There was no American frigate; not yet, anyway, Drinkwater mused. On the other hand, Wykeham had informed him that the last ship to be lost was the Indiaman Kenilworth Castle and she had been carrying a fortune in specie.
It cost Drinkwater no great effort to imagine Captain Sudbury's mortification at losing three such valuable ships to the enemy; he had once been in the same position himself. [See A Private Revenge.]
In the right circumstances Indiamen could, and had, given the enemy a thrashing. An unescorted convoy of them under Commodore Nathaniel Dance had manoeuvred like men-of-war and driven off a marauding squadron of French ships under Admiral Linois eight years earlier. Their batteries of cannon were effective enough, if well handled, but they could not outmanoeuvre swift gaff-schooners stuffed with men spoiling to tweak the lion's tail and seize rich prizes to boot. During the following day Drinkwater pored over his charts, trying to divine what Stewart intended, for he was convinced Stewart commanded this aggressive group of letters-of-marque.
Stewart would come back, that much was certain, like a pack of hounds baying for more meat once the smell of blood was in their nostrils, but with one of his vessels damaged and three rich prizes to shepherd to safety.
Drinkwater considered the alternatives open to the enemy. Manning the prizes would not prove a problem. The privateers would have a surplus of men, indeed they signed on extra hands for the purpose, engaging prize-masters in anticipation of a profitable cruise. In all likelihood Stewart would gamble on another attack, cut out what he could, and then return triumphantly to the Chesapeake.
Drinkwater could recapture the Kenilworth Castle off the Virginia capes, but to act on that assumption would be dangerous. Now that he had encountered the convoy he could not so easily abandon it. Yet he was prepared to wager that if another attack was mounted it would argue cogently in favour of his theory; and if events fell out in this fashion a spirited pursuit had a good chance of recovering the lost ships.
It was true Baltimore clippers could outsail a heavy frigate, but the same frigate could outsail a laden Indiaman, and even a two-day start would make little difference.
'Sentry!' The marine's head peered round the door. 'Pass word for the midshipman of the watch.'
When Porter's red face appeared, Drinkwater said, 'Make Sprite's number and have her close us.'
'Messages, sir?'
'Just so, Mr Porter.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
Drawing pen, paper and ink towards him he began to draft new orders to his squadron.
Drinkwater's judgement proved uncannily accurate. Five jagged pairs of sails broke the eastern horizon two hours before sunset, an hour and a half after Sprite had delivered the last packet to Cymbeline. Thorowgood threw out the alarm signal without firing a warning gun, which proved he had digested his orders on receipt. Patrician had not yet made the acknowledgement before her marine drummer was beating to quarters and she was edging out of line, skittering laterally across the rear of the convoy, as, far ahead, Sudbury's little Sparrowhawk fired a warning gun and signalled the convoy to turn away from the threat. With luck, Drinkwater calculated, he could close the distance between himself and the point of attack as he had outlined to Wykeham. If he could trap any of the privateers within the convoy, hamper their manoeuvrability, he might...
He felt his heart thump uncomfortably in his chest. Already the sun was westering. He hoped the Americans could not see too well against the brilliant path it laid upon the sea ...
'Steady, steady as you go,' Wyatt intoned, standing beside the men at the wheel, gauging distances as they lifted to a scending sea and threatened to overrun the plodding Indiaman, the Indus, upon whose quarter they sought to hide until the privateers singled out their quarry and struck. Two officers on the Indiaman's quarterdeck were regarding them, their attention clearly divided between the following frigate and the predatory Americans on their opposite bow. Wyatt turned to Drinkwater: 'We're overhauling, sir ...'
'Let fly a weather sheet, or two. I want to cross under this fellow's stern in a moment, not across his bow.'
'Aye, aye, sir. Ease the fore an' main tops'l sheets there!'
'And start the foresheet…'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
It took a few moments for the adjustments to take effect, then Patrician slowed appreciably.
'What's Thorowgood doing, James, can you see him?'
Quilhampton was up on the rail, telescope levelled and braced against a shroud. 'Aye, sir. He's tucked in behind the Lord Mornington ...' With his one hand Quilhampton deftly swivelled his glass at the schooners. 'They don't suspect a damned thing yet.'
'Perhaps they can't count.' Drinkwater looked at the setting sun. The privateers' strategy of attacking from the east allowed them to escape into the darkness, and silhouetted their victims against the sunset, but it made precise identification tricky. He hoped his frigates might be lost amid the convoy and thus steal a march upon the brash predators. The sooner they were occupied by the business of capture, the sooner he could attack.
From somewhere ahead a ragged broadside rumbled out.
'Deck there,' Belchambers hailed from his action station in the main-top, 'Indiaman has opened fire.'
'Can you see the Sparrowhawk?' Drinkwater called, levelling his own glass at the mass of sails ahead of them. Sudbury's little brig must be five or six miles away.
'Yes, sir, she's on the wind, starboard tack, just ahead of the eastern column.'
It was this column which was under attack and Sudbury was doing what was expected of him, attempting to cover his flank. His puny aggression was, however, being ignored by the Americans. The two leading schooners, the stars and bars streaming from their main peaks, huge pennants bearing the words Free trade and sailors' rights flying from their mastheads, were coming down fast upon the third ship in the column, the Lady Lennox.
All the Indiamen in the eastern column were firing now, filling the air with dense clouds of powder smoke which trailed along with the ships, driven, like them, by the following wind. The approaching schooners shortened the range with the rapidity of swooping falcons, leaving alongside their respective wakes an impotent colonnade of water-plumes from plunging shot.
'Down helm, Mr Wyatt, let us try to keep those fellows in sight.'
In obedience to Drinkwater's order Patricians head swung slowly to starboard. From the quarterdeck the end of her jib boom seemed to rake the taffrail of the Indus as the heavy frigate edged out from the column of Indiamen.
'Haul aft those sheets,' Wyatt was calling. 'Steady there, steady...'
'Set stuns'ls, if you please, Mr Wyatt, and bring us back to the convoy's course,' Drinkwater ordered, keeping his voice measured, fighting the rising tension within.
With all her sails drawing again, Patrician increased her speed and began to overhaul the Indus on a parallel heading. Beyond the Indiamen and taking his cue from Drinkwater, Captain Thorowgood followed suit. Cymbeline made sail past the Lord Mornington, which ceased her own fire, and both frigates, in line ahead, the Cymbeline leading, bore down upon the enemy schooners, partially hidden in the pall of smoke drifting in dense wraiths about the convoy.
This smoke, which half-concealed their approach, also masked their quarry from them. The last glimpse Drinkwater had caught of the privateers had revealed the most advanced of the pair slipping under their chosen victim's stern preparatory to ranging up on the Lady Lennox's port side, while her confederate did the same on the starboard beam.