He found that Monteith was beside him. "What is it, Howard? It is too late for regrets."
Monteith shook his head. "May I ask, sir? But for the order, would you have run for it?"
Do they know me so little? "No, by Christ, I would not! Not for any man!"
Monteith nodded, and touched his hat. "I never doubted it, sir."
Adam saw Whitmarsh's small figure below the poop, carrying his short fighting sword, and what appeared to be his best hat; the other must have been lost somewhere between here and Chesapeake Bay. He shaded his eyes to look up at the freshly-set topgallant sails. Again, he saw the enemy ships as he had watched them through the powerful telescope. Three hours, four at the most, and then this deck would be in torment.
He raised his arm so that Whitmarsh could clip on his scabbard, then took the hat and examined it. Make me strong today… Valkyrie's previous captain had been a tyrant and a coward. How would he be judged?
He laid his hand on the boy's shoulder, and saw the gunner's mate, Jago, pause to watch them.
"It will be warm work today, John Whitmarsh. Take station below when we engage."
The boy gazed up at him. "I'll be close by, zur. If you needs me."
It was little enough, but Adam clapped the hat with its gleaming gold lace on his unruly hair and exclaimed, Then so be it!" He looked over at the helmsmen and felt the grin spread across his dry mouth.
"Let us make this a day to remember!"
Adam closed his watch with a snap and said to the first lieutenant, "That was well done, Mr. Dyer. A minute off your record for clearing for action!"
After the strident rattle of drums and the seemingly uncontrolled stampede of running men, the silence seemed unreal; even the ticking of his watch was audible.
Now all was still, the crews around their guns, most of them stripped to the waist, outwardly relaxed now while they waited for the next order. Valkyrie was cleared for action, screens torn down, chests and cabin furniture stowed below. But the boats still lay on their tier, and no nets had been spread overhead to protect the hands from falling wreckage.
He walked aft, where the marines waited on either side, muskets resting against the packed hammock nettings, their only protection if it came to close action.
He found Deighton, alone but for his servant, right aft by the taffrail. Both the enemy ships were clearly visible now. and with a soldier's wind directly under their coat-tails were almost bows-on. The smaller of the two ships was overhauling her larger consort, with even her studding sails set to achieve her maximum speed. Twenty-eight guns. Certainly no more.
He said, This is what I intend, sir." He was surprised that he could sound so formal, as if it were just another daily drill. "The leading ship intends to close the range as quickly as possible."
Deighton did not take his eyes off the other frigates.
"Huh, you can blow him out of the water!"
Adam recalled his own early days in a frigate, the ruses and tricks he had seen some captains attempt, not always successfully.
"Like a hound after a stag, sir. He intends to try and slow us down, cripple us if possible, so they can close in for a kill." He glanced forward again; it seemed so bare without the nets spread above the gundeck.
The lieutenants would explain, and the older hands might see the sense of it. They must seem to be running away from a superior force of ships; if they dropped the boats astern and were seen to spread the nets, their intent to fight would be obvious.
He added, "They will hold the wind-gage, but I shall use it to our advantage."
There was a sharp bang, and seconds later he saw a ball skip across the blue water like a dolphin. The pursuing captain had used his bow-chaser to test the range; it was always a difficult shot, but it only required one good hit.
He went forward and waited for Dyer to meet him. "I shall luff presently." He saw Ritchie listening, taking it all in. "Then we shall sail as close to the wind as we can. It should give us some advantage and extra elevation." He watched his words going home. "Double-shot ted chain- shot, too, if we have any. No full broadside." He paused, holding Dyer's eyes. "Gun by gun. Do it yourself. I want that terrier dismasted before we are!"
He snatched a glass from the rack and climbed into the shrouds to search for the second vessel. He found her and settled her in the spray-dappled lens. One of their large frigates. Like Beer's Unity
He strode aft again, feeling the eyes upon him, knowing their thoughts.
"Sergeant Whittle. Choose your marksmen, then clear the poop. Your scarlet coats make a good aiming point!" Some of them even laughed, as if it was a huge joke.
Whittle, an impressive figure with iron-grey hair beneath his leather hat, bawled an order, and his men moved to their usual stations.
Deighton said, "I don't see the wisdom of that, Captain. Those ships are out for a kill, you said as much yourself!"
Perhaps he felt safer with the armed marines around him. Adam almost smiled. What was safe today?
He flinched, although he had been expecting it, as a long orange tongue shot from the other frigate's bow, and the bang followed like an echo.
It was well aimed, but the range was still too great. Maybe a nine-pounder; he imagined he could see the brief blur as the ball reached its maximum elevation. He saw the splash, and felt the hull jerk violently as the shot found its mark below the waterline. He glanced sharply at the wheel; Ritchie had three helmsmen on it now, but she showed no sign of running free or being out of command. With the steering gone, there would be no hope at all.
He raised his hand. "Alter course three points! Steer nor'west!"
Men were already hauling on the braces as the helm went over. The effect was immediate, the wind tilting Valkyrie like a toy as she came round further and further, as close to the wind as she would hold.
A whistle shrilled. "Open the ports! Run out!"
Squealing like pigs, the guns were hauled up to their ports, extra men running from the opposite side to add their weight to the tackles. At this angle, it was like dragging each gun up a steep slope.
Sails cracked and thundered overhead. Ritchie called, "Course nor'west, sir!"
Dyer was already at the starboard gangway, oblivious to the demented sails and the men slipping and falling on the spray-drenched deck. He had drawn his sword, and was standing motionless, staring at the enemy frigate as she loomed into view, as if she and not Valkyrie had made the violent change of tack.
"Fire!" Dyer ran from the side as the gun roared out and hurled itself inboard on its tackles, the crew already working with their sponges and worm to clear the barrel of any smouldering remnants which might ignite the next charge as it was rammed home. Adam had seen it happen, men driven beyond reason by the fury of battle who had neglected to sponge out a gun, and had been blown to bloody fragments when it had exploded.
There was a chorus of wild cheering which Adam could not have prevented even if he had wished to. It must have been one of the last guns to fire; they would never know.
Almost with disbelief, he saw the other frigate's foremast begin to move, in a silence which made it all the more terrible.
Slowly at first, and then like a giant tree, the entire foremast with spars, torn canvas and trailing rigging reeled forward and over the side.
He shouted, "Stand by on the quarterdeck!" When he looked again, the mast was dragging in the sea alongside the enemy ship, snaring her, dragging her round like a great sea-anchor. From a thing of beauty and purpose to a drifting shambles; but that would not last.
The confusion amongst the flapping sails was even more violent when Valkyrie swung round still further, almost aback as she laboured through the eye of the wind.
Adam dragged himself to the compass. "South-east by east, Mr. Ritchie." He saw Dyer staring at him and shouted, "Larboard battery! Broadside."