Winds of Folly by Seth Hunter Read Free Book Online

aloft to spread more canvas the instant the yards came around. But the frigate could not be so easily cozened. She was barely making steerage way and the wind, such as it was, was pushing them far too close to the harbour entrance. They would have to wear ship and come up on the starboard tack, and Nathan was not at all sure if he had sufficient sea room for the manoeuvre – already he was alarmingly close to the transports waiting off the mole.
    â€˜We will have to use the boats,’ he declared, trying to sound more positive than he felt and avoiding Perry’s eye for he knew the master would have anticipated this problem long before he had.
    They used the crews from the starboard guns, but it took agood few minutes to haul the boats up from the stern and as many more to man them. Then there was the time-consuming business of rigging the cables through the hawsers with Duncan red-faced and roaring and Perry chewing upon his lower lip and Nathan wishing, not for the first time, that he had kept his mouth shut. But eventually they had the frigate in tow and the effect was felt immediately. Her head came round and she began to move across the crowded anchorage with some purpose. Nathan looked to the privateers. They were still holding to their course, close enough now for him to see the guns run out and the studding sails spread out like wings, aloft and alow: more geese than wolves but no less threatening.
    There was the sharp report of a cannon and he jerked his head round to see the puff of black smoke from the fort. A warning shot, no more, but it was enough to make the corsairs bear off a little. Their course was now sou’-sou’-west, which was more or less where he wanted them, but he could not count on their holding to it for long.
    A thin, piping voice at his ear and he looked around to behold a small, fat midshipman, his face shining with eagerness. ‘Mr Holroyd’s compliments, sir, and he thinks he can reach them with the foremost guns.’
    Nathan looked back at the privateers. But the range was extreme and the recoil would inevitably have an effect on the tow.
    â€˜Thank you, Mr Anson,’ he replied, ‘but I believe we must wait until we can give them a better show.’
    The midshipman’s face fell and for a moment Nathan thought he was going to argue the toss. He frowned as fiercely as the circumstance required and discipline prevailed; the boy ran back to instruct the lieutenant to hold his fire.
    They were at the edge of the northern road now, and the corsairs about a mile further out to sea, still bending towestward. Nathan guessed they would continue on this course until they drew level with the convoy and then make their move. But he did not wish to make his own move too soon, for if he shot too far ahead of them he would have a hell of a job beating back against the wind.
    â€˜I think we may get the hands back from the boats,’ he informed the first lieutenant; and to the sailing master: ‘Stand by to brace the yards round, Mr Perry, and let us go straight at ’em.’ He glanced aloft. ‘And break out the battle pennant, Mr Duncan, why don’t you? It is time we gave it an airing.’
    Which was all very well and might have won a round of applause on the stage and even three hearty cheers from the more receptive audiences, but he was in a private agony of frustration until the last man was back aboard and they could finally wear ship.
    Round she came, ponderously at first, but then as she took the wind on her quarter he felt her bite into the sluggish sea and a few spittles of spray came flying back from her bow. Hardly a charge, but at least they were moving in the right direction. Looking up, he saw the battle pennant doing its best to stream from the masthead, less of a spear pointing at the heart of the enemy than a long, quavering finger. He laughed aloud, more from nervousness and a sense of his own absurdity than exultation, but he