Page 58 of A Fierce Wind

Freddie and Donet climbed aboard the admiral’s flagship where Howe and his officers met them. His full head of silver hair rendered him very distinguished in his dark blue frock coat with large gold buttons, white waistcoat and breeches. Freddie was surprised at the age of the admiral; he had to be near seventy. For a man of the sea, his face bore few lines, but beneath his bicorne hat, his cheeks were red.

The admiral, made 1st Earl Howe by a grateful King George, carried himself with rigid British formality as he shook their hands, his accent crisp. “Pitt trusts you, Donet. So, it seems, must I. And you, West. I’m told you have already supplied the government with useful intelligence. Perhaps you can provide me with more.” Gesturing them toward his great cabin, he said, “What can you tell me of Villaret’s officers, his crews?”

They entered the well-appointed stateroom containing so many books it could have been a shop on Oxford Street. Howe removed his hat and bid them sit in the chairs set around the large mahogany table that matched his smaller desk. The admiral’s forehead that had been protected by his bicorne hat remained the pale skin of an Englishman, unlike the rest of his sun-reddened face.

The steward, who’d been standing inside the door, poured coffee.

Taking a sip, Donet said, “Villaret’s officers, like himself, have little training and little experience. As you probably know, sir, the French ships are built to a high standard but the French Navy is in a state of confusion. So many senior officers were executed in the purge of last year that junior officers had to be raised before they were ready. Even merchant captains, some I know, were among those made officers.”

“Worse than I had imagined,” said Howe with a chuckle and a small smile aimed at Donet. Freddie had heard the admiral was a man of dry humor.

“Indeed, sir,” said Donet, “but I can assure you, given my loyalty to England in this war, I was not approached. Villaret himself was only a captain earlier this year when Mr. West and I engaged him in the Channel. Then, he commanded the Trajan.”

“To your point about the high quality of the French ships,” offered Howe in a more serious tone, “Villaret’s flag now flies above the Montagne with her one hundred and twenty guns. Though I am reluctant to admit it, she is possibly the finest ship in the world.”

“He may have a fine ship,” offered Freddie, “but the supply crisis in France has contributed to the discontent that is rife among the French crews. From my observations of the French fleet off Brest for the past year, too often the crews are without pay and, at times, without food.”

“I see,” said the admiral staring out the stern windows.

“We were aware some battles have already occurred,” Donet said, “and observed a few of Villaret’s ships limping into Brest. How stands your fleet?”

“Twenty-five ships, though some have sustained damage. The only good news is that Villaret’s fleet has lost six ships. However, as of yesterday, I had a report four more have joined them, making our numbers nearly equal. Finish your coffee and we shall consult the master for the latest report.”

The admiral rose, accepted his hat from his steward and strode from his cabin to emerge onto the quarterdeck.

“Sir,” the master said, “the enemy fleet has been spotted six miles off the starboard bow steering in line of battle on the port tack.”

Freddie had heard the rumor that “Black Dick” Howe, as his sailors had dubbed him, never smiled except when a battle drew near. He was smiling now.

“Signal the fleet to form in line abreast,” ordered Howe. Then, addressing Freddie and Donet, “Too late for you to leave. It seems you are to have the privilege of witnessing our victory.”

“Excuse me, sir,” said Donet, “I must send a message to my ship.”

“Why, of course. My signalmen are at your disposal to wave off your ship.”

Which is exactly what happened. Freddie looked not at the British fleet forming into a line to converge upon the French fleet, but to the brig-sloop veering off from the battle to come. “Thank God,” he said under his breath.

“Émile Bequel is a seasoned captain, West, more than capable of getting la Reine Noire free of the battle lines. Worry not for my niece and my ship. We are more in danger than they.” But despite his words Donet’s black eyes stared intently toward la Reine Noire.

Satisfied Donet’s ship and Zoé were out of danger, Freddie turned his attention to the battle to come. Standing on the quarterdeck, he was awed by the twenty-five British ships moving in a line toward the French line of twenty-six. Pride welled in his chest as he realized that, in some small way, he’d served his country well in helping England fight a war she would surely win.

An hour later, the French opened fire, their mighty guns sounding loud in Freddie’s ears. But the shot was high. In turn, Howe ordered signal flags to be flown that called for his ships to turn into the French and engage in close action.

“An unusual move,” said Freddie.

“Aye,” said Donet. “The admiral has guts.”

The British fire raked the French ships through the stern, Howe’s fleet engaging them on the leeward side before the French guns could be brought to bear. The ocean exploded with the sound of guns firing, the white smoke shooting out from the gun ports. Soon the sky darkened with smoke from ships burning, the smell bitter in Freddie’s nostrils.

The Queen Charlotte was not immune to the French guns. Shot fell on the quarterdeck near where Freddie and Donet were standing. Twice Freddie had to dodge a falling timber and torn pieces of shrouds. Flayed loose rigging fell to the deck, winding around men, causing injuries. Officers and sailors were picked off by French marksmen, making Freddie glad he and Donet did not wear the distinctive uniforms that would have made them prime targets.

As Howe headed for the ladder to join his senior officers on the poop deck, he urged his guests to go below.

Freddie declined. “Damn my eyes, sir, but I’d not miss this for anything.”

At his side, Donet agreed, thanking the admiral. When the admiral had moved above them, Donet said, “We’ll not be providing the details of what we experience to your sister, agreed?”

Freddie nodded. He’d not be providing the details to Zoé either.