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By Root 936 0

shoulders, drawing his uniform jacket tighter about him. The fog seemed to soak through his clothes to hold his body in its damp embrace. His face felt as though a wet rag had been squeezed against his skin, and his hands felt clammy, the cold brass of the telescope like ice in his fingers. Five yards beyond the rail the leaden sea and sky were blanketed by the fog, the first smoky patches thickening into a gray wall that seemed to cover Richard like an impenetrable dome. It reminded him of a child’s toy; one of those little glass things that when shaken produces a snow storm to swirl around a miniature ship. He glanced aloft to where the masts and rigging disappeared into the shifting grayness. Even snow would have been preferable. He hid his disappointment and turned to Richard Dale who was also staring bleakly at the shrouded sea.

“News?”

“None, sir.”

“None? It’s almost two days. What of Le Cerf?”

Dale shook his head. “Since you dispatched her to search for the two boats yesterday, nothing has been heard from her.” He stared back at the sea.

“Is it my eyes, or do you think it’s clearing?”

“I would like to agree, sir.” As they watched, the fog began to move, thinning into patches before thickening again. It was solid for a moment then broke into tendrils waving like a squid before being spirited away. Above their heads canvas slapped. Richard moved restlessly beneath their feet as though ready to dance to the tune of the coming wind. Ropes and spars began to creak like the bones of an old man waking to greet the coming day. Suddenly out of the gloom, vessels materialized. Alliance, Pallas, and Vengeance appeared like ghost ships, still and eerie. The two officers could see their sails slowly rippling, catching the wind as the fog blew slowly away, rolling across the water.

“Wind at last!” Dale exclaimed.

Paul Jones had his telescope to his eye, raking the hulls of the squadron. “Hoist a signal for all ships to follow the flag, then set a northerly course away from this accursed shore. We’ll leave Cerf to search for Mr. Lunt’s boat and that of the deserters.” He lowered the telescope and peered at the threatening sky. “Well, we wanted wind. If I’m not mistaken it looks like we’re going to get more than we prayed for. A real blow. When darkness falls, burn a lamp at the masthead and fire a gun on the stroke of every hour. Perhaps that way these Frenchmen might not lose us.”

Aloft, the canvas was full, the hard over helm forcing Richard to come about, holding her station while the signaling midshipmen ran up an array of color-coded flags that snapped open gaily in the growing breeze. Bonhomme Richard pitched, the mounting seas piling against her transom, eager to speed her away.

Lt. Dale passed the new course to the helmsman and the junior lieutenant who had taken over the sailing master’s duties. He felt uncomfortable without Cutting Lunt’s capable hands in charge of Richard. Glancing astern, he wondered how the sailing master was faring in the jolly boat on the open sea.

***

Le Cerf plowed blindly through the gloom. Lieutenant Varage stood in her bows, frowning at the solid wall of fog ahead. Trust him to have to go out and pick up the pieces. In this filth too. The deserters would long since have made landfall, and if the commodore’s sailing master had any sense, he would have beached to wait for a break in the fog. Varage was worried. He was close inshore and although Le Cerf drew a shallow draught, his charts were old and not too well drawn. Besides, he wasn’t exactly sure where he was anyway. There was nothing to take a sighting from. Nothing but fog and dark water. He didn’t like either.

“Mark!” he called.

The seaman at the opposite gunwale swung the lead plumb over the side and dropped it into the sea. The wet rope uncoiled by his feet to squeak through the cleat. It did not run long. Only two knots went through. “Two fathoms!” he called before hauling in.

Lieutenant Varage scowled. Twelve feet and getting shallower. He was about to order another sounding when the sailor leaned out over the rail, peering.