Ramage and the Saracens r-17

by Dudley Pope

  By now the Calypso was streaming smoke through all her gunports as she turned, drifting aft to the quarterdeck, where the smoke from the carronades already had Ramage, Aitken and Southwick coughing and wiping their eyes.

  Ramage could see that with Le Tigre's transom now smashed in the grapeshot must be sweeping through the length of the ship below deck, and there could be few men left alive below.

  "Orsini!" he shouted, "run round and tell all the officers at their quarters that I want their guns sweeping the Frenchman's decks HOW!"

  Paolo ran off down the quarterdeck ladder, glad to have something to do in a battle in which up to now he had been only a spectator. He quickly found Hill and passed on the order, which the third lieutenant at once bellowed to his excited gun captains. Paolo ran on along the length of guns passing the word to the red-haired Kenton and finally the fourth lieutenant, William Martin.

  At once the gun captains shouted orders to their crews, who snatched up handspikes, long iron-tipped levers, which were slid under the breeches of the guns and took the weight while the quoins were pulled further out to raise the elevation of the barrels.

  The Calypso was now ready for her third run across the French frigate's stern and Ramage found himself wishing the wind would freshen to clear the smoke from the deck. The thought had hardly formed in his mind before the first gun in the starboard broadside was firing, followed in turn by the bronchitic coughing of the rest of the guns.

  Ramage watched the grapeshot sweep the French ship's deck, seeing men fling up their arms as they were cut down.

  Then the Calypso wore round again and the guns' crews ran across to the other side, snatched up handspikes and adjusted their aim. With quoins newly positioned and the captains sighting along the barrels to make sure the elevation was correct, in a matter of moments the first gun was firing, followed in sequence by the rest of the guns.

  Ramage could see the grapeshot slamming into the yards as they lay across the deck. The mainyard slewed slightly as all the grapeshot from one gun smashed into the end.

  At Aitken shouted out the orders to bring the Calypso round again, Southwick gave a bellow of delight and snatched at Ramage's arm. He was pointing aloft at the French frigate, and a few moments later Ramage realized what the master had seen: the French ship's colours were being lowered. She was surrendering. Honourably so, Ramage thought: with those two big yards down on deck and unable to manoeuvre, it was only a matter of time before the Calypso, wearing relentlessly across her stern, pounded her to pieces.

  Ramage was just about to tell Aitken to order the guns to stop firing when he realized that a breathless sailor was standing in front of him. "Mainmast lookout, sir, I can't make you hear," he gasped. "There's a French frigate coming down from the north, dose in with the coast."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Another frigate! This part of the Mediterranean seemed to have become a French sea! Ramage hurriedly passed the lookout's report to Aitken and Southwick and tried to think clearly with the thunder of gunfire still numbing his brain.

  Le Tigre had surrendered but there was no time to take possession of her: that probably meant that she would wait until she saw if her compatriot defeated the Calypso and then hoist her colours again. But what of the second frigate?

  There was no choice: that made the decision a lot easier, he thought grimly: no time for second thoughts or misgivings -or, for that matter, doubts. He called Orsini, told him of the second frigate, and ordered him to warn the officers at their quarters, and make sure that all the guns were loaded with round-shot.

  There was no chance of any tricks to gain surprise: the approaching frigate would have seen the gunsmoke, even if at this distance she could not distinguish the British colours. There were probably a few moments of doubt as they saw a French hull attacking a French hull, but the smoke would have been enough to 'send their men to general quarters: by now all her guns would be loaded and run out, ready to engage whichever of the two ships proved to be the enemy.

  "Get the boats hoisted out and towing astern," he said to Aitken. That would reduce the risk from splinters.

  "It'll make a change," grunted Southwick. "Just a ship-to-ship action, with no nonsense."

  With his "no nonsense" Southwick dismissed actions against ships of the line and disabled frigates: the forthcoming action, he clearly considered, would be fought on equal terms, frigate against frigate. All else, his four words implied, was heresy; not to be considered by honest men.

  How to tackle this frigate? A battle of broadsides or try to board? Ramage picked up the telescope and looked at the distant ship. Yes, like Le Tigre, she was a 32-gun frigate, the same as the Calypso; gun for gun they would be evenly matched. How many men would she have on board? Like the British, the French were always short of trained seamen; but unlike the British they frequently drafted soldiers on board. It was not unusual to find a ship with half a battery of artillerymen serving the guns. With luck, Ramage reflected, if there was anything of a sea running, the artillerymen had to fight seasickness as well as the enemy, so their rate of fire was slow and erratic.

  But the sea was not rough; the brisk breeze was scudding clouds across the sun and knocking up white horses, but not enough to take a frigate roll or interfere with queasy gunners.

  He turned to Aitken: "Steer straight for her, and warn that the funs on the larboard side will probably be firing first."

  And that, he thought, covers the tactics: stay up to windward of the enemy, so that the smoke of the guns blows clear, and then it would be a straightforward battle of broadsides, hoping that the enemy would make a mistake.

  Through the telescope he could see that the approaching frigate was painted black and her sails had enough patches to indicate that she had probably been at sea some time. Was she part of a squadron which had included the two ships of the line? Was it a coincidence that she was coming along the coast of Capraia when Le Tigre was at anchor doing repairs? Ramage shrugged: the answers to the questions hardly mattered: she was approaching Tom ahead, and that was the only thing that concerned him for the moment.

  The Sea Service pistols stuck in his belt were bruising his ribs; they grated every time he took a breath. He pushed them further round after deciding not to put them down: there was always a chance that the Calypso would end up boarding the frigate, and he did not want to waste time looking round for a brace of pistols.

  He found he was becoming pleasantly excited: the prospect of MI evenly matched fight against another frigate was sufficiently unusual to be welcome.

  I

  He gave an order to the quartermaster and told Aitken to harden in the sheets: he wanted to get to windward just another point, so there would be no question about the Calypso keeping up to windward of the enemy. Of course, the French frigate could always tack to the north-east - she could even turn on her heels and make a bolt for it. But Ramage was sure that she would come down to help Le Tigre. The French captain would not want to face a double charge - of cowardice, and deserting a comrade.

  The frigate was a mile away now, sailing fast along the coast. Ramage glanced at the chart: there were no outlying rocks: they could manoeuvre without risk, except that if either of them was dismasted they would be blown on to the rocks, since this was a lee shore.

  Could the Frenchman try any tricks? Ramage thought carefully and decided there was nothing he could not counter in time.

  Three quarters of a mile, and her bow wave was curling away like a white moustache, with her sails bellying with the wind. All her guns were run out; they jutted from her side like stubby black fingers. As usual, the first broadside would be the most important because it would be fired carefully by men not coughing from gunsmoke, stunned by the noise of the guns firing, or wildly excited by the ritual of loading and firing.

  Half a mile. "Orsini," he called, "run round the larboard side guns and warn them that they'll be firing in a matter of minutes."

  The Italian youth ran off down the quarterdeck ladder a
nd Ramage was thankful he could trust the youngster: he not only understood the orders but what was more important he understood the significance of them. He had been in action dozens of times now and one of his proudest moments, Ramage knew, was that he had taken part in the Battle of Trafalgar. It was becoming clear now that that battle was going to be the new yardstick by which actions were measured. Previously a man could say, "I was at Copenhagen", or "I was at the Nile", or Camperdown, the Saintes, the Glorious First of June, and other men could measure him. But Trafalgar had changed all that: it had been a victory the like of which had never before been seen. It was a new Agincourt. Ramage thought, and it would be sufficient for a man to say quietly: "Yes, I was at Trafalgar."

  But what mattered for the moment was that the Calypso was off the east coast of Capraia steering north for a French frigate. Compared with Trafalgar there was little honour in that; but an unlucky shot or splinter could make you just as dead. That was the ironic thing about death; you were still dead whether you died in a great victory like Trafalgar or from falling down a hatchway on a dark night and breaking your neck. Death worked indiscriminately.

  A quarter of a mile. Ramage could imagine the second captains cocking the locks and jumping back out of harm's way, and the gun captains would be taking up the tension on their lanyards . . .

  He had a momentary picture of Jackson, poised at his gun. The sandy-haired American would be grinning; not because he was amused but because he always grinned at times of stress. Along with half a dozen others still in the Calypso, Jackson had served with Ramage since before he had been given his first command, here in the Mediterranean; he had been one of the men - the most important man - helping in the rescue of Gianna from that beach at Capalbio. Gianna had come to regard him as a favourite retainer. And Jackson? Ramage had the feeling that he thought of her as a wayward niece.

  Now the gun captains would be waiting for that black blur to pass twenty yards off a gunport; a black blur which gave them the signal to tug the lanyard to send the gun coughing back in recoil.

  No, the Frenchman had not altered course. He was just about hard on the wind, thanks to a bend in the coast, and could do nothing to prevent the Calypso keeping up to windward.

  As the Calypso's first gun roared out Ramage saw a spurt of smoke come from the muzzle of the first French gun. A moment later, as Southwick and Aitken gripped the rail at the fore end of the quarterdeck, there was a confused roar made up of the coughing of the Calypso's broadside and the lighter thudding of the French broadside. The sound of ripping calico warned of French roundshot passing overhead.

  As though a flash of lightning on a dark night had lit up the scene for a moment, Ramage had a medley of impressions: the French frigate's black hull was stained with salt; the luff of the flying jib was wrinkled; there were at least two rusty holes amidships showing where roundshot had penetrated, and there were several more further aft, showing that several of the Calypso's gunners had taken a few moments to react to the rapidly passing target. The Tricolour was streaming out; the sails were even more patched than he thought from his view through the telescope. The small group of officers on the quarterdeck had crouched down as the Calypso passed.

  And then he was yelling at Aitken while watching the passing enemy: "Come about! Don't let him get away!"

  The last gun of the Calypso's broadside had hardly fired before topsails were slatting as the frigate tacked. Ramage realized that the enemy had the advantage in speed because she had all plain sail set; but she would be more difficult to handle with all that canvas. As the Calypso swung round to starboard, Ramage looked over the quarter at the enemy just in time to see her beginning to clew up her courses. So she was going to fight under t'gallants and topsails. Ramage was sure the French would soon furl the t'gallants; they were not handy sails for fighting - but furling them took topmen away from the guns . . .

  The Calypso quickly turned and Ramage saw an opportunity. "Steer across his stern," he ordered Aitken. "We'll give him a raking broadside, even though at long range."

  The Calypso seems to be spending most of the day raking French frigates, Ramage thought, although this time it would be at a range of a couple of hundred yards, instead of twenty.

  As soon as the ship came round on to the other tack and Aitken had braces and sheets trimmed, Ramage watched the departing enemy frigate closely and gave helm orders which would make the Calypso pass across the enemy frigate's stern at an oblique angle, so that she had plenty of room to wear again to avoid running aground.

  Now the Frenchman had his courses clewed up - and yes, he was furling his t'gallants: at least he was getting down to topsails, the usual rig for fighting. And it meant that he was slowing down, reducing the range for the Calypso's raking broadside.

  By now the first of the Calypso's larboard broadside was firing again, the gunners hastily adjusting the quoin for the increased range. Ramage found himself counting with the slower rate of fire. He took up his telescope and trained it on the Frenchman's stern, and was just in time to see a spark as a roundshot hit a piece of metalwork, probably a fitting on the rudderhead. As his count reached sixteen Ramage realized that the French frigate - he had just read the name on the transom as Le Jason - was bearing away and was going to cross ahead of the Calypso. "She's going to rake us," growled Southwick.

  "And there's nothing we can do to stop her," Ramage said quietly.

  Nor was there. The Calypso was committed to wearing to get away from the shore, which was fast approaching, and the Frenchman would pass across her bow firing a raking broadside into her. Ramage thought of the ship of the line they had encountered earlier in the day: please, no damage to the jibboom and bowsprit!

  The quicker the Calypso wore, the less time her vulnerable bow would be exposed to the Frenchman's broadside. Ramage listened to the slamming of the sails and hoped the gunners were hard at work reloading.

  And then Le Jason was crossing the Calypso's bow, wreathed in smoke, her whole side a line of winking red eyes as her guns fired. Ramage heard a crash aloft and glanced up to see a wild shot had smashed six feet off the end of the foretopgallant yard. The calico ripping noise of a dozen more roundshot passing overhead showed him the French gunners had not yet settled down.

  There were four or five shotholes in the topsails: nothing that needed repairing. And the jibboom and bowsprit were still standing, with no damage apparent from where Ramage stood.

  "We've been lucky," he commented to Aitken, and a moment later saw he could turn the tables on the Frenchman.

  "Luff up and we can rake his stern as he goes past."

  He looked round for Orsini. "Warn the gunners that they'll be able to rake the Frenchman on the starboard side!"

  By now the Frenchman was heading north-west, steering for the shore and obviously about to tack or wear. The Calypso bore up slightly and Le Jason's stern came round on to her starboard beam. Sounding like a huge drum being beaten irregularly, the Calypso's guns started firing, and once again Ramage saw sparks as round-shot glanced off metal. And the sternlights were now an irregular shape: instead of being rectangles enclosing the glass, they were ragged shapes, chewed at by roundshot.

  Would it work? "Wear round," he shouted to Aitken, "we'll rake him again!"

  The Frenchman seemed to be manoeuvring very slowly; after raking the Calypso, Ramage expected Le Jason to tack or wear to get offshore again, but she was staying on the same course, north-west, as though careless of the risk of going up the beach.

  Then Ramage stared hard through his telescope. Le Jason was leaving no wake: she was stopped in the water! And he noticed that her rudder was hard over.

  "She's aground, by God!" exclaimed Southwick just as Ramage was about to speak.

  "We must have damaged her rudder with that raking broadside," Ramage said.

  "How close in can we go?" Southwick growled, reaching for the chart.

  "Close enough to rake her again,' Ramage said grimly. "And again and again. It probably won'
t take them long to repair that rudder."

  Aitken gave orders to the quartermaster and the Calypso came round a few degrees. Ramage looked round for Orsini and sent him off to warn the gunners to expect to rake the enemy with the starboard broadside.

  Ramage saw a red winking at the transom and realized that Le Jason had got a sternchase gun in action. Almost immediately there was a crash aloft and the Calypso's foretopgallant mast crashed down, hanging by rigging, the yard swinging like a pendulum.

  "Go and sort that out," Ramage ordered Aitken. "I'll take over the conn."

  Of all the damnable luck: at least, damnable for the Calypso and almost beyond belief for Le Jason. That a single shot from a sternchase gun should bring down the Calypso's foretopgallant mast was an almost unbelievable piece of good fortune for the French.

  But it did not make the Calypso unmanageable. By now she had worn round and Ramage was giving the quartermaster careful orders which would bring the frigate into a good firing position.

  Another red wink and puff of smoke at Le Jason's stern showed the French had managed to get a second sternchase gun into action, and Ramage found himself admiring their coolness; they were in a lot of trouble, but they still had the will to fight back.

  Ramage heard nothing of the shot and assumed it must have missed. At that moment Orsini appeared in front of him. "A message from Mr Bowen, sir."

  What had the surgeon to say at a time like this? "Well?"

  "He said six men dead and five wounded, two seriously, from two roundshot and splinters, sir."

  Ramage was dumbfounded: he had not heard or felt shot hitting the ship and knew nothing of casualties.

  "Very well. Does Mr Bowen need help?"

  "No, sir, I asked him. He has a couple of loblolly men and three seamen to help him, and that's enough."

  Six men dead. . . And he had not realized that the ship had been hit. Yet when he thought about it, it was obvious that some shot from Le Jason's broadsides would have struck home. Fighting at these ranges meant casualties. He wondered how many Frenchmen had been killed.