1805 by Richard Woodman Page A

sir,’ reported Quilhampton, who had been diligently counting the enemy vessels as the sun broke briefly through the cloud and shot rays of almost horizontal light over the sea, foreshortening distances and rendering everything suddenly clear. Then it sank from view and left the silhouettes of the
Immortalité
and
Leda
on the horizon, coming in from the west.
    The small ships were close inshore, the flashes from their guns growing brighter as daylight diminished and the tide turned. Owen made the signal for withdrawal and the
Antigone
, in company with the
Harpy, Bloodhound
and
Archer
, drew off for the night and rode out the rising gale at anchor three leagues offshore.
    At daylight on the following day, 20th July, Drinkwater was awoken by Midshipman Dutfield. ‘Beg pardon, sir, but Mr Fraser’s compliments, sir, and would you come on deck.’
    Drinkwater emerged into the thin light of early morning. The north-north-westerly wind was blowing with gale force. The Channel waves were steep, sharp and vicious and
Antigone
rode uncomfortably to her anchor. The flood tide was just away and the frigate lay across wind and tide, rolling awkwardly. But it was not this circumstance that the new lieutenant wished to draw to Drinkwater’s attention.
    â€˜There, sir,’ he pointed, ‘just beyond the low-water mark, lines of fascines to form a rough wall with artillery . . . see!’ Fraser broke off his description as the French gave evidence of their purpose. The flash of cannon from the low-water mark was aimed at the gun-brigs anchored inshore. Out of range of the batteries along the cliffs, they were extremely vulnerable to shot from a half-mile nearer. The French, as if demonstrating their ingenious energy, had made temporary batteries on the dry sands and could withdraw their guns as the tide made. What was more, shot fired on a flat trajectory so near the surface of the sea could skip like stones upon a pond. They’d smash a gun-brig with ease and might, with luck, range out much further.
    â€˜It’s bluidy clever, sir.’
    â€˜Aye, Mr Fraser . . . but why today?’ Drinkwater adjusted his glass and immediately had his answer. At the hour at which it was normal to see lines of infantry answering the morning roll-call he was aware of something very different about the appearance of the French camps. Dark snakes wound their way down towards the dip in the hills where the roofs and belfries of Boulogne indicated the port.
    â€˜By heaven, Mr Fraser, they’re embarking!’
    â€˜In this weather, sir?’
    â€˜Wind or not, they’re damned well on the move . . .’ The two officers watched for some minutes in astonishment. ‘There are a lot less
bateaux
in the anchorage this morning,’ Drinkwater observed.
    â€˜Happen they’ve hauled them inshore to embark troops.’
    â€˜That must have been a ticklish business in this wind with a sea running.’
    â€˜Aye.’
    As the tide made, Owen ordered his tiny squadron under weigh and once again
Antigone
closed the coast. By now the batteries along the tideline had been withdrawn and there was sufficient water over the shoals for the bigger frigates to move in after the sloops and gun-brigs.
    At noon
Antigone
came within range of the batteries and Drinkwater opened fire. After the weeks of aimless cruising, the stench of powder and the trembling of the decks beneath the recoiling carriages was music in the ears of
Antigone
’s crew.
    Their insolence was met by a storm of fire from the shore; it seemed that everywhere the ground was level the French had cannon. The practical necessity of having to tack offshore in the northerly wind allowed them to draw breath and inspect the ship for damage. There was little enough. A few holes in the sails and a bruised topgallant mast. Astern of them the gun-brigs and sloops were snapping around the two or three luggers that were