Ramage and the Saracens r-17

by Dudley Pope

  "Aye, but wait until the water floods her hanging magazine," Southwick said. "No one's yet found a way of making wet cartridges fire roundshot!"

  The Calypso's broadside sounded ragged now, not because the gunners were failing to do their jobs properly but every gun was reloaded at a slightly different speed, and now they had their target broad on the beam the guns' crews were loading as fast as they could, and as soon as the second captain cocked the lock and jumped clear the gun captain was tugging his lanyard.

  Jackson, his face becoming blackened with smoke, was grinning with pleasure and urging his crew on to load faster. Rossi was bellowing out a string of Italian oaths but apparently because of happiness at being in action. The four Frenchmen were hurrying about their tasks, sponging, ramming and worming as though they had never done anything else. Stafford crouched over the lock every now and again to make sure that the flint still had a sharp edge and was delivering a good strong spark.

  "You're not hitting her, Jacko!" he bawled amid the thunder of the other guns firing to the left and right.

  "I dam' well am," Jackson shouted back. "She just won't sink!"

  "Her pump's going," Rossi called. "Maybe you had a lucky shot!"

  One more thump with the rammer and they sprang to the tackle and ran the gun out. Stafford stabbed down with his pricker and then pushed a fresh quill into the vent, shaking a small amount of priming powder into the pan. Then he snapped back the cock of the flintlock, and lifting his hand up as a signal to Jackson, jumped clear.

  Jackson sighted along the barrel and waited as the Calypso rolled slightly. He tugged the lanyard on a downward roll a fraction of a second before the French frigate appeared in the crude sight and once again the gun sprang back with a bronchitic cough and a spurt of flame and smoke at the muzzle.

  At once the crew again sprang into action. The soaking sponge was thrust down the bore and a powder monkey ran forward with a cartridge which Gilbert snatched up and slid into the muzzle. With the rammer poised Auguste lunged forward and thrust the cartridge down the muzzle and gave an extra hard thrust before withdrawing it and standing aside for a moment to let Albert put in the wad, which he thrust home and then stood back with the rammer as Louis came up, cradling a roundshot, which he rammed home, followed by another wad which Albert had ready.

  Dropping the rammer, Auguste helped run the gun out and Stafford went into action again with his pricker. As Jackson prepared to sight along the barrel he saw the black shape of the French frigate through the port. Yes, her pump was going, and the wind was whipping away the water as it sluiced over the side from the pump dale.

  Back on the quarterdeck Orsini came hurrying up the ladder. He saluted Ramage and reported: "Mr Bowen's compliments sir: ten dead and eleven wounded, three very seriously. He says there may be more dead that he doesn't know about."

  "Yes," Ramage said, talking to himself, "they'll just drag bodies clear and leave them in the scuppers . . ."

  Twenty-one dead and wounded, and the damned Frenchman seemed to be unscathed by the Calypso's guns. Admittedly they were firing into her hull and it was impossible to see what damage they were doing: they might be cutting men down in swathes, for all he knew, but it was not affecting the French ship's rate of fire, even though she was apparently slowly - very slowly, curse it - sinking under them.

  A lucky dismasting shot might let the Frenchman escape yet. ' He looked at the Frenchman again with his telescope. Still the same group of officers on her quarterdeck. He swung the glass forward and trained it on the pump dale. Yes, it was still pouring out water, and the wind was whipping it away. He looked at the frigate's waterline. Yes! It was definitely a little lower. He waited a minute to make sure it was not the rolling, but then he was sure: he could no longer see the copper sheathing. That had been carried a good foot above the waterline, and now he could not see it despite the roll. So Le Jason was at least two and probably three feet lower in the water. What did that mean in terms of tons of water sloshing around below? Without knowing her tons per inch immersion - the number of tons needed to immerse her hull one inch - it was hard to tell, and he knew his own weakness in doing mental arithmetic. But it was scores of tons. The water was coming in faster than the pump could get rid of it, and that was all that mattered. Nearly all, anyway. If only he knew how much faster . . .

  Options: he must consider them carefully. Yes, the Frenchman could turn back and make a run for the shore, planning to beach the frigate before she sank. Or he could carry on firing until the ship sank under him - it would take a brave man to do that after having cut all his boats adrift, and it would mean throwing his ship's company on the mercy of the British. And, Ramage thought, what were his own choices? Well, he could carry on as he was now and wait for the Frenchman either to turn for the shore or sink. Or he could haul off out of range and wait for the Frenchman to sink, even if he did not bolt for the shore. That way he would save his men.

  But supposing the Frenchman managed to stop the leak? Supposing he managed to stop the water entering and pump out what was already in? Then, setting courses and topgallants (and royals too) she could make a bolt for it. If she escaped, he would look foolish. And he would get his knuckles rapped by the Admiralty.

  No, there was no question of standing off, and unless the Frenchman turned for the shore, then this present battle of broadsides would have to go on, while the French pumped their way to windward.

  While Ramage was watching the water pouring over the side from the pump dale he noticed a dozen seamen swarming up the forward shrouds. As he looked they worked their way out along the footropes of the topsail and within moments had started to furl it.

  Furl the topsail? Leave only the maintopsail set? That would just above halve the Frenchman's speed. Why? There could be only one explanation - by slowing down the ship the French captain was hoping to cut down the rush of water through the leak. That must mean he had no hope of overtaking it with the pump without drastic measures.

  Ramage told Aitken to furl the Calypso's foretopsail, so that they could conform with the Frenchman's speed. The alternative would be to weave across Le Jason's stern and fire raking broadsides. Was it worth it? The damned ship would sink anyway, and soon her rate of fire would begin to slacken as men were taken away from the guns to replace those exhausted at the pumps.

  "Hard pounding," Southwick commented.

  "Yes, but we don't have much choice. If we haul off and she stops the leak and gets away ..."

  "Aye," said Southwick. "But she must be leaking badly if they have to slow down."

  "She must have been making seven or eight knots when she went aground. If it was a sharp rock it could have stove in several planks, or started some butts."

  Ramage watched Le Jason's side as another of the Calypso's broadsides coughed out, and saw several rusty marks appear on her hull. Well, his gunners were shooting accurately and with luck some of the shots were hitting 'twixt wind and water, increasing the flooding.

  Ramage found himself almost sympathetic with the French captain; he had cut the quarterboats adrift and hoisted out the boom boats and dropped them over the side, so there were no boats for survivors: they would be left clinging to wreckage.

  Taking some 250 survivors on board: one Frenchman for each member of the Calypso's crew. It was a daunting prospect: if the French were well led - and there was no reason to doubt that they were - they might try to take the ship.

  "If we have to pick up survivors," Ramage told Aitken and South wick, "we put them below and then clap the gratings across the fore and maindeck hatch. Have them guarded by all the Marines and covered with a couple of guns loaded with caseshot, and then we'll land them on Capraia as soon as possible: I'm not risking having that number of the enemy on board a moment longer than necessary."

  "It's a big enough risk that we'd be justified in leaving them to drown," Southwick said. "Ducking them in sea water isn't going to turn them into lambs."

  "If it was us, we'd feel a bit har
d done by if the French left us to drown," Ramage said.

  "But we'd try to take their ship," Southwick pointed out.

  Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "A hundred muskets and pistols aimed at them, and a couple of guns loaded with case, might put them off their stroke."

  "Well, we'll need to bring them on board a few at a time, and make sure that we never have more than a couple of dozen on deck at a time," Southwick said grudgingly.

  "Of course," Ramage said. "Don't forget they'll be a bit shaken up by the time we fish them out."

  "The frigate hasn't sunk yet," Aitken pointed out. "Here comes another broadside," he added, gesturing to the rippling spurts of flame and smoke along Le Jason's side.

  Aitken stared at the frigate. "She's definitely lower in the water now," he said. "She's gone down several inches since they furled the topsail."

  Ramage examined the hull with the telescope. Yes, Aitken was right: the distance between the lower edge of the gunports and the waterline was less. And yes, the ship was beginning to wallow now. Ramage could imagine the great quantity of water surging round below, weight which transferred from one side to the other, and from forward to aft, with terrifying speed. Like swirling water in the bottom of a bucket. It would be a tremendous surge of water to one side which would eventually capsize her.

  The problem of guarding survivors stepped several paces closer.

  Five minutes and several broadsides later, Ramage happened to be watching Le Jason when he realized that she was now regularly rolling with a slow, almost inexorable movement: her masts were like upside-down pendulums and her gunners were slowing down their broadsides because they had to wait longer until their guns would bear.

  Southwick, too, noticed the roll. "The leak is beating the pump," he commented.

  "It's been doing that for some time," Aitken said. "Every man except those in the guns' crews must be working the pump."

  Ramage pictured exhausted men hauling round the cranked handle of the pump. There was enough water floating around now to pick up things and block the pump, so that men would be constantly freeing the strainer. Round and round would go the crank, but the pump would never suck dry. The noise of the bilge pump sucking dry was, Ramage reflected, one of the most satisfying heard in a ship. It was one the French were doomed never to hear again - in that ship, anyway.

  Yes, the rolling-was getting wilder; it was lasting longer as the ship heeled first to larboard and then slowly came over to starboard as tons of water swirled from one side of the ship to the other. The rush of water would, he realized, be enough to knock men off their feet; it would hinder men as they ran out or ran in guns. Soon the water must flood the hanging magazine. Even now, he guessed, the French were getting out cartridges and stowing them high enough to be out of danger from the surging water. But having so many cartridges out of the magazine always risked a flash from one of the guns, or an unlucky shot from the British. Then there would be a tremendous explosion, and the French would no longer be worrying about a leak . . .

  Ramage was looking round the horizon with his telescope when Aitken said laconically: "Their pump has stopped."

  Ramage swung round with his telescope. There was no more water streaming out of the pump dale and pouring over the side. The pump must have blocked, or the cranked handle jammed.

  For a moment Ramage imagined himself in the French captain's position: now would be the time of black despair. Water would still be pouring in through the leak, and now he could only get the men bailing with buckets - a hopeless job if the pump was being overwhelmed.

  The rolling was getting worse: or, Ramage corrected himself, getting better. The French rate of fire was being badly affected: for longer and longer periods the guns were either pointing too high or too low to be fired. Even better, from the British point of view, the heavy roll was exposing the underwater hull so that roundshot could smash through copper sheathing and make more holes in the hull to increase the leaks.

  "Ah - there goes the pump again!''' Aitken called as he caught sight of a small stream of water starting to run over the side again. "Not the full flow. Must be a blockage - or maybe it's been damaged by one of our shot.''

  Ramage watched as Le Jason slowly rolled to larboard again, checked and then slowly began to roll back to starboard. Then he saw men gathering at the foot of the main shrouds.

  "They're going to furl the maintopsail," he said to Aitken. "They want to try to reduce the rolling. Stand by to heave-to."

  At that moment the Calypso fired another broadside, and the group of men scattered, many of them vanishing below the bulwarks as roundshot cut them down.

  But the French frigate continued her rolling: the movement was getting massive and wild now; her masts were slicing great arcs through the sky and, Ramage realized, it would be only a matter of time before the gunports dipped into the water.

  Prisoners - or survivors, call them what you will: more than two hundred of them. No, he was not going to risk having them on board all the way to Naples: in fact with the island of Capraia just astern that was as far as he would take them. They would be prisoners on the island - unless they set to and made rafts - and they would be no danger to anyone, though they would run the local people short of food.

  The French captain seemed to have given up trying to lighten the ship - he could still cut yards adrift, and he had not thrown all the booms and gratings over the side yet - but Ramage knew he must have given up: a hole in the hull which let in a leak which overcame the pump was the ultimate; apart from fire, it was the end.

  With the freshening wind driving the frigate ahead, the rolling caused by the leak was giving her a curious corkscrew motion through the water, as though she was reluctant to move. Ramage watched as she rolled heavily towards him, paused for several agonizing seconds well heeled over, and then slowly rolled back again, to pause before returning.

  "She hasn't got much more time," Southwick commented.

  "Neither have we," Ramage said. "I've changed my mind: we'll put the survivors up on the fo'c'sle. I want a couple of the aftermost guns on each side trained round on to the fo'c'sle and loaded with case. And pass the word for Rennick."

  The master trotted off down the ladder, his long white hair flowing in the breeze, to arrange to have the guns slewed round and their tackles made up again. A couple of minutes later Rennick was standing in front of him, waiting for orders.

  "The survivors, when we pick them up," Ramage said.

  Rennick made a face. "There'll be plenty of them, sir."

  "I know," Ramage said. "They might even outnumber us. But I'm going to put them on the fo'c'sle with four guns trained on them, and I want all your Marines covering them but keeping out of the way of the guns. They'll escort them from wherever they're brought on board up to the fo'c'sle. Any nonsense, they're to shoot to kill."

  "After they've swum around a bit, the French might have any wrong ideas washed out of them, sir," Rennick said with a grin.

  "I'm hoping so. But the point of keeping them up on the fo'c'sle is that I'm going to take them back to Capraia and dump them there. They'll only be on the fo'c'sle a couple of hours, and if they give any trouble a few whiffs of caseshot should quieten them down."

  "Very well, sir," Rennick said and saluted before hurrying down the quarterdeck ladder.

  Le Jason was lurching rather than rolling now: as Ramage watched the stricken ship he could imagine the hundreds of tons of water sloshing from one side and then to the other, each time the weight heeling the ship and throwing men off their feet.

  "Her rate of fire is slowing down, sir," Aitken said. "The water has probably flooded her magazine, apart from the difficulty of laying the guns."

  "She hasn't much time left."

  "I wonder why the Frenchman hasn't hauled down his colours."

  "It doesn't make much difference whether he surrenders or not," Ramage said sourly. "He's going to sink whether or not he's hauled down his colours. Anyway, he's fought well. It was his nav
igation that put him on that rock: but for that I think we'd have had an even tougher fight."

  The more he thought about it, the more Ramage was convinced that his gunners were only wasting powder: they could not damage the enemy more effectively than she was already, and it was time for the guns' crews to get muskets and pikes, pistols and tomahawks ready for the influx of French survivors.

  He gave the order to Aitken which would silence the guns for the first time since they had opened fire on the first frigate, and which would send the men to get the weapons allocated to them in the quarters bill. Most of the men had a note against their name indicating what weapons they were to have, and whether they were boarders if the Calypso should board another ship.

  A sudden hush fell over the Calypso as the guns stopped firing and all that Ramage could hear was the rush of the sea against the hull and the occasional slatting of a sail. He realized that he was deafened by the broadsides and he held his nose and blew hard, but it made no difference.

  Southwick hurried back to the quarterdeck. "Those guns are trained round, sir," he said. "We can't get the tackles hooked on to anything substantial, so there's no telling how they'll recoil. Still, only have to fire them once, I expect," he said complacently.

  "Probably not even once," Ramage said. "We'll point them out to the French officers: that should do the trick."

  Even as he spoke he watched the French frigate heel right over until her deck on the larboard side was in the water. She seemed to stay there for an age, and then, as though tired of the struggle, she very slowly capsized: the masts came down below horizontal, the yards slewing round, and the trucks of the masts dipped into the sea and then began to sink as the ship continued turning.

  She turned very slowly, great bubbles of air bursting out through the hatchways and ports. Ramage saw the Tricolour dip into the water and then there were splashes as guns broke loose and dropped through the ship's side.

  "Furl the maintopsail," Ramage snapped at Aitken, and to Southwick he said: "Get the boats hauled round ready."