As the day wore on, the wind began to increase from the east and by nightfall was a fresh breeze. Drinkwater stretched out on his cot, wrapped in his cloak, and slept fitfully. An hour before dawn he was awakened and struggled on deck in a rising gale. As daylight grew it revealed a sky grey with lowering cloud. It was bitterly cold. The islands were no longer green, they were grey and dusted with snow. In the east the sky was even more threatening, leaden and greenish. Aloft the watch were shortening down, ready for a whole gale by mid-morning. Drinkwater was pleased to see Rogers already on deck.
'Don't like the smell of it, sir.'
'Happen you're right, Sam. What worries me more is what our friends are doing.'
'Sitting in Quiberon (he pronounced it 'Key-ber-ron') hoisting in fresh vittals.'
'I ken the Captain means the French,' put in Lieutenant Fraser joining them and reporting the first reef taken in the topsails. Fraser ignored Rogers's jaundiced look.
Drinkwater levelled his glass at the north point of Oleron. 'I do indeed, gentlemen, and here they are!'
The two officers looked round. Beyond the point of the island the white rectangles of topsails were moving as Missiessy's frigates led his squadron to sea.
'Mr Frey!'
'Sir?'
'Make to Felix, three-seven-zero.'
Drinkwater ignored Rogers's puzzled frown but heard Fraser mutter in his ear, 'Enemy coming out of port.'
A few minutes later the little schooner was scudding to the north-west with the news for Graves, or Campbell, or whoever else would take alarm from the intelligence.
'Heave the ship to, Mr Rogers. Let us see what these fellows are going to do.' He again raised the glass to his eye and intently studied the approaching enemy. The heavy frigates led out first. Bigger than Antigone, though not dissimilar in build, he tried to identify them, calling for Mr Gillespy, his tablet and pencil.
'And clear the ship for action, Mr Rogers. Beat to quarters if you please!'
He ignored the burst of activity, concentrating solely on the enemy. He recognised the Infatigable, so similar in name to Pellew's famous frigate. All three frigates seemed to be holding back, not running down upon the solitary Antigone as Drinkwater had expected. He could afford to hold his station for a little longer. Ah, there were the little brig-corvettes, exact replicas of the Bonaparte.
He counted the gun-ports; yes, eight a side, 16-gun corvettes all right. But then came the battleships, with Missiessy's huge three-decked 120-gun flagship, the Majestueux in the van. He heard the whistles of surprise from the hands now at their action stations and grinned to himself. This was what they had all been waiting for.
Astern of the Majestueux came four 74-gun battleships. All were now making sail as they altered course round the point, and foreshortened towards Antigone. One of the seventy-fours was detaching, moving out of line. He watched intently, sensing that this movement had something to do with himself. As the battleship drew ahead of the others the frigates made sail and within a few minutes all four leading ships were racing towards him, the gale astern of them and great white bones in their teeth. He shut his telescope with a snap and dismissed Gillespy to his action station. Hill and Rogers were staring at him expectantly.
'Hoping to make a prize of us, I believe,' Drinkwater said. 'Put the ship before the wind, Mr Hill.'
The helm came up and Antigone turned away. The braces clicked through the blocks as the yards swung on their parrels about the slushed topmasts and the apparent wind over the deck diminished. As the frigate steadied on her course, Drinkwater raised his glass once more.
Led by the seventy-four, the French ships were overhauling them rapidly. Drinkwater looked carefully at the relative angles between them. He longed to know the names and exact force of each of his antagonists and felt a sudden thrill after all the long months of waiting and worrying. For Drinkwater such circumstances were the mainspring of his being. The high excitement of handling an instrument as complex, as deadly, yet as vulnerable as a ship of war, in a gale of wind and with a superior enemy to windward, placed demands upon him that acted like a drug. For his father and brother the love of horse-flesh and speed had provided the anodyne to the frustrations and disappointments of life; but for him only this spartan and perilous existence would do. This was the austere drudgery of his duty transformed into a dangerous art.
He looked astern once more. Beyond the advancing French division the remaining French ships had disappeared. A great curtain of snow was bearing down upon them, threatening to obscure everything.
Chapter Eleven
The Snowstorm
Drinkwater stepped forward and held out his hand for Rogers's speaking trumpet. As Antigone scudded before the wind he could make himself understood with little difficulty.
'D'you hear, there! Pay attention to all my orders and execute them promptly. No one shall fire until I order it. All guns are to double shot and load canister on ball. All gun-captains to see their pieces aimed before they fire. I want perfect silence at all times. Any man in breach of this will have a check shirt.' He paused to let his words sink in. An excited cheer or shout might transform his intended audacity into foolhardiness. 'Very well, let us show these shore-squatting Frogs what happens to 'em when they come to sea. Lieutenant Quilhampton!'
'Sir?'
'Abandon your guns for the moment, Mr Q. I want you on the fo'c's'le head listening. If you hear anything, indicate with your arm the direction of the noise as you do when signalling the anchor cable coming home.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
Drinkwater turned to the sailing master. 'Well, Mr Hill, take a bearing of that French seventy-four and the instant the snow shuts him from view, heave the ship to. In the meantime try and lay us in his track.'
Hill turned away and peered over the taffrail, returning to the binnacle to order an alteration of course to the north. Drinkwater also turned to watch the approaching French. He was only just in time to catch a glimpse of them before they vanished. They were well clear of the land now, catching the full fury of the gale and feeling the effects of carrying too much canvas in their eagerness to overtake Antigone. Then they were gone, hidden behind a white streaked curtain of snow that second by second seemed to cut off the edge of their world in its silent approach.
'Now, Hill! Now!'
'Down helm! Main-braces there! Leggo and haul!' Antigone began to turn back into the wind. As men hauled in on the fore and mizen braces to keep the frigate sailing on a bowline, the main-yards were backed against the wind, opposing the action of the other masts and checking her, so she lay in wait for the oncoming French. Drinkwater turned his attention to Quilhampton who had clambered up into the knightheads and had one ear cocked into the wind. Antigone bucked in the rising sea, her way checked and every man standing silent at his post.
''Tis a wonderful thing, discipline,' he heard Hill mutter to Rogers, and the first lieutenant replied with characteristic enthusiasm, 'Aye, for diabolical purposes!' And then the snow began to fall upon the deck.