Drinkwater reached for his glass. One of the ships had sail set and a bone in her teeth. He hastened forward and levelled the glass, steadying it against a stay.
It was a frigate, coming down the fairway under topsails. Would she re-anchor or was she leading the fleet to sea? Drinkwater's mouth was dry, his back damp and his heart hammered. The frigate was still heading seawards. He stared at her for perhaps ten minutes then relaxed. He saw her topsails shiver and her hull lengthen as she turned into the wind to anchor. She was to act as guardship then, weighing first and sweeping the puny opposition outside from the path of De Winter's armada. Drinkwater found himself shaking with relief. He was about to turn aft when a movement beside the frigate caught his eye. A boat had put off from her side and was being pulled seawards, towards the yacht.
As the sun dropped Kestrel made the signal 'Enemy in an advanced state of preparation' to Black Joke five miles to the west.
They saw her repeat it and a few minutes later received a reply from Trollope. It was a distance signal of three square flags and a black ball and it meant 'I am unsupported.'
Duncan had not arrived.
Drinkwater turned east once more. They would have to run before the enemy then. The boat had left the yacht and was pulling back for the frigate. He wondered what orders the commander of the yacht had received. Positive sailing instructions, he concluded. And then he noticed something else. Something that made the muscles of his stomach contract and his whole body tense.
The Dutch yacht had hoisted a flag to her masthead.
A black, swallowtailed pendant.
Chapter Fifteen
Camperdown
Sleep eluded Nathaniel Drinkwater that night. When he heard four bells struck in the middle watch he rose and entered the cabin, opening the locker where Griffiths kept his liquor. His hands closed round the neck of the first bottle and he drew it out, pulling the cork and pouring cognac into his throat. The smell of it reminded him of the night off Beaubigny and the eyes of Hortense Montholon. He had a strong sensation of events coming full circle. 'This is witchery,' he muttered to himself, and drew again at the bottle, shuddering from the effect of the raw spirit. He shifted his mind to Elizabeth, deliberately invoking her image to replace that of Hortense as a man touching a talisman; as he had done years ago in the swamps of South Carolina. But Elizabeth was distant now, beyond the immense hurdle of the coming hours, obscured by the responsibilities of command. Somehow his old promise of circumspection to Elizabeth now seemed as pompously ridiculous as that of doing his duty to Duncan.
He hurled the bottle from him and it shivered to pieces against the far bulkhead.
'Damned witchery,' he repeated, heading for the companionway. Up and down he strode, between the taffrail and the gigs, the anchor watch withdrawing from his path. From time to time he paused to look in the direction of Kijkduin. Santhonax had to be at Kijkduin. Had to be, to feed the cold ruthlessness that was spreading through him. If his chance lay in the coming hours he must not lack the resolution to grasp it.
Vice-Admiral De Winter ordered his fleet to sail on the morning of 8th October. The frigate that Drinkwater had watched the previous afternoon stood seawards at first light, catching up the yacht in her wake. Kestrel weighed too, standing seawards down the West Gat, firing her chasers and flying the signal for an enemy to windward. Black Joke caught the alarm, wore round and stood in her grain, hoisting the same signal.
For an hour Kestrel ran ahead of the Dutch fleet as ship after ship rounded the battery at Kijkduin, turning south for the Schulpen Gat. The cutter, diverging towards Trollope, observed them, her commander making notes upon a tablet.
They rejoined the squadron at noon, closing the commodore for their orders.
'What d'you make of them?' Trollope called through his speaking trumpet.
'Twenty-one ships, sir, including some ship-sloops and frigates, say about fifteen of the line. There are also four brigs and two yachts… I'd say his whole force excepting the transports…'
'So Ireland's out.'
Drinkwater shook his head. 'No sir, they could come out next tide or wait until he's dealt with us, sir.' He saw Trollope nod.
'Take station on my lee beam. I'm forming line, continue to repeat my signals. Good luck!'
'And you sir.' He exchanged a wave with Burroughs, then turned to Hill.
'Mr Hill, our station is the commodore's lee beam. Do you see to it.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
'You may adjust sail to maintain station and watch for any signals either general to the squadron for repeating, or particular to us.'
Drinkwater felt a great burden lifted from his shoulders. It was good to be in company again, good to see the huge bulk of Russell a cannon shot to windward. He suddenly felt very tired but there was one thing yet to do. 'Mr Jessup!'
'Sir?'
'Call the hands aft!'
'Now my lads,' began Drinkwater, leaping up on to the breech of one of the three pounders when they had assembled. 'I'm not one to bear a grudge, and neither are you. We are now in the presence of an enemy force and disobedience to an order carries the penalty of death. I therefore rely absolutely upon your loyalty. Give me that and I promise I will move heaven and earth to have you paid the instant we return to Sheerness.' He paused and was pleased to find a murmur of approval run through the men.
'Carry on, Mr Jessup, and pipe up spirits now…'
Drinkwater jumped down from the gun. 'Mr Hill, you have the deck. Call me if you need me.' He went gratefully below, passing through the cabin where light through the skylight had exorcised the spectres of the preceding night.
'Spirit ration, Mr Thompson,' said Jessup to the purser. James Thompson nodded and indicated the guns of Russell half a mile to windward. They were a dumb but powerful incentive to obedience.
'He chooses his moments for exhortatory speeches, don't he, Mr Jessup?'
Jessup had only the vaguest idea of what an exhortatory speech was, but the significance of Russell, surging along, sail set to the topgallants as she stood south to maintain station with De Winter, was not lost on him.
'Aye, Mr Thompson, he's a cool and calculating bastard,' muttered Jessup, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice.
Captain Trollope formed his squadron into line with the sloop Martin ahead and to larboard, keeping De Winter in sight as he edged south along the coast. Then, as the day wore on and his rear cleared the Schulpen Gat De Winter altered more to the west.
Trollope's main body consisted of the Beaulieu, a frigate of forty guns, following by the faithful fifty Adamant and his own Russell. In her wake came the smaller frigate Circe of twenty-eight guns. Kestrel and Active, cutters, lay to leeward of the line and Black Joke had long since been sent to Duncan to inform him the enemy was out.
Towards evening the wind fell away then backed round to the south-west. De Winter tacked in pursuit of Trollope who drew off, while the Dutch, unable to catch the British, stood south again, confirming Drinkwater's theory that they intended to force the Straits of Dover.