THE INSHORE SQUADRON

7. Prepare for Battle

It was a very cold morning, and when Bolitho went on deck for his customary walk he felt the chill in the air as he had off Gotland.

He looked at the sky, almost devoid of cloud but, like the sea, leaden grey, without welcome.

With the aid of a telescope he sought out the other ships, studying the early morning activity, sails being set or retrimmed to bring each vessel into a slow-moving line. Of the Lookout there was no sign as yet, although the masthead might already be able to see her.

The first lieutenant was pacing along the lee side, his ginger hair flapping beneath his hat to make the only bright colour on deck.

His was not to reason or criticize. Wolfe was the first lieutenant, with a command of his own before too long if he was fortunate. To run the Benbow like a perfectly tuned instrument and hand her to his captain in first degree readiness was his sole purpose for being here.

Bolitho dragged his thoughts from the daily routine and considered his own position. Two days they had been heading slowly west and then north. Two days with their Baltic patrol left unattended. Suppose he was wrong? Suppose he had been so eager to exploit the success of the squadron, even in the face of Inskip's doubts and warnings, that hehad missed the obvious?

The excitement at seeing Styx and her battle scars could not last forever. Soon now and he would have to decide. To continue, or to return to the inshore station. Failing to take his ships, or some of them, to Irish waters, and then missing any sort of contact with the French squadron because of an haphazard idea would not go down at all well with Damerum or the Admiralty.

He paused as he heard Wolfe say in his harsh tones, `Now then, Mr Pascoe, what is all this I hear about you requesting a transfer for the landman Babbage? To the aftergu`ard, y' say?' He leaned forward, towering above the young lieutenant like an ungainly giant.

Pascoe replied, `Well, sir, he was pressed at Plymouth. He comes from Bodmin, and…

Wolfe growled impatiently, `And I come from bloody Bristol, so where does that get us, eh?'

Pascoe tried again. 'Mr Midshipman Penels asked for the transfer, sir. They grew up together. Babbage worked for Penels' mother when his father died.'

'Is that all?' Wolfe nodded, satisfied. `Well, I already knew that. Which is why I kept 'em separate, when I got to hear of their connection, so to speak.'

'I see, sir.'

'Oh no you don't, Mr Pascoe, but never mind. You asked, I said no. Now take some men to the foretop and attend the barricade. Mr Swale assures me that it is already cracked with strain. The devils probably used condemned timber when they built it, damn them!'

Pascoe touched his hat and strode to the gangway.

When he was out of earshot Bolitho called, Mr Wolfe. A moment please.'

Bolitho was quite tall, but Wolfe made him feel like a dwarf.

`Sir?'

`I could not help but overhear that. Perhaps you could share your information with me?'

Wolfe grinned, unabashed. 'Most certainly, sir. I met the officer in charge of the press at Plymouth when he brought some hands aboard for us. He told me about Babbage. How he had been sent to Plymouth with a message for a storekeeper there.'

'A long way from Bodmin, Mr Wolfe.'

`Aye, sir. It is that. Someone wanted him out of the way. Sent him where his capture would not be discussed or gossiped about, if you get my meaning, sir?'

Bolitho frowned. 'Penels' mother?'

'I expect so, sir. With her son at sea, and her man dead, she'd be seeking a new er, husband. Babbage could be a nuisance. Living at the house. Seeing and hearing everything. She couldn't have known Babbage would end up crossing his hawse with our young Mr Penels.'

'Thank you for telling me.'

Bolitho thought of the luckless Babbage. It was not unknown for employers and landowners to get rid of an unwanted servant in this fashion. Send him on a mission and then inform a crimp or the press-gang. The rest was easy.

Wolfe added, 'Mr Pascoe will be a good officer, sir. An' I'm not saying that to win your favours. He will learn about the wiles of women all in good time. Time enough then to bother him with such things.' He touched his hat and strode away humming to himself.

Bolitho continued his pacing. There were other sides to the ungainly first lieutenant, he thought. Not saying that to win your favours. You only had to look at him to know that!

'Deck there! Lookout in sight on the weather bow!'

Bolitho saw the officer of the watch make a note in the log about the first sighting of the day. Far beyond the sloop, Captain Rowley Peel in his Relentless would be eagerly scanning a brightening horizon. Thinking of Styx 's hard-won fight, hoping for a chance for himself and his ship. He was twentysix, and that was about all Bolitho knew of him. Yet.

There was a clatter of feet on the lee gangway and a toughlooking boatswain's mate trudged aft and knuckled his forehead to the same lieutenant who was about to cover the log with its canvas hood.

'Beg pardon, Mr Speke, sir, there's bin a fight on the lower gundeck. Man struck a petty officer with a stool, sir.'

Speke was the second lieutenant, a competent officer, according to Herrick, but inclined to lose his temper too easily.

'He said sharply, 'Very well, Jones. Tell the master-at-arms, end I will note it in the log for the first lieutenant's attention. Who is it, by the way?'

Somehow, and yet for no sane reason, Bolitho had known who it would be.

'Babbage, sir. Mr Pascoe's division.' As an afterthought he added bluntly, 'He's put the petty officer in the sick-bay, sir. Split his skull, he did.'

Speke nodded severely. 'That's it then. My compliments to Mr Swale. Tell him a grating will have to be rigged sometime today.'

Bolitho walked to the companionway, his appetite for breakfast gone.

Sailing to seek out an enemy, to die if need be, was hard enough. To have a flogging as well would not help at all.

'Have you any new orders for me, sir?' Herrick stood just inside the screen door, his hat beneath his arm, his faded sea-going coat at odds with the newly furnished cabin.

Bolitho listened to the silence,. the ship holding her breath around her company of six hundred and twenty men and boys. It was almost noon. The sky was still free of cloud and rain, and yet between-decks the air was damp and musty, with a touch of the wintry weather to come. Nothing had been reported by the frigate or the sloop, except for a fast-moving schooner which had headed away immediately. Privateer, smuggler or just some.hardworking trader trying to stay clear of trouble?

Bolitho looked at his friend, knowing what was bothering him. It was unfair on Herrick, he thought. It had been his idea to disregard the advice brought by the courier brig. His plan to quit their proper station to meet the enemy in open water. It was wrong that he had this new worry on his mind as well.

Gently he asked, 'Can I help, Thomas? It is this matter of punishment, am I right?'

Herrick stared at him. 'Aye, sir. I am fair turned-about by it. Young Adam came to me about Babbage. Takes the blame on himself. He'll think me a bloody tyrant if I don't interfere.'

'You know about Babbage?'

Herrick nodded. 'I do now. Mr Wolfe told me.' He looked up at the deckhead and added, 'I'm not blaming him, of course. He sees it as plain duty to keep such matters away from his captain.' He tried to smile. 'As I used to from you.'

'I was thinking that.'

Herrick said, 'I've looked into the matter fully. The petty officer provoked Babbage, probably without knowing it. Babbage is an orphan, which only makes it worse.'

Bolitho nodded. No wonder his nephew was upset. He was an orphan also.

'We are involved, Thomas.'

'Aye, sir. That's the curse of it. If it was any other man I'd have no hesitation. Right or wrong, I'll not have my petty officers laid low and damn near killed. I hate flogging, as you well know, sir, but this sort of thing cannot be tolerated.'

Bolitho stood up. 'Would you like me to come on deck? My presence might show that is not merely a whim but a requirement of duty.'

Herrick's blue eyes were unwavering. 'No, sir, this is my ship. If there was a fault, I should have seen it for myself.'

'Whatever you say.' Bolitho smiled gravely. 'It does you credit, Thomas, to worry about one man at a time like this.'

Herrick moved to the door. 'Will you speak with Adam, sir?'

'He is my nephew, Thomas, and very close to me. But as you said when I hoisted my broad pendant aboard your old Lysander, he is one of your officers.'

Herrick sighed. 'I shall think twice in future before I venture such remarks.'

The door closed and another opened as Yovell, the clerk, entered with one of his files.

As the calls shrilled along the gundecks and the boatswain's mates yelled, 'All hands! All handjay aft to witness punishment!' Yovell looked up at the skylight and murmured, 'Will Oi close the lower shutter, zur?'

'No.'

They were all doing it. Shielding him from a world he had known since he had been twelve years old.

'Prepare to write some new orders for the squadron. We will alter course this afternoon and return to our station.'

He heard Herrick's voice, as if through a padded wall. Slow and clear, like the man.

He found he was tensing his stomach muscles, and knew Yovell was watching him.

The drum rolled, and he heard the lash cut across the man's naked back like a pistol shot. Bolitho could see it exactly as if he were there on deck. Grim faces, the ship carrying them along while the punishment continued.

At the third stroke of the lash he heard Babbage scream, wildly, in terror, like a woman in agony.

Crack.

Yovell muttered, 'Lord love us, zur, 'e's taking it badly.'

Two dozen lashes were the absolute minimum for Babbage's assault. Many captains would have awarded a hundred or worse. Herrick would make it as little as possible. To spare the victim without destroying the petty officer's authority when he eventually returned to duty.

Crack.

Bolitho stood up violently, the awful screams probing his ears like knives.

The drum faltered and someone shouted to restore order.

Then Bolitho heard another cry, far away, from the dizzy masthead.

'Lookout's signalling, sir!'

Bolitho sat down again, his heart drumming against his ribs, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair. The screaming was still going on but the flogging had stopped.

It took physical effort to remain seated.

He said, 'Now, tell me about the despatches you wish me to sign.'

Yovell swallowed hard. ''Ere, zur.' He laid the canvas file in which he carried his carefully penned letters on the table.

Bolitho ran his eyes over the round handwriting but saw nothing but the little sloop-of-war showing her hoist of signal flags which she was no doubt repeating from the Relentless.

There was a tap at the door and Browne entered carefully.

'Signal from Relentless, sir. Five sail to the north-west.'

Bolitho stood up. 'Thank you. Keep me informed.' As the flag lieutenant made to withdraw he asked, 'What happened on deck?'

Browne looked at him blankly. 'The man under punishment could not stand the pain, sir. Five blows and the surgeon asked for the boatswain's mate to desist while he examined him.' He smiled briefly. 'He should thank the masthead lookout for keeping his eyes open. He's a lucky fellow:

'That's one way of looking at it, I suppose.'

Bolitho made up his mind. 'I shall come on deck with you directly.' He looked round for his hat and Ozzard appeared with it like a small magician.

Together they walked beneath the poop and out into the cold, clinging wind.

The grating was still rigged on the gangway, and a few droplets of dark blood were already being swabbed away by some of the duty watch.

Herrick strode to meet him, his round face questioning. Bolitho smiled. 'I came to hear more about the five sail.' He

saw the strain being eased from Herrick's eyes. 'Was it bad?' 'Bad enough. I'd have stopped it anyway. At least, I hope I

would.'

Herrick turned to watch the repeated signal breaking from the Benbow's yards for the benefit of the other ships, the way the flags were streaming towards the starboard bow.

He said, 'The newcomers, whoever they are, will have the wind-gage, sir.'

Bolitho nodded, satisfied. Herrick's mind, his professional attention to detail, had taken over again. Almost.

He said, 'It will be close on two hours before we sight anything. Have the people fed before we clear for action.'

Herrick regarded him grimly. 'You really believe it is Ropars and his squadron, sir?'

Loveys, the white-faced surgeon, was making his way aft to report on Babbage's condition. He looked like the walking-dead himself.

Bolitho asked, 'Don't you, Thomas?'

Herrick grimaced… 'I never thought I should welcome the sight of an enemy. But after this last spectacle I'm making an exception!'

Bolitho listened to the clatter of hurrying feet and guessed that Herrick's lookouts had at last sighted the other vessels. He gulped down another cup of strong coffee and glared at Allday as he tasted brandy in it.

'You know I never drink at times like these!'

Allday was unmoved. 'We're usually in warmer climes, sir. This will give you strength.'

Prepare for Battle lox The marine sentry called through the door, 'Midshipman of

the watch, sir!'

It was Aggett, Benbow's senior 'young gentleman'. Bolitho looked at him as calmly as he could.

'Mr Browne's respects, sir, and we have just received another signal from Relentless.'

Bolitho said patiently, 'Well, Mr Aggett, I am afraid I am no mind-reader!'

The youth flushed. 'Eight strange sail to the not'-west, sir.'

Bolitho digested this new information. So it was eight now.

The odds were getting worse.

He said, 'My compliments to the flag lieutenant. Tell him to make to Lookout, repeated to Relentless, reconnoitre the ships in view and report to the admiral.'

Captain Peel would need no urging, but it might give him comfort to know he had the support of his flagship. With Styx gone from the squadron his role was doubly important, even vital.

Allday took down the old sword and waited for Bolitho to lift his arm so that he could clip it to his belt.

'That's more like it, sir.'

Bolitho handed the empty cup to Ozzard. 'You're too sentimental, Allday.'

Then, with a quick glance through the stern windows to ensure that neither wind nor light had altered, he went on deck.

The signalling parties were working like demons, flags dashing up and down the yards, repeating, acknowledging, questioning. He noticed once again that these specialists seemed to like and respect the outwardly casual Browne.

Browne did not miss a thing. Perhaps Inskip had been right, and he should find a place in Whitehall or Parliament.

Herrick and Wolfe were training their glasses above the tightly packed hammock nettings, as were several unemployed officers.

A master's mate coughed a polite warning, and Herrick turned to greet his superior.

'You heard, sir? Well, I've got the sixth lieutenant in the mainmast cross-trees with his glass, and the other ships are in sight. Eight, we know of, though of what strength I cannot tell as yet.'

Browne called, `From Lookout, sir. Enemy in sight.'

Bolitho looked at him impassively. 'Acknowledge, then make a general signal. Prepare for battle.'

He ignored the sudden excitement, the busy squeal of

halliards, and said to Herrick, 'You were right, Thomas.' Herrick grinned. `Now I'm not so sure if I'm,glad about it.' Wolfe touched his hat and said fiercely, `Permission to clear

for action, sir?'

'Aye. Let's be about it.'

As the drums beat out their staccato call to quarters, seamen and marines poured up through hatches and companionways in a living tide. They had all been expecting it, and for the most part had been totally unaware of their captain's misgivings, their admiral's doubts.

Bolitho heard the screens being ripped down throughout the hull, every obstruction, chest or piece of furniture being carried below the water-line to leave the ship free to act to full advantage. The lower gundeck would be one long double battery from bow to stem, the thirty-two-pounders already manned, their breechings cast off even as the ship's boys ladled sand around the feet of their crews. On the upper gundeck the twenty-eight eighteen-pounders, each partly covered by gangways which ran along either side joining forecastle to quarterdeck, were equally busy.

Bolitho watched the quarterdeck gun crews, moving as if to an unspoken drill as they checked the tackles of their ninepounders, examined their equipment like surgeons, while the scarlet caterpillars of marines passed through them to poop or forecastle, to the fighting tops, or to the less popular tasks of guarding the hatchways to prevent any terrified man from running below.

It was a fact that such things were necessary. Men, driven out of their sanity by the thundering roar of artillery, the awful sights of close combat around them, would often try to seek refuge in the depths of the hull.

He heard Wolfe exclaim angrily, Dammee, Mr Speke, sir! The Indomitable has cut her time again! Beaten us to it!'

Browne said, 'From Relentless, sir.' He was squinting down at the midshipman's slate. 'Five sail o f the line, two frigates and one transport.'

Bolitho took a telescope from a master's mate and climbed into the shrouds, aware that the nearest gun crews were staring up at him as if expecting something more than a mere man inside the fine coat with its bright epaulettes.

He waited, steadying the glass against the vibrating ratlines, until Benbow lifted lazily on a long roller which passed diagonally beneath her keel before allowing her to slide into the next trough.

In those seconds Bolitho saw the enemy for the first time. Not just blotches of tanned sails against a dull sky, but as ships. He had no doubt that the French commander was watching him, too.

Six large vessels in two columns. The second one in the weather column wore the flag of a vice-admiral. If there had been any remaining doubt in Bolitho's mind it was gone now.

Beyond the two columns were the frigates, probably waiting well clear of their squadron until they knew Bolitho's strength, especially in fifth-rates like themselves..

He called, 'I estimate their course to be sou'-east, Captain Herrick.'

Herrick, equally formal with half the quarterdeck straining to hear him, replied, 'My view, too, sir.'

Bolitho waited for the next slow lift beneath Benbow's massive bilges and then searched for the transport. She was probably the rearmost ship in the lee column, he decided. In the best place to tack dear or seek protection from the frigates if so ordered. What would she be carrying? Surely not stores. More likely some of Napoleon's crack soldiers, men who barely knew the meaning of defeat. The Tsar of Russia would certainly need some of their professional instruction before he ventured into the spreading arena of war. Or maybe they were troops being sent to guard the captured British merchantmen. Well, Bolitho thought grimly, whatever is decided today, those ships will be safe from Ropars, and Styx 's action might make the Swedes or the Prussians less eager to support the Tsar's ambitions.

He climbed down to the deck and saw Midshipman Penels looking across at him like someone under sentence of death.

'Mr Penels, come here.'

The boy hurried to obey, bringing a few grins from the seamen as he caught his foot on a ring-bolt.

'It has been a bad day for you, it seems.' He watched the boy flinch under his gaze. Twelve years old, no father, sent off to sea to find his way as a King's officer. He would take it badly over his friend Babbage.

Penels sniffed. 'He was a good friend to me, sir. Now I don't know what I'll say when next we meet.'

Bolitho thought of Wolfe's casual acceptance of it. Penels' mother turning to another man. God knows, it happened enough to the wives of sailors. But Penels was only dressed as an officer. He was still a boy. A child.

Bolitho said quietly, 'Mr Pascoe did what he could. Perhaps after this Babbage will need your help more rather than less. I suspect it has always been the other way round in the past?'

Penels stared at him, speechless. That his admiral should care must seem incredible. That he was also right in his assumption about Babbage even more astounding.

He stammered, `I – I shall try, sir.'

Wolfe tapped one great foot impatiently, and as Penels hurried back to his station on the starboard side he barked, `Assist the flag lieutenant, Mr Penels. Though, God damn me, I'd feel safer with a Frenchie than with you, sir!' He glanced at Lieutenant Speke and winked.

Old Ben Grubb blew his nose noisily and remarked, 'Wind's steady, sir. Westerly with barely a shift either way.' He peered at the half-hour-glass by the binnacle and added, `Not long now, I'd say.'

Bolitho looked at Herrick and shrugged. Not long for what? he wondered. Early darkness, victory or death? The sailing master seemed to enjoy tossing in these strange observations. He had one massive fist in the pocket of his shabby watch-coat, and Bolitho guessed he was holding his tin whistle, ready to play them into hell itself if need be.

Herrick was less charitable. 'Grubb's getting old, sir. Should be ashore somewhere with a good woman to take care of him.

Bolitho smiled. `Heavens, Thomas! Since you took to marriage you cannot help replanning others' lives!'

Allday, lounging by the mainmast trunk, relaxed slightly. He always gauged his own chances by watching Bolitho at such moments. He looked over the weather gangway and studied the other ships. The enemy. Both squadrons were moving towards each other like a great arrowhead, the steady wind parting their courses like a shaft. But the French had the wind's advantage, and there were more of them. He turned to watch the men near him. The old hands checking their gear. Flintlocks and powderhorns, sponges and rammers, screws and prickers, even though they had already done it several times. And when they had finished they would begin again. They had seen it all before. The slow, deadly approach, the huddle of sails and masts changing to individual vessels and formations. It took nerve to stand and wait for the final, inevitable embrace.

The youngsters saw it through different eyes. Excitement touched with the ice of fear. The need to be doing something at last instead of the endless backbreaking work and drills.

Slightly separated from the individual gun crews and the men who would work the ship throughout a battle, the petty officers went through their lists and examined their own parts of the whole. Here and there along the divisions of guns were small patches of blue and white, the lieutenants, warrant officers and midshipmen, and below on the other gundeck the pattern was repeated in the eerie darkness behind sealed gunports.

Lieutenant Marston of the marines was up forward talking with the crews of the two big carronades, and Allday recalled the Styx 's marine officer sitting with his head in his hands, struck blind by flying splinters.

Major Clinton was right aft with Sergeant Rombilow, pointing up at the swivel gun in the mizzen top with his black stick. Allday considered that all marines were probably a little mad. Clinton was no exception, and always carried his walking-stick when the ship went to quarters, while his orderly nursed his sword like a bearer.

Allday saw Pascoe walking slowly behind each of his forward guns. If the ships continued on their same tack, his guns would engage the enemy first. How like Bolitho he looked. He thought suddenly of Babbage, of the sickening spectacle of him writhing and screaming under the lash. Even the boatswain's mate who head been using the cat-o'-nine-tails had looked shocked by the outburst.

Next to Bolitho, Allday would do anything for Pascoe. They had lived, fought and suffered together, and if Babbage was to be the cause of Pascoe's worried expression, then All day found good reason for hating him.

The ship was about to sail into battle. Allday cared very little for the rights and wrongs of it, the 'cause' which was drawing the whole world into a war. You fought for those you cared about, for the ship around you, and for little else.

The rich and powerful could drink their port and gamble away their fortunes, Allday thought, but this was his world while it lasted. And if Pascoe had his mind even partly occupied by some fool's problems he would be in more danger than the rest of them.

Bolitho watched his coxswain and said quietly to Herrick, `See him, Thomas? I can almost read his mind from here.'

Herrick followed Allday's glance and answered, 'Aye, sir. He's a good hand, though he'd blast your eyes rather than agree with you!'

The air reverberated to the sudden boom of gunfire, and Wolfe said, The Frenchies are putting a few shots at the Relentless, I shouldn't wonder, sir.'

Herrick looked at Bolitho. 'I'll withdraw her and Lookout to our lee, sir. They've taken enough risks for the moment.'

Bolitho watched him speaking with the flag lieutenant as the signal was bent on to the halliards. Herrick had come a long, long way since he had been appointed as flag captain in the Lysander. The hesitations were few, and when he decided on something it was with the authority of confidence.

Browne called, `They have acknowledged, sir.'

Herrick asked, 'What d'you think the French will do, sir?'

'Leaving the frigates out of it for the present, I would say that Ropars will put his full weight against us. If I were Ropars I would form a single line, otherwise the first engagement will be our four to his three. In line of battle the odds will be five to four against us.'

Herrick faced him, his eyes hopeful. 'But you don't intend that, do you, sir?'

`No.' He clapped him on the shoulder. 'We will break the enemy's line in two places.'

Wolfe said, 'The Frenchies are forming into line, sir.' He grinned with admiration. 'And the transport seems to be standing well astern of the main column.'

Bolitho barely heard him. 'We will attack in two subdivisions. Benbow and Indomitable, while the second one, Nicator and Odin, will tack in succession. Tell Browne's men to have the signal ready.

He moved away and trained a telescope on the French line. It was still in disarray, but he noticed immediately that the flagship was remaining in second place in the line. To watch Bolitho's tactics before he himself acted. Or perhaps to allow one of his captains to take the first brunt of battle.

He walked aft again past the helmsmen and looked at Grubb's chart which was fixed on a little table below the poop. To save Grubb the extra effort of carrying his great bulk to the chart room, Bolitho thought.

To all appearances the two squadrons were in a landless ocean, and yet some fifty miles to the north-east was Norway, and further away to the south-east the coast of Denmark, with the Skagerrak cradled between them.

Bolitho wondered briefly what Inskip was doing, and if it had really been the Crown Prince he had met.

He shut them all from his mind.

'We will alter course, Captain Herrick. The squadron will steer nor'-east by east.'

He walked past the bustling afterguard and watched the Relentless shortening sail to steer a parallel course with the squadron, Lookout following astern like her cub.

The French ships did not alter course or change a single sail.

Herrick studied his own canvas as the yards steadied again, and remarked, 'That'll get him guessing, sir.'

Bolitho watched the leading French ship. About the same size as Benbow, she was already running out her guns. It must seem worse to some of the French sailors, he thought. They had been too long in harbour to withstand the strain of this slow approach. Their officers were keeping them busy, they would be firing a few sighting-shots soon to give them heart for a fight.

Grubb said dourly, 'Two miles, sir. We'll be up to them in 'alf an hour.' He tapped the sand-glass with a thick finger.

There was a dull bang, and seconds later a thin waterspout shot skywards well dear of the larboard bow. A few of the seamen jeered, and some of the older hands looked aft, impatient now that the game had begun.

'Load and run out, if you please. Tell your gun crews we will be engaging on both sides today, but the starboard ports will remain closed until we are amongst the enemy.'

Bolitho moved to the opposite side of the quarterdeck, hemmed in by gun crews and marines, officers and messengers, and yet completely alone.

The French squadron was more powerful, but he had seen worse odds. What his own ships lacked in men and guns they made up in experience. The two lines were drawing toward some point on this grey water, as if being warped by invisible hawsers.

Bolitho dropped his hand and rested it on the well-worn sword at his hip.

Almost to himself he said, `We will put ourselves against the French flagship. They are all far from home. If Ropars' flag falls, the rest will soon scatter.'

The leading French ship, a seventy-four, vanished moment arily behind a billowing barrier of smoke.

Grubb said to his master's mate, `Note it in the log, Mr Daws.

The enemy 'as opened fire.'