'You know, James, that report we had that Ganteaume got out of Brest proved false.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Well, perhaps Villeneuve is coming back to spring Ganteaume from the Goulet and then make his descent upon the Strait of Dover.'
'Possibly, sir,' replied Quilhampton, unwilling to argue, and aware that Drinkwater must be allowed his prerogative. In Quilhampton's youthful opinion the Frogs were not capable of that kind of thing.
Drinkwater knew of the young officer's scepticism and said, 'Lord Barham has the same opinion of the French as myself, Mr Q, otherwise he would not have gone to all the trouble of ensuring they were intercepted.'
Thus mildly rebuked, Quilhampton realised his minutes of intimacy with the captain were over. While Drinkwater considered what to do until the breeze gave them steerage way, Quilhampton considered that, as far as second lieutenants were concerned, it did not seem to matter if Lord Melville or Lord Barham were in charge of the Admiralty; the lot of serving officers was still a wretched one.
The breeze came from the west at mid-morning. Setting all sail, Drinkwater pressed Antigone to the east-north-east. Then, at six bells in the forenoon watch there was a brief lifting of the visibility. To the north-west they made out the pale square of sails over the shapes of hulls, while to the north-east they saw Calder's look-out ship, Defiance. Both Antigone and Defiance threw out the signal for an enemy fleet in sight and fired guns. Drinkwater knew that Calder could not be far away. Immediately upon making his signal, Captain Durham of the Defiance turned his ship away, squaring her yards before the wind and retiring on the main body of the fleet. Taking his cue, Drinkwater ordered studding sails set and attempted to cross the enemy's van and rejoin his own admiral. Shortly after this the fog closed in again, although the breeze held and Drinkwater cleared the frigate for action.
'We seem destined to go into battle blind, Sam,' he said to the first lieutenant as Rogers took his post on the quarterdeck. 'Snow in January and bloody fog in July and this could be the decisive battle of the war, for God's sake!'
Rogers grunted his agreement. 'Only the poxy French could conjure up a bloody fog at a moment like this.'
Drinkwater grinned at Rogers's prejudice. 'It could be providence, Sam. What does the Bible say about God chastising those he loves best?'
'Damned if I know, sir, but a fleet action seems imminent and we're going to miss it because of fog!'
Drinkwater felt a spark of sympathy for Rogers. Distinguishing himself in such an action was Rogers's only hope of further advancement.
'Look, sir!' Another momentary lifting of the fog showed the French much nearer to them now, crossing their bows and holding a steadier breeze than reached Antigone.
'We shall be cut off, damn it,' muttered Drinkwater, suddenly realising that he might very well be fighting for his life within an hour. He turned on Rogers. 'Sam, serve the men something at their stations. Get food and grog into them. You have twenty minutes.'
It proved to be a very long twenty minutes to Drinkwater. In fact it stretched to an hour, then two. Drinkwater had seen no signals from Calder and had only a vague idea of the admiral's position. All he did know was that the French fleet lay between Antigone and the British line-of-battle ships. At about one in the afternoon the fog rolled back to become a mist, thickening from time to time in denser patches, so that they might see three-quarters of a mile one minute and a ship's length ahead the next. Into this enlarged visible circle the dim and sinister shapes of a battle-line emerged, led by the 80-gun Argonauta, flying the red and gold of Castile.
'It is the Combined Fleet, by God,' Drinkwater muttered as he saw the colours of Spain alternating with the tricolour of France. He spun Antigone to starboard, holding her just out of gunshot as she picked up the stronger breeze that had carried the enemy thus far.
A vague shape to the north westward looked for a little like the topsails of a frigate and Drinkwater hoped it was Sirius. At six bells in the afternoon watch he decided to shorten sail, hauled his yards and swung north, crossing the Spanish line a mile ahead of the leading ship which was flying an admiral's flag. Rogers was looking at him expectantly. At extreme range it seemed a ridiculous thing to do but he nodded his permission. Rogers walked the line of the larboard battery, checking and sighting each gun, doing what he was best at.
As he reached the aftermost gun he straightened up. 'Fire!'
Antigone shook as the guns recoiled amid the smoke of their discharge and their crews swabbed, loaded and rammed home. She trembled as the heavy carriages were hauled out through the open ports again and their muzzles belched fire and iron at the long-awaited enemy. As the smoke from the second broadside cleared they were rewarded by an astonishing sight. Little damage seemed to have been inflicted upon the enemy at the extremity of their range, but the Combined Fleet was heaving to.
'Probably thinks that Calder's just behind us out of sight,' Rogers put in, rubbing his hands with glee.
Drinkwater wore Antigone round and immediately the yards were squared they made out the shapes of two frigates on their larboard bow, dim, ghostly vessels close-hauled as they approached from the east.
'The private signal, Mr Frey, and look lively!' He did not want to be shot at as he retreated ahead of the French, and already he recognised Sirius with her emerald-green rail.
The colours of flags clarified as the ships closed and Drinkwater turned Antigone to larboard to come up on Sirius's quarter. The second British frigate, Égyptienne, loomed astern. Drinkwater saw Prowse step up on the rail with a speaking trumpet. 'Heard gunfire, Drinkwater. Was that you?'
'Yes! The Combined Fleet is just to windward of us!'
'Form line astern of the Égyptienne. Calder wants us to reconnoitre!'
'Aye, aye!' Drinkwater jumped down from the mizen chains. 'Back the mizen tops'l, Mr Hill. Fall in line astern of the Égyptienne.' Drinkwater watched Sirius disappear into a fog patch and the second frigate ghosted past. For one glorious moment at about seven bells in the afternoon the fog lifted and the mist rolled back, giving both fleets a glimpse of each other. Astern of the three westward-heading British frigates, the British fleet of fifteen ships-of-the-line was standing south-south-west on the starboard tack, their topgallants set above topsails, but with their courses clewed up. From Sir Robert Calder's 98-gun flagship, the Prince of Wales, flew the signal to engage the enemy. This was repeated from the masthead of his second in command, Rear-Admiral Stirling, on board the Glory.
To the southward of the three frigates the Combined Fleet straggled in a long line of twenty ships and a few distant frigates. Since they had hove to, they had adjusted their course, edging away from the British frigates which, in order to hold the wind, were also diverging to the north-west. Prowse made the signal to tack and Sirius began to ease round on the enemy rear. She was holding the fluky wind better than either Antigone or Égyptienne. A few minutes later the mist closed down again. Drinkwater set his courses in an attempt to catch up with Sirius and lost contact with the Égyptienne. He heard gunfire to the south and then the sound of a heavier cannonade to the south-east. Next to him Rogers was beside himself with impatience and frustration.