Fifteen Miles East of St. Croix, Caribbean
The soft knock on the cabin door was recognizable as Svantner’s. “Come in, Arne!” Eddie called out, picking up his next report.
The lanky Swede slipped into the cabin. “You asked to be notified as soon as the Zuidsterre’s sighting was confirmed.”
“So, the Spanish have come out to play. Do we have a count?”
Svantner nodded. “Sixty sail, sir. Maybe a few more toward the back of their van. Hard to tell, even from the balloon.” He sounded admirably calm, given that it meant the Allied fleet was outnumbered, three to one. Even counting the supply fluyts that were to be kept far away from any combat, lest the troops and ammunition and extra coal on them be lost. But, odds notwithstanding, it was a good thing that both Eddie and Tromp had pushed relentlessly for getting their own fleet under way as soon as possible. Had they put it off another five days, they’d have been meeting these Spanish in sight of Oranjestad itself.
Eddie nodded at Svantner’s report. “So it’s as Tromp expected. The Santo Domingo fleet has been reinforced from Cuba. Heavily.”
“Maybe not, sir. A lot of the ships are smaller than we expected. A lot more pataches or other fore-and-aft rigged craft, sir.”
That made Eddie pause. “Hmm. Less weight of shot, but more maneuverability. And harder for us to hit.” Of course, it was entirely possible that the Spanish had simply scraped together whatever hulls they had available to throw at the new Caribbean threat that had announced itself at the Battle of Grenada Passage. But it was also possible that the composition of this Spanish fleet was not a matter of chance, but careful design . . . “Arne, signal Dirck and Admiral Tromp that we need to keep a close eye on how the Spanish maneuver.”
“What, specifically, are you recommending they watch for, Commander?”
Eddie shrugged. “I wish I knew. But typical Spanish doctrine would have them line up a wall of galleons against us. Either they don’t have them to spare, or they’re trying something different. And since they’ve changed the balance of their fleet toward lighter, handier hulls and fore-and-aft rigs, I’m thinking that their tactics are going to emphasize maneuver more than usual.”
Svantner shrugged. “They might, but I don’t see how they could get the weather gauge on us, sir. We’re running before the breeze coming steady from east by northeast. And we’ll be north of St. Croix before they reach us, so it’s not as though they’ve got enough room to turn our flank unless we let them.”
“All true, Arne. But they know all that, too, and they’ve known we’re coming for at least a week now, what with our yachts playing hide-and-seek with their pataches and piraguas in the seas between us. So whatever they’ve got in mind, they’ve taken all that into account. Which means either I’m missing something, or they are. Or these are the only ships they’ve got available near Santo Domingo.”
“Probably the latter, sir.”
Which was both a reasonable and a comforting conjecture. Which was why Eddie refused to accept it, refused to be lulled into a dangerous complacency by hearing what he wanted to hear. “You might be right, Arne, but until we know that’s the case, we’re going to behave as if it isn’t. How long until we reach them?”
“If we push on, we’d make contact at night, sir. Some time during the middle watch.”
Eddie started. “What? How strong is the wind?”
“Up to thirteen knots sir. Seas are rising toward three-foot swells.”
Too fast an approach and increasingly choppy seas: no good. “Send to the admiral that I recommend we half reef the sails and close slowly. I think our best scenario would be to have the Spanish at about five miles come tomorrow morning. We can use the rest of today’s light to tighten up our formation so we’ve got minimal dispersion to correct at dawn. And we won’t put the steam pinnaces in the water until we see first light and determine how high the seas are going to be.”
“Very good, sir. Anything else?”
“Yes, Svantner. I want you to bodily throw the chief engineer in the brig.”
Svantner blinked. “Sir?”
“I’m kidding, of course.” Well, mostly kidding. “But I swear that if Pabst sends one more of his ‘black gang’ up here with a panicked request to test the new treated wood before we enter combat, I will cook him in his own precious boiler.”
Svantner stared at the deck. “Well, sir, to be honest, a lot of the engineering crew aren’t entirely sure why we’re carrying a fuel that seems to be—well, an added fire risk.”