Read Online Any Approaching Enemy: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars by Jay Worrall - Free Book Online

Daniel Bevan. Bevan and he thought alike, he decided. They had much the same backgrounds and had worked closely as lieutenants on the old
Argonaut
for a half-dozen years. What they didn’t know, they picked at until they figured it out. But when Talmage was confronted with a problem he hadn’t been prepared for by his tenure as flag lieutenant to Admiral St. Vincent—how to improve the rate of fire for the guns, for example—he was at a loss.
    “I do not want
Louisa
to be a ‘normal’ ship, Mr. Talmage,” Charles said. “I want her to be as effective in battle as she can possibly be.”
    “Of course, sir,” Talmage said, bending forward and obviously attempting to be accommodating. “We could practice the men at the guns more often. Daily, even.”
    Charles knew this was not the answer he was looking for. He had already instituted a regular schedule for gunnery practice, three times a week, and sensed that more frequent repetitions would not help. He wanted a fresh approach. Something like a study of how the guns were worked, what individual tasks were involved, in what order. Was there a better way to do it? He’d had ten men on each gun. Was that better than eight? Or twelve? Or six? With the numbers and the way the tasks were distributed, did some of the men get in one another’s way? Sometimes they did, he knew. Charles thought it worth examining. Clearly, Talmage was not the man to do it.
    “That’s not what I’m looking for,” Charles said without thinking. “I’ll have Winchester look into it.”
    Talmage’s eyes narrowed fractionally, and his mouth tightened. “Sir,” he began in a tone that signaled a long-pent-up protest, then he fell silent. Charles thought for a moment that he might have too directly called into question the lieutenant’s abilities and would have to make amends. Before he could speak, he heard the lookout in the tops call down to the deck: “Sail ho, south-by-southeast, maybe twelve miles.”
    “We will continue this discussion at another time,” Charles said, pushing the issue to the back of his mind. He rose and took up his coat. “We’d better go topside. That may be the rest of the squadron.”
    It was
Terpsichore,
recognized almost immediately by the lookout. Within an hour, the tiny white dots of her topgallants were visible from the deck. Slowly, more of the distant masts revealed themselves to include topsails and then courses. Charles scanned the sea with his glass but saw no sign of any other ships. A call to the tops confirmed that it was
Terpsichore
and only
Terpsichore
bearing down on them. As it would be at least an hour before Bedford’s frigate came within hailing range, he called Winchester over to discuss his plan for an examination of the gun work. He noticed Talmage standing alone by the opposite rail, eyeing them sullenly.
It will pass,
he thought.
    Terpsichore
glided majestically across the shimmering sea in the late afternoon under a full set of sails, to make the best advantage of the light winds. Before she began to take in her canvas and heave to on
Louisa
’s weather side, the signal
Captains report on board
soared up her halyards. Charles’s gig had already been made ready. “You have the ship, Mr. Talmage,” he said formally to his unsmiling first lieutenant and descended over the side.
    Charles’s and Bevan’s boats reached
Terpsichore
almost together. By centuries of naval tradition, Charles was given preference, Bevan doffing his hat and smiling broadly while his boat’s crew backed their oars. Charles grabbed at the ropehold for the side ladder and hurried up over the tumblehome.
    Captain Edward Bedford stood by the entryport to greet the two captains as they emerged onto the deck. Charles touched his hat and shook the offered hand. Bedford was a broad-shouldered man in his early forties, with thick black eyebrows and a weather-beaten face. Charles had heard somewhere that Bedford had worked his way up the ladder of naval command