by Jay Worrall
On the starboard tack, the ship sailed away from the shore, some ten miles out, came about, and angled back in again, all the while progressing slowly westward. The day passed, and they tacked and tacked again. The lay of the land transformed to great inland saltwater lagoons filled with all manner of brilliantly colored birds, separated from the sea by thin ridges of palm-dotted sand. Increasingly widespread stands of marsh grasses grew about their rims. The coast itself began to tend northward, and the salt marshes became more extensive until they appeared as a great unbroken sea of reeds.
“What do you make of it?” Charles asked Eliot late in the afternoon.
“I’m thinking we’ll soon come upon the first of the great mouths of the Nile,” the master said. “We’re in the ancient land of the pharaohs.”
Before nightfall, they saw a town a few miles inland from the sea with what seemed a broad curving ribbon of gold meandering southward.
“That would be Damietta,” Eliot said, “and that what has the sun reflecting off is the Damietta mouth of the Nile River. A hundred miles will find us off Alexandria.”
“We will stand out and look in on the port of Alexandria tomorrow, Mr. Eliot,” Charles said. He noticed his wife standing by the rail, looking out over the sight. He went and stood beside her, a fertile smell from the land reaching them, until the blood-orange sun settled on the horizon and, by degrees, slipped beneath it.
Half an hour before the first hint of dawn, Louisa cleared for action and stood southwest for the dark Egyptian shore. The men were called quietly to their battle stations, the gunports opened, and the cannon run out. As had become her custom, Penny dressed quickly and went below to the officers’ wardroom, where Attwater would bring her breakfast. Slowly, imperceptibly, the sky to the east lightened. All lanterns, except the shaded light in the binnacle that lit the compass dial, had long since been extinguished, but Charles fancied he could make out the base of the mizzenmast where it rose through the deck, then the foot of the main course farther forward. He stared over the railing to starboard into the darkness and saw nothing. No, not nothing, a patch of light, or at least less dark, hovered in the distance. That would be Pylades, her white sails aloft above the sea.
“Deck!” the lookout from the tops called down. “There’s a second sail off the port bow. I can’t tell nothing else.”
Charles’s heart quickened. He moved quickly to the larboard rail and looked forward but could see nothing except black. “How far away?” he yelled upward.
“Can’t tell, sir. Sorry. It’s still too dark. I can only just see the shade of her canvas. I can’t tell nothing else.”
“Can you tell how many masts? Is she a warship?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
Beechum, standing nearby, offered in a timid voice, “I believe that’s what he meant when he said he can’t tell anything else, sir.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Beechum,” Charles said with a small laugh. “I believe you to be correct. Do you have the watch?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we shall run down on her and see what we shall see. It’ll be light enough soon.”
The horizon slowly brightened, the Egyptian coast a low black line under a still-dark, star-speckled sky. Charles saw her sails, then the dark line of her hull underneath, under a mile distant.
“Deck there. She’s a French corvette, I’m pretty sure.”
Charles thought that looked about right. A corvette was a common type of ship with the French, larger than a brig but smaller than a frigate; probably eighteen or twenty guns; probably six-pounders, possibly eights. As he watched, she braced her yards around to wear away.
“She’s seen us,” Winchester said from behind him.
“Indeed she has, Stephen,” Charles said, his eyes still on the corvette. The wind was light, what there was of it still from the west, the sea almost a flat calm.
“We’ll never overhaul her in these airs.”
“We’ll get a bit of a breeze as the land heats up,” Charles said. “But we don’t want to catch her. We want to see where she goes.”
Whatever was to occur, he considered, he had best settle in for a long stern chase. “House the guns and stand the men down from quarters. It would be a good time to send them to their breakfast.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Pylades drawing ahead in determined pursuit of the corvette. “Mr. Sykes! Where is Mr. Sykes?”
Beechum answered, “Mr. Sykes is forward, sir. Shall I fetch him?”
“No,” Charles said. “Signal to Pylades, please, Maintain station to starboard.”
As the light increased, more features of the land and sea became visible. Ahead was a low-lying peninsula projecting several miles into the sea. After a short time, Charles noticed the corvette sending men into her rigging.
“She’s going to tack to weather the point,” Winchester observed.
“And we shall do the same. See to it, if you please.”
Winchester called out the orders. Louisa’s bow swung through the wind and settled on the starboard tack, directly taking up the corvette’s wake. The land to port, closer now, appeared as sandhills with groves of date and palm trees. There was a town visible, the thin smoke of early-morning cooking fires filtering into the sky, and a broad river running placidly to the point.
Charles approached Eliot. “Do you make that to be Rosetta?” he said. He had a picture of the general lay of the coastline from the map in his atlas.
“Aye,” Eliot answered. “That’ll be the Rosetta mouth. Other side of the point will be Aboukir Bay, then Alexandria. We should be able to see the French there by noon.”
Charles saw Penny approaching across the deck. “Good morning to thee, Samuel Eliot,” she said cheerfully, coming to a halt beside him.
“Good morning, Mrs. Edgemont,” Eliot answered, lifting his hat.
“What is that ship?” she asked Charles, pointing forward.
“She’s French,” Charles answered, “a small warship.”
“Art thou attempting to catch it?”
“No,” he said. “We are only following. I want to see where she goes.”
“Thou wilt not shoot at it?”
“Not unless she shoots at us first.” Charles guessed she was worried that he intended to attack the smaller ship. He might have, under different circumstances, but not today. He tried to reassure her. “I plan to follow this ship to see if she leads us to the French fleet at Alexandria. As soon as I can confirm that the fleet is there, we will turn away. I don’t intend that we stand and fight anyone.”
“Thou said that at Malta,” she said doubtfully, then fell silent.
The corvette neared the end of the point, her tightly braced sails golden in the just-risen sun and slightly ethereal in the hazy air. A small white bow wave churned along her side. She was reaching on them, he knew, making slightly better speed into the gentle wind than the heavier Louisa. It didn’t matter, Charles decided, so long as he could keep her in sight.
“Oh, look,” Penny said. “They have flags. Aren’t they pretty.”
Charles noted the signal flags running up her halyards with a feeling of alarm.
“The corvette’s telegraphing, sir,” Beechum reported at the same time. “Can’t see who to.”
“Mr. Beechum,” Charles said urgently, “take a long glass up to the masthead, to the crosstrees if you have to. Take Sykes with you to report back. I want to know what’s on the other side of that point.” Beechum left at a run without replying.
“Stephen, we will beat to quarters,” Charles ordered. He looked up and saw Beechum climbing the ratlines. He also saw the lookout already in the mainmast top lean out over the side.
“There’s a frigate making for the headlands on t’other side, sir,” the lookout called down. “She’s a thirty-two, I think. You might see her masts from the deck.”
Charles looked across the narrowing peninsula. Louisa lay about a half mile from the shore and a farther mile to
the end of the point. He saw nothing he could identify as a ship’s masts.
“There,” Winchester said, a telescope to his eye, “just behind the town.” Charles had not even noticed that his first lieutenant had come onto the deck. The marine drummer reached the forward rail and started his long roll.
“What’s happening?” Penny asked above the din.
Charles opened his glass and looked in the direction Winchester indicated. Almost immediately, he picked out the set of topgallant sails, coasting behind the palms toward the point. He lowered his glass and tried to gauge the distances. The French frigate was a good mile farther from the Rosetta Point, but had the wind behind her, while Louisa and Pylades were braced tight and struggling into it. He thought they would still reach the point first, but not by any comfortable margin. The Frenchman might lay off the wind and meet him broadside to broadside, or she might stand on if her captain thought Charles would bear away.
“Charlie,” Penny repeated, “what’s happening?”
What should he do? The corvette, he noted, had rounded the end of the land, making for the safety of her companion. The drummer ceased his drumming. Talmage had gone into the waist to command the gundeck. The gunports opened; the port side cannon rumbled loudly on their trucks.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, pulling on his arm.
“There are two French warships joining on the far side of that spit of land,” Charles said. “I fear they mean to attack us.”
“Why dost thou not turn away?”
“I will in a minute. I want to know if there are other ships in the bay first,” he said. “I would be grateful if you would go below.” He looked up to the mainmast crosstrees and saw Beechum with his glass trained out into the distance over the weather beam.
Ahead lay the point where the Rosetta branch of the Nile emptied into the sea. He looked at the sandy beach beneath the dunes. There were men there, some, he thought, on horseback. He took up his long glass and raised it to his eye. In the lens, he saw that the figures wore the dark blue uniforms and plumed vermilion shakos of the French army. Scanning along the beach, he found more infantry with their officers on horseback. That was enough. He now knew for a certainty where the expeditionary force from Toulon had gone. He saw Sykes starting down from Beechum’s place on the crosstrees.
Louisa began to come abreast of the point, and Charles could see the slow, muddy mouth of the great river, nearly a mile across, and the sails of the corvette wearing around behind the frigate, both approaching from beyond a low sand island three quarters of a mile away.
“We will bear away, Mr. Eliot,” he said. “Put her across the wind.”
“Aye, sir,” Eliot answered, and signaled to the helmsmen at the wheel. “Hands to the braces,” he roared. Charles could feel on his cheek that the wind was light and fitful, still westerly but with increasing impetus off the land. Louisa’s bow slowly swung until it pointed directly away from the coast, and the two French ships, toward the vast empty sea.
“Mr. Beechum’s respects, sir,” Sykes reported breathlessly.
“Yes?” Charles said.
“He says he can’t see very far into the bay. He says there’s a power of mist in the air, sir.”
“Very well,” Charles said, “you may—”
Two closely spaced bangs of distant cannon fire sounded over the water. Charles turned in time to see a small cloud of gray-black smoke hovering on the leading French frigate’s bow. He scanned the sea surface and saw two plumes of water spout up, one a hundred yards to port and only slightly astern, the other farther off.
“Mr. Sykes, signal Pylades to make all possible sail.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now what is happening?” Penny asked, still standing beside him.
Charles had almost forgotten she was there. “That French ship has opened fire on us with her bow chasers,” he said. “We are trying to run away.”
“Are we faster than they?”
“I hope so,” Charles said. “I would be more comfortable if you went below.”
“It does not seem so dangerous,” Penny answered. “I wish to stay. I will go if it becomes more menacing.”
Charles didn’t have time to argue with her. He turned to the sailing master. “Mr. Eliot, I want every fathom of speed we can manage. Send up the royals if you think it advisable.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Stephen,” Charles said next, “pass the word for the carpenter to see if he can cut ports for stern chasers. We could move two of the quarterdeck nine-pounders aft.”
Twin clouds of gun smoke ballooned again from the frigate. The booms of the cannon reached him a moment later. Charles saw one splash forty yards to port, even with the mainmast. He didn’t see the fall of the second ball.
“Sir,” Beechum said, arriving on the deck and touching his hat.
“Yes, what have you to report?”
The acting lieutenant took a moment to collect his breath. “I couldn’t see anything for certain. The visibility is very poor. There was a moment I thought I saw the barest outline of something, but it could have been an illusion. I‘m sorry, sir.”
“Thank you anyway, Mr. Beechum,” Charles said. “You’ve done well. You may speak to Mr. Winchester for your duties.”
Charles looked aft again and did not like what he saw. Both enemy warships looked noticeably closer, perhaps only half a mile astern. Pylades lay a cable length to starboard, her bow even with Louisa’s mainmast.
Since Charles had hoped that the French would be satisfied with chasing him well away from the shore and then turning back, he became increasingly disappointed as the morning wore on. The wind freshened, and before long, the distance between Louisa and the leading frigate stabilized at just under a half mile, the corvette lagging somewhat behind. The frigate continued to methodically fire her bow chasers, although at very long range, and while several balls had passed through the rigging, no real damage had been done. He knew this was a situation that could change in the blink of an eye, however, if a lucky ball struck a mast section or cracked a yardarm. He had the guns housed and allowed the crew to stand down, but kept the gundeck cleared.
As vexing as it was to be under fire without being able to answer, this was not his biggest worry. Hour by hour, Bevan’s brig slipped slowly behind. The two had been about even when they had turned away to run. Soon Pylades’s bow was level with Louisa’s mainmast, then the mizzen, later the rudderpost. Now, as Charles looked, she lay nearly a half a cable’s length behind.
“Why does not Daniel Bevan keep up?” Penny asked anxiously.
“Because we are the faster ship on this point of the wind,” Charles answered. “Bevan’s doing all he can.”
“Surely the French warship will overtake him,” she said. “What will happen then?”
“It depends on whether he decides to surrender or fight. If he surrenders, he will be taken prisoner. If he fights, the two French warships are both larger, and one of them is much stronger.”
Penny bit her lip. “I fear Daniel Bevan will resist,” she said finally. “Thou canst not allow that to happen.”
Charles knew that his duty, at whatever cost, was to carry his information about the location of the French fleet to Nelson or, failing that, to St. Vincent at Gibraltar. The fate of Bevan’s brig was small beer in this calculation. At the very least he must communicate with the British consul at Syracuse, in Sicily, who was the closest British representative in that direction and could pass the intelligence forward. Charles could not, no matter his personal feelings, unnecessarily engage two enemy ships of war, even if he had better than half a chance of success, which he judged he did not. He also knew that as soon as Bevan decided his situation to be hopeless, he would throw tiny Pylades into the path of the French in hopes of delaying them long enough for Charles to escape. If Louisa had half a chance, Pylades had none. There had to be something he could do. He conceived of a plan—a plan that he knew to be flawed.
“St
ephen,” he called to Winchester.
“Sir?”
“Belay moving the nine-pounders aft. Get the men back to their battle quarters.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Sykes, signal to Pylades, if you please, Set course for Syracuse. You’ll have to spell out ‘Syracuse.’ Tell me the moment he acknowledges.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
“What art thou preparing to do?” Penny asked.
Charles looked at her for a long moment before he spoke. “I am going to try to slow the leading frigate,” he said. “I plan to cut across her bows and fire at long range, then sail to the west. Maybe we will disable her. If we don’t, and the larger one turns to follow us, Daniel can outsail the second.” He knew that it was a compromise, to keep his ship and his wife out of harm’s way for as long as possible. The chances of disabling the frigate at this range were less than small. If the frigate ignored him and continued after Pylades, Charles would be unable to come back against the wind in time to do anything. On the reverse of the coin, it was just possible that he would damage the frigate enough for Bevan to escape. In the back of his mind, he knew that part of his plan was guided by a caution against exposing his wife to danger. He didn’t like it; he didn’t know what else to do.
Penny’s mouth set in a hard straight line. She stood rigidly erect, looking at the near French warship, then up at Charles. “Will that accomplish thy goal? Will it permit both Daniel Bevan’s ship and thine to escape?”
“Maybe,” he said, a trace of doubt in his voice. “I don’t know. It depends on what the captain of the first one, the bigger one, does.” Finally, he said, “Possibly not.”