Breaking the Line by David Donachie Page A

Bay. Objectively, Nelson knew that their captains had chosen wisely in leaving a scene of defeat, saving their ships for the future, but he wanted them badly because then the Nile victory would be total.
    If Nelson had any doubts as to how he stood with Lord Keith he was soon disabused of them. Used to independence, it was galling to have to obey orders that he felt to be inappropriate. The landfall for the supply fleet was Valetta: they had nowhere else to go. By standing close to that harbour there was no doubt about the notion of interception, the only caveat being weather so foul that they could sneak in unobserved.
    Keith sent Nelson off on a chase to intercept them in open sea, beating into the wind in foul weather. His blood was boiling with thecertain knowledge that Keith was about the same sort of business to leeward, leaving the approaches to Valetta harbour unguarded. If the enemy convoy made its landfall, a whole year of siege would go to waste. The French garrison would be supplied with enough to keep them there for two more years.
    As usual, when things were not going as he wished, Nelson spent every waking hour on deck. To the disgust of Tom Allen these were many, for disquiet ensured that Nelson could not sleep. He was jumpy, irritable and frustrated. He developed his usual raft of ailments over the three days and nights as he and the four line-of-battle ships he commanded beat into oblivion. He was close to a human wreck when the distant sound of gunfire came to Foudroyant through the fog.
    ‘Gunfire, Mr Pasco.’
    ‘I reckon it so, sir.’
    Pasco had developed even in the short time Nelson had known him. His reply, which would have been tremulous a year ago, had been confident. Pasco had heard cannon fire, and he knew of what he spoke.
    ‘Pray for the Le Généraux, Mr Pasco.’
    ‘There’s not a Nile veteran that doesn’t every day, sir. We vie with each other to gift you that prize.’
    Nelson was touched, and as he stared into the mist, he hoped that the wetness around his eyes was from vapour in the air. He was weary, of course, but he also loved the men with whom he served in a way that he suspected not even perspicacious Emma understood.
    ‘Do you, Pasco, do you so?’
    ‘Masthead, ‘what do you see?’
    That cry came from Sir Edward Berry, who had replaced Thomas Hardy as flag captain. Keith had put Hardy into another ship, a slack vessel that required his ability in the article of discipline. Berry had been with Nelson at both the battle of St Vincent and the Nile, his knighthood having come from the latter. He was a true fighter, and if there was to be an encounter, and Nelson prayed that there would be, the presence of Berry boded well.
    ‘Line-of-battle ship, sir, going large on the starboard tack. She has a tricolour aloft. There’s a hint of other ships in the offing but no clear way of saying what they are.’
    ‘I would like to close with that ship, Sir Edward. I believe I may ask for the signal, general chase.’
    ‘A signal to Lord Keith, sir?’
    Nelson’s mind worked on the relative positions of the two groups ofships, the weather, the wind, a fast piece of triangulation that produced only one answer. The signal could only be got to Queen Charlotte by a repeating frigate: she was too far off to see it in this foul weather.
    ‘A waste, Sir Edward, we would put him to a chase for no purpose. Keith cannot come up on the enemy before we do.’
    Berry didn’t look at Nelson. He did not have to, having seen him many times change from weakling to ardent warrior in the wink of an eye. What he did know from the masthead observations was that the enemy had gone hard about and had put herself before the wind.
    ‘A chance to show your mettle, so make Foudroyant fly.’ As the mist lifted Nelson made two observations: one that the chase was very likely Le Généraux, the second that HMS Northumberland was in a fair way to head reaching the flagship. ‘We will require to do better,