Richard Woodman - A Brig of War

He muttered his conclusions to Griffiths who pondered them for what seemed an age. 'If that is the case we would do best to wear round his stern…'

'But that means we might still encounter him tomorrow since we will be making northing,' added Drinkwater, 'whereas if we hold on we might slip to windward of him and escape.'

He heard Griffiths exhale. 'Very well,' he said at last.

There was half a mile between the two ships and still the distance lessened. At any moment they must be observed. Drinkwater looked anxiously aloft and he caught sight of a white blur that was Lestock's face. Nearby stood Dalziell and Mr Q.

Hellebore 's mainmast was drawing ahead of the frigate's stem and Drinkwater could see her topgallants bunching up where the sheets were started and the buntlines gathered them up prior to furling. He was certain that his assumption was correct. But another thought struck him: one of the topmen out on those yards could not fail to see the brig close to leeward of them.

A minute later the cry of alarm was clearly heard across the three hundred yards of water that separated the two ships. Drinkwater tried to see if her lee ports were open and waited with beating heart for a wild broadside. He doubted that any of their own guns would bear. He could see Rogers looking aft, itching to give the order to fire. Lestock's fidgetting was growing unbearable while all along the deck the hands peered silently at the ghostly black and grey shape that was the enemy.

There were several shouts from the stranger and they were unmistakably French. A low murmur ran along Hellebore 's deck.

'Silence there!' Drinkwater called in a low voice, trusting in their leeward position not to carry his words to the frigate. 'Mr Q. See to the hoisting of a Dutch ensign.'

A hail came over the water followed by a gunshot that whistled overhead, putting a hole in the leeward lower stunsail. A second later it tore and blew out of the bolt ropes.

The horizontal stripes of the Dutch colour caused a small delay, a moment of indecision on the enemy quarterdeck but it was not for long. The unmistakable vertical bands of the French tricolour jerked to her peak and her forward guns barked from her starboard bow. Three of the balls struck home, tearing into the hull beneath the quarterdeck making a shambles of Rogers's cabin, but not one was hit and then the brig had driven too far ahead so the enemy guns no longer bore. Eighty yards on the beam Hellebore drove past the cruiser's bowsprit.

'He's luffing, sir…'

'To give us a broadside, the bastard.' Griffiths looked along his own deck. 'Keep her full and bye Mr Lestock, I'll not lose a fathom, see.'

Drinkwater watched the French ship turn towards the wind and saw the ragged line of flashes where she fired her starboard battery. Above his head ropes parted and holes appeared in several sails, but not a spar had been hit.

'Ha!' roared Griffiths in jubilation, 'look at him, by damn!'

Drinkwater turned his attention from the fabric of Hellebore to the frigate. He could hear faint cries of alarm or anger as she luffed too far and lost way, saw her sails shiver and the flashes of a second broadside. They never remarked the fall of shot. Griffiths was grinning broadly at Drinkwater.

'Keep those stunsails aloft, mister, even if they are all blown to hell by dawn, we'll not have another chance like this.'

'Indeed not, sir. May I secure the guns and send the watch below?'

Griffiths nodded and Drinkwater heard him muttering 'Lucky by damn,' to himself.

'Mr Rogers! Secure the guns and pipe the watch below. Mr Lestock, relieve the wheel and lookout, keep her full and bye until further orders.'

Lestock acknowledged the order and Drinkwater could not resist baiting the man.

'It seems, Mr Lestock, that our opponent appeared to be the one with the lack of horseshoe nails.'

'A matter of luck, Drinkwater, nothing more.'

Drinkwater laughed, catching Rogers's eye as he came from securing his guns. 'Or of faith moving mountains, eh Samuel?'

When he looked astern again two miles separated the two ships. The French ship was again in pursuit but five minutes later she had disappeared in the first rain shower.

Daylight found them alone on an empty ocean and as the hours passed it became apparent that they had eluded their pursuer. They resumed their course, dragged the cannon back to their positions and continued their voyage. The stunsail gear needed overhauling for three booms had sprung during that night and several of the sails needed attention. A week later the even tenor of their routine had all but effaced the memory of the chase.

And then the South Atlantic surprised them a second time. At four bells in the forenoon eight days after their escape from the French cruiser a cry from the masthead summoned Drinkwater on deck.

'Deck there! Boat, sir, broad on the weather bow!'

He joined Lestock by the rail, steadying his glass against a shroud. A minute later Griffiths limped over to them.

'Well?' he growled, 'can you see it?' Both officers answered in the negative.

Patiently they scanned the tumbling waves until suddenly something held briefly in clear silhouette against the sky. It was undoubtedly a boat and for the smallest fraction of a second they could see the jagged outline of waving arms and a strip of red held up in the wind.

'On the beam, sir, there! Passing fast!' The boat was no more than half a mile from them and had already disappeared in the trough of a wave.

'Watch to wear ship, Mr Lestock. Call all hands.'

The cry was taken up as Lestock turned to pass orders through the speaking trumpet. 'I'll get up and keep an eye on 'em sir.' Without waiting for acknowledgement Drinkwater leapt into the main rigging and raced for the top. The sudden excitement lent energy to his muscles and he climbed as eagerly as any midshipman. Over on his back he went, scrambling outboard over the futtocks and up the topmast shrouds to cock his leg over the doublings at the topmasthead. Below him, her spanker brailed, Hellebore had begun her turn to starboard, the watch squaring the yards until she had the wind aft. Drinkwater looked out on the starboard beam. At first he could see nothing. The occupants of the boat might have subsided in despair and he could think of no greater agony than being passed so close by a vessel that did not sight them. Then he saw the flicker of red. Despair had turned to joy as the castaways watched the brig manoeuvre. Hellebore was still turning, the red patch nearly ahead now. Around him the yards groaned slightly in their parrels as the braces kept them trimmed.

'Keep her off the wind, sir, they are fine on the weather bow,' he yelled down.

Hellebore steadied with the wind on her beam. The watches below, summoned for whatever eventuality that might arise, were crowding excitedly forward. Drinkwater saw an arm outstretched, someone down there had spotted the boat. Mindful of his dignity he descended to the deck.

'Afterguard! Main braces! Leggo and haul!' Hellebore was hove to as the main topsail and topgallant cracked back against the mast, reining her onward rush and laying her quiet on the starboard tack some eighty yards from the boat.

They could see it clearly now as its occupants got out a couple of oars and awkwardly pulled the boat to leeward.

'Ere, there's bleeding women in it!' came a shout from forward as the Hellebores crowded the starboard rail. A number of whistles came from the men, accompanied by excited grins and the occasional obscene gesture. 'Cor ain't we lucky bastards.'

'Don't count yer luck too early, one of 'em's pulling an oar.'

'An 'hore on an oar, eh lads?'

'If them's whores the officers'll 'ave 'em!' The ribald jests were cut short by Drinkwater's 'Silence! Silence there! Belay that nonsense forward!'