Well it was too late now, he concluded as he glared round the tiny quarterdeck. Rogers was left behind aboard Antigone with a sheet of written orders while Drinkwater took over the prize and went in pursuit of the invasion craft.
'Tregembo!'
'Zur?'
'I want those prisoners to work, Tregembo, work. You understand my meaning, eh? Get those damned sweeps going and keep them going.'
'Aye, aye, zur.' Tregembo set half a dozen men with ropes' ends over the prisoners at the huge oars.
It was already noon and still there was not a breath of wind. The fog had held off, but left a haze that blurred the horizon and kept the circle of their visibility under four miles. Somewhere in the haze ahead lay the chaloupes and the péniches that Drinkwater was more than ever determined to destroy. He had taken the precaution of removing the brig's officers as prisoners on board Antigone and issuing small arms to most of his own volunteers. In addition he had a party of marines under a contrite Lieutenant Mount (who was eager to make amends for his former lack of obedience). Drinkwater had little fear that the brig's men would rise, particularly if he worked them to exhaustion at the heavy sweeps.
He crossed the deck to where Tyrrell stood at the wheel.
'Course south-east by east, sir,' offered the master's mate.
Drinkwater nodded. 'Very well. Let me know the instant the wind begins to get up.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
He turned below, wondering if he would find anything of interest among the brig's papers and certain that Rogers had not thought of looking.
The wind came an hour after sunset. It was light for about half an hour and finally settled in the north and blew steadily. Drinkwater ordered the sweeps in and the prisoners below.
'Mr Frey.'
'Sir?' The midshipman came forward eagerly, pleased to have been specially detailed for this mission and aware that something of disgrace hung over the events of the morning.
'I want you to station yourself in the foretop and keep a close watch ahead for those invasion craft. From that elevation you may see the light from a binnacle, d'you understand?'
'Perfectly sir.'
'Very well. And pass word for Mr Q.'
Quilhampton approached and touched his hat. 'Sir?'
'I intend snatching an hour or two's sleep, Mr Q. You have the deck. I want absolute silence and no lights to be shown. Moonrise ain't until two in the mornin'. You may tell Mount's sentries that one squeak out of those prisoners and I'll hold 'em personally responsible. We may be lucky and catch those invasion bateaux before they get into Havre.'
'Let's hope so, sir.'
'Yes.' Drinkwater turned away and made for the cabin of the brig where, rolling himself in his cloak and laying his cocked pistols beside him, he lay down to rest.
He was woken from an uneasy sleep by Mr Frey and rose, stiff and uncertain of the time.
'Eight bells in the first watch, sir,' said Frey.
Drinkwater emerged on deck to find the brig racing along, leaning to a steady breeze from the north, the sky clear and the stars glinting like crystals. Quilhampton loomed out of the darkness.
'I believe we have 'em, sir,' he pointed ahead, 'there, two points to starboard.'
At first Drinkwater could see nothing; then he made out a luster of darker rectangles, rectangles with high peaks: lugsails.
'Straight in amongst 'em, Mr Q. Get the men to their quarters in silence. Orders to each gun-captain to choose a target carefully and, once the order is given, fire at will.' Fatigue, worry and the fuzziness of unquiet sleep left him in an instant.
''Ere's some coffee, sir.'
'Thank you, Franklin.' He took the pot gratefully. Night vision showed him the dark shadow of Franklin's naevus, visible even in the dark.
''S all right, sir.'
Drinkwater swallowed the coffee as the men went silently to their places. The brig's armament was of French 8-pounders; light guns but heavy enough to sink the chaloupes and péniches.
'Haul up the fore-course, Mr Q. T'gallants to the caps, if you please.'
'Rise fore-tacks and sheets there! Clew-garnets haul!' The orders passed quietly and the fore-course rose in festoons below its yard.
'T'gallants halliards…'
The topgallant sails fluttered, flogged and kicked impotently as their yards were lowered. The brig's speed eased so as to avoid over-running the enemy.
Drinkwater hauled himself up on the rail and held onto the forward main shroud on the starboard side. Bonaparte had eased her heel and he could clearly see the enemy under her lee bow.
'Make ready there! Mr Frey, stand by to haul the fore-yards aback.'
The sudden flash of a musket ahead was followed by a crackle of fire from small arms. The enemy had seen them but were unable to fire cannon astern.
'Steady as you go…'
'Steady as she goes, sir.'
He saw the dark blob of a chaloupe lengthen as it swung round to fire a broadside, saw its lugsails enlarge with the changing aspect, saw them flutter as she luffed.
'Starboard two points! Gun-captains, fire when you bear.'
There was a long silence, broken only by shouts and the popping of musketry. A dull thud near Drinkwater's feet indicated where at least one musket ball struck the Bonaparte. The chaloupe fired its broadside, the row of muzzles spitting orange, and a series of thuds, cracks and splintering sounded from forward. Then they were running the chaloupe down. He could see men diving overboard to avoid the looming stem of the brig as it rode over the heavy boat, split her asunder and sank her in passing over the broken hull. Along the deck the brig's guns fired, short barking coughs accompanied by the tremble of recoil and the reek of powder. Another boat passed close alongside and Drinkwater felt the hat torn from his head as musket balls buzzed round him.
'Mind zur.' Like some dark Greek Olympic hero Tregembo hefted a shot through the air and it dropped vertically into the boat. Next to him Quilhampton's face was lit by the flash of the priming in a scatter gun and the bell-muzzle delivered its deadly charge amongst the boat's crew as they drew astern, screaming in the brig's wake.
'Down helm!'
'Fore-yards, Mr Frey!'
The Bonaparte came up into the wind and then began to make a stern board as Drinkwater had the helm put smartly over the other way. Amidships the men were frantically spiking their guns round to find new targets. Individual guns fired, reloaded and fired again with hardly a shot coming in return from the invasion craft that lay in a shattered circle around them. Mount's marines were up on the rails and leaning against the stays, levelling their muskets on any dark spot that moved above the rails of the low hulls, so that only the cry of the wounded and dying answered the British attack.
'Cease fire! Cease fire!'
The reports of muskets and cannon died away. Drinkwater counted the remains of the now silent boats around them. He could see nine, with one, possibly two, sunk.
'I fear one has escaped us,' he said to no one in particular.
'There she is, sir!' Frey was pointing to the southwards where the dark shape of a sail was just visible.
'Haul the fore-yards there, put the ship before the wind, Mr Q.'
Bonaparte came round slowly, then gathered speed as they laid a course to catch the departing bateau. From her size Drinkwater judged her to be one of the larger chaloupes canonnières, rigged as a three-masted lugger. For a little while she stood south and Drinkwater ordered the fore-course reset in order to overhaul her. But it was soon obvious that the French would not run, and a shot was put across her bow. She came into the wind at once and the Bonaparte was hove to again, a short distance to windward.