Twenty

Four and a half days were required for the Raisonnable to raise the Île d’Ouessant, or as the English preferred it, Ushant. Hayden did not risk the Four Passage, even with a fair wind. Perhaps the thought of losing his first command as a post captain sent him on the safer course.

The shattered cliffs south of the harbour entrance stood out in the afternoon sunlight like bones bleached and scarred. Even without a glass Hayden could pick out the batteries there, protecting the narrow harbour entrance. A brisk top-gallant breeze swept down from the north, cool but not chill. The green fields of France faded into mist inshore and then disappeared all together in thickening haze.

‘There is a cutter just tacking in the outer water, sir,’ Wickham informed Hayden. He lowered his glass and pointed. ‘Do you see her, Captain?’

‘I do, Mr Wickham. Is she one of ours, do you think?’

‘It seems very likely, sir. Let us ask Mr Barthe if he recognizes her.’

Wickham and Hayden stood at the rail upon the quarterdeck, the coast of France stretching south beyond Pointe de Raz. They were hardly a few hours’ sail from where they had both been so recently wrecked and the thought of it made Hayden leery of the nearby shore even though the wind did not threaten to take them in that direction.

The sailing master was sent for and appeared a few moments later, waddling up to the rail, colour high, a few strands of brick-red hair escaping from beneath a battered hat, which he habitually wore pressed down tight upon his roundish head. His ankle, though still swollen, inconvenienced him less and less – to the point where he had abandoned the doctor’s cane.

‘Would you quiz this little cutter for us, Mr Barthe, and tell us if you know her?’

Barthe took the offered glass and fixed it upon the vessel, hardly a league distant. ‘She does bear a strong resemblance from this far off to the Expedition, sir. Though I should not wager my savings on it – had I any savings.’

‘You do think she is British?’

‘I should think so, Captain. Holding station here or so it appears.’

‘Make the private signal,’ Hayden ordered Wickham. ‘We do not want to chase her off.’

Even as Hayden said this, the cutter tacked and began to beat quickly up towards the rocks at the entrance to the Four Passage, no doubt fearing that Raisonnable was a French ship.

The private signal was made and immediately the cutter answered and changed course out towards the approaching ship. Hayden ordered Raisonnable hove to and awaited the cutter, which very quickly ranged up to leeward, rounded up sharply and backed her headsails, proving Mr Barthe right about her identity.

‘I am carrying dispatches for Lord Howe,’ Hayden called down to the lieutenant in command. ‘I have orders to deliver them with all possible haste.’

‘You have missed him by a day, Captain,’ the lieutenant called back. ‘We had word from Admiral Montagu by the frigate Venus that a French squadron had been dispatched from Brest to meet the American convoy – five ships of the line and two frigates, sir. Lord Howe set out to support Admiral Montagu immediately. The French squadron was believed to be cruising between 45 and 48 degrees north, sir.’

‘Then Lord Howe has gone south?’

‘Yes, sir. With the Channel Fleet. Yesterday.’

‘And what of the rest of the Brest fleet?’

‘It sailed on the sixteenth day of May, sir, or so we believe. We do not know where, sir, but Lord Howe believed it may also be searching for the convoy.’

Hayden turned to Mr Barthe. ‘Well that is a bit of ill luck – missing Lord Howe by a single day. It would seem we have no choice but to sail south and trust to sharp eyes and good fortune.’

‘Aye, Captain Hayden, and hope Lord Howe has not had reason to shape his course elsewhere.’

Hayden turned back to the lieutenant in his cutter. ‘We go south after Lord Howe. If his lordship returns and we are not in his company you must tell him we sail with important dispatches from the Admiralty.’

‘I will, Captain. Good luck to you, sir.’

‘And you, Lieutenant.’

Hayden turned to Bowen, who was officer of the watch. ‘We will make all possible sail and shape our course due south. Lookouts in the tops. And you, Mr Wickham, might take a glass in a few hours and sit astride the main top-gallant yard and tell me what you perceive. The Channel Fleet and the Brest Fleet are both at sea as well as French and English squadrons and a convoy consisting of over one hundred transports and escorts. If we cannot find some of these ships then we are either blind or cursed.’

The sixty-four-gun ship Raisonnable passed swiftly south, leaving the great headland that both created and protected the inner water of Brest harbour in its wake. The wind remained fair and did not falter all through the afternoon, allowing Hayden to cover a good distance. He had almost forgotten what a swift sailer Raisonnable was. There was hardly a frigate that could keep up with her, he thought, and this speed gave him hope. Battle fleets sailed at the speed of the slowest ship and Hayden had not the least doubt that would be at least two if not three knots slower than he was managing now. As long as Howe did not suddenly change course, Hayden hoped to catch sight of him sometime the next day. Of course, winds did not blow with equal strength over a bay let alone a vast ocean. Howe might have been becalmed or found a fair wind to speed him on – there was no way of knowing.

Griffiths came up onto the deck sometime before the dinner hour and Hayden invited him up to the poop, where they might have a conversation in private. Hayden had been admiring the sea – an activity of which he never tired. It had turned all silver-grey beneath the cloud, jagged with ripples. Here and there the sun broke through, illuminating a few acres of water, causing it to glitter and dance so that Hayden could hardly look at it. His mind was ever drawn back and back to his recent visit to Box Hill, still rather amazed by his own lack of action. Was it possible that his attachment to Henrietta was not as great as he had imagined? Or did every man harbour some doubts when it came to asking a woman’s hand?

‘Have you come to take the air, Doctor?’

‘A rumour has wormed its way down to the sick-berth that the French fleet is abroad and I have come to see if there is any truth to it.’

‘It is entirely true. Passed through the Goulet but four days ago. There is also a powerful French squadron out here somewhere seeking this elusive convoy from the Chesapeake.’

‘That does seem like too many French ships by half. Are you concerned?’

‘Yes, the French fleet is formidable. But we sail a swift ship, Dr Griffiths. As long as we do not again have the ill fortune to fall in with the French in thick weather, I think we should easily be able to keep our distance.’ Hayden wondered if this sounded as false as it felt. The French fleet had slipped out of Brest and that was profoundly disturbing to him. There could be as many as thirty ships of the line – in all likelihood more than Howe’s fleet boasted after he had sent Montagu off to intercept the convoy. He desperately wanted to find Lord Howe before the admiral came upon the French fleet on the chance that the dispatches he carried held vital information the admiral might require to make informed decisions.

There was also the matter of the gathering invasion force across the Channel – a great unknown, for Monsieur Benoît had not been able to say when the planned invasion might take place. What if the Brest fleet had simply gone into the Channel and taken control of it while Howe searched out at sea? Of course, such a large fleet would probably have been seen by Hayden as he left the Channel, but it was not impossible that they had slipped past him at night.

Griffiths gazed out across the seas, rising and falling, at the retreating dark line that was the coast of Brittany.

Hayden suddenly remembered his peculiar conversation with Archer the previous night. ‘How fare you, Doctor? We have hardly shared a word since the court martial began.’

‘We were all consumed by our own worries throughout that little masquerade. I must say, no matter how often one is court-martialled, one never grows to take pleasure in it.’

Hayden laughed. ‘I dare say, Doctor, you have spoken God’s truth. Though I did not mind it so much on this occasion as the last.’ Hayden was not certain what direction he might take the conversation in, given that Archer had been so utterly vague on the matter. ‘How fares your patient, Doctor?’

‘Poorly. I have been wondering if, when we find Lord Howe, I might consult with the physician of the fleet – Dr Trotter. I might even ask that he take Crowley aboard the hospital ship. Do you think such a thing might be possible?’

‘I cannot imagine why it would not be. What other purpose can such a ship serve?’

‘Mmm.’

They both gazed at the changing sea for a moment, gulls drawn along in the lee of the sails crying out for scraps.

‘I do have one small piece of news,’ Griffiths offered, lowering his voice. ‘It appears I shall soon be wed.’

‘My compliments to you, Doctor!’ Hayden replied. ‘I name you a most fortunate man. And who is the lucky bride to be?’

‘Miss Brentwood,’ Griffiths answered.

‘The young lady you met in Gibraltar?’

‘The very one. You appear surprised?’

‘Not in the least,’ Hayden lied. ‘You did tell me that she was of excellent temperament and if I may be permitted to observe, she is very handsome. I believe you will be very happy together, Dr Griffiths.’

‘Thank you, Captain.’

A few more pleasantries passed between them, and then the surgeon excused himself and slipped below, leaving Hayden alone at the rail, feeling somewhat low and a little confused. Hearing Griffiths’s news of his own pending nuptials brought to the fore that Hayden had no such news – in fact his news was of the opposite, not that he had spoken of this with any man aboard. Although he made a conscious and concerted effort to push all thoughts of Henrietta from his mind, he caught his thoughts returning there often, despite the fact this was rather like pressing on a wound to see if it healed at all.

The distinctively pleasant voice of Mr Hawthorne was heard speaking to the helmsman. In an attempt to set his thoughts upon a different course, Hayden went forward to the rail, leaned over, caught the acting marine captain’s eye and invited him onto the poop.

Hawthorne fixed an eye on Hayden. ‘I understand you have been speaking to the doctor, Captain? You have received the joyous news, no doubt?’

‘Regarding his coming nuptials? I have.’

‘And I am certain you gave him your heartiest endorsement?’

‘How could I not?’

‘Indeed.’ Hawthorne shook his head. He almost looked angry, Hayden thought. ‘I doubt she will make him happy,’ the marine said, ‘but I do hope she does not make his life a misery.’

‘Do you think it as bad as that, Hawthorne?’

‘It did not begin propitiously – the doctor rescuing her from a gang of drunken sailors and in the company of whores.’

‘That is true. She was down on her luck, as they say.’

‘A maid of all work with only one hand, no prospects, no family and no money at all? She was a step away from whoring herself, if she had not done so already.’

‘Though it is easy for us to judge who have never been in such circumstances.’

‘I will not throw the first stone, Captain. I am only concerned for the happiness of our friend. No doubt she sees Griffiths as her path out of the straitened circumstance into which she had fallen.’

‘Many a marriage has little to do with mutual affection or even respect and much to do with enlarging one’s fortunes. It is hardly a rare occurrence.’

‘It is not. But one does not like to see a friend snared in such a web.’

‘Let us hope it is not as it appears and that our friend has attached Miss Brentwood’s affections. Though I do think he might have done better than a servant, even a very comely one.’

One of the new midshipmen stopped on the quarter-ladder at that moment, not daring to place a foot upon the poop. Hayden could see him hovering there, on the edge of his vision, uncertain if he should interrupt his captain.

‘Huxley,’ Hayden said, saving the boy from indecision, ‘is there some matter in need of my attention?’

‘It is Mr Hawthorne, sir. One of the marine sentries appears to be ill, sir.’

Hawthorne turned towards the boy. ‘Does he possess a name?’

‘I believe they said Stewart, sir. An Irishman.’

‘From Sligo. Let us go see to him.’ He touched his hat to Hayden. ‘If you please, Captain, I have a patient in need of my particular physic.’

‘We do have a surgeon, Mr Hawthorne.’

‘If my physic proves ineffective I shall send the man to the sick-berth.’

Hayden watched man and boy make their way forward, Hawthorne almost a foot taller, the child hurrying to stay abreast.

Hayden remembered his first few days aboard ship – knowing nothing. He had been practised upon and bally ragged, made to look the fool and had also been the beneficiary of great kindness. It was not an easy life. These boys were lucky to have Wickham as the most senior midshipman; he would set them on the right course and aid them at every turn. Gould, who was only a few months ahead of them, was also looking out for them, Hayden noticed. He could hardly ask for a more likely group of young gentlemen.

Hayden searched the horizon in all directions for sails – nothing. He felt a distinct lowering of his mood, as though some oppressive weight settled upon him and pressed him down. His last meeting with Henrietta seemed fixed in his mind like an echo that never faded away entirely but sounded over and over. He had turned her words over so many times they had begun to lose all meaning, as though they had been spoken in some other language that he did not comprehend – the language of a woman’s heart.

Hayden retreated to his cabin finally, though he found it so unwelcoming he could barely remain there. He so longed for the companionship of the gunroom – the ‘wardroom’ on a sixty-four-gun ship. Companionship was the physic he required. To sit alone with his wounds in an empty cabin was the most effective way to see them go septic, and he knew it. The wardroom door was no longer open to him without an invitation. Certainly he could go there on some excuse – to speak with an officer about some matter – but he resisted this perceivable urge. The captain should not appear so weak. Solitude was his natural world and Hayden would just have to make his peace with it.

For an hour he wrote in his personal journal. Outside his gallery windows the sun plunged into the distant sea, setting the horizon aflame, and then the smoke of night drifted over the sea. Stars flickered into being and overspread the high vault.

Hayden ate a solitary meal, read in a book loaned to him by Mr Huxley, and then rolled into his cot. Despite a deep, aching fatigue, sleep remained just out of reach for some hours. And then some of his fancy twisted off into nonsense and dream swept him away on its own currents.

At an unknown hour, Hayden drifted back into the conscious world and lay swaying in his hammock. He had not heard the ship’s bell ring the hour – seamen were never wakened by the bell any more than a household was awakened by its clock’s chime – so he did not know if it was late or nearing morning. For perhaps half of the hour he tried to find sleep again but then gave it up and rose, suddenly fearing that his ship was in sight of a hostile fleet and the lookouts had not seen.

His sentry told him the hour – not yet four – and Hayden climbed to the upper deck just as a little light began to brighten the eastern sky. A breeze of wind blew out of the north, sweeping small seas before it. The officer of the watch was Lieutenant Ransome, who reported all well.

‘We have seen but a single light all this night, sir, and she lay hove to so we believed her to be a fisherman.’

‘You did not speak to this boat, I gather?’

‘We did not, sir. I thought it might even be best if they could not give any information about us as a fisherman in these waters would certainly be French.’ Ransome now looked uncertain of his decision.

‘That was the right thing to do. We have no time to waste. I wish to catch Lord Howe up by noon if it can be done.’

Hayden took a tour of the deck, as much to stretch his legs as to inspect the ship. He stopped and spoke quietly with the men here and there, learning their names, enquiring into their service and gaining a sense of their character. They seemed a steady lot, though few had been in anything one would call an action. His old crew had been little different when first he had come aboard the Themis. He would exercise them at the guns again that morning, though without powder and shot – no need to alert an enemy fleet to their position.

Just as the eastern sky began to gild, Hayden climbed to the tops with his glass, had a word with the lookouts, and then examined the sea at all points of the compass, finding not a single sail.

The head of Arthur Wickham appeared over the edge of the platform, and he seemed rather surprised to find his captain there before him.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ Wickham said, ‘I did not realize you were here.’

‘It appears I am, Mr Wickham, but I am not so large that there is not room for you yet.’

Wickham had his glass slung over his back, but appeared now afraid to employ it lest this action be viewed as showing signs he did not trust his captain to act as lookout.

‘Take a very good look at the Atlantic, Mr Wickham, if you please, and tell me what you find.’

The midshipman did not rush his assigned task, but covered every quadrant with the greatest possible care. Finally, he lowered his glass. ‘Nary a sail, sir.’

‘That is what I thought. If we have not discovered Lord Howe’s fleet by midday I shall begin to wonder if his lordship has not shaped his course elsewhere.’

Wickham raised his hand at that moment and pointed. ‘Is that a cloud, sir … there, on the horizon, south-west by west?’

Hayden raised his glass to examine this faint stain upon the morning sky and Wickham did the same. ‘It is very dark, is it not?’

‘Could it be smoke, Captain?’

‘That is what I am wondering.’ Hayden lowered his glass and called down to the deck. ‘On deck, there! Mr Ransome? Shape our course south-west by west.’

Hayden saw Ransome remove his hat so that he could see up into the tops.

‘Aye, sir,’ the lieutenant called back. ‘Is there sail, Captain?’

‘Smoke, Mr Ransome. Once the hands have eaten we will clear for action.’

‘Aye, sir.’

Hayden could hear the buzz this caused among the hands, almost feel the excitement rise from the deck. The men jumped to their places to trim sails and shift yards before the orders had been called and every eye went to the horizon where the smoke had been seen. Hayden raised his glass again, quizzing the distant blot upon the sky.

‘I do think that is smoke, Wickham. Can you hear guns?’

Wickham turned his head a little this way and that. ‘I cannot, sir. How distant do you think that might be?’

‘It is difficult to say; five leagues, at the very least.’

‘This wind will be carrying sound away, sir, not to us.’

‘Yes. Well, three hours will tell us something. Have you breakfasted, Wickham?’

‘I have, sir.’

‘Then remain here and see what you can. Do not neglect other points of the compass. I do not want to find a French squadron bearing down from astern.’

‘Aye, sir. I shall not let such a thing occur.’

Hayden climbed down. As soon as he was on the deck, three midshipmen went racing up to Mr Wickham’s perch to see this miraculous smoke for themselves, as though smoke had just been discovered.

Upon the quarterdeck, Ransome and Bell were at the rail attempting to see forward, even as the ship turned to take away their view. They leaned out over the rail, each with a glass screwed into his eye.

‘Or is it a cloud of the regular sort?’ Bell was wondering.

‘Captain on the quarterdeck,’ the helmsman chimed, alerting the lieutenants who were otherwise occupied. They both left off quizzing the horizon, pulled their torsos back aboard and touched their hats to Hayden.

‘May we go forward to allow us a clear view, sir?’ Ransome enquired.

‘Are you not the lieutenant of the watch, Mr Ransome?’

‘I am, sir.’

‘Then you may go about the deck where your duty takes you. Otherwise your place is here, on the quarterdeck. You are not midshipmen who have never seen a puff of smoke before.’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘Mr Bell, you are at your leisure until the change of watch. You may go forward if you wish.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ But Bell was now embarrassed to go running forward and instead went below, hiding from his apparently irritable captain.

Hayden followed not long after and ate his breakfast upon his rough plank table. In the brief interval between being given command of Raisonnable and setting sail, Hayden had procured what food he could but that had been little enough, so his diet was going to remain rather primitive until they again made port. This did not help his disposition that morning, which was decidedly peevish, largely from lack of sleep and recent disappointments. Food and coffee ameliorated this condition somewhat and he felt the smallest remorse at his berating of Ransome – not that the man did not deserve it … and quite likely more.

He wondered now if Ransome had managed to pursue his suit of Wickham’s sister. Certainly Lord Sanstable would see through Ransome’s intentions quickly enough. Fortune hunters must be rather common in Wickham’s world.

Immediately Hayden had finished his meal the carpenters began taking down the bulkheads and removing all the mess tables and benches. Shot and powder were carried up from the hold and magazines and the guns were cast loose and their tompions removed. When this was done Hayden toured both the gundecks and was very satisfied with what he saw – everything in its place, men at their stations, nervous but excited at the possibility of action.

Returning to the quarterdeck Hayden gathered his officers. ‘Mr Archer and Mr Bell shall be on the quarterdeck. Mr Bowen, forecastle. Mr Huxley, you will have the lower gundeck and Mr Ransome the upper. We have some very green reefers so you will have to watch over them and be certain they give their gun captains the proper orders at the correct time. We do not know what we might find ahead and we should be prepared for any type of evolution. There is a powerful French squadron and the Brest fleet abroad and we do not want to draw too near either. Mr Wickham informs us that the smoke appears to be blowing off and we have heard no reports so I do not think Lord Howe has engaged the French fleet but we will see.’

Although Raisonnable made good speed on the fair wind, the fading smoke did not appear to draw nearer – in truth Hayden wondered if they were not chasing after it and never gaining.

Before the beginning of the new ship’s day – which commenced at noon – a lookout called, ‘On deck! There is somewhat on the water, sir.’

‘“Somewhat”?’ Hayden replied. ‘Would it be better described as a ship?’

‘I don’t think so, sir. It disappears behind each wave.’

‘Mr Wickham, up to the tops with a glass, if you please.’

‘Aye, sir.’

Hayden walked forward to see if he could spot this ‘somewhat’ the lookout had seen.

‘On deck, sir,’ Wickham called out a moment later. ‘It might be debris, Captain.’

Wickham left the foremast tops and went scrambling higher for a better vantage. Hayden watched him fix his glass upon the ocean before them. A moment later he leaned out so that he might see his commanding officer. ‘I do believe that is what we have here, Captain – debris.’

‘Any sign of sail, Mr Wickham?’

The midshipman raised his glass again, and could be seen to scrutinize the ocean in a slow circle. Then his arm shot up. ‘Sail! West-north-west.’

No one could make out this ship from the deck and Hayden went aloft with his glass and caught just a glimpse as it disappeared over the horizon.

‘No colours, I do not imagine, Mr Wickham?’

‘No, sir.’ Wickham came climbing down to the platform, where Hayden stood with an elbow crooked around a shroud.

Hayden turned his glass back to the south-west. ‘That is debris, Wickham; you were not wrong.’

‘Then a ship has been sunk, sir?’

‘I should think that most likely … But was she one of ours or one of theirs?’ Hayden lowered his glass. ‘Mr Archer!’ he called down to the deck. ‘West-north-west, if you please.’

The sail handlers were called and yards were braced round to chase the glimpse of sail that had slipped below the horizon.

‘How distant did you judge that sail, Wickham?’

‘You could not make it out from the deck, sir?’

‘We could not.’

‘And I caught only a glimpse of half a top-gallant. Four leagues, perhaps five.’

‘Then we will be most fortunate to come up with them by dark.’ Hayden raised his glass and stared in the direction of the disappearing ship. ‘If it is a fleet they will have outlying frigates. I do not want to find myself fighting a running battle with three or four French frigates.’ Hayden lowered his glass. ‘If we cannot come up with them before dark we will hang back and make the private signal in adequate morning light. Mr Wickham.’

Wickham touched his hat. ‘Sir.’

In a moment Hayden was back upon the quarterdeck, where he found Barthe staring up at the sails bellying overhead. ‘She would almost take royals, sir.’

‘I have thought the same, Mr Barthe. Will this wind make, do you think?’

‘It has shown signs of such an inclination.’

‘Then let us wait and see if the wind can make up its mind.’

‘Aye, sir.’ Barthe shaded his eyes with a blunt hand and examined the debris, now on their port side and still some distance off. ‘If a ship had exploded, sir, I believe we would have heard it.’

‘I agree, Mr Barthe.’

‘If it were a ship of war then all of the powder was removed before it was burned.’

‘Or it was not a ship of war.’

‘And if either were the case why would it not be made a prize, sir?’

‘Well, Mr Barthe, that is an excellent question. A transport would have surrendered to a warship so it should not have sunk from being fired on. And the magazine of a ship of war would have exploded, as you say. So this burned ship is a mystery.’

‘I agree, sir.’

Hayden found himself staring off towards the area of sea where a few dark objects bobbed low upon the waves as though something there might suddenly enlighten him.

‘If I were about to fight a battle, Mr Barthe – even a single-ship action – I might choose not to reduce my crew by sending hands aboard a prize.’

‘That might answer, sir. But it does not tell us if the burned ship was French or British.’

‘Does it not? Would the French fleet, which has lain in Brest harbour most of this past year, be in pursuit of the British or would we be pursuing them?’

‘More likely the latter, I should think.’

‘Then that would mean we have Lord Howe before us.’

‘We shall certainly know by morning, Captain.’

‘Unless the French fleet is before his lordship and a battle about to begin.’

‘Then let us listen for the sound of the great guns, sir.’

They heard no guns that long afternoon; nor did the lookouts discover ships upon any point of the compass. Hayden began to think that the sail they had seen slipping beneath the western horizon was not one of a fleet but only a single vessel, for surely Raisonnable, with all her speed, would be within sight of a fleet in a few hours … but no fleet appeared.

The day’s light was drawn over the western horizon and night was mysteriously upon them. The wind had gone into the north, and upon Raisonnable bowlines were hauled and the ship put on the wind as close as she would manage.

Hayden stalked the poop, resisting the desire to call up to the lookouts every quarter-hour to ask if they could not see a light … and to be certain they did not sleep. Instead he swept the sea with his night glass at regular intervals – which the lookouts certainly did not miss. Not wanting their captain to discover something from the deck before they had seen it from aloft would keep them alert.

Finally, Hayden left Ransome the deck and went below.

He took to his cot quickly, believing he would be called on deck shortly as ships must surely be seen. Darkness brought doubts and he began to wonder if he should have not held his course – that Howe went south yet and the sail he had seen was but a single vessel. What seemed more likely to the reasonable part of his mind was that Howe had taken some ship or ships, learned from them the position or course of the French fleet, and had put about to chase it. That they could outdistance Hayden’s ship could only be explained by the variability of wind strength over an area of sea; Howe must have better wind than Hayden, at least for the time being.

As he was not yet fully recovered from his ordeal on the wreck, Hayden slept through the night, but rose before first light and went on deck. The wind had taken off considerably during the darkness and royals had been set.

‘Mr Bell. What is our course?’

‘North-north-west, sir. But the wind has not held steady from any point, sir, and we have been forced to steer as much as three points south and two north from our present heading. Mr Archer advised me to wake you, Captain, if we were forced three points off our course but we were not.’

‘And you have seen no lights?’

‘The sea has been most empty, sir.’

‘Often the case when you wish it were not.’

Hayden went to the rail and stared north. The eastern sky grew pale blue-green, pressing back the darkness. Coffee arrived, borne by Hayden’s steward, and the newly minted post captain took it braced against the taffrail, where he allowed himself a moment to survey his command with some satisfaction. Making his post had seemed as possible as swimming the ocean not so very long ago, and here he was upon his first command as post captain and it was not a frigate but a sixty-four-gun ship! The thought that it was most likely a temporary command did cross his mind then, and he felt the briefest moment of vertigo.

Hawthorne appeared at the head of the quarter-ladder and at a nod from Hayden walked aft. As he was about to speak a voice from aloft sang out, ‘On deck! Sail, three points off the larboard bow!’

Hayden returned his cup to the tray balanced on a little bench, took up his glass, and crossed quickly to the larboard side, pressing his hip against the hammock netting. He focused on the area of ocean indicated by the lookout. For a moment he could find only dark ocean and, then, a lighter patch of familiar dimensions.

‘That is, indeed, a sail.’ Hayden went to the ladder head and called down to the quarterdeck. ‘Do you see it, Mr Bell?’

‘No, sir … Ah, there she is. Cannot say what she might be, Captain.’

‘Three-master. That is all I know.’ Hayden lowered his glass. ‘Mr Bell, we shall beat to quarters. Who knows what ship this might be.’

The watch below was turned out and the drummer began his roll. Hayden took up his coffee again, and watched the men make the ship ready for action. Archer hurried up the companionway, found Hayden in the poor light, and climbed up to him immediately.

‘Have we found Lord Howe, sir?’

‘We have found a ship, Mr Archer, and we do not even know what species.’ Hayden twisted around to look east. ‘A little more light will tell us something.’

‘Shall I prepare to make the private signal, sir?’

‘Yes. But we will wait a while yet.’

As the eastern horizon turned molten gold, the lookout called again. ‘On deck! Sail to the north of the first. She’s hull down, Captain Hayden.’

This sail was barely visible from the deck and only as the ship lifted to a crest.

‘Two ships do not a convoy make,’ Hawthorne intoned. ‘Is that not an old sailor’s saying?’

‘It is an old marine’s saying, I believe, Captain Hawthorne,’ Wickham answered as he mounted a few steps of the quarter-ladder to gain a better view.

Hawthorne gazed down on his young friend. ‘Rather like, “Pipe-clay your belt in the morning, sailors take warning”?’

‘Very much like that, Mr Hawthorne, only one can comprehend the meaning.’

‘Third sail!’ came the call from aloft. ‘Dead ahead.’

Barthe had arrived, standing at the foot of the ladder. ‘We have at least a squadron, Mr Hawthorne,’ he informed the marine. ‘Assuming these are ships of war and not transports.’

‘Let us hope for transports. It is said that the convoy that sailed from America was very rich.’

‘With powerful escorts, Mr Hawthorne, I might point out.’

‘You are an eternal pessimist, Mr Barthe.’

‘All sailing masters are pessimists; that is how we keep you alive.’

‘Then I encourage you to carry on with it.’

Hayden turned to his first lieutenant. ‘Mr Archer? You have the deck. I shall climb to the fore-mast tops. Mr Wickham … would you care for some morning exercise?’

‘I would, sir.’

‘Carry along a glass.’

In a moment the two were climbing hand over hand up to the fore-mast tops and pulling themselves up onto the platform.

‘This damned topsail is obscuring the entire ocean,’ Hayden complained and the two set off upward until they sat astride the topsail yard.

Here the ocean opened up to them, the light growing and spreading west until it caught the tops of distant masts and began to illuminate reddish-brown sails. The slow creep of the light revealed another ship, and then another and then a dozen and a dozen more all upon the same course stretched out in two lines abreast, their heading the same as Raisonnable’s.

‘There is our fleet, Mr Wickham,’ Hayden announced.

‘I do not see a flag, sir … ?’

‘If I were trying to intercept a convoy or catch a French fleet I should not fly a flag either. Any small thing that would draw the enemy nearer must be employed.’

‘Will the French then do the same?’

‘Very likely.’

‘Then we cannot know if this is our fleet or theirs?’

‘That is correct. So we must be prepared to fly, Mr Wickham. Remain here and see if you cannot make out anything that would tell us if these ships are French or British.’ Hayden pointed. ‘Do you see? They have detached ships to find out if we are friend or foe.’

Ships from the rear of the columns were wearing to come upon the other tack, back towards Raisonnable.

Hayden climbed quickly down. ‘Mr Archer!’ he called as he made his way aft. ‘Though we should be prepared to open our gunports and fight if it is necessary, I will first require sail handlers to their stations. If this is the Brest fleet we will wear ship and set our course east by north.’ He found the sailing master emerging from among the carronade gun crews, a glass tucked under his arm. ‘There you are, Mr Barthe. Did you hear?’

‘Wear and east by north, sir.’

‘Where is Mr Bowen?’

‘On the main gundeck, sir,’ one of the new midshipmen answered up promptly.

‘Hop down to him quick as you can and ask him who the best helmsman might be.’

‘It is the quartermaster, Mr Swain, sir.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘My brother told me, sir. “Mr Swain”, he said.’

‘Very well, Huxley, find Mr Swain and have him report to me immediately.’

‘Aye, sir.’

Hayden put his glass upon the distant ships, still too far off to distinguish clearly. He would allow them near enough for signals not to be mistaken – and no nearer. Any indication of hesitation or obfuscation of signals by the approaching ship and Hayden would wear and show them his stern. Then the French would see how swiftly a British ship could fly!

There was utter silence upon the deck, by order but also out of mere tension. Every man not engaged in a task had his eyes fixed upon the three approaching ships, which were beginning to distinguish themselves as a frigate and a pair of two-deckers – most probably seventy-fours.

Hayden had no desire to tip Frenchmen to Howe’s private signal, so he waited, the ships becoming more distinct and vivid by the moment. Some of the men and even officers began casting nervous glances his way after a time, wondering when he would give the order to make the signal, thinking that these three ships were drawing too near.

Hobson came running along the deck, touching his hat as he stepped upon the quarterdeck. ‘Sir, Mr Wickham says we have a frigate and two seventy-four-gun ships approaching.’

‘I can see that,’ Hayden replied testily. ‘But are they ours?’

‘I do not know, sir.’

Hayden turned to find Archer. ‘Make the private signal, Mr Archer.’

The hoist of flags, which had been laid out and ready, were sent aloft, where they could be easily distinguished by the approaching ships.

Hayden fixed his glass upon the three ships, wondering if he should not have made the signal sooner, they looked so large inside the circle of glass. The squeak of cordage stretching through blocks and the common shipboard sounds grew suddenly loud as the human noises were reduced to the occasional indrawing of breath. On the nearest ship, a hoist of signals went jerkily aloft and then fluttered open to the wind.

‘She is one of ours,’ Hayden announced feeling a flood of relief. ‘We have found Lord Howe.’ He turned to his lieutenant. ‘Mr Archer? I shall require a boat when we are up with the fleet.’

It was some time before Hayden met the three ships, which all wore to escort him back to the fleet. As Raisonnable ranged up alongside one of the two-deckers, which proved to be the seventy-four Audacious, the captain came to the rail and hailed Hayden.

‘I have urgent dispatches for Lord Howe from the Admiralty,’ Hayden called after they had introduced themselves.

‘You may give them to me, Captain,’ Parker, captain of the Audacious, called back over the dividing waters. ‘I will deliver them to his lordship.’

‘I will deliver them myself, thank you, Captain,’ Hayden replied, feeling his choler rise immediately. The man would deliver Hayden’s dispatches in a vain attempt to bring himself to the lord admiral’s attention.

‘As you wish,’ Parker called back, realizing that Hayden would not be so duped.

Hayden waved a hand and ordered sail to be trimmed and very quickly he left the two seventy-fours behind, the frigate making sail to stay near.

Hayden overhauled the ships of the line one by one, until he finally came abreast of the hundred-gun ship Queen Charlotte, making the signal for urgent dispatches. Signals were almost immediately made from the deck of Howe’s ship and then she was manoeuvred out of line and hove to quite sharply.

Hayden had anticipated this and had his ship heave to within pistol shot and his boat in the water only an instant later. Two dozen strokes by the oarsmen and Hayden’s boat was laid expertly alongside and he was climbing quickly up the side, where he was piped aboard and met at the rail by the ship’s captain.

‘You have dispatches, Captain?’ Sir Roger Curtis said after introducing himself.

‘I do, sir.’

‘His Lordship will speak with you immediately.’

Hayden was led down to the admiral’s cabin, where he found Admiral Lord Howe eating a boiled egg.

‘Will you join me, Captain Hayden? My hens laid these fresh this very morning.’

‘Why, thank you, sir; I breakfasted but a moment ago.’

‘Then sit and take coffee. I do wish you had brought me a seventy-four, Captain, for I will tell you I have little use for a sixty-four. None the less, even your little ship may play some part. When did you leave Portsmouth?’

‘But six days past, sir. We missed your lordship off Brest by a day and have been most fortunate to find you so quickly.’

‘Indeed you have. Was Expedition still on station there?’

‘She was, sir, and the Brest fleet still at sea.’

‘Yes, the French fleet is somewhere before us,’ he waved a spoon in the general direction of the bow. Finishing his egg, the admiral wiped his mouth most fastidiously, pushed his chair away from the table and turned his attention to Hayden.

‘Let us see these dispatches.’

Hayden proffered the package and the admiral wasted no time in breaking the seal and opening the letters; at the same moment his servants cleared away. As he read, Howe’s lower lip pressed up so that two shallow, wrinkled dimples formed in his chin. Hayden thought the smallest tremor was just perceptible in the admiral’s head and hands.

Without looking up Howe addressed Hayden again. ‘It appears, Captain, that you were sent to meet with one of our friends in France?’

‘I was, sir.’

‘Do you give credence to this report of a significant invasion force being gathered in Cancale?’

‘I was unable to corroborate it myself, sir, but Mr Stephens thought it a matter of the greatest urgency to convey this information to you.’

‘And when did you meet with our friend?’

‘Some weeks ago, sir.’

Howe appeared to contemplate this a moment, staring off into the vague distance beyond the hull. ‘We have known for some time that the French had designs upon Jersey and Guernsey, but it was never contemplated that this might be only their first objective – England we believed out of reach.’ Again he stopped to consider the information that Hayden’s dispatches had added to the great deal of knowledge to which such a senior admiral was privy. ‘I cannot reinforce Admiral McBride’s squadron with the French fleet so near.’

It was well known within the service that Admiral McBride had been given responsibility for defending the Channel Islands. Hayden could not prevent his own mind from racing and he blurted out without thinking. ‘Is it possible that the French could attempt this crossing without fleet support?’

Howe ignored the impropriety of such a junior captain speaking out of place. ‘Only if the Channel Fleet could be destroyed or rendered ineffective.’ Howe glanced again at the letter and then set it upon his table. ‘I believed the French fleet had put to sea to effect the safety of the American convoy … Perhaps that is not their intention at all. Did you speak to this spy yourself, Captain?’

‘I did, sir.’

‘And he could not give you numbers of troops gathered?’

‘Only to say more than twenty-five thousand – perhaps many more. No doubt it is detailed in the Admiralty’s letter but I was informed by our friend that there were five or six ships of the line, two razees, five frigates and more than one hundred and fifty transports. His information was that one hundred thousand troops were to be gathered in the region of Cancale.’

‘And there was no misunderstanding between you?’

‘I speak French as a native, sir. I can assure you that I did comprehend every word he said most perfectly.’

Howe nodded, the distant look disappearing from his face. ‘Thank you, Captain. You understand that you are attached now to my fleet?’

Hayden said that he did.

‘Have you copies of our signals?’

‘Given me by Mr Stephens, my lord.’

Howe considered a moment.

‘Sir?’

Howe looked at Hayden and nodded.

‘My surgeon, who is an excellent man, has a patient whose symptoms concern him overly. He has asked that I enquire if we might carry this man to Dr Trotter aboard the Charon. My surgeon is of the opinion that the man will in all likelihood die if he cannot be properly diagnosed and given proper physic.’

‘I am certain Trotter would be pleased to take him. Nothing makes the man happier than a medical puzzle.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Howe acknowledged this thanks with a curt nod. ‘Raisonnable has the character of a swift ship; do you concur?’

‘Very swift, sir. I saw service aboard her as a lieutenant and can assure your lordship that she is faster than many a frigate and very handy for her size.’

‘Then I shall have you act as an outlier. Once you have delivered your patient to Dr Trotter, station your ship to larboard of the lead ships in our weather column. If the situation requires I may signal you to support our advance frigates on the chance that strange sail is descried.’

‘She is perfectly suited to such duty, my lord, and will not disappoint you in any way.’

‘It is seldom the ship that disappoints, Captain. You may go.’

Hayden made the appropriate obeisance, and went quickly out. By the time he lowered himself into the stern-sheets of his barge, the Queen Charlotte was already making sail and getting underway. The second he climbed over the rail of his own ship, Hayden was waving for Archer and Barthe.

‘Stream this boat, Mr Archer. We have been given permission to deliver the doctor’s patient to the Charon and then are to take up position off the head of the weather column.’

‘We are not to be in the line, sir?’ Archer asked, not hiding his relief at this news.

‘Not at this time.’

Hayden looked around at his officers and midshipmen, who had gathered on the quarterdeck. A palpable tension – perhaps anxiety – was apparent among them. Even the new midshipmen understood that a sixty-four-gun ship was no match for a seventy-four. If they were ordered into the line they would without question meet a vessel of a superior fire power and the outcome of such an action was beyond doubt – Raisonnable would be severely mauled and probably forced to strike. The idea that he could lose his ship – his first command as post captain – and the second ship within a few weeks, was more distressing than Hayden could tell.

‘We are in a fleet now,’ he told the gathered men, ‘and must look always to the flagship and the vessels that are repeating her signals. Lord Howe is not a patient man and does not suffer incompetence. Let us be about our business.’

At the urging of Dr Griffiths, Hayden accompanied the doctor and his patient to the hospital ship, Charon. The former forty-four-gun ship, reduced to a single deck of guns and a crew of a little more than a hundred, now bore, upon a former gundeck, a hospital. Although she was under the command of the Royal Navy captain, George Countess, in many ways her senior officer was Dr Thomas Trotter, physician to the fleet. Countess might make all decisions to do with the handling and safety of the ship, but in every other way he was charged to serve the needs of the hospital and in this he took his directions, if not his orders, from the physician.

It was Countess who met them at the rail, but after the briefest pleasantries Trotter appeared and, upon the completion of introductions, the naval officer retired.

Immediately Trotter bent over the patient, who had been deposited in his litter upon the deck, took his pulse and felt his forehead. Very pointed questions were asked and very succinctly and clearly answered by Griffiths.

Trotter stood and rubbed his small chin as he gazed down at the man who barely seemed to return his gaze, so removed was he from the activity around him by illness. Motioning to men standing by, Trotter ordered, ‘Vale, Edwards, into the aft quarantine berth with this man. I shall be along directly to see to him.’

The two men, clearly not sailors, took up the litter and bore poor Allen, shivering, below.

Trotter, who was a pleasant-looking man with a high forehead and large, clear eyes, gazed a moment upon Hayden’s own surgeon. ‘Are you the Griffiths who wrote to me some time ago about the scurvy?’

Griffiths smiled. ‘I am surprised you should remember.’

‘It was a very insightful letter. I hope you were satisfied with my response?’

‘In every way. I believe we are very much of one mind on the subject of the scurvy and the effectiveness of diverse antiscorbutics.’

Trotter nodded, apparently satisfied with Griffiths. ‘Have you a moment to tour the ship? That is, if it would interest you?’

‘I should like nothing better …’ but he glanced at Hayden, clearly wondering if such would be possible under the present circumstances.

‘And you, Captain?’ Trotter wondered.

‘I should be delighted. From Dr Griffiths I have learned that the health of the crew is as important as the powder for her guns and sails for her spars.’

‘You will find my captain is a modest man, Dr Trotter. He had come to this realization some years before we first met, I assure you.’

‘If only the Navy Board and the Admiralty were so enlightened.’ Trotter waved a hand at the ship in general as they went down the ladder. ‘But here is a great symbol of progress, I believe, and Lord Howe is owed a debt of thanks by all seamen for it.’

To Hayden’s great surprise the first member of the medical staff encountered was a woman – one of several nurses, they were informed, just as though they were in a hospital ashore.

‘Five nurses, Captain Hayden,’ Trotter explained when questioned, ‘under the care of Mrs Simmons, our matron, whom no living man dares offend.’ A hint of a smile appeared at this. ‘A surgeon, two mates, three loblolly boys – all of them men, of course – six washerwomen and the most beloved man upon our ship – Chamberlain, the baker.’

In the place of hospital beds, cots were hung in neat rows athwart ship with enough space between for the medical staff to move easily and without danger of being knocked off their feet by swinging patients. There was an actual surgery, and separate quarantine berths for the fevered as well as a locked dispensary with every physic in such abundance that Griffiths could not hide his envy.

Scuttles brought air and light down into the hospital berth, and everywhere it was as clean as a nobleman’s house, new white paint everywhere so that one hardly felt shut up below decks.

‘Fresh air is a physic all its own,’ Trotter told them. ‘I am convinced of it. A sick-berth in the orlop contains disease and spreads it easily from one man to another, but fresh sea air is cleansed by nature. Once a ship has gone to sea, and all of the common ailments have run their course, you will find that the crew achieve uncommon good health, provided the scurvy can be kept at bay. Have you not both observed the same thing?’

‘I have been upon so few ships where the scurvy has not felled some members of the crew that I can hardly say,’ Hayden replied. ‘But for the bad luck of a virulent influenza on our last prolonged voyage, we would have done very well, for the antiscorbutics did keep away the scurvy.’

This caught Trotter’s interest. ‘I did hear about that and wondered if it was truly an influenza. I have never heard of one so deadly.’

‘Nor had I, Dr Trotter,’ Griffiths told him, ‘but I was afflicted with it myself and am quite certain it could be nothing else. No other disease, in my knowledge, would fit the bill so perfectly.’

The two medical men then fell into a discussion of the particular symptoms and course of the disease, Trotter listening with full attention, as though he might encounter the disease that very afternoon and should be as ready as possible to combat it. Hayden liked the man immediately.

The two medical men could have talked throughout the afternoon, and would have, had Hayden not gently cleared his throat after what he believed was an acceptable time.

Trotter accompanied them up to the deck, clearly a sign of his respect for Griffiths, Hayden thought.

‘We get very little news aboard our ship,’ Trotter said as they stood at the rail. ‘Has the convoy been intercepted?’

‘Not that we know of, Dr Trotter,’ Hayden replied.

The physician appeared very distressed. ‘Very many will starve if it does not get through. I know they are French and I should not care but I would imagine a good number of the victims will be women and children. Starving women and children … that is no way to prosecute a war.’

And with that he bade them goodbye and safe voyage. Hayden and Griffiths were back aboard their barge and the oarsmen pulling for Raisonnable in a moment.

‘Well, there was your Dr Trotter,’ Hayden observed. ‘Were you pleased with him?’

‘In every way. I do wish I could be the Charon’s surgeon for a sixmonth. I should learn a very great deal, I believe.’

Hayden was less certain. He held his own surgeon in the highest regard … and the modesty and desire to learn which he was presently displaying were two of the reasons he felt as he did.

‘Do you think the grain coming from America is destined for the French army?’ Griffiths asked suddenly.

‘Certainly some of it, but I believe Dr Trotter was correct in saying that the general population will suffer if we do manage to intercept it.’

‘One hardly knows what to wish for,’ Griffiths said so quietly only Hayden might hear.

Now you know how I feel at all times, Doctor, Hayden thought, but did not give voice to this.

Upon Hayden’s return to his ship orders were given to take in the boat and then make sail. Very soon, Raisonnable gathered way, and began to quickly overhaul the ships of the line, one by one. Hayden stood at the rail and admired the ships, some of them first rates of a hundred guns or more. The stalwart of the fleet, the seventy-four-gun ship, was by far the most numerous and there were at least fifteen of these, though Hayden could not make out all of the ships in the leeward column. Many of the ships he knew by reputation and more than a few by sight. ‘Billy Ruffian’ sailed in the weather column – the venerable Bellerophon. He also passed Russell, Thunderer, Leviathan, Royal George, Invincible. The pride of the British Navy in two smart columns, sails drawing, a weight of broadside that Hayden could not even calculate lying within the ships’ bellies – pregnant with destruction. His own ship – an object of his greatest pride but a short time ago – seemed very small and vastly less powerful. He could not escape the feeling that if Howe did not see fit to put his ship into the line of battle it would reflect badly upon him – as if the failing were his own and not the vessel’s. And if the admiral did see fit to place Hayden’s ship in the line of battle great loss of life would almost certainly be the result, if not the loss of his ship. Neither situation was to be hoped for, as far as he was concerned.

He had never seen or taken part in a fleet action, and despite all his reservations Hayden above all things was anxious to acquit himself honourably if such a battle were engaged. There were many stories within the service of captains who, sometimes through no fault of their own, were unable to get into the action or only tardily engaged the enemy due to a sudden localized calm and their careers never recovered. Hayden was determined that such an occurrence would not befall him if Lord Howe put him into the battle. There was no doubt in Hayden’s mind, however, that the price for this pride would be paid by his crew, and that knowledge unsettled him terribly.

For two days the horizon in all directions remained empty of sail. There was little communication among the ships and Hayden felt a growing sense of disquiet; he even wondered if the French fleet had proceeded into the Channel to support an invasion. Given the recent intelligence he had delivered to Lord Howe, he wondered if his lordship was not contemplating this same possibility.

Upon the third day after his joining the fleet, an outlying frigate made the signal for strange sail, and to his great satisfaction Hayden’s ship was detached immediately to discover what ships these might be. Orders to beat to quarters were given, and all sail made to support the frigates that lay less than a league ahead.

Sail did appear on the horizon very soon thereafter, though the ships were hull down for some moments longer. The swift Raisonnable managed to catch up with the two frigates as they drew near the unknown sail. These vessels immediately turned to flee but within the hour were forced to heave to, and proved to be part of a Dutch convoy.

This information was signalled to the flagship and as the British fleet came up the order was given to heave to. Several of the masters of the Dutch transports were taken aboard Raisonnable and conveyed with all speed to Queen Charlotte. Although Hayden accompanied these gentlemen he was not allowed into the presence of the admiral and was not privy to the conversation. Instead, he loitered on the deck in conversation with two of the flagship’s lieutenants, one of whom was something of an acquaintance of his from early days.

Not an hour passed before the Dutch masters reappeared and Hayden took them again aboard his ship to convey them back to their vessels.

One of the masters surveyed the British fleet carefully and then reported to Hayden as they stood by the rail, ‘I believe you are of equal strength to the French, Captain, though we only observed them at a distance. They took some of our ships but we escaped.’ He then volunteered the position of the French fleet when it had last been seen, which meant Hayden was better informed than any captain in the fleet other than the commander of Howe’s flagship.

This short meeting heartened him overly and he repeated the information to his lieutenants and Mr Barthe. A rumour passed around the ship that the French fleet was near at hand, escorting a convoy so rich that every man aboard would make his fortune from prize money. Hayden allowed this rumour to circulate freely as prize money galvanized a crew and raised their courage more than any love of country or duty, though he hated to admit it. Given his own recent reversals, prize money would not go begging in his life either, and he was sorry that the convoy was only a rumour.

No sail appeared again that day, and by the supper hour Hayden had the ship, which had been cleared for action the whole day, restored to its more domestic form so that men might eat and sleep, which were as necessary to the prosecution of war as any amount of arms.

The night passed uneventfully and so did the morning. It was after the ship’s bell had rung the midday that the signal for strange sail was again seen upon a frigate and Hayden ordered to make all sail and support the British frigates in their inspection. Upon sight of the British ships, this vessel wore and ran downwind, crowding on sail. Behind her wallowed a dismasted vessel – much smaller – that had been in tow.

Wickham stood by Hayden’s side with a glass, as did several other officers, all with glasses raised. ‘She appears to be a seventy-four, sir,’ Wickham announced, ‘and a Frenchman, too.’

‘Signals on the flagship, sir,’ Bell called out.

Hayden went quickly to the transom and examined the signal flags while the lieutenant consulted the signal book.

‘We are ordered not to chase, sir.’

‘Are you certain, Lieutenant?’

‘Here it is, sir,’ the young man said, holding up the book.

‘Another hoist, Captain,’ Gould reported.

And indeed a second hoist of flags appeared upon the lord admiral’s ship.

‘Secure the vessel,’ Gould said, without consulting Bell’s book.

A moment later Bell confirmed this to be true and Hayden ordered his sails trimmed and helm altered to approach the abandoned vessel, which turned out to be a small brig. The officers of this vessel were taken off upon one of the frigates and Hayden never knew what Lord Howe might have learned from them, but the remaining crew were taken off this brig and she was set afire. Immediately after this was accomplished, the course of the fleet was altered to north by west.

All eyes watched the great circle of the horizon, hardly willing to blink. The night passed quietly, and though Hayden had a foreboding that dawn would find the French fleet almost upon them, the sea proved empty yet again at sunrise. The day passed without a single sail to interrupt the vast acreage of blue that spread out to every point of the compass.

That night Hayden felt around him a sense of both disappointment and relief. Certainly, if the French fleet were still abroad they would have discovered it by now. It must have returned to Brest or sailed further south to meet the convoy and escort it … into Bordeaux, perhaps. The officers and crew did not know of the other possibility – that the French fleet had gone into the Channel to support an invasion. Hayden was very glad not to be the admiral of this particular British fleet as any failure might be catastrophic and one’s name would be attached to the failure for ever.

Despite the obvious truth that not finding the French fleet might preserve many lives, the crew were also disappointed. An action with a chance for victory and prize money was the dream of many whose service had been less exciting than others’. Men went to their hammocks that night speaking sadly of a return to England, perhaps as early as the morrow.

Even so, Hayden slept poorly and was upon the deck at two bells of the morning watch. Light had already begun to wash away the stars and only the brightest struggled to extend their light a little farther into the morning.

Hayden’s steward and a servant had just brought him coffee when one of the new midshipmen pointed and called out excitedly. ‘Lieutenant! Signals on the Niger, sir.’

‘Strange sail, Captain,’ Bowen interpreted. ‘south-south-east.’

Hayden went to the rail; he could see nothing but their distant frigates. Bowen had fetched a glass and stood beside him, aiming that instrument at the appropriate section of the ocean.

‘Do you see a sail?’ Hayden asked.

‘I am not certain, sir.’ And then a moment more. ‘I do not, but the frigates are much nearer than we.’

‘Signals for us on the flagship, Captain.’

Hayden turned to see the flags stream in the small wind. He drained his coffee cup and passed it to the waiting servant. ‘We are to follow Admiral Pasley and inspect this sail, Mr Bowen. Sail trimmers to their stations. We will shape our course south-south-east and then beat to quarters.’

‘Aye, sir. South-south-east and then beat to quarters.’

Orders were called. Barthe appeared buttoning his waistcoat, a boy hurrying behind with the master’s coat and battered hat. ‘We have sail, Captain?’

‘We do, Mr Barthe, but over the horizon yet.’

‘On deck!’ came the familiar call from aloft. ‘Sail, Captain. South-south-east just as was said. More than one, I believe.’

‘Mr Bowen. You have the deck. I shall go aloft a moment.’

Hayden’s glass had already been carried up for him and he slung it over his back and clambered up to the main tops, pleased that he did not need to climb farther – he could make out sail from that vantage with his naked eye.

‘Do you see, sir?’ the lookout asked. ‘Beyond the first ship? More sail.’

‘Indeed I do, Goodwin. Indeed I do.’ Hayden grasped hold of a shroud and leaned over the side of the platform. ‘Mr Bowen!’ he called down to the deck. ‘It would appear we have discovered a fleet – if not a convoy.’

This produced a great hum of excitement over the main deck.

Hayden took another long look – more sail appearing as the day brightened – and then climbed swiftly down to the deck. He was on the quarterdeck in a moment. Only the top of a single sail could be seen from this height but everyone strained towards the south-south-east, trying to conjure up a French fleet or a richly laden convoy.

‘Mr Bowen, do not overhaul Bellerophon; the admiral will not like it.’

‘Aye, sir.’

Hayden glanced up at the pennant streaming from the masthead. The wind was too light for his liking, though once they had closed with the enemy ships it would be better to have calm seas, but at the moment it was carrying them towards their quarry at the frustrating pace of a leisurely walk.

‘Will they meet us, Captain,’ Bowen asked, ‘or will they fly?’

‘If it is a convoy it will most certainly fly from us. If a fleet – I cannot fathom the French admiral’s thinking, Mr Bowen, nor can I guess what his orders might be. I do believe, though, that his intentions will be made clear in very short order.’

The intentions of the French admiral, however, remained somewhat mysterious for the next three hours until about nine of the morning, when the entire distant fleet wore and went upon the larboard tack which would bring them in contact with Pasley’s squadron by noon or not much beyond, Hayden believed. Not long after that the two fleets would converge.

One thing did become clear – this was not a convoy – three-deckers could be seen and Bellerophon signalled as much to Lord Howe. This news spread from the quarterdeck throughout the ship like a shiver of anticipation.

As the distance between the fleets remained about three leagues, Hayden took the time to inspect his command and be certain all was in order. He had placed the green midshipmen with one of the more experienced young gentlemen so that they might witness first hand how to command a battery of guns in the midst of the noise and confusion and under enemy fire. These boys were as pale as clouds and silent as pall bearers, but they all stood their places and Hayden believed their nerve would hold when they saw the experienced men around them staying to their work even under fire.

Mr Hawthorne had instructed them all to carry the buckets bearing their names to the gundeck with them, and these had been hung prominently, to the mirth of all the hands and the disquiet of the green reefers. Hayden ordered these taken down and assured the boys that they would not be needing their buckets that day or anytime in the immediate future.

All appeared to be in order, wet blankets hung about the magazines and every man knowing his duty most thoroughly. Hayden returned to the deck to find the French fleet heaving to.

Hawthorne was standing between carronades, watching this evolution when Hayden appeared beside him. ‘What are they about, Captain?’ he asked.

‘Preparing for battle, Mr Hawthorne. The admiral is no doubt communicating his intentions to his captains, for, as you know, once the enemy has been engaged it can be near to impossible to make out signals.’

‘Will Lord Howe do the same?’

‘It would surprise me. His lordship’s plan will be very simple – engage the enemy at close quarters and pour in broadside upon broadside until they strike.’

Hawthorne laughed gently. ‘We English do lack subtlety when set beside the French.’

‘Indeed we do, Mr Hawthorne; fortunately, war is not a subtle art.’ They both stared off at the distant ships. ‘Did you really believe it necessary to send the new midshipmen to their stations bearing their buckets?’

‘I thought it would be a comfort to them to know their remains would not be lost, should they have the misfortune to be blasted to hell by a cannon ball.’

‘Mmm. They appeared so frightened as to be nearly paralysed. I had the buckets taken down and hidden away.’

A grin overspread the marine’s face. ‘That is why you are a captain and I am not.’

‘You are a captain, Mr Hawthorne – an acting captain of marines.’

‘So I am. Clearly I had forgotten or I should never have practised so cruelly upon those poor lads. I do hope they all live to see their dear mothers again.’

‘I wish that for all of us, Mr Hawthorne.’

Hawthorne nodded. ‘How like you our new lieutenants? They seem a likely enough bunch to me.’

‘We will certainly know their character most thoroughly by the day’s end but I do not expect to be disappointed. And your marines?’

‘There is not a man among them who can, from the main tops, kill a barrel floating twenty yards off.’

‘Then the enemy barrels may breathe a sigh of relief.’

‘You make jest of it, sir, but if a boarding party of French barrels comes over the rail we are all done for.’

Hayden laughed. He often wondered if Hawthorne felt obliged to make light of battle now that he had gained such a reputation and the obvious admiration of officers and crew for his drollery under fire.

‘Sir, there is a great deal of talk among the crew of whether or no we will be put into the line of battle. If not, I believe the men will expire of shame; if so, I understand we are all to expire at the hands of a hundred-gun ship that will blast us to hell with a single broadside.’

‘Both, I dearly hope, are exaggerations, Mr Hawthorne. Neither will be good for the crew for they will not want to be left out of the battle, but I dare say, once in it, they will wish themselves elsewhere.’

‘And what do you hope for, if I may ask, Captain?’

‘I believe you know me well enough to answer that question yourself.’

‘So I thought. God preserve us.’

The frustration of watching the French fleet in the offing and the time it was taking to come up with them infected Hayden’s entire crew and her officers. There was among all the men aboard a strong desire to undertake this action and to see it done, at the same moment as there was great apprehension. The great expanse of sea that lay between the two fleets, however, was only reduced by the smallest degree every hour, and even Hayden had begun to wonder if darkness would not fall before a general engagement could commence. All that long forenoon he made his presence felt around the deck, urging the men to remain steady, that the French would not escape, if indeed that was their intention.

The small squadron under the command of Admiral Pasley remained some distance before the British fleet, and just as the French fleet again made sail and tacked, the signal was made to harass the enemy’s rear.

Sail handlers were ordered to their stations and royals were set and trimmed to the liking of Mr Barthe and the first lieutenant.

The sailing master found Hayden upon the quarterdeck. ‘Sir, if we are to allow ‘Billy Ruffian’ to take the lead we shall have to spill some wind; we are much swifter than she.’

‘At this point I believe we may give our mount her head, Mr Barthe. If Bellerophon cannot match our speed then we shall leave her in our wake. And the same may be said for Marlborough and Russell.’

‘Aye, sir!’ Barthe replied with obvious approval, and he went about the deck ordering hands to brace yards and trim sails to a nicety, attempting to get every tenth of a knot from his new ship.

Hayden did keep an eye upon Pasley’s ship to see if he would be ordered back into place but no such signal was seen and he turned his attention to the rearmost ship of the French line. Going to the forward barricade for a better outlook, Hayden found several of his officers gathered there with their glasses rising up to quiz the French ship and then dropping down to allow excited conversation.

‘And what ship do we have, Mr Ransome?’ Hayden asked.

‘A large three-decker, sir, but we cannot yet make out her name. Perhaps Le Montagne or Le Terrible.’

‘May we send for Mr Wickham, Captain? He might make her out.’

Hayden raised his glass. ‘There is no need for Wickham, Mr Huxley. I am quite certain that is Révolutionnaire, of a hundred and ten guns. I have seen her before.’

‘Her broadside must be treble our own,’ Ransome announced softly.

‘More than treble, Mr Ransome,’ Hayden took it upon himself to answer, ‘but if we can slow her progress enough for our seventy-fours to come up, I believe we might earn a huzza from the fleet.’

‘And prize money, as well,’ someone said and everyone laughed nervously.

‘Mr Ransome,’ Hayden said, ‘let us have the sprit-sail yard sent inboard and all of its gear cleared away so that we may employ our chase guns.’

‘Aye, sir.’

The rearmost ship seemed to grow in size as Raisonnable gained on her over the next three quarters of an hour. The fleet, stretched out in a ragged line before her, gradually grew more vivid and detailed and was both a grand and unnerving sight to the crew of Hayden’s ship and to Hayden himself. Twenty-six sail of the line and several frigates and outlying vessels meant the two fleets were almost exactly evenly matched. Everyone aboard sensed that this was a moment of enormous gravity in this young war, though few knew as Hayden did that the preservation of England from imminent invasion might depend on the next few hours and the coolness and judgement of Lord Howe and of every jack who manned a gun.

Even with royals set and drawing, Raisonnable appeared to gain upon the French only to the smallest degree, though she had opened a noticeable lead over the ships of her small squadron that now lay half a mile astern – making Hayden wonder if these ships were gaining on the French at all. Although he did desire the honour of being the first British ship to open fire on the enemy, he did not want to get so far ahead of his squadron that he might end up in danger. A hundred-and-ten-gun ship was a formidable machine of war and he would have to rely on the handiness of his ship and the skill of his crew to prevent the Révolutionnaire from bringing its broadside to bear upon his own people.

At two thirty in the afternoon Lord Howe gave the signal for a general chase, and the ships at the fore of the line began to crowd on sail in an effort to catch the advance squadron and get into the action sooner.

A further two hours were required to close the gap sufficiently for Hayden to consider opening fire. He stood by the forward chase guns, attempting to be an example of patience to his eager crew. Wasting shot and powder to no purpose or effect was foolish and Hayden was well aware that these valuable commodities should be preserved.

The gun captains at the two forward guns, both of which could be brought to bear, were older seamen named Higgenbotham and Hale – who certainly should have been solicitors. They stood by their guns, firing lanyards in sweaty hands, eyes focused intently upon the chase, quietly ordering a gun elevated or lowered or shifted to larboard to account for the changing distance and bearing of the Frenchman.

There was at that moment a loud report to starboard and Hayden turned to see a cloud of black smoke enveloping the bow of Bellerophon.

‘They have not a chance of hitting the Frenchman at that distance!’ Hale blurted out resentfully.

‘Just to be able to claim they fired the first shot …’ Ransome said with equal indignation.

‘At least we shall fire the second,’ Hayden said. ‘Gun captains, fire your guns.’

Both guns boomed at the same instant, bitter smoke blooming out and blinding them for a moment. Hayden looked up the foretop.

‘Both shots fell short, Captain,’ the lookout called.

‘How many yards?’

‘One hundred yards about … sir.’

The guns were quickly swabbed and reloaded, elevated, aimed and fired again, this time Hayden ordering the starboard fired first and then the larboard so that they might have some chance of knowing which gun’s ball fell where.

‘Starboard gun holed the driver, sir,’ the lookout called. ‘Larboard ball a-swim off the larboard quarter – ten yards, mayhap.’

Guns were loaded, shifted by crowbar, and fired again.

A ‘Huzza’ rippled down the deck as the first ball shattered a gallery rail, though no one was certain where the second ball had gone.

The wind began making and a smoky haze overspread the azure sky. Hayden began to glance aloft frequently, wondering how long they dared carry the royals. He did not want to have to clear away broken royal masts aloft and finally called for Archer, who arrived with a worried-looking Barthe in his wake.

‘I believe we should take in these royals and send down the yards,’ Hayden informed them. ‘The wind is making so I do not think we shall lose much speed.’

‘Aye, sir,’ Barthe said, eyeing the small square sails high above. ‘I do not believe we shall lose even half a knot, Captain.’ The guns boomed interrupting conversation. The sailing master winced, and then went on. ‘This wind will make and keep our speed just as it is.’

‘I do hope you are correct, Mr Barthe. Let us get these sails off her before we have to clear away a tangle aloft.’

‘Aye, sir.’

Men were sent scrambling aloft and Hayden turned his attention back to the French fleet. Bellerophon had come up somewhat and lay upon Raisonnable’s leeward quarter about three hundred yards distant. She began lobbing shot towards the aftermost French ship with reasonable success. Astern, the British fleet was drawing near, with the faster ships coming up quickly now that the wind was making.

Hayden glanced at the sun, which was descending towards the west in its ever-returning arc. Light would remain only a few short hours and it seemed unlikely that Lord Howe could force a general action in that time; which engendered intense feelings of disappointment in Hayden.

‘Mr Huxley?’

‘Sir?’

‘I will leave you to watch over the chase guns. I want them loaded with chain until we are nearer. If we can damage the rig of this Frenchman we might slow her so our own ships can come up. We might force the French ships of the rear to come to her rescue or cut her off.’

‘Aye, sir. Chain.’

Hayden returned to the quarterdeck, where he found Archer.

‘When we get the royals off, Mr Archer, I want sail handlers at their stations. We will try to rake this rearmost ship.’

‘Will she not smoke what we are about and bring her broadside to bear, sir?’

‘I do not think she will, Mr Archer. Her captain knows that he cannot fall back from his fleet or he will be lost. I believe she will hold her course and be forced to take all we give her, but we will see.’

Révolutionnaire began to return fire, though this was concentrated on Bellerophon, which was both a larger target and the more dangerous adversary. Hayden’s sixty-four was largely ignored as the British seventy-fours ranged up from astern. It was Hayden’s hope that he could use this situation to get him near enough to Révolutionnaire that he might inflict some real damage and force her to fall behind the fleet. Then they would see if the French admiral would risk a general action to rescue his 110-gun ship or if he would let her be made a prize.

A cheer went up on the deck as the mizzen top-gallant yard on the French ship suddenly swung down in an arc to larboard, the sail flailing and snapping at the rigging all around and the loose spar battering shrouds and stays. ‘Was that our doing?’ Hayden asked his first lieutenant.

‘I do not know, sir, but I do think we should make that claim.’

The crew of a carronade, forward on the quarterdeck, broke into laughter and the bosun and a mate were on them with rattans of an instant. Archer advanced on this scene to take names and to impress upon these men again that silence on deck was imperative.

‘What was that about, Mr Bellamy?’ Hayden asked the bosun as he passed.

‘I cannot say, sir. A bit of drollery, I should wager. Those men well know that they should keep their traps shut. I don’t imagine you’ll be hearing from them again, though, Captain.’

Hayden well knew that a bit of humour relieved the tension as the ship went into danger but silence on the decks was imperative. Orders must be heard.

Gould came hurrying aft, touching his hat as he came onto the quarterdeck. ‘Sir, Mr Huxley has asked me to inform you that the Frenchman is mustering musket men on the quarterdeck. He believes they will be sent aloft, sir.’

It was the practice of the French to put marksmen aloft with instructions to concentrate their fire upon the quarterdecks of the enemy and most especially upon the officers.

‘Pass the word for Mr Hawthorne, Mr Huxley, if you please.’

‘Aye, sir.’

The acting captain of marines was very quickly found and sent aft.

‘I have gathered my best men, sir, in anticipation of them being required,’ Hawthorne said as he hurried up.

‘Let us have them on the fore-tops, Mr Hawthorne, and order them to concentrate their fire upon the French musketeers.’ Hayden gazed a moment at the distance between ships. ‘We are five hundred yards yet, Mr Hawthorne, but if the Frenchman loses more spars his speed could alter quite quickly. We might find ourselves upon him rather suddenly. Have your men stand ready but tell them not to waste shot and powder.’

‘I will go aloft with them, sir.’

‘I would rather you sent a reliable corporal aloft and remained on deck, Mr Hawthorne.’

Hawthorne looked surprised by this. ‘Aye, sir.’ He touched his hat and hurried forward.

Hayden did not wish to lose his captain of marines when a general fleet action was very likely in the offing. Hawthorne would be wanted then to repel boarders or to board the enemy.

‘Mr Archer,’ Hayden addressed his senior lieutenant, ‘we shall bear off and fire our first broadside at a cable’s length.’

‘Aye, sir.’

The stern of the French ship began to loom over Hayden’s Raisonnable, such was the height of her decks. Against the hazy sky, the silhouettes of men clambered aloft with muskets slung over their backs and a moment later, the flash and smoke of their fire could be seen and Hawthorne’s men returned fire. The French were attempting to kill the crews manning the chase guns forward, making the forecastle the most dangerous place aboard for a moment. Hayden sent word to clear that deck but for essential crew and Lieutenant Huxley. It always surprised him that young men would brave gunfire unnecessarily rather than appear shy to their comrades. It was one thing not to have enough sense to come in out of the rain but not to have sufficient reason to come in out of a hail of lead balls was beyond foolhardy.

It was far into the evening before Hayden’s ship ranged up to within a cable’s length. He had worked his ship to weather as he could to allow them to bear off and fire without then having to work their way back to windward.

Hayden turned to the sailing master. ‘Mr Barthe, brail up this mizzen and up mainsail. I shall order us to bear off the moment your gear is cleared away.’

‘Aye, sir.’

The aft sails of the shift would resist a turn downwind and must be taken in or, if urgency demanded it, the sheets let fly before such a turn could be made.

‘Bear off, Swain,’ Hayden ordered the helmsman. ‘Bring our starboard broadside to bear. The instant our guns fire, Mr Barthe will set the mizzen and we will come back to our present heading.’ Hayden turned to find his sailing master. ‘Do you hear, Mr Barthe?’

‘We shall haul out the mizzen the instant the guns are fired, sir.’

Hayden was quite certain Barthe knew his part without any instructions from him, but it was always better to have every detail stated clearly so there was no misunderstanding. Barthe had spent a long, eventful life at sea and there was little he could learn about the management of a ship in all weathers from a young captain – even a young post captain.

For some minutes Hayden gazed, almost without blinking, at the first-rate ship before them. He gauged the wind direction, and how constantly it blew.

‘Mr Archer.’

‘Sir?’

‘Let us port our helm and fire as soon as we can bring guns to bear.’

‘Aye, sir. Swain – port your helm, if you please.’

The helm was put over, and the ship began to bring the wind aft. Despite being a handy ship for her berthen, Raisonnable appeared to take some good part of the evening to finally bring her broadside to bear.

‘You may give the order to fire, Mr Archer.’ Hayden, who stood upon the quarter-ladder, quickly climbed the last three steps and hastened aft to be as clear of the smoke as possible that he might survey the effect of his gunners.

And an instant later the two decks of guns and the guns on the quarterdeck boomed, spewing smoke and fountains of flame. This smoke drifted away forward, and Hayden was gratified to see much of the Frenchman’s mizzen rigging carried away so that the severed shrouds and stays swung forth and back in the wind. The stern gallery shattered as raking fire swept down the Frenchman’s deck.

In the deep silence that followed, Archer ordered the ship put back on her course. The mizzen brails were released and the sail set more quickly than Hayden believed he had ever seen, the men galvanized by the firing of guns. He walked forward to see the guns being rapidly swabbed, reloaded and run out. They could almost have been fired twice.

Raisonnable came back to her course, and though she had lost some way, the speed of Révolutionnaire was equally reduced by the loss of her mizzen sails, the last of which were being cut away in an attempt to save the mast.

Across the water a cheer carried to them from Bellerophon, which was now gaining rapidly on the rearmost ship.

Hayden put his hands on the rail and leaned over to speak to his first lieutenant. ‘Mr Archer, I believe we should do the same again as soon as we have worked but a little to weather.’

‘Aye, sir. We are more weatherly than she,’ Archer replied, his face flushed with excitement.

‘You approve our new ship, then?’

‘Most heartily, sir.’

‘I do wish Mr Landry were here to give us his opinion.’

‘If I never see that man again I shall not be sorry, sir. It is enough that I see him proven wrong in his opinion … yet again.’

Hayden could not help himself but smiled. The former second lieutenant of the frigate Themis, a man they had all come to despise, had one evening differed, in terms less than polite, with Hayden about the sailing qualities of the Ardent class sixty-fours – despite the fact that Hayden had served aboard one and he had not.

Hayden turned and examined the fleet ranging up in his rear, and wondered if Landry was serving aboard one of these very ships. Pity the captain who has that man for an officer, Hayden thought. He returned his attention to the French fleet just at the instant a signal went up on one of the ships in the van – a signal repeated by various ships down the line.

In the few short months since Hayden had come into possession of a French signal book, the enemy had changed their signals so that he could not decipher them – it had been an advantage short lived. There was little mystery to this signal, however, as ships began to shorten sail so as not to leave Révolutionnaire and several slower ships behind.

Hayden looked up at the quickly retreating sun. There was yet time for a general action though it would have to commence almost immediately. Bellerophon continued to fire her chase guns, as did Hayden’s crew. With the French ship’s speed so reduced Hayden could see that Bellerophon would be able to bring her broadside to bear in moments. Thunderer, Marlborough and Russell were coming up very fast.

‘Mr Archer?’ Hayden called down to the quarterdeck.

‘Sir?’

‘I believe we shall have the opportunity to fire a single broadside more and then we shall have to give way to our seventy-four-gun ships.’

‘Well, no one can say we have not done our part, Captain.’

‘Let us hope that is true.’

The helmsman continued to work the ship up whenever the wind veered but a little – Hayden missed having Dryden at the wheel for he had been the best helmsman aboard the Themis, after Mr Barthe, but Swain was quickly gaining his confidence in this. He stood with one hand upon the wheel, as far out from the beneath the poop as he could reach and quietly gave his mates orders. ‘Half a spoke to leeward. Up, up, bring her up now.’

Barthe, who stood with his hand upon the companionway railing glanced up at Hayden and gave a nod of approval. Working a ship to windward was an art that not every sailor could master, Hayden had learned. Even though an excellent sailor such as Barthe might stand by and give the helmsman orders, there was no substitute for feeling the pressure on the wheel, watching the wind on the water and keeping an eye upon the telltales and the set of the sails.

Before Bellerophon could bring her broadside to bear, Hayden managed a second raking fire.

‘That will do for her mizzen, Captain, I would wager,’ Mr Barthe called, as the smoke cleared away. ‘It will not stand half an hour.’

Bellerophon opened fire then, and, at same instant it seemed, Révolutionnaire fired her three decks of guns. Smoke enveloped both vessels and as it cleared away Hayden could see that both had inflicted much damage upon the other. Sails were flailing and thrashing on Bellerophon and Hayden could see her standing and running rig was much cut up.

It hardly seemed to have been noticed by the gun crews, for Hayden saw the muzzles run out, and before the French could do the same, a second broadside exploded, the sound itself violent and unnerving.

Gould came pounding up the ladder to the poop, touching his hat as he reached the top. ‘Signal for us on the lord admiral’s ship.’

Hayden turned to find Queen Charlotte. Indeed, Raisonnable’s number floated aloft.

‘We are ordered to break off our engagement, sir,’ Gould reported without reference to the signal book.

‘Have Mr Archer confirm that signal, Mr Gould.’ He did not for a moment believe the midshipman wrong – he appeared to have memorized all of the common signals – but this was not a matter in which a mistake could be made.

But a moment later, Archer, signal book in hand, informed his captain that they were indeed ordered to break off the engagement.

Barthe came up and stood by his captain. ‘We could easily have poured in another broadside, sir, if not more.’

‘I agree, but a hundred-and-ten-gun ship is a formidable ship of war, Mr Barthe. Too much for a single seventy-four, in truth. I am sure the admiral would preserve us for our present duty – as we are much faster than any of his ships of the line.’ Hayden also wondered if his apparent inexperience was the real reason he had been ordered back, but was not about to say so. Barthe, who knew the service as well as any, was no doubt entertaining the same thoughts.

Seeing Thunderer coming up astern under a press of sail with Russell and Marlborough in her wake, Hayden ordered his course altered so as to be well clear of them and not to impede them in any manoeuvre they might wish to perform.

Archer came up the steps to the aft deck. ‘Shall we return to the line and find our place, sir?’

‘We will if we are so ordered, Mr Archer, but until such time I will hold our position here in the event that our assistance is required. Mr Barthe, arrange gear to take a ship in tow.’

As preparations were made to take a ship in tow, Thunderer came abreast and slowly passed, her captain taking his hat off to Hayden, who returned the gesture.

Archer looked around at the British ships engaged in the fight or were about to be so. ‘Is there a ship in need of our assistance, Captain?’

‘Not at this time, Mr Archer, but let us be prepared for any eventuality.’

‘Aye, sir.’ And Archer went off with Barthe to arrange the gear for towing.

Thunderer drew abreast of Révolutionnaire and immediately opened fire, the French ship responding with her own massive broadside, both ships hidden in dense cloaks of smoke. Even before it blew off, a second broadside erupted from the cloud, flame boiling out of the rolling mass.

The men upon Hayden’s ship all stood transfixed by this, to a man wondering if the French would wear and come to the rescue of their besieged ship, which action would open a general engagement between the two powerful fleets.

Out of the storm of smoke Thunderer materialized, falling off to leeward, her gear damaged.

‘Bellerophon is signalling, sir,’ Gould called up to Hayden. ‘She has a wounded mast, Captain.’

Indeed, Bellerophon was dropping back, her crew swarming aloft to effect repairs.

Russell, however, was quickly overhauling the damaged French ship, her gunports open. The ships were becoming silhouettes as the day’s light appeared to ebb into the west. Despite all British hopes, the French fleet showed no sign of coming to the rescue of its now isolated ship, which was unable to carry sail on the mizzen and had ruined gear hanging aloft and men working to clear whatever had fallen from the decks.

Russell ranged up alongside and tore open the air with her guns just as Révolutionnaire fired her own broadside. Through the pall of smoke Hayden could see the mizzen mast of the Frenchman slowly lean, accumulate speed, and then plunge into the drifting cloud of smoke. Hayden’s crew cheered.

A second broadside was fired by the Russell, and the mainsail yard of the French ship dropped to the deck. With her gear so cut up and sails torn away, Révolutionnaire lost way while the British ships attacking in succession were able to keep up an almost constant fire while sustaining less damage.

Marlborough was next to fire and then Thunderer took her place, the French returning fire but each broadside was reduced in strength as her guns were dismounted and crew killed or wounded.

Audacious and Gibraltar overhauled the three British ships and opened fire on the French vessel, which to the credit of her officers and crew answered every three broadsides with two of their own. As smoke drifted off, Hayden saw the Frenchman’s mainsail yard swing down, and then drop to the deck. A moment later her main topsail yard did the same. She was still firing raggedly at the British ships but she was almost wallowing and had lost steerage, her head blowing off.

Audacious and Gibraltar did not stop to see her colours struck but passed by in chase of the fleet stretched in line ahead.

‘We are prepared to tow, sir,’ Archer reported. ‘Though it appears that only a Frenchman will be in need.’ Archer turned and gazed at the stricken vessel in the gathering gloom. ‘Will she not strike, Captain?’

As Hayden was about to reply that she had no flag left flying, Révolutionnaire’s guns fell silent. ‘It appears she has struck, Mr Archer.’

There was a moment of silence on the deck of Raisonnable while everyone waited for the French ship to fire again and when she did not, three cheers erupted and were echoed across the waters from the other British ships.

Hayden went to the stern, and in the sea dusk saw a hoist of flags float aloft on the Queen Charlotte, quickly repeated by outlying frigates and ships in the line. There was no need to consult a signal book – it called for a general recall and to form a line.

Hayden was about to transmit orders to this effect to his officers when a second signal appeared – and this was for his own ship and the frigates, which were ordered to maintain contact with the enemy fleet.

Hayden walked forward to the rail and called down to Archer, whose features were quickly being lost in the dimming light. ‘Do you see the signal, Mr Archer? We are to maintain close contact with the French fleet.’

‘Are we to remain at quarters, Captain?’ Archer called.

‘Yes. We shall have to feed the hands at the guns.’

‘I shall see it done, sir.’ Archer went forward on the darkening deck. ‘Mr Barthe? We shall make sail and keep close contact with the French! Mr Huxley! We shall remain at quarters but the men must eat.’

‘I will go down to the cooks straight off, Mr Archer, and I will muster the mess stewards,’ Hayden heard Huxley reply though he could not make him out.

It was here that Hayden missed his former command – a frigate had a berth-deck where no guns were lodged. When a frigate cleared for action the living space of the men was left unaltered. Aboard a sixty-four the men lived on the gun decks, their mess tables taking up the places between the guns, their trunks stored there and hammocks hung in the same space. All of this must be cleared away to fire the guns, and to build it all again so the men might eat required no small amount of work. Men would have to remain at their stations and eat and sleep and live as best they could without the few comforts that frigate crews kept always to hand.

In the very last light of the day, against an opalescent sky, Raisonnable overhauled Révolutionnaire, which lay rolling to the swell, her mizzen gone, yards shot away. At that very moment a group of Frenchmen came to the hammock nettings bearing something between them, and then with a slight heave, sent a body tumbling limply through the air where it plunged into the dark, unfathomable sea.

Until the sea shall give up her dead. The words came unbidden to Hayden’s mind. He had a vision of the dead, rising out of the ooze and floating towards the surface through the dim waters, like sleepers slowly waking. His own father would be among them – perhaps even Hayden might find a place in such a corps.

Révolutionnaire looked beyond forlorn. A few hours ago she had been both formidable and awful – a machine of ruinous beauty. And now she was silent, drifting with the small wind, falling and sending at the sea’s whim. Had it not been for the men moving slowly about her decks, she could have been a hulk, lifeless and hollow. How swiftly her ruin had been effected.

‘If you please, sir …’ It was Wickham at the ladder head.

‘Come up, Wickham.’

‘Audacious sails on, Captain. I wonder if she did not see the lord admiral’s signal?’

‘Fire a gun to leeward and repeat the signal.’

‘Aye, sir.’

Wickham went quickly down to where Gould and the new midshipmen were already laying out the flags to be hoisted. The forward chase gun was fired – devoid of iron ball, and the signals run up into the damp, night air.

Hayden had little hope of Audacious seeing this but thought it likely someone aboard would realize that other ships were returning to the line or reducing sail to allow the fleet to come up to them.

Guns began firing aboard Audacious at that very moment – as she had drawn within range of the aftermost French ship.

In the east, stars came into existence, blotted by a thin haze. Night was victorious. Lanterns were lit around the ship and festooned the British fleet.