by Dudley Pope
There was a flash from the Peacock's side: one of her guns had been loaded and fired. Ramage heard neither the thud of a hit nor the noise of a shot passing close. As soon as all the Peacock's starboard side guns were firing, it would be time to try the other tack.
He banged Jackson on the shoulder. "Tell Mr Southwick to make sure all the starboard side guns are loaded with grape, and to pass the word when that's done and he's ready to wear ship!"
Another flash from the Peacock's side, and then another. Three guns manned and firing, and three more to go. With luck one or two had been damaged...
Jackson, pulling at his shoulder, reported that the starboard guns were already loaded and the Master ready to wear.
Another flash from the Peacock's side warned him four guns were now manned. He knew it was time to attack from the other side...
He jumped down on to the deck and strode over to Southwick, but even before he could give any orders Jackson was beside him gesticulating. Ramage turned to see another ship coming up on the Peacock's larboard quarter.
"The Greyhound frigate, sir!" Jackson yelled.
So there was no need to wear round to attack the Peacock on the other side.
As he watched the frigate, Ramage heard yelling and shouting coming from the Peacock; excited cries that carried over the noise of carronades and musketoons.
The shouting was in French, and he thought he could hear "Board her!" being constantly repeated. He went back to the bulwark and tried to concentrate his thoughts while, one after another, the carronades gave enormous, heavy coughs as they fired and then crashed back in recoil in a series of rumbles which shook the whole deck.
The stretch of water between the two ships, the waves slopping darkly but constantly reflecting the flash of gunfire, was too narrow. Too late, Ramage realized what was happening. The Peacock, sheering away from the approaching Greyhound, was running aboard the Triton.
"Stand by to repel boarders!" Ramage shouted at the top of his voice and at the same instant realized he was unarmed: the cutlass given him by Southwick was still stuck in the deck somewhere. He could hear the Master repeating his cry, but it was unnecessary: there was not a man in the Triton who did not realize there was no chance of the Triton avoiding the Peacock crashing alongside.
Ramage glanced back at the Greyhound: she was coming up fast - she had perhaps two ship's lengths to go before she was alongside the Peacock. A matter of minutes, almost moments. And in that time the bunch of cut-throats in the Peacock - obviously French privateersmen, although he hadn't the slightest idea how they got there - would have slaughtered every man in the Triton.
There was no point in standing up here on the bulwark like a pheasant on a gate, Ramage told himself; he could see all that was necessary from the deck. He jumped down and ran over to the rack of boarding pikes fitted round the mainmast. As he snatched one, the brig gave a sudden lurch: the Peacock had crashed alongside.
Boarding nets, Ramage thought with irritation: I didn't order them to be rigged up. But there was no sudden swarm of screaming Frenchmen over the top of the Triton's bulwarks; instead the men at the guns continued sponging, loading, ramming, running out and firing into the French ship.
As he realized the enemy was not still alongside he saw Southwick was standing beside him, shouting something ... "Managed to turn to starboard enough to dodge ... Should I repeat it if the Peacock -"
"Yes, right now!" Ramage yelled as he felt the Peacock crash alongside once more and saw men holding on to her rigging, poised to jump and waving cutlasses that glinted in the flash of the guns.
Every available Triton was waiting at the bulwarks. Many had muskets, with cutlasses slung over their shoulders; others held boarding pikes, the seven-feet-long ash staves with long, narrow spear tips.
A flash and a noise like tearing canvas warned Ramage that a roundshot from one of the Peacock's guns had missed him by a matter of inches. Then he saw, in the flash from one of the Triton's guns, eight or ten Frenchmen toppling from the Peacock's main shrouds. It took him a few seconds to realize that the Triton's Marines were clearing the Peacock's rigging by firing volleys from the musketoons. It said something for the coolness of the Marine corporal...
Suddenly there were twenty Frenchmen screaming and scrambling at the bulwarks where Ramage had been standing: they had all leapt at the same instant and, Ramage guessed, misjudged the distance slightly in the darkness. Instinctively Ramage lunged with the boarding pike, felt the wood jar his arms as the point came hard up against bone, and wrenched it back ready to stab again into the mass of men.
Jackson and Stafford were beside him, screaming like madmen and slashing with their cutlasses; a stream of blasphemy in Italian, the Genoese accent unmistakable, showed that Rossi was close by.
More Frenchmen were streaming on board and overrunning the carronades, and out of the corner of his eye Ramage saw Jackson slip. A Frenchman paused above him, bracing to slash down with his sword. Without thinking Ramage hurled the boarding pike like a spear and caught the Frenchman in the side of the chest. As he fell, Jackson got to his feet again and waved cheerfully before leaping at the nearest group of boarders.
Ramage caught sight of a cutlass lying on the deck, snatched it up and turned back towards the Peacock. There was a bellow of wrath a few feet away and he caught sight of Southwick, hatless and his white hair sticking up like a mop, slashing away with his enormous sword and driving three Frenchmen before him.
But there was something odd about the Frenchmen now; no more were boarding and the shouting was dying down. In fact, he suddenly noticed, many of them were scrambling back on board the Peacock.
Then the dull rumble of a heavy broadside warned him that the Greyhound frigate had just run aboard the Peacock on the larboard side.
All over the brig there were small groups of Tritons hacking and slashing away with pikes and cutlasses at groups of similarly armed Frenchmen, but there was something else happening. Ramage knew he would have to pause a moment before he could fathom what it was. The screaming Frenchman with whom he was fighting suddenly collapsed, stabbed by Rossi's pike, and Ramage leapt sideways and made for the mainmast. Standing with his back against it, cutlass in his right hand, he looked across at the Peacock and realized that all three ships, locked together, were slowly swinging. The "something else" that puzzled him was the change in movement as they swung broadside on to the sea in the lee of the Greyhound.
He stared at the Peacock's masts, and then at her shrouds. There was no doubt about it - she was drawing away from the Triton. A moment later a group of Frenchmen noticed it and scrambled on to the bulwark to try to get back on board. But the gap was too wide: the Greyhound must have rigged grapnels from the ends of her yards and these were holding the Peacock alongside. The Triton with nothing holding her against the Peacock, was drifting off to leeward.
There would be no more boarders now, and he must quickly rally the Tritons.
He ran to the wheel shouting, "Tritons! To me, Tritons!"
Other seamen took up the cry as they joined Ramage until it was a regular chant by thirty or more men, among them Southwick. Now he could clear the ship of the enemy, but as he was about to shout the orders he heard a terrible wail and saw that most of the remaining boarders had rushed to the larboard side and were looking at the Peacock, now ten yards away. Some of their shipmates appeared at her bulwarks and began throwing lines over the side. With that one Frenchman after another jumped into the sea and began splashing his way back to the Peacock.
Within a minute Ramage and Southwick were staring at each other in amazement: there was not one able-bodied Frenchman left on board the Triton.
"I want a dozen men to deal with the wounded," Ramage told Southwick, "and all the larboard side guns are to be reloaded. Let's get the ship under way again and give the Greyhound a hand."
Before all the wounded had been carried below and the sails trimmed, the firing from the Peacock's guns had become sporadic. The thunder of t
he Greyhound's broadsides continued for another four or five minutes before stopping abruptly, signalling that the Peacock had been captured.
An hour passed before Ramage, tacking the Triton up to windward again, found the convoy and got back into position. By then Bowen had reported the casualties to him. Six Tritons had been killed - all by the Peacock's six-pounders - and, by what Ramage privately thought could only be a miracle, only five had been wounded. The French boarding party had left eight dead behind, but had apparently taken their wounded with them. Privateersmen, never giving or asking quarter, took care of their wounded whenever it was possible.
The Topaz was back in position, leading the column; but there were only six ships in the column itself. Ramage wondered what had become of the second ship that came up the inside of the column. As far as he could remember, he had not noticed it firing a single shot... But all that mattered was that Maxine's ship was safe.
Chapter Eight
As the grey dawn pushed the darkness westward away from the convoy, Ramage looked round the horizon anxiously until he sighted both the Greyhound and the Peacock over on the lee side of the convoy. It was still not light enough to distinguish detail, but since the Peacock had sail set, the Greyhounds must have had a busy night.
Ramage was weary. As soon as he could leave the ship to Southwick he had gone below to talk to the wounded, while on deck the dead were being sewn into hammocks ready for burial. After that he had gone to his cabin to write his report to Admiral Goddard - potentially the most dangerous part of the night's activities.
At daylight, with a clear horizon, the guns were secured and head-pumps rigged to scrub and holystone the deck. Large patches which had shown up black in the early light had finally revealed themselves as dried blood.
As they scrubbed, Stafford asked Jackson: "Will they take 'er into Antigua?"
The American shrugged his shoulders. "If she isn't damaged too much ... otherwise Jamaica, I should think. Better off in Jamaica - big dockyard at Kingston."
"Better price in the prize court there, too," Stafford commented.
"Hmm, I hadn't thought of that. Still, we won't get much."
"Why?" Rossi demanded angrily. "We did all the fighting! But for us they lose the Topaz. The Greyhound - she is very late."
"All ships of war in sight at the time get a share," Jackson said.
"Dio mio, is not fair!" Rossi exclaimed, his accent thickening the more angry he became. "The Lion and the frigates - the lugger, too - why, is so dark they see nozzing! The Grey'ound - 'e only come after the flashes. Next time we write 'im a letter of the invitation!"
"Easy now," Stafford said mildly. "Listen, Jacko, I know that's the law, but why?"
"If another warship's in sight, it might affect what the prize did."
"Cor, wot a lot o' nonsense!"
"No it isn't. Could be you one day. Say the Lark lugger found a big merchantman and chased her. Not a hope of catching up, and precious little of capturing her if she did. Then we come over the horizon ahead of the merchantman and capture her. The Lark has a right to a share - after all, she found and chased the prize: but for her she might have gone in a different direction. And we'd deserve a share, because without us she couldn't have been captured. And if there was a third warship they'd probably deserve a share because that's another direction the merchantman couldn't have escaped."
"Yus, well that makes sense, Jacko; but this was in the dark."
"Dark or not," Jackson explained patiently, "the Peacock knew the rest of them were there. She wouldn't have tried to bolt across the bows of the convoy - she knew the Lion and Antelope were there. Nor astern, because of the Greyhound and Lark."
A few yards aft of the three men, Ramage and Southwick were also discussing the night's events, the Master saying vehemently: "I don't care what you say, I'm damned certain that the Greyhound was there only because she was trying to keep station on us; she wasn't bothering to watch the convoy. We could have gone ten miles ahead of the convoy towing a seine net and the Lord Mayor's carriage, and come dawn we'd have found the Greyhound six cables astern of us."
Ramage laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't matter, really; the main thing is she was there when needed."
"If you'll excuse me, sir, you're generous to a fault. She was there all right, but by accident."
Ramage grinned. "I'll be more interested to hear how the Peacock talked her way into the convoy in the first place..."
"Haa!" Southwick snorted and waved towards the Lion. "Belike they'll have a good tale ready. And it wouldn't surprise me if we don't get involved in it; in return for saving his reputation, his High and Mightyship will somehow put the blame on us."
"Mr Southwick!" Ramage said reprovingly.
"Apologies, sir," the Master said hurriedly, realizing that Ramage wanted him to apologize because seamen nearby could have overheard his criticism of Admiral Goddard. "I'm sorry, that was a stupid remark."
An hour later, though, Southwick was more than ever convinced that the Admiral and his Flag Captain would make sure that none of the blame rested on their shoulders. He clattered down the companionway, acknowledged the Marine sentry's salute, and obeyed Ramage's invitation to come into the cabin.
"Flagship's just signalled, sir. You're wanted on board. The Captain of the Greyhound has just left the Lion."
Ramage patted the packet on the table. "I'm glad I stayed up late writing this. Have some coffee - there's some in that pot."
When Southwick shook his head, he added: "You ought to make the best of it while we are in the Caribbean: not often we get the real stuff!"
"Afraid I prefer my tea, sir; seems Frenchified, coffee."
Ramage looked up at him with pretended disapproval. "That sort of attitude won't make these planters rich - " he waved towards the chain of islands. "They depend on coffee, sugar and rum."
"The Navy's Board's a good customer for rum, anyway."
"It's just as well they are: I doubt the planters will ever lure the English away from their gin."
"The Admiral..." Southwick reminded him.
"Ah yes," Ramage said, with a flippancy he did not feel, "obviously a social invitation. He breakfasts later than I do."
He picked up the packet and reached for his hat and sword. "Well, Mr Southwick, if you'll heave-to the ship to windward of the flagship, I'll climb into my carriage and Jackson can drive me over to see the Admiral."
Rear-Admiral Goddard had been badly frightened and now he was furious. By contrast Croucher's thin face gave nothing away. Both men were trying to hide from Ramage that the attack on the Topaz was their main concern.
"Tell me again, Ramage: how did this begin?" Goddard said, tapping his knee with Ramage's report, which he had not yet opened.
"The ship's company had stood down from general quarters, sir," Ramage said. "I was on deck and looking casually round at the convoy with my night glass. I happened to glance at the Peacock just as she let fall her fore course."
"A great pity you hadn't seen her main course let fall," Goddard snapped.
"I did, sir; that was the movement that first attracted my attention. They were still bracing the yard round and sheeting home when I saw them set the fore course."
"We have only your word for that."
"Of course, sir," Ramage said, but couldn't resist adding quietly, "It's a pity we have no corroboration from the Greyhound ..."
Croucher glanced at him quickly and Goddard looked away, saying, "Then what did you do?"
"Sent a man aloft with a glass. He reported she was hauling her wind. She then came onto a course parallel with the convoy's and about fifty yards to windward."
"But you didn't see fit to inform me," Goddard said.
"No, sir," Ramage said flatly.
"Note that, Mr Croucher. The Admiral's not important enough, eh Ramage?"
"I didn't mean that, sir. If you were informed every time a ship of the convoy was out of position, you'd receive a hundred signals a day."
"But this was an unusual circumstance."
"It didn't seem so unusual at the time: no one knew she was anything but an ordinary merchantman."
"If there was nothing unusual, why did you send a lookout aloft?"
A good question, Ramage thought to himself.
"I did say 'so unusual' sir. I sent a man aloft because I saw she'd set her courses, but -"
"Why had she set her courses?" Croucher interrupted.
"To attack the Topaz, sir," Ramage said evenly. "I know that now, but I could hardly be expected to know that at the time."
"Why not? She was the obvious target!"
"Indeed?" Ramage pretended surprise and could not resist adding: "I had no idea, sir, and as far as I knew the Peacock was an ordinary merchantman the Admiral had allowed to join the convoy."
Goddard waved a hand at Croucher, as if telling him to be quiet.
"You couldn't know," he said. "It wouldn't have mattered if the Peacock's next ahead" - he broke off, realizing that was a bad example - "or any other ship for that matter - had been the target: you should have warned me."
Ramage could see the way that Goddard was shaping his defence. He would tell the Admiralty that Lieutenant Ramage had known all about the attack but had not told him. Very well, he thought, you have a fight on your hands, and here goes the first broadside: "I had already warned you, sir: I'd told you all I knew."
"You did what?" Goddard exclaimed.
"I warned you, sir."
"D'you hear that, Croucher?" he asked sarcastically. "Lieutenant Ramage had already warned me!"
Croucher knew what Ramage meant, and tried to tell the Admiral - "I think I underst -"
"But he says he warned me, my dear Croucher: have you ever heard such impudence?"
"The letter, sir," Croucher said lamely
"The letter?"
Ramage said, "My written report, sir: the one I delivered yesterday morning."