Any Approaching Enemy: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars (15 page)

“Oh, they won’t, in all likelihood,” he said airily, as if to belay all doubts. “It’s just a precaution.” If a French warship did exit the harbor, they would see it in plenty of time to make their escape.

Louisa
angled across the sea, closing on the port entrance. At about two miles, he could see the battlements on Point Saint Elmo, the seaward defenses for the city of Valletta. To the left lay the entrance to the Great Port, protected on the far side by a fort on Point Sollile. The land fell away from there for five or six miles to Cape Sega, where the coast angled sharply southward. To the right was the entrance to the other main harbor at Port Marsanmciet and its forts at Point Dragut and on Lazaret Island. Beyond stood a bluff headland sheltering Saint Julien Bay on the far side.

Louisa
hove to across the wind, her courses taken in, and the mizzen topsail braced around and laid against the mast. She came to a rest a mile and a half from the Saint Elmo fort.

“Mr. Beechum,” Charles said, “if you would be so kind as to climb to the tops with your glass and report to me what you see in the harbors.”

“Yes, sir,” Beechum said, touching his hat extra smartly in Penny’s presence.

Charles took up his own telescope and led Penny to the rail. “Look there,” he said, opening the long glass for her and helping to steady it. With his naked eye, he could clearly see the miles of towering stone battlements and the high-walled city behind. He saw that the three main forts all had the tricolor flag of the French Republic streaming from their towers.

“So many cannons,” Penny said in wonderment, one eye screwed comically shut, with the lens pressed tight against the other. “Why do they require such grand defenses?”

“I think it was as a defense against the Turks, or someone,” Charles said, unsure of his history. “They don’t seem to have helped much against the French, though.”

“Captain Edgemont, sir!” Beechum’s voice came urgently down from the masthead. “There’s a ship rounding the point awindward. She’s French, sir.”

Charles twisted around and immediately saw three masts, fully dressed in canvas, just behind the end of the point, and then the bowsprit showing clear. He judged it to be not over two miles distant.

“Mr. Eliot,” he said, “put her before the wind, if you please. All plain sail. Set a course to round Cape Sega.”

Eliot nodded and turned to instruct the quartermaster at the wheel.

“Stephen, beat to quarters.”

Beechum arrived nearly breathless on the quarterdeck. “She’s a frigate, sir. Thirty-six guns. I’m sure she’s seen us.”

“I’m sure she has, Mr. Beechum,” Charles said. “Did you see anything of the harbor?”

“Yes, sir. Two corvettes, sixteen or eighteen guns, and a number of supply ships. Didn’t have time to count.”

“The corvettes, were they preparing to make sail?”

“Not that I noticed, sir,” Beechum said doubtfully.

“Thank you, Mr. Beechum,” Charles said. “If you would resume your duties with the forecastle guns.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Beechum’s last words were almost drowned out by the marine drummer who had hurried to his position on the forward part of the quarterdeck and loudly begun his roll.

The frigate’s bow showed clear of the point almost to her midships, Charles noted, and she was turning in his direction, her masts coming into a line.

“Ain’t Daniel’s sails all blowed out,” he heard Molly say. “Why is that?”

Louisa
’s sails had been braced around. Her head was just beginning to fall off to leeward. Charles looked for
Pylades
and found that she was already around, but spilling her wind to cover his stern. “I’ll have none of that,” he muttered under his breath. “Mr. Sykes,” he called to the midshipman standing nearby.

“Sir?” Sykes answered.

“You will have to manage the signals,” he said. “Run up
Set all possible sail
and
Maintain station.
Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said. “To
Pylades,
sir?”

“
Pylades
is the only ship we can signal to, Mr. Sykes.”

“Of course, sir,” Sykes said, his face reddening, and disappeared.

Charles looked back at the French frigate with all plain sails set to her royals, not a mile and a half astern and closing rapidly.
Louisa
was almost around, her sails slatting and beginning to fill. Charles knew he’d been careless, badly careless. He should have positioned
Pylades
farther out so she could have seen anything approaching from the other side of the point. He’d put everybody’s lives in danger.

He glanced at Penny, who still stood beside him. She met his eyes. “What art thou doing?” she said.

“We are running,” Charles said. “We’ve overstayed our welcome and have to leave.”

The courses were dropped and clewed down. They filled with loud snapping sounds. He felt the ship gain way under his feet. “Mr. Eliot, we will hoist the royals.”

Charles looked again at Penny. Her eyes never left his face, her lips compressed into a bloodless line. She must be frightened near to death, he thought, with her pacifist views. “You must go below, my love,” he said in a reassuring tone. “You’ll be safe there.”

She did not move. “Why art thou running away?” she asked.

Charles didn’t understand the question or why she had asked it. His central concern was to get her in as protected a place as possible, and that would be below the waterline. “We are running because that is a French frigate of war. She has more guns than we do, and they are larger than ours. It would be very dangerous for us to do otherwise,” he explained as patiently as he could. He repeated, “Please take Molly below to the orlop deck or into the hold. I will send for you when it is safe.”

The high promontory of Cape Sega approached rapidly to starboard. The Frenchman had settled on a course slightly to the north of
Louisa
’s, rather than directly taking up her wake. Why? Penny still had not moved, and Molly stood anxiously beside her.

“Art thou fleeing from thy enemy because Molly and I are present?” Penny demanded. “Wouldst thou stand and fight otherwise?”

Charles had to think. He had once chosen to fight another frigate larger than even this Frenchman near the mouth of a Spanish harbor. Was he being overly cautious because Penny was on board? Of course he was, but there was more to it than that. His duty was to find and provide assistance to his admiral, not to engage enemy warships. Even if he were to defeat the frigate,
Louisa
might be badly damaged, even crippled. And he might not prevail. “No,” he said, “in the circumstance, I would run, no matter.”

The high cliffs of Cape Sega appeared nearly even with
Louisa
’s bow. The French frigate followed at just under a mile behind, still angling slightly to the north. Charles needed a moment to think about this.

“Truthfully?” Penny said. “I would—”

“DECK!” A call, almost a scream, came down from the lookout in the tops. “Straight on the bow; dead on!”

Charles stared forward over the forecastle. There, as big as life, stood a second frigate barely a cable’s length ahead, just emerging from behind the cape.

“Up helm, up helm!” he yelled at Eliot.

Louisa,
already making a fair turn of speed, turned nimbly as her rudder bit and her mizzen came over. It occurred to Charles that the French captain must have been as surprised as he was. He saw that they would cross the frigate’s bow, just now beginning to turn, at almost point-blank range.

“Stephen,” he yelled down into the gundeck, “to port; fire as you bear.”

“Bear on what?” Winchester called back, his view of the frigate obscured by the forecastle. Then, as
Louisa
swung around, Charles heard “Oh, never mind.”

The gunports thrust open, the deck rumbling as the guns ran out. The frigate’s bowsprit hovered in the sky, slowly swinging to take up a parallel course to his own. Her port side bow quarter presented itself as
Louisa
’s broadside roared out in a deafening blast.

Charles heard Penny give a small cry beside him, but he kept his focus on the frigate. He saw the shot pound into the enemy bow and snap her bowsprit near its beak. To his disappointment, the remainder of her masts seemed secure. The frigate continued her turn, her own gunports flipping up, the black tubes of her cannon sliding out.

“Charles, Charles.” He heard his wife and felt her pulling on his sleeve. It was more than he could deal with.

“Goddammit, Penny,” he almost shouted at her, “get below. This is no place for a woman.” He cast a glance at the frigate’s side, fifty yards away, her guns all poking through. He was beside himself with fear for her in what would soon follow. Molly, at least, looked properly awed.

“No.” She glared back at him. “I will not leave thy side in this time of peril.”

The Frenchman fired, temporarily lost in a cloud of angry gray-black smoke. Solid shot slammed into the hull and screamed across the quarterdeck. Penny flinched but did not move. Charles fought to steady himself. He noticed Talmage approaching the quarterdeck.

“Penny,” he pleaded as calmly as he could, “if you want to help me, you cannot stay here. Your presence is too much of a distraction. I can’t think about what I am doing. Go below. I am sure the surgeon will be grateful for your assistance. Please.” If she refused, he was determined to have her arrested and escorted into the hold.

Penny stood silent, indecision on her face.

“Molly,” Charles said in desperation, “do something.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if we did as he wants,” Molly said urgently.

Penny drew herself up straight, her face ashen white. “Come, Molly,” she said icily, “the captain has ordered us downstairs.” With all her dignity, she turned and started at a walk toward the ladderway. She had never called him “the captain” in that tone of voice before.

“I am available for duty,” Talmage said.

Charles found the man’s sudden appearance almost infuriating. He’d had enough extraneous diversions, and he didn’t need any more.

“Fucking hell you are,” he swore.

The carronades on the quarterdeck barked out their thirty-two-pound balls; he saw the twelve-pounders on the gundeck being heaved forward. The two ships had settled on parallel courses, not a pistol shot apart, the wind nearly dead astern. Charles quickly looked for
Pylades
and found her on his port side beam. The frigate they’d spotted first was cutting across the sea several cable lengths beyond, angling to close off his escape. One at a time, Charles decided.

Louisa
’s increasingly ragged broadside exploded outward, the reverberations felt through the deck. The smoke quickly blew clear, and he saw that at least one or two of the Frenchman’s guns were dismounted, one gunport beaten into a ragged gap. Her masts still stood. He turned his attention back to Lieutenant Talmage, his anger marginally controlled. “I am pleased that you have finally decided to attend your duties,” he said with not entirely intended sarcasm. “You may replace Mr. Winchester on the gundeck and send him aft.”

Talmage stood stone-faced for a moment, then spoke: “My business with you is not completed.” Then he left.

Louisa
’s and the French frigate’s broadsides fired very nearly together. Charles observed additional damage to his opponent’s hull and railing. Looking upward, he noted holes in a number of his sails and a fair amount of newly cut rigging.
They’ve decided on disabling our masts,
he thought. Another glance at the farther frigate, and he knew that he could not afford to remain engaged as he was for long.

As soon as Winchester arrived on the quarterdeck, Charles ordered the boatswain and his mates be sent aloft to attend the damaged cables immediately. One more broadside, he decided, and they will have to bear away. No matter what, he couldn’t allow the farther frigate to reach across his bows.

As usual, the carronades with their loud bark spoke first, one well-placed shot striking the foremast near the deck. The maindeck guns and the long nine-pounders on the quarterdeck rammed out through the gunports and immediately exploded inward in clouds of smoke. Charles saw what he thought were two balls smash into the forechains near the bow and watched as the foremast lurched forward and swung down over her forecastle. It wasn’t a decisive injury, but it was enough.

“Four points to port, if you please, Mr. Eliot,” Charles ordered. As
Louisa
bore up, the frigate fired the half of her broadside that was not masked by the fallen topmast, though to little effect that he could see.

He shifted his attention to the remaining Frenchman slicing across the sea at an acute angle from the north. Charles judged that on their present courses, the two ships would come aboard each other a scant quarter mile ahead. He noticed that Bevan’s brig had slipped behind to cross the Frenchman’s wake and take up position athwart the already damaged frigate’s bow. He smiled as puffs of cannon smoke ballooned from
Pylades
’s deck while she fired her six-pounder broadside into the Frenchman’s stem.

“Double-shot the port side cannon,” he said, turning to Winchester. “Run them out and aim for her gunports.”

Winchester relayed the orders to Talmage in the waist while Charles watched the closing French frigate. Two cable lengths separated them as the ship opposite opened her gunports and ran out her armament. In an instant, she had clouded herself in smoke, orange tongues poking through in a single orderly line. Several of the shot struck the sea, throwing up huge spouts. Two, he thought, struck the hull somewhere. The remainder screamed across the deck with angry buzzing sounds. “Too early,” Charles said to himself, “too soon.”

“Wait,” he said to Winchester. “Wait.” The two ships came up beam to beam, less than fifty yards apart. He saw the first of her cannon, reloaded, being run back out.

“FIRE!” he yelled.

Louisa
’s port side cannon and carronades fired as one, leaping inward, the smoke curling across the decks.

Charles looked quickly for Bevan’s brig, still firing into the bow of the first frigate. He decided there was no point in waiting or exchanging further broadsides with the Frenchman across from him.