Any Approaching Enemy: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars by Jay Worrall

have always doubted that Nelson was a wise choice to command this squadron. He’s far too impetuous, in my view. But even he wouldn’t attempt so foolish a course. In all probability, he’s returned to Gibraltar for repairs. A fierce storm it was; could have done any amount of damage.” He glanced doubtfully over the rail at the other captains’ relatively whole ships. “Or perhaps he’s pulled into a cove somewhere to effect repairs and is yet on his way here.”
    “I think we should take a look up Toulon way,” Bedford persisted.
    Charles nodded tentatively in agreement, not wanting to provoke Pigott into hardening his position. In this he failed.
    “And you would like to be the one to sail away on your own, wouldn’t you, Edgemont?” Pigott said, shooting a glare at him. “No, I’ll not divide my command. Our orders are as clear as day: to wait at this place in the event the squadron is dispersed. Well, the squadron is dispersed,” he said triumphantly. “And we shall wait.”
    Charles felt his anger rising at Pigott’s unvarnished arrogance and felt Bevan’s hand on his arm, warning him to restrain his temper. “Fine,” he said.
    “For how long shall we wait, sir?” Bevan asked.
    “For a decent interval,” Pigott answered, then, realizing he needed to be more specific, added, “A week, I should think.”
    Charles groaned inwardly, careful not to display any emotion. “Thank you, sir,” he managed. They were then dismissed, and on his way back down the side steps, he clearly heard Bedford below him mutter, “Fucking idiot,” and felt himself in complete agreement.
    THE WEEK PASSED with agonizing slowness as the hours and watches crawled one after the other. No sails were sighted on the horizon or anywhere else, except for a solitary xebec merchantman, which flags from
Emerald
promptly forbade anyone from pursuing. Charles and Bevan visited each other most nights, usually after dark so that Pigott would be less likely to notice the boats going back and forth. But it was at a meeting on
Terpsichore
that an actual strategy was plotted.
    “Captain Pigott will certainly order us all back to Gibraltar in a few days,” Bedford said at the outset. “This cannot be allowed to transpire. Pigott does not want us to have a look at Toulon, because
Emerald
is in such a sad state that she must return for repairs. If he goes back alone, it will reflect badly on him, as it should. By keeping us together, he thinks it will seem as if he stood in firm command and did all he could under difficult circumstances.”
    “How do we dissuade him?” Charles asked.
    “Ah, Charlie,” Bedford said with a wink, “in the last resort, ye must go off on yer own. Find some excuse to hang back; slip off in the night or some such. Ye have the highest standing among us with old Jervie, and it’s possible ye’ll get away with it.”
    Charles did not think much of this idea at all, not that he rejected it completely. “There must be a better alternative,” he said soberly.
    “Aye.” Bedford nodded. “I suggest we try sweet reasonableness first.”
    Thus, at noon on the seventh day since Pigott had arrived at the rendezvous, Charles was prepared when the signal
Make sail, course south-
by-west rose on what served as Emerald’s masts.
    “Mr. Beechum,” Charles said to the midshipman standing beside him, “hoist the signal.”
    “Aye-aye, sir,” Beechum responded, and raised the flags already laid out on the deck,
Request meeting of captains.
Charles noted with satisfaction the identical flags jerking upward on
Terpsichore
and
Pylades,
and immediately went down into his waiting gig.
    Pigott scowled at the captains assembled in front of him. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded.
    “It’s my doing,” Bedford answered, “to prevent you from making a serious mistake.”
    Charles thought the senior captain was going to explode. His face turned bright red and his eyes widened. “I’ll see you broken and