The Shipping Forecast

Plymouth Part 2, the second

Four bells in the evening watch, 20 miles sou' south-west of the Eddystone Rocks

The Diana had made swift progress in the hours since sighting the French warship. Much expostulation had been made by her crew as to who they were chasing at that time. A two decker it was, but arguments flowed back and forth as to which two decker, and even more words were passed as to why it was alone, and, of more concern, where the channel fleet might be. Captain Dunt had ordered a windward gun fired every minute to attract the attention of the British frigates, corvettes, revenue or pilot cutters that should be patrolling the waters for roving Frenchmen or trade, but none had they seen. Sure, the north-westerly gale was now strong enough to blow the channel fleet southwards, and no doubt many had made for the safety of the open sea rather than risk being caught on a lee shore, and a French lee shore at that. So, they were on their own and the chase - for chase it now was - was doing all it could to keep ahead of the Diana until darkness fell and it could maybe get away unseen.

And darkness was now falling. Captain Dunt was back on deck, as were all the officers, some gathered near their captain, others checking guns and hatch covers and rigging ahead of the expected order to 'beat to quarters'. Battle lanterns were already lit and the gunner and carpenter were on the forepeak, one tending to the pair of brass nine-pounder chasers, the other inspecting the gun's deck mountings with pinched, sour expression on his face.

Scalmy was with them, wet and cold but trembling with excitement at the coming action, half his attention to the chase and the other half to the grumblings of the two warrant officers. A deeper darkness than could be explained merely by the coming of night was spreading quickly up behind them. For a moment, Scalmy's face matched that of the carpenter, even his limited experience telling him that things might be about to turn awkward. Clearly Lieutenant Daniel thought so too, as the bosun's whistle started its call and a voice of thunder directed through a speaking trumpet sang out, "All hands! All hands to reduce sail!"

Scalmy hurried back to the quarterdeck and arrived at the same time the Captain appeared, and it was to Captain Dunt he made his report.

"Very good, Scalmy. Please to find your fellow Mid and recall him to his duties. I believe I saw him in the waist, on the leeward side, inspecting the scuttle abaft number eight gun."

"Yes, sir!" Scalmy dodged past the bosun and a gaggle of men tidying lines and halyards and headed down into the waist. With the full watch on deck to shorten sail, gun crews were already beginning to form ahead of the expected order to beat to quarters. There was a sense of grim joy among the crew, a chase in sight and home near at hand. Scalmy found the number eight gun, and behind it, a formless bundle of rags, which he kicked.

"Ow!" The formless bundle unfolded to reveal a slack, formless face, looking up pathetic and sodden from where it lay on the deck. "Kicking a man when he's down, Scalmy, that's low."

"Oh, stuff. Captain's compliments etc., etc., you know the drill. Pull yourself together, you're embarrassing us!"

"Just let me die."

"It's just a slight imbalance in your humours, as the doctor said. A bolus and a cold wash in seawater will set you up proper." Scalmy leaned closer and lowered his voice to prevent the nearby men overhearing. "You can't be sea-sick, you're in the Royal Navy! They don't allow it!"

"Never. I'm leaving the service. I'd rather be a draper than go though this torture again."

"What stuff. Who'd want to be a draper? You'll always be poor and hungry. Just think, no more plum duff, no figgy dowdy..,"

"Oh, god."

"...watered down rum, ships biscuits, especially the weevily ones with the extra crunch, helpings of slush from cook which sets one up royally when clemmed... What's up? Oh, not again! Mind my shoes you grass combing bugger!"

But the retching youth had pulled his head back in from the scuttle, all thoughts of sea-sickness erased from his mind. "Gosh. What was that!"

"Eh?" said Scalmy. "What do you mean?"

"I saw a ship. Just for an instant."

"How big?"

"Huge! Black hull, white topside, larger than anything I've ever seen - a first rater for sure!"

"You're not having me on, are you? You really saw it?"

"Yes, in the flash of lightning. I'm certain of it."

Scalmy pulled himself up onto the netting and stared into the darkness to starboard. It was pitch black, and no cry had come from the lookout. He thought his shipmate a fool, but he also knew that the fool was possessed of eyesight that was undoubtedly the best in the ship. Scalmy wavered for a moment, but he was at heart a decent fellow, and destined for greater things because he was brave enough to act quickly and decisively on incomplete information, and so he called out to the quarterdeck, "Ship of the line on the starboard beam!"

"Beat to quarters!" came Captain Dunt's instant reply. The drum beat, hammocks were brought up and boarding netting put in place. Being not unexpected, this took only a moment, and so it was that as every able seaman, officer, lieutenant and ship's boy looked to starboard and strained their eyes in the darkness, they saw a ghostly wall of white appear, a ship larger than anything they had ever seen before; certainly it was no ship that ever swam under the flag of the Royal Navy. So tall were it's sides that the masts and sails were out of sight so it seemed, and therefore, as nothing like this apparition was known to anyone aboard HMS Diana by sight, memory, rumour or reputation, they all made the same assumption: it must be French, and therefore the enemy.

When a flicker of orange light appeared high up near the bow, the gun captains were a heart beat ahead of the ship's Captain, and the slow match brought to the touch-holes of the cannons an instant before the order came to 'Fire!'