Julian Stockwin - Command

"Be buggered! He's runnin', the shy cock!"

It was totally unexpected and Kydd had no option but to throw Teazer round and follow at a safe distance offshore, losing ground until his own courses were set and drawing. The straggling headland at the last of the land came and went; there was nothing now but a vast and empty sea, the ultimate battlefield.

Was La Fouine enticing Teazer towards a more powerful consort? Or simply making a break? At least his duty was plain: to use all possible means to close with the enemy and bring him to battle. But La Fouine was making fine speed away to the southeast and Teazer had yet to get into her stride.

There was one niggling fact, however: if La Fouine was trying to get away, why had he not set stuns'ls and all other possible aids to speed in running before the wind? Whatever the reason Kydd would not set them either; if La Fouine saw them laboriously rig stuns'l booms and bend on such sail he need only wait until all was in place, then go hard up into the wind, leaving Teazer to thrash along for the time she needed to take them in again.

The two ships stretched out over the sea until it became evident by sextant that the angle from waterline to La Fouine 's masthead was increasing. Teazer was gaining! For all La Fouine's fancy ship-rig and smart seamanship Teazer was the faster vessel before the wind.

Thumping the rail Kydd urged his little ship on. La Fouine was now visibly nearer and a plan for close action would be needed. Through his glass Kydd thought he could pick out the blue and white figure of the captain on his quarterdeck: what was he thinking of Teazer now?

Then, not more than a quarter of a mile ahead, La Fouine spun at right angles to take the wind hard on his starboard cheek, angling away to the right. At the same time as his side lengthened his whole broadside bore on Teazer —he did not waste his chance and up and down his length hammered the flash and smoke of his guns, the breeze gaily sending the smoke rolling away over him to leeward.

Teazer's guns could not bear, but she made a narrow target, bows on; as far as Kydd could detect there was no damage.

Quickly he bellowed orders that had her pirouetting round as fast as the braces could be won, but La Fouine had gained vital points by reducing Teazer 's advantage to weather.

In the contest of ships' speeds it did not take the sextant to tell that close-hauled Teazer was even faster. Kydd guessed that La Fouine was overdue a careening, and a brig-sloop had the edge over the less handy ship-rigged species, but even so he felt a jet of pride.

A conclusion was now inevitable, and Kydd's mind raced. In the chase to windward he had the same kind of quandary: close-hauled, the best advantage to be gained was to toggle bowlines to their bridles and stretch forward the weather edge of the sails. This took time and, in just the same way as with the stuns'ls, if La Fouine were to revert back before the wind they would need removing. Again, he took his cue from the Frenchy: no bowlines, therefore none for him.

Kydd stepped over to the quartermaster at the wheel. "Luff 'n' touch her," he ordered. Tentatively Poulden eased the helm, watching for the slightest flutter at the taut, windward edge of the sail, at which point they were straining as close to the north-westerly as it was possible to be. Kydd was bargaining that Teazer had the speed to overcome the disadvantage of being so tight to the wind compared to one slightly fuller, and thus claw back some distance into the breeze. It would take longer to overhaul their quarry but the advantage would be priceless.

By two in the afternoon the end was in sight. After miles of a sea chase Teazer was comfortably to windward of her opponent and was about to establish an overlap—the guns would be speaking soon.

Kydd had done all he could to prepare his ship and her company. Now it was time.

"Firing to larb'd," Kydd warned. There was no doubt of their target, slashing along just ahead of them and to leeward, but by this he was indicating that he would not be putting his wheel over suddenly and crossing the enemy stern for a savage raking broadside from his starboard side—that would offer one chance only and, with six-pounders, it was not a battle-winning tactic. Instead he would continue coming up, then pound away broadside to broadside until there was a result—one way or another.

And because of Teazer's hard-won weather position his foe could not turn away from the onslaught as that would present his vulnerable stern-quarters to a double broadside. The French commander must have come to the same conclusion for he could see aboard La Fouine that they were shortening sail: it could only be in readiness for combat.

At last: no more tactics, manoeuvring, hard racing. This was the moment.

Kydd allowed Teazer to move ahead before he ordered sail shortened and their frantic speed faded to a purposeful trot as they squared away to their opponent. As he had seen his captain do at the Nile, he started pacing slowly up and down to throw off the aim of muskets in the fighting tops of the enemy picking him out as an officer.

Along the exposed decks the gun crews tensed, held to a hair-trigger, seeing their enemy so brutally clear. Kydd saw no reason to delay: as soon as the last gun had slewed round and could bear it was time to begin. "Mr Dacres, fire when ready."

All along the larboard side the six-pounders woke to violent life, eight ringing cracks joining in one ear-splitting discharge, which, Kydd noted again, was quite unlike the deep smash of Tenacious's twenty-four pounders. Still, when the smoke cleared there were several tell-tale dark blotches on La Fouine's sides.

But there would be pay-back. The gun crews worked like maniacs; Kydd remembered from his past at the lower-deck guns that the best cure for cannon-fever was furious work at the guns. Then La Fouine's eight-pounders replied in a vicious stabbing of gunflash and smoke. A musical twang sounded as a stay parted, and a single scream came from forward, cut off almost as soon as it began. Teazer seemed to have escaped serious injury.

Firing became general, guns spoke as soon as they were loaded in a harsh cycle of labour and pain, which was now the lot of the gun crews. Kydd's glance went down to the facings on his coat, smeared with the soft grey of gun-smoke. This was now a smashing duel and it was only just beginning.

He turned at the mainmast and began his pace back to the wheel. He knew only too well that the helmsman had the hardest task: the target of so many sharp-shooters, he could neither move nor retaliate, but at the same time he had the vital responsibility of keeping the ship from veering wildly off course, a fatal matter in the heat of battle.

He glanced across—it was still Poulden at the wheel, calm and measured, a fine example to all who saw him.

From far forward there was a distinct strike of shot, the shock transmitted down the ship through her frames, even to where Kydd stood. Then followed a slow, rending crack as of a tree falling—which could have only one meaning.

"Hold her! " he bawled at Poulden. Teazer was sheering up out of control into the wind, her sails banging and flapping as they were taken full aback and her speed dropped away to nothing.

A seaman pelted up, wild-eyed. "Sir, we took a shot in th' bowsprit at th' gammoning an' it carried away." Chest heaving, the man seemed to be looking to Kydd for some sort of miracle, but with the bowsprit and therefore all the headsails gone there was nothing his captain could think of that would salvage the moment. One thing was imperative: to stop the wild flogging of the sails—even as he glanced over the side they were slowly gathering sternway under their impetus.