The Antigallican by Tom Bowling

Author:Tom Bowling [Tom Bowling]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781842436318
Publisher: Oldcastle Books
Published: 2011-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

11

There were two sails, not one, and sails from that quarter could only belong to British ships. There were no friends of the French towards Iceland, the seas around which were ruled by the British. Hortense made no signal. In any case Admiral Vanstabel’s precious fleet of warships and corn-carrying merchantmen was out of sight, over the southern horizon. Dubarre knew his duty; he was to engage and delay any British frigates he saw to the north, to lead them away from the grain fleet and to postpone or prevent any contact with the grain fleet. To that end he meant first to lead them a merry dance across the North Atlantic. Dubarre knew that in the end, if he could not escape, he would have to sacrifice himself, his crew and his ship in defence of the Revolution. Most of Dubarre’s crew had divined that was their purpose too, as soon as they had stationed themselves so far to the north of the convoy proper. Less analytical souls or less experienced seamen, those who had been slow to either comprehend or believe their purpose were finally persuaded when the Hortense failed to change course at the sight of British frigates. Instead she ploughed her course, heading just north of east towards an inevitable confrontation with the British ships in some hours time. One sick frigate, lightly and inexpertly crewed, cannot fight two prime British men o’war. Even the most inexperienced of the revolutionary sailors knew that. And the old salts trembled. When the battle came they would be fighting with one arm tied behind their collective back.

The gun-deck was cleared for action. The main cabin, the Second’s cabin, Captain’s sleeping cabin and other knock-down partitions on the frigate’s gun-deck had their partition walls swung up on hinges and fastened to the deckhead. The spaces revealed were cleared of their furnishings, which were struck down in the hold in a few minutes by gangs of men. The possessions within the furnishings of the Captain’s sleeping cabin were distinctly un-maritime in nature. They belonged to Emily Auchard, its temporary occupant. Like the lady herself, they were taken below for safe-keeping. The furnishings were stowed in the hold, the lady moved to a dark cuddy – hardly a cabin, though it was called such – above the hold, which had once been the sailing master’s quarters. Blind, immobile and maddened Auchard had been put in the next cuddy, this time the quarters of the ship’s clerk, who was himself on deck at the Captain’s side and would have no need for sleeping quarters for some time to come. Lefèvre was brought up from the orlop too and installed in a cuddy. He wasn’t dead and the little space on the orlop was the nearest thing the frigate had to a sick bay. It would be needed for other men if there were to be any action. Action, and the subsequent injuries to men, seemed likely.

The crews prepared the guns. Those on the

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