The Perils of Command by David Donachie

steal from him and, as long as it was within reasonable bounds, he could let it pass. He was not beyond the odd bit of peculation himself, of the kind that even sharp-eyed Admiralty clerks would fail to spot. It was easy to despise Ralph Barclay, especially for a man who applied the same to most people he met. Gherson was adroit with figures and no more honest than his employer, able to so construct accounts in a way that hid well the minor felonies while diverting some for his own purse. To be insulted, as he regularly was by the man before him, he would abide since he was a source of income that was decent now and could grow to a much more lucrative one if he ever became an admiral and a fleet commander.
    Certainly in his daydreams Gherson looked forward to the day when he could tell Barclay what he really thought of him, but such a dawn was a long way off. That accepted it was common for him to ponder on things that might go some way to redress the imbalance between them and such a possibility occurred to him now.
    If he found Emily Barclay in Naples, perhaps thechance would arise to take from her that which she would not surrender willingly, a thought that had him wriggling uncomfortably in his chair. Barely aware of the shouts aloft and the sound of running feet, he was brought to the cause of the commotion as a midshipman knocked and entered.
    ‘Mr Palmer’s compliments, sir, but two sail have been spotted on the horizon and the lookout reckons them to be warships by their canvas.’
    ‘Nationality?’
    ‘Not yet established, sir, all we have is a sight of their topgallants.’
    The yawn from the captain was both studied and deliberately theatrical and if it impressed the midshipman as a sign of sangfroid it failed to fool Gherson. ‘Ask Mr Palmer to alter course to close and please let me know when that has been established.’
    ‘We know they cannot be ours, sir, given there are none of our vessels in these waters.’
    Gherson saw Barclay swell up. But before he could issue a sharp reprimand to the cheeky youngster the lad was gone, with the captain saying, ‘Pound to a penny they are out from Naples.’
    It took a whole glass of sand to disabuse Ralph Barclay and take him onto the quarterdeck with Devenow right beside him, for there was a fair swell and he risked a fall while using a telescope. The sightings were hull up now and many an eye was ranging over them.
    He had aboard men who had served a long time in the navy and they knew the lines of the vessels they had spotted. They were French by design and, having identified HMS Semele as British, if not by name, they soon put up theirhelm and ran for safety, having seen her flags and reckoned on her size and armament.
    Duty demanded he give chase. He commanded a well-found vessel and one that could be said to be fast for a seventy-four, being very fresh of the stocks and he commanded a crew that had already tasted prize money and were eager enough for more. If frigates, which they were, could normally outsail a ship of the line, luck might come to their aid and carry away something on an enemy vessel, canvas or a spar, perhaps one in panic bearing too much aloft.
    Added to that they were running from safety; there was no harbour or bay outside of the southern French coast where they could anchor and not be vulnerable. The meanest tactical mind had to reckon that they would seek to come about and reverse the course in the hours of darkness and that, with luck and the right course, might put the seventy-four within long range of their decks.
    ‘An opinion, Mr Palmer?’
    That made the premier blink; his captain was not one to seek the views of others.
    ‘We have no notion of their qualities, sir.’
    That required no further explanation: were they well manned, for the French Navy had suffered much from the Revolution, most tellingly in its upper ranks? Many vessels seemed now to be commanded by men who had not previously been ships’ captains. How long had