Breaking the Line by David Donachie Page B

Captain Berry. That ship must strike only to my flag.’
    Berry was ruthless. Within minutes he had the fire engine playing to wet the sails, so that they would draw better on the gusting wind. Hammocks were removed from the leeward side and shot put in their place to right the ship. Wedges were knocked from the masts to give them play and finally Berry had the drinking water started over the side to lighten her. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, Foudroyant began to pull ahead of Northumberland .
    Now that he could see her Nelson knew it was Le Généraux ,and his blood raced. He was pacing up and down, his short stump working furiously, aware that the Frenchman had a fair chance of escape. Then the masthead called that a strange sail had appeared ahead of the chase.
    ‘Demand her number!’
    The flags flew aloft and were answered. ‘HMS Success, milord.’
    ‘Signal her to engage.’
    ‘Tall odds,’ said Edward Berry. ‘Thirty two guns to face eighty.’
    ‘They will do it, Sir Edward, mark my word.’
    The truth of that was clear in ten minutes. The tiny frigate put herself across Le Généraux ’s hawse and let fly with a broadside that, aimed high, took out all the canvas above the topsails. But the enemy was not to be tickled, and had let her head fall off just enough to return a compliment in double measure, and with guns of twice the calibre. Hardly an in-drawn breath was expended on Foudroyant ’s deck as they saw the French guns belch forth, to envelop Success in a cloud of smoke and spray. When the smoke cleared there was the frigate, battered, but doing all in its power to continue the pursuit.
    The task allotted to Success had been carried out: the chase hadbeen forced to slow, and the damage the Frenchman had sustained aloft meant she could not immediately regain her speed. ‘Success to come under our stern, Sir Edward, she has done well for her size, and the range tells me it would be worthwhile to try our lower-deck cannon.’
    They were waiting below, guns loaded and run out, wedges rammed under metal to raise the elevation, the fingers of the gun captains twitching to pull on the lanyard that would fire the lock and send a thirty-two-pounder ball flying towards wood and flesh. Nelson felt the thunder of shot and recoil through his feet as they let fly, then watched as the great black balls flew over the enemy to raise great spouts before her dipping bowsprit, evidence that the range was excellent.
    That applied to the Frenchman, too, who opened up on Foudroy ant, sending a ball through her mizzen staysail that brought a light to Nelson’s good eye. He called to Pasco to ask him how he rated the music as his ship and Northumberland closed on Le Généraux, who had no alternative now but to fight. Soon both British vessels were raking her with massive broadsides. Berry had gone for masts and yards, his consort for the deck, and both were accurate. The tricolour flag was half way down from the masthead before they could fire again, and Giddings was in a ship’s boat, with Berry, heading for the defeated enemy deck to find a French admiral too wounded to hand over his sword.
     
    ‘The convoy is scattered, sir, no more to be, which leaves Valetta in a sorry pass. I reckon we will have Malta complete in a month or two. Added to that, we have a fine large store ship full of everything from meat to brandy, which I suggest be spread through the squadron.’
    Keith should have responded to that with appreciation, but he sat there, as he had throughout Nelson’s report, stony-faced and silent. It was that lack of a signal, of course, which would only ever have been a courtesy. There was no way Queen Charlotte could have taken Le Généraux, but he was probably miffed that, out of sight of the capture, the officers and men of his flagship were out of the running for the prize money too. Keith would get his eighth of course, but that signified little in a situation where he felt that it was not a