All through the day the wind declined, and all through the night; and whereas the log had once taken the line straight off the reel, tearing it away to show twelve and even thirteen knots, heave after heave, at dawn on the last day of September it had to be helped gently off and veered
away, so that the midshipman of the watch could announce a dismal ‘Two and a fathom, sir, if you please.’
A day of light variable airs, mostly in their teeth -whistling fore and aft, and prayers that were answered by a fair breeze on Thursday, October 2. They passed Cape St Vincent later that day, under royals, with the Medusa in company, and they had been exercising the guns for some time – a very particular salute for that great headland, just visible from the masthead on the larboard beam when the bosun came aft and spoke to the first lieutenant. Mr Simmons pursed his lips, looked doubtful, hesitated, and then stepped across to Jack. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘the bosun represents to me, that the men, with the utmost
respect, would wish you to consider whether it might be advisable not to fire the bow guns.’
‘They do, do they?’ cried Jack, who had caught some odd, reproachful glances before this.
‘Do they also think it advisable to double the ration of grog?’
‘Oh no, sir,’ said the sweating crew of the gun nearest at hand.
‘Silence, there,’ cried Mr Simmons. ‘No, sir: what they mean is – that is to say, there is a general belief that firing the bow guns checks her way; and time being so short.
‘Well, there may be something in what they say. The philosophers don’t believe it, but we will not run the risk. Let the bow guns be run in and out, and fired in dumb show.’
A pleased smile spread along the deck. The men wiped their faces – it was 80° in the shade of the sails – tightened the handkerchiefs round their foreheads, spat on their hands, and prepared to whip their iron monsters in and out in under two minutes and a half. After a couple of broadsides – in for a penny, in for a pound – and some independent firing, the tension, strongly present throughout the ship since Finisterre, suddenly rose to the highest pitch. Medusa was signalling a sail one point on the larboard quarter.
‘Up you go, Mr Harvey,’ said Jack to a tall, light midshipman. ‘Take the best glass in the ship. Mr Simmons may lend you his.’
Up he went, up and up with the glass slung over his shoulder, up to the royal pole and the tie; poor Cassandra could hardly have outstripped him. Presently his voice came floating down. ‘On deck, there, Amphion, sir. I believe she has sent up a jury foretopmast.’
The Amphion she was, and bringing up the breeze she joined company before the fall of night. Now they were three, and the next morning found them at their last rendezvous, with Cape Santa Maria bearing north-east, thirty miles away, visible from the fighting-tops in the brilliant light.
The three frigates, with Sutton of the Amphion now senior captain, stood off and on all day, their mastheads thick with telescopes, perpetually sweeping the western sea, a vast blue rolling sea, with nothing between them and America except, perhaps, the Spanish squadron. In the evening the Indefatigable joined, and on the fourth day of October the frigates spread wide to cover as great an area as possible, still remaining within signalling distance: silently they beat up and down – gunnery had been laid aside since Cape St Vincent, for fear of giving the alarm. Aboard the Lively almost the only sound was the squeaking of the grindstone on the forecastle as the men sharpened their cutlasses and pikes, and the chip-chip-chip of the gunner’s party scaling the shot.
To and fro, to and fro, wearing every half hour at the first stroke of the ship’s bell, men at every masthead watching the other frigates for a signal, a dozen glasses scanning the remote horizon.
‘Do you remember Anson, Stephen?’ said Jack, as they paced the quarterdeck. ‘He did this for weeks and weeks off Paita. Did you ever read his book?’
‘I did. How that man wasted his opportunities.’
‘He went round the world, and worried the Spaniards
out of their wits, and took the Manilla galleon – what more could you ask?’
‘Some slight attention to the nature of the world round which he sailed so thoughtlessly.
Apart from some very superficial remarks about the sea-elephant, there is barely a curious observation in the book. He should certainly have taken a naturalist.’
‘If he had had you aboard, he might be godfather to half a dozen birds with curious beaks; but on the other hand, you would now be ninety-six. How he and his people ever stood this standing off and on, I do not know. However, it all ended happy.’
‘Not a bird, not a plant, not a smell of geology .
Shall we have some music after tea? I have written a piece I should like you to hear. It is a lament for the Tir nan 0g.’
‘What is the Tir nan Og?’
‘The only bearable part of my country: it vanished long ago.’
‘Let us wait until the darkness falls, may we? Then I am your man: we will lament to your heart’s content.’
Darkness; a long, long night in the stifling gun-deck and the cabins, little sleep, and many a man, and officer too, taking a caulk on deck or in the tops. Before dawn on the fifth the decks were being cleaned – no trouble in getting the hands to tumble up – and the smoke from the galley fire was streaming away on the steady north-east wind, when the forward look-out, the blessed Michael Scanlon, hailed the deck with a voice that might have been heard in Cadiz
– the Medusa, the last ship in the line of frigates as they stood to the north, was signalling four large sail bearing west by south.
The eastern sky lightened, high wisps of cloud catching the golden light from below the horizon; the milky sea
grew brilliant, and there they were, right aft, beating up for Cadiz, four white flecks on the rim of the world.
‘Are they Spaniards?’ asked Stephen, creeping into the maintop.
‘Of course they are,’ said Jack. ‘Look at their stumpy topmasts. Here, take my glass. On deck, there. All hands stand by to wear ship.’
At the same moment the signal to wear and chase broke out aboard the Indefatigable, and Stephen began his laborious descent, propped by Jack, Bonden, and a bosun’s mate, clinging to his tail until tears came into the poor man’s eyes. He had prepared his lines of argument for Mr Osborne, but he wished to pass them over in his mind before he conferred with him aboard the Indefatigable, whose captain was in command of the squadron as commodore. He went below, his heart beating at an unusual pace. The Spaniards were gathering together, signals passing between them: negotiations would be delicate; oh, very delicate indeed.
Breakfast, a scrappy meal. The Commodore signalling for Dr Maturin: Stephen upon deck with a cup of coffee in one hand and a piece of bread and butter in the other as the cutter was lowered away. How very much closer they were, so suddenly! The Spaniards had already formed their battle-line, standing on the starboard tack with the wind one point free, and they were so near that he could see their gun-ports – every one of them open, yawning wide.
The British frigates, obeying the signal to chase, had broken their line, and the Medusa, the southernmost ship and therefore the foremost once they had worn, was running straight before the wind for the leading Spanish ship; a few hundred yards behind her there was the Indefatigable, steering for the second Spaniard, the Medea, with Bustamente’s flag at the mizen; then came the Amphion; and bringing up the rear, the Lively. She was closing the gap fast, and as soon as Stephen had been bundled into the cutter she spread her foretopgallant, crossed the Amphion’s wake, and steered for the Clara, the last ship in the Spanish line.
The Indefatigable yawed a trifle, backed her topsails, hoisted Stephen aboard, and plunged on. The Commodore, a dark, red-faced, choleric man, very much on edge, hurried him below, paid very little attention to his words as he ran over the heads of the argument that was to persuade the Spanish admiral to yield, but sat there drumming his fingers on the table, breathing fast with angry excitement. Mr Osborne, a quick, intelligent man, nodded, staring into Stephen’s eyes: he nodded, taking each point, and nodded again, his mouth tight shut.’. . . and lastly,’ said Stephen, ‘induce him by all possible means to come across, so that we may concert our answer to unforeseen objections.’