“We can’t tell, my lady. They haven’t put out their flags.”
“Who is the enemy admiral?” Lord William asked.
“Villeneuve, my lord,” Chase answered, “or so Lord Nelson believes.”
“Is he a capable man?” Lord William asked.
“Compared to Nelson, my lord, no one is capable, but I am told Villeneuve is no fool.”
The band had gone to their stations so the ship was oddly quiet as she heaved forward on the big swells. The wind just filled the sails, though in every lull, or when the waves drove the ship faster, the canvas sagged before lazily stretching again. Chase stared southward at the Royal Sovereign which was now far ahead of Collingwood’s other ships as, under every possible sail, she headed toward a lonely battle in the thick of the enemy fleet. “How far is she from the enemy?” he asked.
“A thousand yards?” Haskell guessed.
“I’d say so,” Chase said. “The enemy will open on her soon.”
“Bounce won’t like that,” Lieutenant Peel said with a smile.
“Bounce?” Chase asked. “Oh! Collingwood’s dog.” He smiled. “It hates gunfire, doesn’t it? Poor dog.” He turned to stare beyond his own bows. It was possible to estimate now where the Pucelle would meet the enemy line and Chase was working out how many ships would be able to batter him while he sailed his defenseless bows toward them. “When we come under fire, Mister Haskell, we shall order the crew to lie down.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“It won’t be for three quarters of an hour yet,” Chase said, then frowned. “I hate waiting. Send me wind! Send me wind! What’s the time, Mister Collier?”
“Ten minutes of twelve, sir,” Collier called from under the poop.
“So we should meet their fire at half past midday,” Chase said, “and by one o’clock we’ll be among them.”
“They’ve opened!” It was Connors who shouted the words, pointing toward the southern part of the enemy line where one ship was wreathed in gray and white smoke which blossomed to hide her hull entirely.
“Make a note in the log!” Chase ordered, and just then the sound of the broadside came like a ripple of thunder across the sea. White splashes punctured the swells ahead of the Royal Sovereign’s bows, showing that the enemy’s opening salvo had fallen short, but a moment later another half-dozen ships opened fire.
“It sounds precisely like thunder,” Lady Grace said in amazement.
The Victory was still too far from the northern part of the enemy’s fleet to be worth firing at, and so the vast majority of the French and Spanish ships stayed silent. Just the six ships kept firing, their shots whipping the sea to foam ahead of Collingwood’s flagship. Perhaps it was the sound of those guns that prompted the enemy to reveal their colors at last for, one by one, their ensigns appeared so that the approaching British could distinguish between their enemies. The French tricolor appeared brighter than the Spanish royal flag which was dark red and white. “There, my lady,” Chase said, pointing forward, “you can see the French admiral’s flag? At the masthead of the ship just behind the Santisima Trinidad.”
The Royal Sovereign must have been taking shots, for she suddenly fired two of her forward guns so that their smoke would hide her hull as it drifted with the feeble wind. Sharpe took out his telescope, trained it on Collingwood’s flagship, and saw a sail twitch as a round shot whipped through the canvas, and now he could see other holes in the sails and he knew the enemy must be firing at her rigging in an attempt to stop her brave advance. Yet she stood on, studdingsails set, widening the gap between her and the Belleisle, the Mars and the Tonnant which were the next three ships astern. The splashes of the enemy gunfire began to land about those ships now. None could fire back, and none could expect to open fire for at least twenty minutes. They must simply endure and hope to repay the bartering when they reached the line. Chase turned. “Mister Collier?”
“Sir?”
“You will escort Lord William and Lady Grace to the lady hole. Use the aft hatchway in the gunroom. Your maid will accompany you, my lady.”