Any Approaching Enemy: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars Read Online Free PDF Page A

course could be anything from true south to south-by-east. He knew that the island of Sardinia was the biggest worry. Cape Falcone, the northern tip of the island, lay under 150 miles to the southeast when the storm had hit; Cape Sperone, near the southern extremity, bore perhaps 225 miles south-by-southeast. He could do the sums in his head. If they were making three knots leeway, it might take between two and three days to come up with the mountainous shores of Sardinia immediately under his lee. A storm such as this could easily last three days. In any event, he told himself, it hardly mattered, except to make their course as southerly as possible in hopes of missing the island entirely. The coast of Africa was at least another 150 miles farther to the south. Few storms lasted that long.
    He also wondered about Admiral Nelson and the remainder of the squadron. The relatively small frigates and Bevan’s tiny brig would be scattered widely and blown to who knew where, should they survive at all. The three seventy-fours had been more tightly grouped when the wind hit them. With their greater size and weight, they would be able to ride out the weather more easily and might even be able to stay within sight of one another. Whatever their situation, it would be days, weeks possibly, before all of them would be able to reassemble and continue with their mission.
    At the second bell in the second dog watch, Attwater appeared out of the fading daylight to urge him to come below for his supper. “It ain’t right for you to not have nothing in you,” he insisted. “Wouldn’t young Mrs. Edgemont not be ’appy if she knew.” Charles relented and went below. As his steward helped him out of his bulky covering and set him at the table, his mind turned irresistibly toward “young Mrs. Edgemont.” Penny, her face, expressions, laughter, her tenderness were never far from his mind or heart. They had been married these four months now. It seemed only yesterday that they had celebrated their wedding day at his home in Cheshire. That had been the one day they were together as man and wife before he was ordered back to sea.
    While Attwater placed a plate of cold boiled pork, cold pease porridge, ship’s biscuit, cheese, and a tankard of porter beer in front of him, he reasoned, as he had a hundred times, that Penny would be well cared for in the large house on his estates. His elder brother, John, had agreed to oversee Charles’s properties. There were several letters back and forth, of course. Two had arrived together shortly before the squadron had left Cádiz three weeks before. From what he could tell in between her expressions of affection and the news of his sister Ellie’s (and Winchester’s) impending expectancy, she was in good health and occupying her time looking after the welfare of their tenants. There had been no mention that she herself might be in a family way, and Charles had felt it too indelicate to ask directly.
    He pushed his food around with a fork, nibbled at a few pieces of the pork, sipped at his beer, and decided that he’d had enough. Before Attwater could return, Charles donned his oilskins and crept out of the cabin to go back on deck. The sky had turned pitch dark. The force of the wind and the heaving ship made mounting the ladderway to the quarterdeck an arduous struggle, requiring him to hold on to the railing with both hands. The wind came in powerful gusts that he judged to be stronger than when he had gone below. He could feel
Louisa
labor as she took each crest, filling the air with spray. He saw Eliot standing by the wheel, lit by the dim glow of a single storm lantern on the binnacle, and crossed to speak with him.
    “I was about to call for you,” the master shouted.
    Charles nodded. The unearthly shrieking of the wind through the shrouds made any attempt at normal conversation impossible.
    Eliot cupped his hands around Charles’s ear. “The breeze is freshening. Should take in