Ramage and the Dido

by Dudley Pope

  Suddenly Southwick gave a bellow of alarm, followed up by an apologetic report that the Scourge was fine on the larboard bow. ‘In the darkness she looked bigger than a brig,’ he said. ‘I thought we were in for more trouble.’

  Ramage said, ‘Stand by to anchor. We want to put a few more broadsides into the Achille at first light, apart from making sure she doesn’t refloat tonight.’

  ‘She must have been making six knots or more when she hit,’ Southwick said. ‘I don’t think she’s going to get off tonight.’

  ‘What’s the rise and fall of tide here?’ Ramage asked.

  ‘It’s only a couple of feet at springs, and it’s neaps now, so a foot o’ water isn’t going to do her much good.’

  ‘Let’s have a cast of the lead and put an anchor down,’ Ramage said impatiently. ‘I don’t want to move too far away from that Frenchman, just in case he manages to get off.’

  Southwick bustled off to the fo’c’sle, shouting orders for the anchor party, as Aitken called for topmen ready to furl the topsails.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dawn came with painful slowness. The ship’s company went to general quarters, to meet the first hint of daybreak with the guns loaded and run out. During the night the cloud had come and gone, so that one minute the starlight showed the cliff and the Achille and the next minute they were blotted out by a bank of cloud drifting across the sky from the east. There was no sign of movement from the French ship of the line; Southwick, watching with the nightglass, swore that the French had not rowed round taking soundings.

  ‘That could mean they are holed so badly it doesn’t matter what the depths are,’ Ramage pointed out.

  ‘True,’ Southwick admitted, but added: ‘If they’re holed that badly, they’ll never get off without help.’

  Now, as the blackness slowly turned to grey, Ramage watched the ship through his telescope. No, she did not seem to be floating low in the water. But yes, perhaps she was up a bit by the bow. It was hard to be sure in the half-light, but Ramage found himself impatient to know.

  Where was the convoy – when and where was the Achille due to meet it? He could not wait around too long off Fort Royal and Pointe des Nègres because he had to get down to the south to wait off Cabrit Island for the merchant ships to arrive. Why the devil was it that so often one was supposed to be in two places at once?

  The Scourge passed close and Ramage grasped the speaking trumpet and shouted to Bennett. ‘Thanks – that was a good job of shadowing. You can see the result. Now get down to Cabrit Island and keep a watch there.’

  Bennett waved an acknowledgement and the brig turned away to head southwards.

  With almost startling suddenness it was daylight and Ramage could see the Achille clearly. She had run up on the landward end of the short reef running seaward from the cliff. The cliff itself was a good fifty yards away.

  ‘If she’d been twenty yards further out she’d have passed clear,’ Southwick said, and snapped his telescope shut. ‘Her captain is an unlucky fellow.’

  ‘He’s going to have a hard time at his court martial explaining why he was so close inshore,’ Ramage said dryly. ‘Gun flashes or no gun flashes, he was passing the Pointe much too close.’

  ‘He was probably rattled by the Scourge’s false fires,’ Aitken said. ‘He never thought of us waiting here for him.’

  ‘And that’s why he’s on the rocks,’ Ramage said unsympathetically. ‘It should have been obvious that the Scourge was shadowing him, and she would only have been burning false fires to warn us.’

  ‘Let’s be thankful that French captain is unimaginative,’ Southwick said. ‘It makes our job easier.’

  ‘Well,’ Ramage said, ‘now we are at general quarters we may as well go across and give our French friend a few broadsides. Let’s weigh anchor, Mr Southwick. We’ll do it under topsails, Mr Aitken.’

  By now it was light enough to see the Achille clearly, and Ramage noticed that she had the same faded appearance as the Alerte: her paintwork was bleached by the hot sun and she looked as though she had been neglected for months. The effect of the blockade? Ramage suspected it was: paint (and probably rope) was not getting into Martinique. How were the French off for powder and shot? They might be getting short of wine but the island grew enough vegetables, and there were plenty of cattle, so no one would be starving.

  There was no doubt that the Achille was stranded: she was close up under the cliffs and slightly up by the bow. But, Ramage noted, she was not noticeably down by the stern, so she was not making a lot of water. Just then he saw that there was a stream of water running down her side: her pump was working hard, so she definitely had a leak.

  But she sat on the end of the reef like a huge black animal which had been cast up in a hurricane: helpless and at the mercy of the sea. What surprised Ramage was that there was no flurry of boats round her: he would have expected the French to be carrying out anchors, ready for an attempt to heave her off. Had the French captain decided that she was too firmly wedged on the rocks to be hove off? Or were they waiting for a flotilla of boats to come out from Fort Royal?

  As if echoing his thoughts, Aitken said to him: ‘They don’t seem very excited over there. I’d have expected to see boats laying out anchors.’

  ‘They might be waiting for boats to come round from Fort Royal. Or she might be too firmly lodged on the reef.’

  ‘I doubt if she hit that hard – her foremast didn’t go by the board.’

  In the distance Ramage could hear the clanking of the pawls on the Dido’s capstan as the anchor came home. Then came a message from Southwick: the seaman announced that the cable was at long stay, and he had hardly left the quarterdeck before another arrived to report it at short stay, followed by another to tell Ramage that the cable was up and down. Then a seaman announced that the anchor was aweigh. Immediately Aitken picked up the speaking trumpet and began shouting orders which trimmed the topsails and got the Dido under way.

  Ramage gave orders which turned the ship to starboard, up towards the Achille. The Frenchman was lying with her bows into the reef and her stern to the south. The best way of attacking her without spending too long in the arc of her guns was to sail in towards the cliffs, crossing her stern and raking her. Then immediately the Dido had fired a broadside she would have to tack round, to avoid running aground, and head back in the opposite direction, firing her other broadside into the Achille’s stern.

  A few raking broadsides, Ramage thought grimly, should produce results, although the Dido was going to have to tack round smartly, or she too would go aground, right under the cliffs and at right angles to the Achille. He explained to Aitken what he intended to do. ‘There’s not much room for us to tack,’ he added, ‘so let’s not waste any time.’

  The sun was just beginning to rise over the land and the cliffs looked less menacing, long shadows replacing the harsh blackness of the night. The waves were small and not breaking along the foot of the cliffs. If one was going to go aground, Ramage thought, these were the ideal conditions. The French were lucky, although they did not seem to be doing anything to take advantage of it.

  The Achille was now less than half a mile away on the Dido’s larboard bow, and Ramage told Aitken: ‘Warn the gunners that they will be engaging on the larboard side, and after we’ve tacked we’ll be loosing off the starboard broadside.’

  He thought how easy the forthcoming manoeuvre would have been in the Calypso frigate: just sail in, rake the Frenchman with the larboard broadside, tack smartly and sail back along the reciprocal course, raking the Achille with the starboard broadside. The frigate spun like a top when she tacked. In the Dido tacking was a more stately business: the great ship needed plenty of room to turn, and this was the first time Ramage had handled her in such a confined space. Well, one mistake and the Dido would end up like the Achille.

  Southwick came bustling back to the quarterdeck. ‘Nothing like a good raking broadside,’ he said cheerfully, much as one might commen
t on the beneficial effect of a tot of rum. ‘Not much room, though.’

  Ramage watched as the Dido approached. Passing thirty yards off the Achille’s stern would be just the right range. Probably the aftermost ten French guns would be able to fire at the Dido as she went by, and they would be able to rake her bow as she approached and her stern as she tacked, but it was a chance that had to be taken: it would be more than balanced by the thirty-seven guns of the Dido’s broadside.

  He gave a helm order to Jackson, who once again was the quartermaster, and looked at the Achille. He could just make out a group of French officers standing on the quarterdeck. One or two of them were pointing at the Dido, and Ramage was reminded of the Italian gesture for warding off the Evil Eye.

  The range was closing fast and Ramage could make out the details of the French ship’s rigging. He saw them holding a Tricolour, a gesture which made him glance astern to make sure that the Dido was flying her ensign.

  Just then he saw puffs of smoke spurting out from the Achille’s side as several of her aftermost guns opened fire, and a moment later he heard the thud of the explosions. But he did not feel any thump as shot hit home. Strange: the range was short enough.

  ‘Warn the gunners they’ll be opening fire in a couple of minutes,’ Ramage told Aitken, who snatched up the speaking trumpet. Just then a French shot tore overhead, missing Ramage by a foot or two, and crashed into the mizenmast. A moment later a second shot passed overhead with the usual noise of calico ripping and also buried itself in the mizenmast, which was almost twenty-two inches in diameter.

  Southwick sniffed. ‘I get the feeling that they are aiming at us, sir.’

  ‘They must be poor shots, then, at this range!’

  The Dido surged ahead, caught by a random puff of wind funnelling off the cliffs, and the range closed rapidly: the Achille seemed to be sliding along the larboard side. Suddenly the first of the Dido’s broadside guns fired and Ramage swung his telescope to watch the Achille’s transom for shot holes. Yes, one had smashed in the sternlights of the captain’s cabin, and then he saw several more shotholes as the broadside continued to thunder out. A section of the transom in way of the wardroom seemed to be beaten in by the weight of shot, and then he glanced forward. The cliffs were advancing rapidly and Ramage turned to the first lieutenant, who was watching him anxiously.

  ‘Very well, tack Mr Aitken!’

  Aitken called to Jackson and then, with the speaking trumpet, shouted to the men at the sheets and braces. Slowly – agonisingly slowly, it seemed to Ramage – the Dido began to turn amid the flapping of the topsails, which seemed to want to flog the masts out of the ship.

  ‘The breeze is freshening,’ Southwick commented as the ship began to swing, before starting to sail out the way she had come in. Ramage could imagine the gunners, crouched down because of the low headroom, running over to the other side of the ship to man the starboard broadside guns.

  Aitken was still busy with the trim of the sails when Ramage gave Jackson a new helm order and the men at the wheel grabbed at the spokes. The ship had only just settled down on her new course with the sails trimmed when the first of the starboard broadside guns started firing, and once again the smoke drifted aft over the quarterdeck, starting them coughing again. Ramage watched the Achille’s stern with his telescope and once again saw the shot hitting home. He could imagine the shot smashing their way through the comparatively thin wood of the transom and then tearing their way along the length of the ship below decks, killing men and sending up swathes of splinters.

  He realised the Achille had not fired, even though the after-most guns would bear. Had that first raking broadside driven the men from the guns, or even overturned the guns as they rested on their carriages?

  Finally the last of the Dido’s broadside guns and Orsini’s carronades on the poop had fired and Ramage repeated his order to the first lieutenant: ‘We’ll wear, if you please, Mr Aitken.’

  Again there was a thunderous slapping of the topsails as the Dido wore round, and Ramage knew the guns’ crews would be frantically reloading, ready for the next run across the Achille’s stern. But, below decks, crouching in the half darkness, they would not know what was going on. The gun captains would see the target flashing past the gunports and would pull the trigger-line, but the rest of the men would be too busy to see anything, unless they managed to snatch a glance in the instant before the gun fired. Then they would be like men trapped in a thick fog as the gun smoke drifted back in through the port, half blinding them and setting them coughing. They would swab out and load the guns by instinct rather than being able to see what they were doing, and no sooner had they got their gun reloaded than it would be time to dash across the deck to the guns on the other side.

  Ramage watched the Achille again as the Dido stretched across towards her. This time there were spurts of smoke as the guns on her quarter opened fire, and Ramage felt rather than heard the thud of some of her shots hitting the Dido. It gave one a particularly helpless feeling to sail along being shot at without being able to reply, but the Dido was now sailing fast enough that only a lucky shot from the French ship would do much damage.

  Ramage was just considering that when a shot tore past him and again thudded into the mizenmast.

  ‘Our mizen seems to be the favourite target,’ Southwick commented, but as if to contradict him another shot ripped along the inside of the bulwark on the starboard side, spraying out a shower of splinters which cut down a seaman who was standing just forward of the quarterdeck.

  Once again the range was down to a few yards and once again Ramage lifted his telescope to watch the French ship’s transom. Yes, it looked battered, but even as he noted that the first of the Dido’s broadside guns opened fire, smoke spurting out and the carriages rumbling back in recoil. There were several puffs of dust, showing where shot had smashed their way through the planking, and Ramage could see several rust-ringed holes where shot had penetrated. Then, as more guns fired, another section of the transom was beaten in, and the sternlights disappeared from the captain’s cabin, the frames and windows completely smashed by roundshot.

  Then the Dido had shot past and Aitken was bellowing orders for the ship to tack, with the cliffs looming up ahead, as if inviting the ship to run aground. Once the sails were trimmed and the yards braced round, Ramage watched as the ship sailed back along her own wake, and the starboard broadside was fired, gun by gun, each shot smashing into the Achille’s transom.

  ‘I don’t know how much more of this she can take,’ Aitken said. ‘It must be like a butcher’s shop down below there.’

  ‘She’s had enough,’ Ramage said, pointing to the Tricolour, which was now being hauled down. ‘I wonder how many ships have surrendered while being aground on their own soil!’

  ‘What do we do now?’ asked Southwick. ‘We can hardly take possession of her.’

  ‘No, we just stop firing,’ Ramage said. ‘She’s in a terrible position, hard aground and being smashed by our guns. The only thing she can do to stop her crew being slaughtered is surrender. In fact her captain knows we can hardly take possession of her and he must be worrying about whether we’ll take any notice of the fact he’s surrendered. I wouldn’t like to be him.’

  ‘Well, he’s a lucky fellow, because not everyone could resist the temptation to take a few more passes across his stern and reduce him to a complete wreck.’

  ‘We haven’t done too badly as it is,’ Aitken commented. ‘The captain’s cabin and the wardroom must be completely wrecked, and no doubt the rudder and tiller have been smashed. It’ll take months to repair her – that’s if they ever get her to float again, which I doubt.’

  ‘We’ll wear round, Mr Aitken,’ Ramage said. ‘Tell the gunners we won’t be firing again.’

  ‘And we never got round to boarding her,’ Southwick said regretfully, patting his sword. ‘Well, now we have to find that damned convoy.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  With the Dido hove
to close to leeward of the Achille, Ramage was able to examine her closely through the glass and decide that she was securely wedged on the ledge of rocks running from the foot of the cliffs of Pointe des Nègres, and he was certain that the French did not have the means to get her off.

  He thought about his orders. His main concern was to prevent the convoy getting into Fort Royal, and if he spent too much time on the Achille – setting fire to her after getting the crew off – he risked missing that quarry. Far better, he decided, to deal with the convoy and return to destroy the Achille in a few days’ time. Certainly she would not be going anywhere…

  He gave orders for the Dido to let fall the courses and topgallants and then turn southwards for Cabrit Island, passing Cap Salomon and Diamond Rock. The wind was brisk enough to let the ship make six knots over the north-going current, but it was noon before they were off Cap Salomon.

  As the land slipped by to the eastward Ramage felt cheerful. It was a bright sunny day, with the sun almost overhead and the big awning stretched above the quarterdeck, providing some welcome shade. The flying fish were darting out of the sea on either side of the Dido, and the occasional tropic bird flew overhead with its urgent wing beats. There was very little sea in the lee of the land and the Dido was hardly rolling. The sea was startlingly blue close in with the coast, shading into a bluish purple further out, where the water was deeper. Close along the shore it was a very light green where it broke on sandy beaches shaded by palm trees. Occasionally Ramage could see tiny villages, a dozen huts or so, nestling among the trees.

  It was not only the scenery that made Ramage feel cheerful. He was pleased because two of the French ships of war that had been in Fort Royal, waiting for the convoy, had been accounted for. The Alerte frigate was in Barbados, by now probably bought into the King’s service, and the Achille was hard aground on Pointe des Nègres, helpless as far as the convoy was concerned. Which left?