“Sir?” Keverne eyed him intently.
“Dismiss the hands from drills and prepare to set the t’gallants on her.” He looked aloft, his eyes watering in the crisp breeze. “The royals too if the wind gets no worse.”
As he hurried away Broughton reappeared on the quarterdeck, his face very calm.
Bolitho said, “Sail to the nor’ west, sir.” He saw the brightness in the admiral’s eyes and guessed how hard it was for him to appear so controlled.
Broughton pursed his lips. “Signal the Auriga to intercept.”
“Aye, sir.”
Bolitho beckoned to the signal midshipman and could almost feel Broughton’s impatience at his back. Only the previous day he had sent the other frigate, Coquette, on ahead at full speed to reach Gibraltar with his despatches, and to make sure there was no change in plans for his squadron. With Auriga to windward and the little sloop Restless sweeping downwind in the hopes of snatching a French or Spanish fisherman for information, it had left his resources very strained.
The boy reported, “Auriga has acknowledged, sir.”
Bolitho could picture the scene on the frigate’s deck as the distant flags had been studied, probably from some swaying yard far above the sea, by another midshipman like Tothill.
He could well imagine Brice’s feelings at this moment too. A chance to further his position with the admiral and before the whole squadron would not be taken lightly. And heaven help any poor wretch who displeased him at such a time.
He took the big glass and climbed up beside the midshipman in the weather shrouds, and trained it towards the horizon. The frigate leapt into view, her topsails already filling as she went about and dashed towards the newcomer. He could imagine the sounds of spray cascading over her bowsprit, the scream of blocks and rigging as more, and more canvas thundered out from her yards to contain and hold the wind for her own power.
It was easy to forget men like Brice at such times, he thought vaguely. Auriga was a beautiful little ship, a living, vital thing as she heeled to the wind and buried her lee gunports in foam.
He returned to the deck and said, “Permission to give chase, sir?”
For another small moment he shared a common understanding and excitement with Broughton. Saw his jaw tighten, the gleam in his eyes.
“Yes.” He stood aside as Bolitho raised his hand to Keverne. Then he added, “All ships will, however, retain their stations. See to it.”
As the signal soared up the yards and broke to the wind Bolitho saw the other ships hoist their acknowledgements as one. Every captain must have been waiting for this. Praying for something to break the monotony and the uncertain watchfulness which had dogged them since Falmouth.
Overhead the growing spread of canvas cracked and boomed, the great yards bending like bows until they looked as if they would tear free from the masts. The hull tilted still further, so that men hastening about the upper deck seemed to be leaning at strange and unreal angles, while more, and still more, canvas bellied out to the wind.
On the lower gundeck the ports would be completely submerged, and Bolitho could hear the pumps already clanking as the hull took the strain and accepted it.
But they were overhauling the nearest seventy-four, and through the straining criss-cross of rigging and shrouds he could see the officers on the Tanais’s quarterdeck peering astern at the flagship as she begin to creep up on them.
Broughton said testily, “Signal Tanais to make more sail, dammit!”
As he walked away to the opposite side Bolitho heard Partridge mutter, “Her’ll ’ave the sticks out of ’er if she does, by God!”
Bolitho snapped, “Mr Tothill, get to the masthead and double quick! I need some good eyes up there today.”
He made himself walk slowly back and forth on the weather side, hating the slow pace of the squadron as he tried to picture what the other ship was doing.
“Deck there! Zeus is signalling, sir! Enemy in sight!” His voice was shrill with excitement. “A frigate, steering due east!”
Keverne rubbed his hands. “Running for Vigo, I shouldn’t wonder.”
He looked unusually tense, and Bolitho guessed he was probably picturing what might have been with himself commanding Auriga instead of Brice.
He replied, “There’s a good chance we can head her off, Mr Keverne.”
Brice had the wind almost under his coat-tails and was fairly flying across the path of his slow and ponderous consorts. The Frenchman could either try to outpace him or go about and lose valuable time trying to beat out to sea again. If he chose the latter course, one of the ships in the line might even get an opportunity…
He jerked round as Broughton rapped, “God damn the Valorous!” He threw his telescope to a seaman. “Now she’s falling back.”
The signal soared aloft immediately to Euryalus’s yards. Make more sail. But even as the acknowledgement broke from the two-decker Bolitho saw her fore topgallant sail disintegrate like ashes as it tore itself to fragments in the wind.
Bolitho said, “Shall I signal Zeus to chase independently, sir? She’s got a good lead.” He knew the answer already, saw Broughton’s mouth tightening as he added, “The Frenchman might still slip away from Auriga.”
“No.” One word, with nothing to show disappointment or anger.
Bolitho looked away. The Frenchman would be surprised that there was no change in the squadron’s line of advance. He was somewhere right ahead of the column, hidden by Zeus’s tall pyramid of sails, and moving very fast. But Auriga had crossed over now, and he could see her speeding downwind, every sail set and drawing its full as she tore towards the enemy. As she lifted and smashed down across the serried lines of whitecaps he could see the sunlight playing on her bared copper, and her sleek hull which shone in the glare like glass.
Zeus edged slightly out of line and Bolitho held his breath as he watched the French frigate sway momentarily into view. About five miles away. It did not seem possible that they had converged on her so quickly.
Auriga would be about three miles distant, and she had already overreached the other frigate. Bolitho tried to clear his mind, to think what he would do in the enemy’s place. Go about, or try to continue towards the land hidden below that mocking horizon? There was certainly no chance of beating the Auriga on her present course. Yet, if he made a dash for it he was almost sure to run into the arms of a British patrol along the Portuguese coast. Vigo was the last safe refuge, unless he was prepared to turn and fight.
Broughton said, “Make a general signal. Shorten sail and
re-form correct stations.” He eyed Bolitho bleakly. “Auriga can handle the Frog now.”
As the signal was passed and repeated up and down the line Bolitho could almost sense the frustration around him. Four powerful ships, yet because of Broughton’s inflexible rules as impotent as merchantmen.
A dull bang echoed across the water and Bolitho saw a puff of brown smoke drifting towards the French ship. Brice had fired a ranging shot, although it was not possible to see where it fell.
Every glass came up as Keverne said hoarsely, “The Frog’s wearing ship! By God, look at him!”
The French captain had mistimed it badly. Bolitho could almost pity him as he put his ship round in an effort to cross the Auriga’s bows. He could see her bared bilge, the sun dancing on her straining sails as the yards swung still further until she was heeling right over in her own spray. A solid thunder of gunfire echoed and re-echoed across the tossing water, and Bolitho imagined Brice’s first broadside smashing into the exposed bilge as he used his advantage of wind and position to follow her round.