Chapter 794: Hotham's Strategy
Hotham's staff officers delivered the fleet's damage report.
Outside the officers' quarters, the moans of wounded sailors could still be heard—despite repeated orders for silence.
Frustrated, Hotham tossed the report aside.
He didn't need to read it—he had personally witnessed the entire battle and knew exactly how much damage had been done.
The French fleet had launched five attacks, damaging one third-rate ship and two fourth-rate ships.
Yes, the third-rate ship was his own flagship, HMS Theseus.
Though it had only suffered two barrel-sized holes in the foredeck, and its combat ability remained intact, 16 sailors had been wounded or killed by French cannon fire.
The two fourth-rate ships were in similar condition.
The worst hit, HMS Bullshark, had lost its stern mast, making it the most severely damaged ship in the squadron.
Of course, Hotham completely ignored the frigate squadron's earlier defeat.
To him, those smaller ships were insignificant losses.
A Long, Frustrating Meeting
Hotham and his senior officers held discussions until 2 AM, but failed to come up with an effective countermeasure.
Eventually, two ships were sent to report to Admiral Hood and request reinforcements.
The Next Day: Another Nightmare
The same scene unfolded again.
The nimble French steamships darted in, harassed the bulky British ships, then swiftly retreated, only to return for another attack…
They repeated this cycle all day, only retreating at sunset.
But unlike yesterday, the French seemed even more coordinated, launching six separate attacks, damaging four more British ships.
Inside HMS Theseus' meeting room, Hotham was on the verge of losing his mind.
Those tiny French ships, which he could easily destroy with a single broadside, remained untouchable.
Meanwhile, his own fleet continued taking hits.
HMS Bullshark was once again the main target—its right stern was blasted open, and several cannons had fallen into the sea.
Its captain spoke hesitantly:
—"Admiral, I believe my ship needs to return to Gibraltar for repairs."
—"I fear the stern structure is unstable and could collapse…"
Hotham frowned and shook his head.
—"The French are likely resupplying in a Corsican port."
—"If you detach from the fleet and get caught alone, you'll be in great danger."
Lieutenant Smith angrily interjected:
—"Admiral, we must go on the offensive!"
—"If we can trap those French ships just once, we can wipe them out!"
But Captain Harriet immediately objected:
—"That's exactly what the French want."
—"If we chase after them, the French transport fleet will leave Marseille and resupply Genoa!"
Someone mumbled softly:
—"And… we can't catch them anyway…"
Smith raised his voice:
—"But we can't just sit here!"
—"The French will come again tomorrow!"
The other officers nodded in agreement.
—"Yes, we can't just keep taking hits."
—"We must do something!"
Hotham's Plan
Hotham repeated the words in his mind: "transport fleet".
Suddenly, he raised his hand, signaling for silence.
—"Tomorrow morning, we leave this position."
—"Admiral, but what about Genoa's blockade?"
Hotham smirked.
—"We'll sail toward Marseille."
—"This way, we can intercept the French transport fleet before it reaches Genoa."
—"Afterward, we'll patrol the waters between Marseille and Genoa to avoid further harassment."
In an era without airplanes or radar, finding a fleet moving unpredictably in the vast ocean was incredibly difficult.
For the French to locate the British fleet, they would need to spread out their warships.
And by the time they regrouped for battle, several days would have passed.
Time was on Hotham's side.
Even if Admiral Hood didn't return, the siege of Genoa would end within weeks.
Hotham only needed to stall for ten more days.
Without realizing it, his mindset had shifted.
He was no longer thinking about defeating the French fleet—only about buying time.
This, despite the fact that he commanded nine ships of the line, while the French had only a handful of light warships…
The French Break Through—Or So They Think
The next morning, the French steam fleet arrived south of Genoa, only to find the British fleet missing.
Admiral Dichayella immediately dispatched scouts to search 20 miles around the area.
When they confirmed that the British had left, Dichayella sighed in relief.
—"It seems the British are even more impatient than I expected."
Turning to his staff officer, he ordered:
—"Send a message to Marseille. Inform them that the blockade has been lifted."
—"Yes, Admiral!"
The steam corvette Sea Parrot raced across the sea, reaching Marseille in a single day.
At last, the first three transport ships set sail for Genoa.
But on the second day, as they entered the Ligurian Sea, they spotted British oar-sail ships on the horizon.
Moments later, the massive shadows of Hotham's fleet appeared from the east.
The transport ships turned to flee, but they were too slow due to their heavy cargo.
Only one managed to return to Marseille.
The other two were captured by the British fleet.
The French Are Stuck Again
On the deck of the Tunis, Admiral Dichayella's face darkened.
He had underestimated the British.
They had left Genoa, yet still blocked all supply routes.
At this rate, there was no way the transport ships could slip through.
Captain Salmond of the Sea Parrot hesitantly suggested:
—"Admiral, should we escort the transports ourselves?"
Before Dichayella could reply, he shook his own head.
The French steam warships were great for raiding but terrible for escort duty.
The British ships of the line could ignore their harassment, withstand their cannons, and blast the transports out of the water with just a few volleys.
Dichayella gripped the railing tightly.
—"In ten days, General Dimobin's forces will run out of supplies."
—"Even though we drove away the British fleet, we never expected them to stall us like this…"
Just then, a nervous voice spoke up behind him.
—"Admiral… I might have a way to get supplies into Genoa…"
Dichayella turned to see a young petty officer, no older than 20.
He tried to recall the name.
—"Henry Dumville? You're the senior sail rigger?"
The sailor bowed nervously.
—"Yes, sir. I'm honored that you remember my name."
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