1805 by Richard Woodman

Drinkwater could see her
tricolour lay over her taffrail.
    A cheer broke out amidships and beside him Hill exclaimed,
'She's ours, by God!' But uncertainty turned to anger as Drinkwater
realised what Rogers had allowed to happen. He swept the clearing
horizon with his Dolland glass.
    'God's bones! What the hell does Rogers think he's
about… Mr Hill!'
    'Sir?'
    'Hoist out my barge… and hurry man, hurry!'
    Drinkwater swept the glass right round the horizon. There were
no other ships in sight. But beyond the brig the convoy of
chaloupes
and
péniches
was escaping, quite
unscathed as far
as he could tell. In a lather of impatience Drinkwater sent Frey below
for his sword and pistols.
    'You will remain here, Mr Frey, to assist Mr Hill…
Hill, you are to take command until Mr Rogers returns. I will take
Tyrrell with me.' Frey opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again
as he caught sight of the baleful look in his captain's eyes.
    As he hurried into the waist, Drinkwater heard Hill
acknowledge his instructions and then he was down in the barge and
Tregembo was ordering the oars out and they were away, the oar looms
bending under Tregembo's urging. He looked back once.
    Antigone
sat upon the water, her sails
slack and only adding to the impression of confusion that the morning
seemed composed of. He forced himself to be calm. Perhaps Rogers had
had no alternative but to attack the brig. Drinkwater knew enough of
Rogers's character to guess that the fog would have given him a fair
excuse to ignore the invasion craft.
    They were approaching the brig now. They pulled past three or
four floating corpses. Someone saw their approach and then Rogers was
leaning over the rail waving triumphantly.
    'Pass under the stern,' Drinkwater said curtly to Tregembo,
and
the coxswain moved the tiller. Drinkwater stood up in the stern of the
boat.
    'Mr Rogers,' he hailed, 'I directed you to attack the invasion
craft!'
    Rogers waved airily behind him. 'Mr Q's gone in pursuit, sir.'
The first lieutenant's unconcern was infuriating.
    'You may take possession, Mr Rogers, and retain the
quarter-boat. Direct Gorton and Mount to follow me in the launch!'
    Rogers's crestfallen look brought a measure of satisfaction to
Drinkwater, then they were past the brig and Drinkwater realised he had
not even read her name as they had swept under her stern windows.
Tregembo swung the boat to larboard as the invasion craft came into
view.
    Smaller than the brig and clearly following some standing
order of the brig's commander, they had made off under oars as soon as
Rogers's attack materialised. They were about a mile and a half distant
and were no longer headed away from the brig. Seeing they were pursued
by only a single boat they had turned, their oars working them round to
confront their solitary pursuer. Mr Quilhampton's quarter-boat still
pressed on, about half a mile from the French and a mile ahead of
Drinkwater.
    'Pull you men,' he croaked, his mouth suddenly dry; then,
remembering an old obscenity heard years ago, he added, 'pull like
you'd pull a Frenchman off your mother.'
    There was an outbreak of grins and the men leaned back against
their oars so that the looms fairly bent under the strain and the
blades flashed in the sunshine and sparkled off the drops of water that
ran along them, linking the rippled circles of successive oar-drips in
a long chain across the oily surface of the sea. Drinkwater looked
astern. The white painted carvel hull of the big launch was following
them, but it was much slower. Drinkwater could see the black maw of the
carronade muzzle and wished the launch was ahead of them to clear the
way. The thought led him to turn his attention to the enemy. Did they
have cannon? They would surely be designed to carry them in the event
of invasion but were they fitted at the building stage or at the
rendezvous? He was not long in doubt. A puff of smoke followed by a
slow, rolling report and a white fountain close ahead of