The Maddest Idea by James Nelson

Author:James Nelson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Transworld

CHAPTER 19

The Admiral’s Steward

BIDDLECOMB STOOD AND looked into Shave’s red-rimmed eyes. ‘Hadn’t you better signal the frigate about that strange sail?’

‘I’ll signal the frigate when I’m bloody ready, you son of a bitch!’ Shave shouted, then smiled and said, ‘You just take your place over there, Jonathan. I think you’ve earned the right to be admiral’s steward this next hour.’

Biddlecomb retreated to the leeward side, fighting to keep his anger and humiliation in check. Weatherspoon was on deck, as were the other Charlemagnes, and that only made the degradation of Admiral’s steward worse, a fact that was not lost on Shave. The lieutenant turned his attention to the midshipman aloft. ‘Get your arse down here and signal the frigate!’ he shouted.

The entire convoy had come about and settled down on the starboard tack, more or less in good order, by the time the Glasgow acknowledged the Ant’s signal. The frigate was near the head of the line, a mile ahead of the Ant. The acknowledgment broke out at the Glasgow’s yardarm as Maltby was putting his helm down, turning and running downwind past the lines of merchant ships. High aloft once again, the Ant’s midshipman shouted, ‘Signal from the frigate, sir. Maintain station on convoy!’

Five minutes later the Glasgow passed the Ant, sailing the opposite course, charging away downwind to investigate the potential threat that had appeared over the eastern horizon.

The frigate was a magnificent sight, running with all plain sail set, the white foam curling around her cutwater and rushing down her sides, vivid against the slate gray of the ocean. Biddlecomb watched her go by, less than two hundred feet away. He had allowed himself to hope that it was an American on the horizon, even indulged the fantasy that the stranger might be their salvation, but now he stowed all hope away. If it was an American naval vessel, it would be too small to take on the frigate. If it was a privateer, it would not fight, regardless of its size. Privateers were not in the business of fighting frigates, or even of helping fellow Americans. Wasn’t that the reason he had wanted to get into privateering himself? he thought bitterly.

Weatherspoon stepped up beside him, and together they watched the frigate running away downwind. Biddlecomb wondered how far the Glasgow would chase the stranger. Every foot the frigate lost to leeward would have to be regained through an exhausting beat back to weather.

‘On deck!’ the lookout called.

‘Deck! What’s acting?’ Shave called back.

‘Stranger’s hauled his wind, sir! Running for it!’

And that was an end to it. The strange sail most likely was an American privateer, and just a glance at a British frigate was enough to make him turn on his heel and run.

‘Too bad, you poor, sorry Jonathans!’ Shave called out so all on deck could hear. ‘No rescue today!’

The Glasgow wasted not a moment before she also spun on her heel and resumed her course, close-hauled, heading back for her station at the head of the convoy.

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