Scarborough Fair - Chris Scott Wilson [30]
***
Two days later three English frigates were sighted approaching the fleet. The commodore again gave orders for pursuit.
Determined to engage the enemy, Bonhomme Richard spearheaded the chase with Pallas, Vengeance, and Alliance in her wake. Pierre Landais, almost dribbling with excitement, harried his crew, marching back and forth along Alliance’s weather deck, cursing men and officers alike. Ignoring his lieutenants, he belayed their orders until the crew were confused and clumsy. His sailing master, a hard-bitten tar well used to his commander’s tantrums, found himself in an awkward position. While he heard Landais’s shrieks for all haste, he watched signal flags break out on the lanyard alongside Bonhomme Richard’s straining sails, the commodore’s personal orders demanding Alliance keep correct formation with the squadron. Caught between the devil and Paul Jones, the sailing master turned a deaf ear and a blind eye, chewing stolidly on his tobacco wad. His only comment when Landais voiced some stupid demand was a gob of yellow juice. He was experienced enough to know even if they disobeyed the commodore, Alliance’s crew was low on morale, governed as they were by a madman, and such a crew could not urge sufficient speed from their ship to overhaul the English men-o’-war that had turned to run. So what was the point of inducing the commodore’s wrath when they could gain nothing by it? Besides, Landais may rant and rave, but underneath, the sailing master was sure, the French commander knew Alliance could give no more, certainly not enough to outrun the squadron and take the Englishmen single-handedly.
The hell with him.
A hammering startled the sailing master. He turned to see Landais staring wild-eyed at the English men-o’-war, fists pummeling the rail. The master glanced at the captain’s knuckles where a splinter had gouged a furrow. It had quickly flooded, blood dripping unnoticed to the deck.
“They are getting away! We must catch them! I will show them how French steel tastes rammed down their gullets!” Landais laughed, a cackle to match the curious light in his eyes.
The sailing master looked away, back to the three frigates outdistancing them. Thank God we are not going to haul up on them, he thought. This fool would run us in under their broadsides. Inwardly he shuddered as he imagined the combined firepower of the three English men-o’-war, all cannon brought to bear on Alliance, her pretty hull smashed to pieces by bar and chain. God knows, the fool had already made them lose their mizzenmast that first night out of Lorient when they had collided with Bonhomme Richard. This maniac Landais had to learn you fought the English with your head, not bravado. One wrong move and they would have you cold.
Cannon fire broke out astern.
The master glanced aloft. “Tighten that brace!” Then he leaned on the taffrail where his captain was already staring astern at the merchant fleet. A little to the east of the main body of ships smoke lay heavy on the water. As they watched, cannon flashes sparked orange, smoke billowing as they heard the sound from the last salvoes. Three ships were fighting, tacking, and coming about.
“It’s Le Cerf,” the sailing master said.
Landais’s voice rose to a shriek. “Those English pigs have tricked us, casting a decoy. Now their other ships have run in behind us like jackals to snap at our heels! And that fool Jones did not see it!”
Neither had Landais, the master thought.
“Signals, sir!” the lieutenant called.
“Well, call them down, you buffoon!” Landais snapped.
“Aye aye, sir,” the nervous officer replied. “All ships to rejoin the fleet and engage the enemy, sir.”
“As I thought, as I thought. Now we’ll get them.” He glowered at the master. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Pierre Landais stared at the battle in the distance. Behind him the master bellowed, “Prepare to go about!” The seconds were long and the minutes longer as the crews of the pursuit vessels swarmed across yards while those on deck hauled under the threats and curses of