Yesterday had been thought to be the day of decision, but all they had accomplished by their presence was to draw this massive Frog fleet out of its anchorage out to sea off Basse Terre. Rumor had it that Hood had wanted to sail right in and fire into the anchored ships, as they should have at The Chesapeake, but that had been postponed.
Once more, this de Grasse had been given a heaven-sent chance to escape the massacre of his fleet. The last time, he had destroyed any last chance to recover the Colonies. Would his luck hold, and would they begin to lose the fabulously wealthy Sugar Islands now?
"They's a gap!" Monk pointed out with alarm in his voice.
"Oh my dear Lord," Treghues whispered, more a short prayer than a curse, for he was a fanatic when it came to quelling the English sailor's easy penchant for blasphemy. "Prudent's never been a fast sailer."
Prudent, a seventy-four-gunned 3rd Rate, fourth from the rear of the British line, had not been able to keep up to the speed of her consorts, and the ships behind her were backing and filling to avoid running her down and tangling their yards in collision. Part of the French line, led by the massive three-decker flagship Ville de Paris, de Grasse's own ship, bore up to close in and penetrate. It would be the beginning of a disaster.
Alan couldn't watch-he'd been there before-and made his way to the starboard side to stand by midshipmen Avery and Burney, who had been relegated by duty to a poor view of the proceedings.
"Mister Lewrie," Avery said coolly, echoed a second later by the startlingly beautiful Burney.
"Avery, Burney," Lewrie replied, touching a finger to the brim of his cocked hat to return their salutes. Avery had been his best and nearly only friend in the Navy, especially on Desperate, until Alan had returned from the debacle at The Chesapeake and had been appointed an acting master's mate. They had caterwauled together, schemed together and shared almost all of their innermost thoughts, but now they were separated by the gulf between a junior warrant officer and a midshipman, though Alan knew that if he well and truly fucked up in his new posting, he could end up swinging a hammock in the cockpit with David Avery and Burney in the blink of an eye.
"Goddamn my eyes, I hope they brought a good lunch," Alan spat as he looked shoreward. At the last and most westward point of land above Fort Charles on Nevis, quite a crowd had gathered, treating the naval battle like a spectator sport and an excuse for a feast.
"Civilians, sir," Avery agreed with a properly naval scowl of displeasure.
"May they get an eyeful, sir!" Burney said with some heat.
Alan didn't know quite what to make of Burney; he was sixteen, had a good kit and was obviously from money, but he was so keen, nautical and unfailingly of good cheer that Alan felt his skin crawl every time he was around him. Little get's got a fiddle, he thought suspiciously, as was Lewrie's usual wont. Besides, Burney was so beautiful in a manly, gentlemanly way, his features so clear and well-formed, that Alan felt like throwing shoes at him. Where were the usual boils, the pimples of a teen-aged midshipman-God help, he didn't even half stink like most people. It was uncanny.
"At 'em Canada!" Treghues enthused. "Would that Lord Cornwallis had shown half the bottom of his brother Captain Cornwallis yonder!"
The next ship ahead of Prudent had shivered her tops'ls and lost way to seal the gap against the French probe, and the two ships ahead of the gallant Canada-Resolution and Bedford-had also slowed down to form a solid wall of oak and iron to frustrate their foes.
"Foiled, aha!" Treghues laughed, another sign of incipient madness to Alan's lights. Comdr. The Hon. Tobias Treghues had been a straight-laced prig of the worst blue-stocking sort at first, but between a head injury the year before, a "slight" trephination by the ship's surgeon, and a course of medication consisting of a rare South American weed that Dr. Dorne referred to as Nicotiana Glauca (taken in wine and smoked), he was as fickle now as some young miss. He had made Alan's life a living hell, then half a joy, then again a hell as his moods shifted. Now he seemed favorably disposed to Lewrie, but one never knew, and Alan missed the security of knowing that he was either a hopelessly lost cause or some nautical paragon to be praised and lauded to the skies; and to the Admiralty, which was more useful for a career.
Sensing that Treghues was safe enough to approach this day without fear of being bitten, Alan wandered back past the wheel and the binnacle to the larboard side, after pausing to check the quartermasters on the wheel, the compass bearing, and the set of the sails.
"Bosun, we're nigh past the last of Nevis. Be prepared at the braces to take the wind abeam," Alan cautioned.
"Aye, Mister Lewrie," Coke grumbled, disliking to be told his duties by a jumped-up younker, but forbearing philosophically.
"Wonder if they left anything in the anchorage?" Lieutenant Railsford asked, plying a telescope northward toward the western-most point of land below St. Kitts' main-town, Basse Terre, and the anchorage in Frigate Bay.
"If they did, they'd best shift 'em afore ya kin say 'Jack-Puddin','" Monk opined, "er we'll be among 'em a'sharin' out some solid-shot grief. We're head-reachin' the devils, damned if we ain't."
Desperate leaned a bit as the wind shifted, bringing their collective attention inboard, away from the engagement before them.
"Hands to the braces, Mister Coke!" Lieutenant Railsford ordered. "By God, this'll put a bone in our teeth!"
With the fresher airs playing between St. Kitts and Nevis down the narrow mile and a half channel, their small frigate began to fly, as did the larger ships of the line, leaving the leeward vessels in the French line behind, still caught in a pocket of stiller air to Nevis' lee. Even Prudent was catching up handily now.
"Now what's de Grasse done wrong here today?" Treghues demanded of his officers, once the ship was fully under control and the braces had been belayed by the waisters along the gangways above the guns. "Avery?"
"Abandoned his anchorage, sir," Avery said brightly.
"Burney?"
"He doesn't seem too eager to close us, sir, and fight at close pistol-shot," Burney piped up, the eager student. "And he stranded himself out in the second lee of the island before making his approach."
"Lewrie, you're the student of that fellow named Clerk, what do you say?" Treghues asked, and Alan flinched recalling the last time he had dared to open his mouth back in September about Clerk's tactics book.
"If he wanted to fight, sir, he could have defended his anchorage, or backed and filled during the night much closer towards St. Kitts, sir," Alan surmised. "Starting that far to the suth'rd and out to sea from us, he practically gave it away. And he could have pushed through the gap Prudent made if he'd tried."
"Has Admiral Hood made any mistakes yet?" Treghues went on, loving his role of experienced teacher to his neophyte officers.
"He almost abandoned the last four or five ships, sir," Burney ventured. "But it was more important to get on north to St. Kitts."
"Very good, sirs, very good." Treghues nodded with a pleasant smile and strolled away with his hands clasped in the small of his back.
Hood had indeed head-reached on the suddenly baffled French, and as they watched, and the afternoon of January 25 wore on, Hood's line-of-battle ships gained the anchorage, swung east and anchored in line-ahead from almost the reefs of Frigate Bay stretching back west to seaward, blocking the French from entry into their former anchorage. Desperate had to snake her way between the heavier 3rd Rates as they rounded up to anchor, passing to the disengaged side through the battle line, which was the proper station for frigates to find safety once more inside the screen of larger ships.