SHARPE’S TRAFALGAR. Bernard Cornwell. Sharpe’s Trafalgar: Richard Sharpe and the Battle of Trafalgar, October 21, 1805

“Damn wind,” Chase said. “May I, Sharpe?” He held out his hand for the telescope, then trained it west. “Damn it, Hopper, you’re right. Who spotted her?”

“Pearson, sir.”

“Triple his rum ration,” Chase said, then closed the glass, returned it to Sharpe, and slithered back to the deck in a manner that scared Sharpe witless. “Boats!” Chase shouted, running toward the quarterdeck. “Boats!”

Hopper followed his captain and Sharpe watched as the ship’s boats were lowered over the side and filled with oarsmen. They were going to tow the ship, not west toward the strange sail, but north in an attempt to get ahead of her.

The men rowed all through the afternoon. They sweated and tugged until their arms were agony. Very slight ripples at the Pucelle’s flank showed that they were making some progress, but not enough, it seemed to Sharpe, to gain any headway on the far sail. The small breaths of wind that had relieved the heat earlier in the day seemed to have died away completely so that the sails hung lifeless and the ship was enveloped in an odd silence. The loudest noises were the footfalls of the officers on the quarterdeck, the shouts of the men urging on the tired oarsmen and the creak of the wheel as it spun backward and forward in the lolling swell.

Lady Grace, attended by her maid and carrying a parasol against the hot sun, appeared on the quarterdeck and stared westward. Captain Chase claimed the strange sail was now visible from the deck, but she could not see it, even with a telescope. “They probably haven’t seen us,” Chase suggested.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Our sails have clouds behind them”—he gestured to the great cloud range that piled above Africa—”and with any luck our canvas just blends into the sky.”

“You think it’s the Revenant?”

“I don’t know, milady. She could be a neutral merchantman.” Chase tried to sound neutral himself, but his suppressed excitement made it plain he believed the far ship was indeed the Revenant.

Braithwaite was standing under the break of the poop, watching to see if Sharpe joined her ladyship, but Sharpe did not move. He looked east and saw cat’s-paws of ripples on the water, the first signs of a freshening wind. The ripples chased and skittered across the long swells, obstinately refusing to come near the Pucelle, but then they seemed to gather together and slide over the sea and suddenly the sails filled, the rigging creaked and the towing lines dipped toward the water.

“The land wind,” Chase said, “and about time!” He went to the quartermaster at the wheel who at last had some purchase on the rudder. “Can you feel it?”

“Aye aye, sir.” The helmsman paused to spit a stream of tobacco juice into a big brass spittoon. “Ain’t much though,” he added, “no more than if a little old lady was breathing on the sails, sir.”

The wind faltered, shivering the sails, then lazily caught again and Chase turned to watch the sea. “Get the boats in, Mister Haskell!”

“Aye aye, sir!”

“Yot of rum for the oarsmen!”

“Aye aye, sir.” Haskell, who believed Chase spoiled his men, sounded disapproving.

“Double tot of rum for the oarsmen,” Chase said to annoy Haskell, “and wind for us and death to the French!” His spirits had risen in the belief that he had found his quarry. Now he must stalk her. “We’ll close the angle on her during the night,” he told Haskell. “Every inch of canvas! And no lights on board. And we’ll wet the sails.” A canvas hose was rigged to a pump and used to douse the sails with sea water. Chase explained to Sharpe that wet sails caught more of a light wind than dry, and it did seem as if the soaked canvas worked better. The ship moved perceptibly, though below decks, where the gunsmoke lingered, no wind cleared the air.

The wind freshened at dusk and the Pucelle once again heeled to its pressure. Night fell and officers went around the ship to make certain that not a single lantern was alight anywhere on board except for one feeble, red-shielded binnacle lamp that gave the helmsman a glimpse of the compass. The course was changed a few points westward in hope of closing on the far ship. The wind rose still more so that the sea could be heard coursing down the ship’s black and yellow flanks.

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