From the map, the Dover Strait looked very narrow. Calais, France, was very close to Dover, Britain.
Yet only after drifting across the sea did she realize just how wide this seemingly narrow channel was. At any rate, she could not see any land.
"We're almost at Wissant." Bonaparte walked to the rail and watched the view with her. "If all goes well, we'll reach Calais this afternoon."
Georgiana did not reply, because his words came with a condition: if all went well. But what if they did not?
That was undoubtedly discouraging talk. No one wanted to hear it now. Everyone aboard seemed nervous, while Bonaparte alone appeared perfectly relaxed.
"Aren't you afraid?"
"Afraid of what?" he asked, looking into the distance.
Before she could say anything, the lookout atop the mast rang the bell in warning.
Everyone looked up at him, then followed the direction in which he pointed. Several black dots were approaching them in the distance.
Bonaparte held out his hand to the side, and his aide handed him a telescope.
"British warships," he said, peering through the telescope. "Five ships."
She looked around. Their fleet seemed sizable, but most of it consisted of civilian merchant vessels. If battle broke out, they would likely be of little use.
Then she looked toward the ship carrying the magicians and journalists. They had noticed the anomaly as well and were watching the approaching British warships through telescopes.
"Guess whether they'll open fire," he said with a smile.
"This isn't funny," Georgiana said seriously.
Then they watched together as the five ships drew closer.
Before long, the French and Dutch warships headed toward the five vessels, and colorful flags rose up their masts.
They were signal flags. Though she could not understand them, flags soon rose on the British