Ramage and the Dido r-18

by Dudley Pope

  And he had taken the French completely by surprise: they were all prepared to fight the Dido on the starboard side, with the starboard side guns loaded and the locks cocked, the crews crouched and ready, when suddenly the British ship appeared on the larboard side after pouring a raking broadside into the unprotected bow.

  But now the Frenchman had passed and Ramage had a quick glimpse of her stern, just having time to read her name, Junon. Aitken, speaking trumpet to his lips, was shouting orders which would tack the ship and take her in pursuit of the Frenchman, who was still close hauled and making off to the east-north-east - whether trying to escape or to cover the frigate, Ramage was not sure.

  What startled him was the lack of damage and casualties in the Dido: instead of the decks being littered with dead and wounded - especially the Marine sharpshooters - and the boats smashed and rigging hanging down torn by shot, there were perhaps half a dozen dead or badly wounded, and little sign of damage. Yes, the Frenchman had been taken completely by surprise. But the fight was not yet over; having lost the windward gauge, suddenly slipping across the bow was not a trick he could try a second time.

  Quickly the sheets and braces of the Dido were hauled home so that the yards were braced sharp up and the Dido sailed to the east-north-east in pursuit of the Junon, which was now a good half a mile ahead.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Down at number seventeen 32-pounder on the starboard side, which Jackson normally commanded (along with number seventeen gun on the larboard side), Stafford, Rossi and the four Frenchmen sat on the gun and rested, having returned there after firing and then reloading the larboard side gun.

  'I don't want to fight a long action with these brutes,' Stafford said, slapping the barrel of the 32-pounder. 'They're just so damned big. I'm used to 12-pounders: they're more my size.'

  'But think of the damage they do,' Rossi said. 'Our broadside just stopped that frigate dead and probably not done much good to that seventy-four either. '

  Gilbert said lugubriously: 'I couldn't help thinking of when we were in the Calypso and we met those two seventy-fours. That could have been us, pounded to a stop and hauling down our flag.'

  'Well, thanks to Mr Ramage it wasn't,' Stafford said briskly, 'so don't get sad. They're only French.'

  'So are we,' Gilbert said, gesturing to the other three.

  'Yes, but you don't count,' Stafford said, completely unaware that he had been tactless. 'You're not the same sort of French.'

  'Thank you,' Gilbert said ironically. 'We are just the sort that they shoot if they ever catch us.'

  'Shoot?' Stafford was puzzled. 'You mean execute?'

  'Yes, of course. They regard us as traitors. They execute all Frenchmen they find serving the British.'

  'Be careful then,' Stafford said, his voice serious. 'We don't want anything to happen to you.'

  'Don't worry,' Gilbert said, keeping a straight face, 'we walk very carefully.'

  Stafford stood up and stretched himself, having to crouch because of the low headroom. 'I do fink the first lieutenant was a bit 'ard on us when making out the general quarters, watch and station bill. These guns are supposed to have eight men, but 'cos we're short of complement he gives us only seven, which means six when we go to general quarters 'cos we lose Jacko who has to go as quartermaster. Six ain't enough.'

  'We manage,' Louis said. 'Stop grumbling, Staff. Always you grumble. The meat's too salty, too many weevils in the biscuit, not enough men at the gun: you're never happy.'

  'Oh yus I am,' Stafford protested. 'It's just that when you come to a new ship you 'spect things to be right. If eight men are allowed for a 32-pounder, let's have eight: don't make us hump it around with only six.'

  'Is a compliment,' Rossi said matter-of-factly. 'Mr Aitken knows that we can manage.'

  'Most of the other guns have eight men,' Stafford pointed out.

  'Some have only seven, and they're all former Calypsos,' Rossi said. 'And we have seven except when we go to general quarters, and Jackson has to go up to the quarterdeck.'

  'That's the very time when we need the extra man,' Stafford declared.

  'Well, we haven't got him so we'll have to make do,' Gilbert said cheerfully. 'For me, I prefer the Dido to the Calypso: more room, a more comfortable motion in a seaway. There's no comparison between serving in a frigate and a ship of the line.'

  'You're right; there ain't no 32-pounders in a frigate,' Stafford declared. 'But there's too many people in a seventy-four. It's not friendly, like in a frigate. Too many Marines, too many officers and petty officers. No, give me the Calypso any day.'

  'Well, if you were still in the Calypso and you had just met that French seventy-four, you might be dead.'

  'No, not with Mr Ramage,' he said seriously. 'He'd have thought of something.'

  'One day,' Auguste said, speaking for the first time in the conversation, 'Mr Ramage might not think of something, then you are dead.'

  'We'll all be dead,' Stafford said cheerfully. 'Well, you can't expect to live forever, can you?'

  'Yes,' Rossi said fervently. 'Well, maybe not forever, but I want to die in my bed of old age, with all my weeping grandchildren round me.'

  'All sobbing and sayin' prayers, eh? Some hope,' Stafford said. 'They'll all be damned glad to see the back of you!'

  'You don't deserve to have me as second captain of this gun,' Rossi said. 'Dying is a very serious matter for an Italian.'

  'It's not exactly a lark for an Englishman either,' Stafford said. 'The family don't usually gather round laughing and joking.'

  He walked round to the gunport and leaned out. He could just see ahead, and then came back to report.

  'The Frog's less than half a mile ahead. I think we're catching up slowly. We may have raked her, but it doesn't seem to have slowed her down at all. The other French frigate is further round to leeward with the British frigate engaging her. They seem to have been having quite a scrap.'

  'If it was the Calypso she'd be dismasted by now,' Rossi boasted.

  'If the Calypso was here, we'd probably be engaging the seventy-four, knowing Mr Ramage,' Stafford said soberly.

  'You see, it's not so bad after all being in the Dido,' Gilbert said quietly. 'It's all death and no glory when a frigate has to fight a ship of the line. I'm not a proper sailor, but even I know that.'

  Stafford adjusted the strip of cloth round his forehead to stop perspiration running into his eyes. 'It's hot down here. I wish I was working on the carronades, up in the fresh air.'

  'Not only fresh air up there,' Rossi said. 'Grapeshot and splinters too.'

  'Well, we'll get roundshot and splinters down 'ere,' Stafford said philosophically, 'so there's not much to choose. I think I'd prefer the extra fresh air.'

  With that he walked to the gunport again and, holding on to the barrel of the 32-pounder, leaned out to look ahead. 'We're gaining on her slowly and I reckon we're pointing closer to the wind,' he said.

  'She must have a foul bottom,' Rossi said. 'Usually the French are closer winded than us.'

  'We may have done her some damage when we raked her,' Stafford said. 'That was a smart move by Mr Ramage; we threw a raking broadside into her without getting a broadside back. One up to us.'

  'But it's bound to end up a battle of broadsides,' Gilbert said. 'Gun for gun she's the same as us, so it'll be a question of who can last out the longest.'

  'Unless Mr Ramage thinks up some trick,' Stafford said.

  Up on the quarterdeck Ramage lowered his telescope and said: 'We're gaining on her. Slowly, admittedly, but we're pointing higher.'

  'She's foul all right,' Southwick growled, 'otherwise we'd never get to windward of her. I don't know what's wrong with our builders, but we can't produce ships that go to windward like the French. Think of the Calypso. Her French builders knew a thing or two. The French can't fight, but by God they can build weatherly ships.'

  Ramage put the telescope to his eye again. 'The Heron is fighting it out with the Requin: they'
re lying alongside each other, bow to stern. I hope the Sylphe doesn't do enough repairs to hoist her flag again and escape us.'

  Southwick sniffed yet again. 'I think they've got all their work cut out keeping her afloat. We fairly riddled her hull. And I doubt if she has many men left alive to man the pump as well as knot and splice rigging - she took a terrible pounding. If they'd had any sense they'd have hauled down their colours before we got alongside her.'

  Ramage nodded. 'Yes, she could have fired a few guns pour l'honneur de pavillon and then hauled down her colours. No one expects a frigate to take on a ship of the line.'

  He looked across at Jackson and called: 'Won't she take a bit more? Can't you luff in the puffs?'

  'The puffs don't last long enough, sir. But we're creeping up on her.'

  Southwick, meanwhile, was busy with his quadrant, measuring the angle subtended by the Junon's main topgallant masthead. He made the last adjustment, balancing himself against the Dido's slight pitching, read the figures off the vernier scale, and consulted his tables. 'Four degrees twenty-one minutes,' he said, running his index finger down the column of figures. He read off the number opposite. 'She's just 745 yards ahead of us,' he said. 'There's no doubt, we're gaining on her.'

  'Not fast enough,' grumbled Ramage, lifting up his telescope once more. Although there was no doubting Southwick's quadrant, the Junon did not seem any closer; she was ploughing her way to windward. She obviously intended to fight: she had her courses clewed up, like the Dido, so she was still under fighting canvas. If she was intent on bolting, Ramage thought, she would let fall her courses. Yet that was odd: she was bolting - she was abandoning the Requin, which was still fighting and which the Junon could rescue by swinging away to leeward and pouring a broadside or two into the Heron. Why? Why had she not let fall those courses? There must be a reason. Perhaps the captain had been killed and the second-in-command was still pulling himself together. Yet the obvious thing, if you were making a bolt for it, was to set every inch of canvas without wasting a moment.

  There must be a reason for it, but what was it? Ramage shrugged his shoulders: there was no point in making wild guesses - not that he could think of even a wild guess.

  'Five degrees six minutes,' Southwick intoned, and once again consulted his tables. 'Six hundred and thirty-nine yards, sir,' he reported. 'We seem to be overhauling her faster now. We must have a better slant o'wind. Give us another five knots o'breeze and we'll be sheering up alongside her and boarding in the smoke!'

  Ramage still watched through his telescope, puzzled by the clewed up courses. Suddenly the outline of the Junon seemed to blur, then he saw the foremast lean, almost lazily, and topple back on to the mainmast before slewing round and falling over the side to leeward.

  'Look at that!' bellowed Southwick. 'By God, our raking broadside did do some damage after all!'

  And that explained why the courses had been clewed up: obviously the raking broadside had damaged the mast, cut the forestay or badly damaged the bowsprit, and the crew of the Junon had been so busy trying to make repairs that there was no question of setting the courses. Not that with the foremast in danger of going by the board, as it had just done, there was any question of setting the forecourse.

  Southwick was still busy with his quadrant: the Junon had slowed down appreciably, with one mast over the side and the sails and yards dragging in the water like a brake. She was still under way - Ramage could see she was still leaving a wake, and the rest of the sails were still drawing. He could imagine frantic men with axes slashing at the tangle of shrouds and halyards to cut the mast free. With the main and mizen still standing they could manoeuvre the ship, though it would call for all the seamanship that the captain possessed.

  'Six degrees five minutes!' Southwick said delightedly, consulting his tables. 'She's only 533 yards now!'

  For a moment Ramage felt sorry for the French captain: he had lost his foremast because he had let himself be taken by surprise - he expected the Dido to sweep down his starboard side, and instead of that she had cut across his bow, raked him and come down his larboard side, where the guns were not ready. Now he was commanding a ship which he could barely manoeuvre and with a British seventy-four coming up astern, less than half a mile away. Admittedly a lucky French shot could send one of the Dido's masts by the board, but the French would indeed need to be lucky, cutting a stay. It would take more than one roundshot to do much damage to the Dido's mainmast, for instance, which was more than three feet in diameter.

  One thing was certain, Ramage decided, this action was not going to degenerate into a battle of broadsides, with the Dido lying alongside the Junon and pounding away: the Dido could still manoeuvre, even if the Junon was reduced to an almost inert mass in the water. The French would have to watch their mainmast now: with stays torn away and sheets and braces ripped out, the mast might well be tottering, waiting to follow the foremast.

  Ramage turned to Jackson. 'Steer to pass fifty yards off along the starboard side.'

  Then to Aitken he said: 'Pass the word to the guns that we'll be engaging to larboard at fifty yards' range. Fire as the guns bear.'

  Southwick was taking his last reading with his quadrant. 'Seven degrees thirty-six minutes - ah, that's more like it!' He read from his tables, a note of triumph in his voice: 'Four hundred and twenty-six yards, sir. We could stand off and tease her with the carronades!'

  Would the Junon haul down her colours and save what would otherwise be a senseless slaughter? Ramage was not sure. Losing a foremast in these circumstances was a good enough reason for surrendering. Good enough, but not an overwhelming reason. Ramage thought for a moment of a French courtmartial, trying the captain for the loss of his ship. A case could be made out for surrendering - and an equally good case could probably be made out for fighting on, relying on that lucky shot.

  He wished he did not keep thinking about the French captain's plight, but the fact was he did not look forward to what he had to do: it had been bad enough pounding the Sylphe in an action which would bring him no credit - a 74-gun ship was expected to pound a frigate into submission. Admittedly it would be different with the Junon, because two equally powerful ships had started off on level terms, and the Dido had gained the advantage by using surprise. But he hated the idea that the French captain would fight on because of pride, and probably cause the death of fifty of his men and the wounding of double that number.

  Would a French captain be having these thoughts? He shook his head impatiently: no, he almost certainly would not. So it was his job to get fifty yards to windward of the Junon and pour in a full broadside to start the proceedings.

  This was the first time he had been able to compare the windward ability of the Dido against another ship, and he was quite impressed by her performance: she had pointed higher than the Junon, which at the time had been all that mattered. One learned about one's ship at the oddest times. They were approaching the Junon fast now. The thunderclouds were clearing; blue patches of sky were hinting at a clearance. The wind was less gusty and perhaps a little stronger: there were hints of whitecaps on the water.

  And now the Dido was within a few minutes of firing her larboard broadside into the Junon, and it was important to remember that although the French ship had lost her foremast and some of the larboard guns were obscured by sails hanging over the side, her starboard broadside was unaffected: every one of those guns would be loaded; at this very moment the French gunners would be waiting for the Dido to come into their sights.

  Ramage had one big advantage - he could manoeuvre the Dido. Use that advantage, he told himself; do not lie alongside the Junon and indulge in a slugging match. The way to fight this action was to keep on making darting attacks - raking the Frenchman across the bow and across the stern, keeping out of the way of her broadsides as much as possible while pouring a heavy fire into her unprotected ends. So after his first broadside the Dido would be raking her.

  He watched from the quarterdeck as the distanc
e rapidly lessened: four hundred yards, three hundred, two hundred, and then the tight feeling of anticipation as the Junon seemed to come into fine focus: all the colours seemed intensified, from the sea to her copper sheathing (revealed as she rolled gently), from the scroll bearing her name (at this distance the red seemed gaudy) to the flax colour of her sails and the black of the muzzles of her guns poking out of her side.

  Ramage could see the Marines raising their muskets as Rennick and his lieutenants gave them orders. He imagined the second captains of guns cocking the locks and leaping back out of the way of the recoil, while the captains would be taking up the strain on the triggerlines, ready to give that tug that would fire the guns. And, of course, the French gunners would be going through the same drill.

  A hundred yards, fifty, a ship's length . . . and then the deep cough and spurts of smoke and fiame as the first of the Dido's guns opened fire, punctuated by the sharper crash of the Junon's opening broadside. Almost at once the smoke drifted aft and set them coughing, and as the broadsides continued Ramage heard the tearing calico sound of roundshot passing close. There was a crash and he saw one of the cutters disintegrate: a reminder that he had not paused earlier to hoist out the boats and lower them, to tow them astern out of harm's way, and where they would not be smashed into showers of lethal splinters.

  He could feel the thuds as some of the French shot slammed into the Dido's side, but so far no yards had been damaged. Were the French gunners not firing into the masts and spars as they usually did? Perhaps the Dido's steady fire after raking her had shown the French how devastating was a broadside fired into the hull.

  The popping of the Marines' muskets seemed laughable, too light to be lethal, but he reminded himself that every pop meant a musket ball, each one of which could kill a man. Now the 12-pounders on the quarterdeck were firing, and almost immediately Orsini's carronades joined in. And by now the Junon's quarterdeck was abreast that of the Dido and he could see a small group of French officers standing at the forward end, looking across at the Dido just as he was watching the Junon.