated on an enemy’s hull to degrade fighting ability over the longer term. In such exchanges, the French frequently incurred the higher numbers of casualties. Charles knew that he had been lucky—his victory had, ironically, been the result of the frigate’s success in bringing down Louisa’s foremast. He saw Talmage appear at Félicité’s shattered stern. Beside him stood a very young French officer, probably the equivalent of a British midshipman, his sword in Talmage’s hand. Charles assumed that meant the higher ranking of the ship’s officers had been killed or injured. Talmage waved across to signal that all was well and that the French had officially surrendered.

“Mr. Sykes,” Charles said, “if you would assist Mr. Lincoln in assembling a party to go across and help tend to the French wounded.”

“Yes, sir,” Sykes answered, and left.

“Where will thou place those people?” Penny demanded, reclaiming his attention.

“In the last resort, on board
Louisa,
” he answered. He looked over his shoulder and noted that Winchester had gone aboard the corvette, the gig bobbing in the sea alongside. “My hope is to persuade the other French ship to carry their countrymen away.”

“I will go across with Matthew Lincoln to assist with the injured,” she announced.

Charles opened his mouth to object, or at least to say that it wasn’t necessary, then he shut it. He was uncomfortable with her being in the presence of so many injured men. It was a disgusting business. But it would do no harm; perhaps it would help her come to terms with what she had witnessed if she could do something useful. He felt a sadness again that she had been present to see it. “I am sure the surgeon and wounded will be grateful,” he said.

He raised his glass and watched as Winchester climbed back down into the gig, followed closely by a French officer. The ship’s boat pushed off, raised her sails, and started back. Lincoln arrived on deck with his case of instruments.

“I have hopes of transferring the French crew with their wounded into that corvette,” Charles said. “I’ll know for certain after I talk to her captain. In the meantime, do what you can.”

“All right,” Lincoln said. “I’ll have them laid out on the deck.”

“And Mrs. Edgemont will accompany you. She wishes to be of assistance.”

Lincoln did not object. Instead, he said, “It would be useful to have someone who speaks French.”

“I may be helpful,” Penny said. “I have studied it.”

“You have?” Charles said. “I had no idea.”

“There are many things thou dost not know,” she said mysteriously, then turned to follow the surgeon.

Keswick approached to report that the damage to
Louisa
’s upper works was extensive, especially to halyards and lines. He had no suitable spar to jury-rig the upper mast sections but hoped something might be found on the French ship. When pressed, he allowed that if they worked without a break, they might be fit enough to sail by morning, especially if they had some assistance from
Pylades.

“I’ll see if that can be arranged,” Charles said.

The gig arrived alongside, and Charles went to the entryport to meet the corvette’s commander as he came aboard. Winchester climbed up over the side first, followed by a scowling, hard-looking man of medium height and broad shoulders. The Frenchman surveyed the damage to
Louisa
’s masts with satisfaction but, aside from a quick glance, avoided looking at the savaged frigate lying forlornly in the water off the opposite beam. Charles struggled to summon some remnant of his energy. He had to concentrate.

“May I have the honor to present Capitaine de Frégate Jean Louis Baptiste,” Winchester said formally. “Captain Edgemont.”

Charles stepped forward and extended his hand. The Frenchman ignored it. “Ask if he would like some refreshment,” he said.

The corvette’s captain replied in a tone that could only be interpreted as disdainful. “The captain says he does not drink with the English,” Winchester translated judiciously. Charles, who spoke a little of the language, had distinctly made out the words
“merde”
and
“cochon.”

“Fine,” Charles said with a tight-lipped smile. “Please inform Captain Whoreson Sodomite that I will permit him to take the crew off the frigate, if he wishes it, before I burn her.”

Winchester suppressed a grin and translated an expurgated version. The French captain responded more briefly. “He asks what we will do if he refuses.”

Charles stared at the French captain. He found the man’s manner irritating in the extreme.
Two can play at this game,
he thought. “Tell him it is a matter of indifference to me. With the crew aboard or not, I’m still burning her.”

“You wouldn’t,” Winchester said.

“Just translate,” Charles answered, then did his best to chuckle menacingly. “Add that I am only making the offer because my officers have requested it. You might hint that I would just as soon watch them burn.” He would not give the Frenchman the satisfaction of any concessions.

Winchester did as he was asked. The Frenchman gave a lengthy and heated reply. “He says how does he know you won’t attack him? He wants us to move out of cannon range first.”

“Tell him he has my word of honor as a British naval officer. If that is not satisfactory, then there is no arrangement. You may also tell him that if there is no arrangement, we will attack the corvette the moment he is back on board. The decision is his.”

Charles watched the French captain’s face darken as Winchester translated. Capitaine Baptiste asked a question in which Charles heard the word
“honneur”
mentioned twice, which Winchester answered. Then the captain gave a lengthy speech. Charles could guess what it was about from the few words he’d understood and the way the man gestured with his hands.

“He says he’ll do it,” Winchester said. “He has three conditions—”

Charles shook his head dismissively. “I’m not offering any conditions,” he said. “This is what I will allow. He will take one of my officers on board his ship; Beechum, I should think. Beechum will remain on the side rail by the entryport, where I can see him at all times. The corvette is to approach with her gunports closed and guns unmanned.
Pylades
will follow directly behind him. The corvette will proceed to tie up with the frigate and take off her crew and the wounded, nothing more. He will leave Beechum on the frigate and return to Egypt. If, at any time during the approach, Beechum signals that something is amiss, we will engage and, if successful, will burn both his ship and the frigate. Make sure he understands this.”

Winchester launched into a lengthy monologue while Charles watched. The French captain was not pleased by what he heard. Charles began to feel sympathy for him. It must be difficult to take orders from an enemy, but he didn’t know what else the man could do.