Ramage's Challenge r-15

by Dudley Pope

  Sir Henry gave a dry chuckle. "Have you thought of what the French authorities will do to that captain when they finally work out what has happened?"

  "Not in detail, sir; just enough to be thankful it's not me."

  Sir Henry made no comment. It was now clear to him that Ramage still intended to try to rescue the rest of the hostages. The admiral thought soberly that he was damned if he could see how the youngster would achieve it, but then, who else would have had the thundering cheek to march up to Castello and coolly sign the commandant's receipt for the people he was rescuing?

  "So there should be time," Ramage went on, and Sir Henry guessed that Ramage was both thinking aloud and letting him know his idea on the situation. "We wait near Port' Ercole for the weather to clear. By then the fishermen up here will be taking this sorry crowd of Frenchmen on shore. We land ... we can't risk more than that night and the next day. And the following night, if necessary. Then away, round the coast south of Sardinia and hurrah for Blackstrap Bay and Gibraltar. All being well."

  Sir Henry stayed at the quarterdeck rail with Ramage as the Calypso's men started fitting a spring on the frigate's cable. Ramage always thought this method of training round an anchored ship so that the broadside guns could be aimed at the target was like a bull's head being held by one rope tied to a ring in its nose and the rest of the animal being turned bodily by tying a second rope to its tail and heaving.

  Southwick had supervised the men securing a hawser to the anchor cable using a rolling hitch. The hawser was put over the larboard side and brought aft, outside all the rigging. It was then taken round the stern and led back on board, coming in through a sternchase port and then to the capstan.

  As soon as Aitken was satisfied that the hawser led clear, directly from the cable, along the ship's side and back in through the sternchase port, he signalled to Southwick. The master's party veered some of the anchor cable so that as the Calypso dropped back several yards the hawser attached to it led forward and, as Aitken's men paid out more from aft, both it and the cable where it was secured dipped beneath the water.

  Finally both first lieutenant and master were satisfied: the bull's tail, Ramage noted contentedly, was secured (by the hawser) to the rope attached to the ring in its nose (the anchor cable).

  As soon as Aitken formally reported that everything was ready for them to begin hauling, Ramage said: "Beat to quarters, then, Mr Aitken; we may as well make an early start."

  Sir Henry watched the drummer boy flourishing his drumsticks and commented: "Surely that lad's drum has French colours painted on it!"

  "French colours and the name of a French frigate, sir," Ramage said, half apologetically. "We captured the frigate off Devil's Island last year. Up to then we'd used bosun's calls to send the men to quarters, but they liked the idea of a drum, and the Marine lieutenant had a boy ready, so . . ."

  "Most appropriate," Sir Henry said. "After all, the Calypso is a French-built ship!"

  Aitken was waiting for fresh orders. "We'll try with just one gun at first, Mr Aitken," Ramage said, "because if we start firing broadsides we can't spot the fall of individual shot. Which reminds me, we may as well start with grape. Now, tell Jackson to wake up at his gun and I want you to report as you start hauling in on that hawser and turning us round until his gun is aimed."

  Aitken, speaking trumpet in his hand, began shouting orders. First a party of men removed the wedge-shaped drawers from the capstan and slid in the bars. The swifter was quickly passed round and the men ducked under it to stand upright, their chests against the bars.

  On the maindeck the powder boys now sat along the centreline, using their wooden cartridge boxes as stools and chattering happily. The deck had already been wetted with the washdeck pump as a precaution against spilled powder and sprinkled with sand to prevent men slipping; all the guns now had their locks bolted on, with the lanyards neatly coiled on the breeches. And beside each gun were several rounds of grapeshot, each of which looked like small black oranges embedded in a cylinder of pitch.

  Aitken, reporting everything ready, looked questioningly at Ramage, who nodded. At a word from Aitken the men at the capstan slowly stepped out to start the capstan revolving while two other men hauled the end of the hawser clear as it led off the capstan barrel.

  The first dozen revolutions of the capstan were easy because the men were taking in the slack: Ramage saw that the hawser leading from the Calypso's larboard quarter vanished below the waves almost dead ahead.

  The clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk of the capstan pawls slowed down as the strain came on the hawser. After a few more turns the men began to heave the Calypso round by her stern so that the stranded French frigate would soon be on her beam, within reach of her broadside guns.

  The deck was now beginning to run with water as the straining capstan barrel squeezed the water from the hawser, and a seaman stood beside the men with a bucket, throwing handsful of sand on to the deck beneath their feet.

  The sharp "clunk" slowed to a rhythmic "kerlunk" but the men at the capstan pushed with a will: this was nothing compared with weighing anchor in a high wind and nasty sea.

  Ramage walked to the ship's side and sighted along the barrel of one of the carronades. He could not see the French frigate because she was still hidden by the side of the port, showing that the ship had not yet been trained round enough. Sir Henry joined him.

  "I say, Ramage, I must admit I'm enjoying all this. Must be twenty-five years (think of it, a quarter of a century) since I trod the decks of a frigate. You lose a lot with promotion, you know. Manoeuvring a fleet isn't half the fun of handling a single frigate!"

  "Then I'll stay in the lower half of the Post List, sir," Ramage said with a grin. "I'm more interested in handling a ship than a fleet!"

  "What commands have you had up to now?"

  "The Kathleen cutter was my first, sir. I lost -"

  "Yes, I remember, you deliberately got yourself run down by that Spaniard, the San Nicolas, to help Commodore Nelson, as he then was."

  "Yes, sir. After St Vincent Their Lordships gave me the Triton brig. I ran her on a reef in the West Indies ..."

  Sir Henry thought a moment. "Wasn't that after you lost your masts in a hurricane? You drifted up on a Spanish island - yes, Culebra, wasn't it? And found some treasure?"

  "We were lucky," Ramage said. "Then another ship, and I was lucky enough to capture this frigate, which I was allowed to keep."

  Ramage knelt and sighted along the carronade barrel again. He could just see the French frigate now, and the slow "kerlunk" of the pawls and Aitken's occasional shout showed that the Calypso was being hauled round only a degree at a time, to bring the guns to bear.

  He stood up and saw that the hawser now running from the stern made a large angle with the anchor cable, which vanished away to larboard. He heard a hail from Jackson, followed by a shout from Aitken, and the capstan gave a single "kerlunk", followed by a relieved sigh from the men at the bars.

  Kneeling once again, Ramage sighted along the carronade barrel and found himself looking directly at the French frigate's deck.

  Aitken came up. "Jackson's ready to open fire, sir."

  There was something about the first lieutenant's hesitation that made Ramage raise a questioning eyebrow. "Er," Aitken said, glancing at Sir Henry, "the gentlemen are down there among the guns, sir, and . . ."

  "They can watch from the fo'c'sle," Ramage said. "Tell Jackson to begin firing as soon as the deck's clear."

  He and Sir Henry waited three or four minutes, then Ramage excused himself and hurried to the quarterdeck rail, where Aitken was looking down at the maindeck. Hill was talking to General Cargill by Jackson's gun while the rest of the hostages were standing up on the fo'c'sle.

  "It's that damned general, sir," Aitken muttered. "The rest went forward without any fuss."

  Ramage, after looking down directly below the quarterdeck rail and making sure that Rennick and his Marines were drawn up, said to Aitken: "I'l
l deal with this."

  He clattered down the ladder, deliberately making noise; walking past the mainmast, he saw that all the guns' crews on the larboard side were deliberately facing outboard to avoid looking at Hill and the general, who were standing just inboard of number four gun.

  "Good morning, general," Ramage said politely. "We shall be opening fire as soon as our guests are on the fo'c'sle."

  "Guests!" Cargill exploded. "Damnation, man, I am a general in the King's service, and I want to watch these men. I want to make a report to the Board of Ordnance about their ability. Not often the Board get a report from an unbiased witness."

  "How right you are, sir," Ramage agreed coolly, "but you'll see better from the fo'c'sle: no bulwarks and hammock nettings to force you to peer through a gunport."

  "I'm staying here," Cargill said stubbornly.

  "All guests - by that I mean everyone not forming part of the Calypso's ship's company - have been requested to go to the fo'c'sle if they wish to watch the shooting."

  "I'm staying here."

  "General, you have the choice: the fo'c'sle or your cabin."

  "What the devil do you mean by that?"

  "The captain of this ship has given the guests the choice. He has given an order," Ramage said, speaking slowly and clearly. "The choice is contained in an order - that the guests will go either to the fo'c'sle or their cabins."

  "And if I choose to ignore the order of some whippersnapper and stay here?"

  Ramage turned and waved to Rennick, who promptly began marching forward, followed by Sergeant Ferris at the head of a party of three men.

  As soon as Rennick stamped to attention in front of Ramage with a questioning "Sah?", Ramage turned to Cargill.

  "General, I repeat; you go to the fo'c'sle or your cabin."

  By now Ramage could sense the tension throughout the ship. From the fo'c'sle the rest of the former hostages watched, looking down and able to hear every word spoken since Ramageand Cargill were standing only a few feet from them. The seamen forming the guns' crews were now standing with resentment showing in their stance.

  "You be damned, Ramage," Cargill sneered.

  As Ramage turned towards Rennick, he saw Sir Henry watching from the quarterdeck. Rennick had a confident look on his face and Ramage had the impression that Sergeant Ferris would quite happily toss Cargill over the side.

  "Lieutenant," Ramage said formally to Rennick, "escort the general down to his cabin."

  Cargill had gone white. Did he realize he had gone too far? Had he realized that neither Sir Henry on the quarterdeck nor the other two admirals on the fo'c'sle had interfered on his behalf?

  "Oh, very well," he said ungraciously, "I'll go to the fo'c'sle."

  Ramage knew that now was the time to establish who commanded the ship: Gibraltar was many hundreds of miles and many lives away. "No," he said, "you'll go to your cabin." He nodded to Rennick, who said to Cargill: "If you'll come this way . . ."

  "Ramage!" Cargill exclaimed, "you don't dare put me under an arrest! I've warned you, I am a general in the King's service."

  "You have disobeyed the lawful command of the captain," Rennick said quietly, "with the third lieutenant and the lieutenant of Marines of this ship, and three admirals, one general, a marquis, two earls and a viscount as witnesses . . . sir," Rennick added as an afterthought.

  Cargill looked round like a trapped animal and then walked to the ladder leading down to the gunroom.

  As soon as the Marines had clumped away, Ramage walked the few paces to the breech of Jackson's gun. He looked at the frigate and then, after telling Jackson to carry on, went to the next gunport.

  Jackson, with the long lanyard in his hand, stood behind the gun, far enough back to be out of reach of the recoil, and peered along the sight. Stafford stood close to the flintlock and Rossi and Gilbert were beside the breech, ready with handspikes.

  Jackson gestured with his left hand. Both seamen slid the metal tips of their handspikes under the breech end of the carriage and levered it over a few inches. Jackson held his hand up, and they stood back. So much for traverse, Ramage thought to himself: always train "left" or "right" in gunnery orders. Now for elevation. Jackson signalled again, and the two men put their handspikes under the breech and raised it slightly as Stafford pushed in the wooden wedge, better known as the coin, which governed how high or low the breech was raised from the carriage, and thus controlled the range by the angle of the barrel.

  Jackson gave another signal, and as Rossi and Gilbert stepped clear and Stafford cocked the lock, Ramage realized that Jackson must have been almost ready to fire before Cargill interfered.

  The American went down on his right knee, with his left leg stretched out sideways to its full extent. Slowly he tightened the firing lanyard, his eye still along the sight. The anchor cable and the spring held the Calypso steady, with little more than a hint of a pitch and a roll. Jackson was obviously waiting a few moments for the combined pitch and roll to bring the target precisely into the sight.

  Then in one flowing movement the lanyard went tight, the gun leapt back in recoil, spewing a flash and a stream of black smoke from its barrel and giving an enormous grunt which half deafened Ramage.

  As men began coughing from the coiling smoke which the wind swirled across the deck, the rest of Jackson's crew moved with the speed that came from constant practice. In went the mop, the "woolly 'eaded bastard" as it was more familiarly known, sopping wet and both extinguishing and cleaning out any burning residue left in the barrel. A powder boy ran up with the new charge which Louis grabbed and slipped into the gaping muzzle, standing to one side as Albert thrust it home with the rammer. Gilbert stood by with a wad, which was rammed down, and Louis lifted up the cylindrical grapeshot, starting it off down the barrel. Albert's rammer thrust it down on to the wad and powder charge, and then rammed home the final wad.

  Gilbert gave a bellow and the men grabbed the tackles on each side of the gun and hauled, running the gun outboard again. The ship was rolling so slightly that there had been no need to hold the gun inboard with the train tackle while the men reloaded.

  By now Stafford was ready: he thrust the thin, skewer-like pricker down the vent to make a small opening in the cartridge to expose the powder; then, seeing that the loaders were clear of the gun, he pushed a quill - a tube of fine gunpowder - down the vent, shook priming powder into the shallow pan, and then turned to Jackson.

  The American had seen that the first round had missed by about ten feet: all the grapeshot had spattered round the frigate's quarterdeck just forward of the boat hanging in the quarter-davit.

  Ramage, who had come down to the gun with his telescope under his arm, examined the frigate. Yes, one accurately aimed round of grapeshot would do it. The first round, hitting just forward of the boat, had sprayed the hull planking and every one of the shot showed up in the telescope as a rusty mark. There was no need to say anything to Jackson: the shower of dust which had been flung up (the splinters moved too fast to be seen) would have shown the American just the correction he needed.

  Jackson looked across at Ramage, who realized that the American was worried in case Ramage let the other guns begin firing. Was it pride or concern over spotting the fall of shot? Ramage nodded reassuringly, and in that nod Jackson read all the message he needed. The captain understood the need for a sighting shot: now for the correction.

  Jackson's gesture with his left hand set Rossi and Gilbert to work with the handspikes. Under the carriage went the shoes and both men heaved down on the opposite ends to lever the carriage sideways an inch or two. Both men watched the crouching Jackson as once again he peered along the sight. A small, impatient gesture to the left, as though the movement of his hand would be enough to train the gun the slight amount necessary. Gilbert and Rossi gave the carriage little more than a nudge and, as Jackson shouted, they leapt back and Stafford cocked the lock before he too jumped smartly back.

  The firing lanyard twitched - Jackson ha
d tautened it the moment he saw Stafford had cocked the lock and stepped clear -and again the gun erupted flame and smoke, leaping back in recoil as it gave a loud, asthmatic grunt.

  This time a random gust of wind swirled some of the oily smoke back through Ramage's port and, by the time he had finished coughing, number four gun had been loaded again and run out, with Rossi and Gilbert busy with their handspikes, pausing at the end of each thrust to look at Jackson. Stafford had his tin of quills open, ready to take a fresh one and then push it down the vent, and the powder horn from which he took the priming was slung round his neck.

  But Rossi and Gilbert seemed to be taking a long time with the handspikes. By this time Ramage had at last cleared his throat and his eyes had stopped watering so that he could look across at the frigate. No wonder it was taking time to train the gun - the quarterboat hanging in its davits was now a shattered shell, a few thin frames sticking out from the keel like the ribs of a crushed skeleton, the remaining planking sprung and jagged, instead of swelling round in a smooth curve from bow to stern. It was as though, Ramage thought inconsequentially, a banana had exploded, opening up the segments of skin.

  Two rounds at a range of a couple of hundred yards . . . one ranging shot and then a direct hit. Well, the Calypso was hardly rolling and pitching and, with a gun captain like Jackson, one could take bets that he would do it inside half a dozen rounds.

  Ramage realized that smashing the two remaining boom boats might be more difficult. Their name came from the fact that they were stowed amidships on top of spare yards and booms, which were kept lashed down over a large hatchway and made a good platform for the boats. From there it was easy for the stay tackles to hoist them up and out over the side when needed.

  Ironically, the wreckage of the main and mizenmasts was now giving them some protection: a couple of slewed yards, a bundle of thick cordage, a smashed mast two or three feet in diameter - all would be enough to make the grapeshot ricochet. But there were nine grapeshot in each round, and every one of them weighed a pound. Give Jackson enough time!