by Dudley Pope
Ramage shook his head. ‘We’ll attack the Achille tonight. We’d lose too many men if we attacked in daylight.’
The rest of the day was spent planning the attack on the Achille. All the officers were assembled in Ramage’s cabin, and he opened the proceedings by saying: ‘Tonight we set fire to the Achille. We can only guess how many men they’ve left on board. Nor do we know whether they’re expecting an attack. We must assume they are – they’ve seen the Dido come back and anchor close by. So we have to plan the boarding on the basis that it will be opposed.
‘We’ll attack with as many men as we can get in our boats. Three boats will attack over the bow, and three on the quarters: that way we can keep out of the arcs of their guns. Once we have boarded, then we set fire to her. We don’t have to capture the whole ship to do that. But what is important is that the fires – I want them set at several places – take hold, and once you can see they can’t be put out, then quit the ship as quickly as possible: I don’t want any men on board when the magazine goes up!’
Ramage then outlined his plan, giving each of the officers their orders: telling them how many men they were to take in which boat, where they were to board the Achille, and where they were to start a fire. The men were to carry combustibles – cloths soaked in grease, jars of inflammable paint, light battens that would catch fire quickly – as well as lanterns, which would be hidden from sight until they were on board.
The point of the lanterns, Ramage explained, was that they would let the men see what they were doing, once they were on board the Achille, and the candles then could be used to set light to things, helped on by liberal applications of candlewax.
The men could choose whether they had cutlasses or boarding pikes. No one would carry a musket – they were too clumsy for boarders – but all the men would be issued with pistols. At least, he amended, they would be issued with as many pistols as were available.
Oars would obviously be muffled – it was up to the first lieutenant to see that all the oars were bound with keckling – but it was impossible to say whether the boarders would achieve surprise. They must assume they would be opposed, but only with small-arms fire.
‘The important thing is setting the fires,’ Ramage emphasised. ‘I don’t want men getting carried away with fighting the French: any fighting should be only to protect the parties as they start the fires. Our job is done once she’s burning; we are not trying to carry her by boarding.’
‘Should the men carry slowmatch, just in case the lanterns blow out?’ asked the gunner.
‘Slowmatches, and they might as well have a few false fires – they will light the place up as well as setting fire to things. A few topmen getting aloft and setting off false fires in the courses should help: the canvas is so dry it will burn easily. So remember, you who are carrying topmen in your boats should have false fires and slowmatches, and make sure the topmen know what is expected of them. Any more ideas?’
‘Shall we try and set fire to the magazine, sir?’ asked Kenton.
‘Most certainly not!’ Ramage exclaimed. ‘You’ll only blow yourselves up. No, the magazine goes up as the ship burns.’
‘How do we judge when a fire is well set, sir?’ asked Martin.
‘As soon as it’s bigger than you could put out with buckets,’ Ramage said. ‘There’ll probably be a good breeze blowing, so flames should spread quickly. Bear that in mind: where you can, always set a fire to windward of something that is obviously combustible.’
‘Scattering some powder around would help, sir,’ the gunner said.
‘No,’ Ramage said decidedly, ‘no powder. Too much scope for accidents. We don’t want to blow ourselves up.’
‘Shall I go with the boarders or stay here?’ asked Bowen, the surgeon.
‘You stay here,’ said a startled Ramage. ‘What good could you do on board the Achille?’
‘I was thinking that I could attend to casualties on the spot,’ Bowen said lamely. His suggestion had been an attempt to join in the excitement, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that Ramage had realised that immediately.
‘Very well,’ said Ramage, looking round at all the officers. ‘If there are no more questions, we may as well get started.’
The moon set soon after eleven p.m. and 150 seamen and Marines were formed up on deck in groups, ready to board the boats, which had been hauled round alongside. In addition to cutlasses, pikes, tomahawks and pistols, many of the men carried the greasy cloths with which they would start fires. Others had shaded lanterns and some carried lighted slowmatch.
The officers were drawn up ready to take command of the boats and their own parties of men. But it was slow work in the darkness preparing for the expedition. The starlight was spasmodic, interrupted by high blankets of cloud, and although the wind was still light from the east and the sea almost calm, it was hot and humid, and any effort soaked a man in perspiration.
Southwick, cheerfully striding round the deck with his great double-edged sword strapped to his waist, was looking forward to the operation because all too often lately – and in the Calypso’s last actions in the Mediterranean – he had been left on board while others went off to do the fighting. This time Mr Ramage was leaving the first lieutenant in command of the Dido, Southwick had noted happily, and had put him in command of one of the pinnaces. So now he had twenty-five men in his party, ready to fight or burn the enemy. Although Southwick appreciated the main task was to set fire to the ship he hoped that the French would put up a fight. It was a long time since he had been able to use his sword, and the thought of soon unsheathing it was exciting.
Martin said to Kenton: ‘I hope this is going to make up for George Hill getting command of that frigate. That’s the second time. It doesn’t seem fair, just because he speaks French.’
‘If he didn’t speak French one of us would get the job,’ Kenton said soothingly. ‘It’s our fault, really. I didn’t pay much attention at school – whoever would have thought that speaking French would come in useful? It seemed to be the last thing you’d need at sea. Mathematics and geography, yes: but French and Latin…’
Orsini, who had been listening to the conversation, said: ‘Well, I speak French and Italian, but I don’t get command of the prizes!’
‘You’re only a master’s mate,’ Martin said unsympathetically, ‘and anyway, your navigation is a bit suspect.’
‘It was but it isn’t now,’ Orsini said defensively. ‘I’ve been working hard at it since we joined the Dido. Mr Southwick is very pleased with the progress I’ve made.’
‘Maybe so,’ said Kenton, ‘but do you feel confident enough to take command of a frigate?’
‘Give me a few good men and let me have the chance,’ Orsini said impulsively. ‘The trouble is there don’t seem to be any frigates left!’
‘Be patient,’ Martin said, ‘the French may send out some more. Or we might find the one that got away.’
‘If he’s got any sense he’s already on his way back to France,’ Kenton said. ‘That merchantman blowing up probably persuaded him.’
‘More likely he saw us in the flash and realised the convoy was being attacked by a ship of the line.’
At that moment Aitken’s voice came out of the darkness: ‘I hope you have inspected your men and are all ready to embark.’
The three of them assured him they were, and he added: ‘Don’t be misled by the French landing some of their men: there may be a couple of hundred – maybe a lot more – still left on board. Don’t forget, we’re not trying to capture the ship; we just want to set fire to it.’
After Aitken had gone, Kenton said: ‘If the French have a couple of hundred men still left on board, we’ve got a fight on our hands. Boarding a ship of the line isn’t like boarding a frigate: her freeboard is so much higher. Still, since she’s bigger the French have more to defend.’
‘And we have more to attack,’ Martin said ruefully. ‘On the other hand, it hasn’t rained for days, so her woodwork i
s nice and dry. It should be easy enough to start fires.’
‘Wood that’s been soaked hundreds of times in salt water won’t burn too easily,’ Kenton warned. ‘I’m going to go for sails, if I can.’
‘Even rigging should burn well,’ Orsini said. ‘After all, it’s coated in tar, so it won’t have soaked up much salt. If you set fire to a few shrouds the flames should run up the masts and set fire to the courses.’
‘What we need is a thunderstorm so that lightning strikes her,’ Martin grumbled. ‘That’d save us a lot of bother.’
It was after midnight when Ramage gave the order to start and led the way down to the boats, boarding the launch and settling himself down in the sternsheets, telling Jackson: ‘Shove off. And no talking. You know where to make for, and make sure you don’t get in the field of fire of those guns – just in case they spot us.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ Jackson said. ‘We’ll be like ghosts.’
Ramage sat alone with his thoughts. He was still not sure that he was doing the right thing. For the task of destroying the Achille he had two choices: he could bring the Dido in and, as he had done when he attacked her in the first place, sail back and forth across her stern, raking her. That would take hours – destroying a ship by gunfire alone could be very difficult. Silencing her was one thing; destroying her was something quite different. Which left him with boarding her and setting her on fire. That was certain but was far riskier. As far as the Achille was concerned, it was riskier because he had no idea how many Frenchmen had been landed, and therefore how many were left on board. When the Dido had arrived and anchored, the Achille was landing men on the beach. Were they abandoning the ship? Were they the first fifty or were they the last? There was no way of knowing. So they were boarding her not knowing whether there were five hundred men on board or twenty.
That was why he had emphasised to his officers that all they were concerned with was getting on board the ship, setting a few fires, and then getting off as quickly as possible: they were not trying to capture the Frenchman; this was not a regular boarding – as when they had taken the Alerte. They were, he thought wryly, concerned only with arson.
He could make out the black shape of the Achille – she seemed enormous in the darkness. To anyone who loved ships for themselves, it was a sad thought that this handsome ship – for she had a pleasing sheer – was not only wedged on the rocks, but if all went well within half an hour would be only so much charred wreckage floating on the sea. Two thousand large trees, each piece carefully shaped by skilled men, had been used to build her…his imagination roamed, helped by the darkness.
The men were rowing easily and silently: Aitken had done a good job of making sure that each oar was bound with keckling to stop it squeaking against the thole pins. The men were being careful to dip their oars deeply so they did not ‘catch a crab’ and make a splash.
He looked astern and could just make out the other boats following in the launch’s wake. In a few minutes three of the boats would turn to starboard to make their way to the Achille’s stern, still keeping out of the field of fire. What sort of lookout were they keeping in the French ship? For the moment they would not be able to see very far because of the darkness, but would they spot the boats in the starlight during those last few yards?
Ramage decided they would not be keeping a special lookout because they would not expect the Dido to board them: they knew that the English realised they were stuck on the rocks, and helpless. They might expect a further attack in daylight, with the Dido raking her and doing more damage by gunfire. Indeed, that might have been the reason for them landing men – to save casualties.
Casualties! The word made him shiver. If the French had not landed many men, then he was likely to suffer a lot of casualties tonight. He did not doubt that his own men would be able to start a few fires, but at what cost?
Some captains, he knew, could send their men off on operations where the number of casualties would be enormous, and the fact did not make them lose any sleep. But he was not one of these captains. He did not know whether to call them lucky or not – in war men did get killed or maimed. But the fact was that he shied away from operations where the casualties would be heavy. He had shied away from this one until he persuaded himself that if he did not destroy the Achille now, the admiral would send him back to do it.
So now he was setting off with more than 150 seamen and Marines not knowing whether there were five hundred or fifty Frenchmen on board the Achille. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed the most absurdly risky operation he had ever undertaken: it was, literally and figuratively, a leap into the dark.
He stared ahead and could just make out the black shape of the Achille outlined against the stars. Judging from the height of the masts they were closer than he had realised. He glanced astern and saw that the last three boats had already left to make for the French ship’s stern. There was just the faint hiss as the launch’s bow cut through the water and the muffled gasping as the men strained at the oars. The launch, carrying thirty men plus the oarsmen, was a heavy boat to row.
Yes, it was a hot and humid night: already he could feel the perspiration soaking through his clothes. But he was thankful there was little wind. Wind meant waves and waves meant a slop at the bow which could be spotted by the French lookouts. Thank goodness there was almost no phosphorescence tonight. It was extraordinary how one night it would be bright and another night there would be almost none at all. One thing was certain – had there been much of it then it would give away the positions of all six boats, warning the French long before they could actually see the outline of the raiders.
Forty yards, perhaps less. Jackson had brought the launch round – with the two pinnaces following – in a half-circle, so that he stayed out of the arcs of fire of the Achille’s guns and approached from dead ahead, the direction it would be hard for the French lookouts to see, because of the network of rigging supporting the jib-boom and bowsprit.
Ramage loosened the two pistols stuck in his belt: they were digging into his ribs, and they would jab him when he climbed. He hitched at his sword, making sure it was free in the sheath, ready to be drawn instantly. He was, he realised ruefully, behaving just like a nervous man, but damnation, he was nervous: not at the thought of boarding the Frenchman, but at what they might find. Fifty or five hundred – they were not the sort of odds to attract a gambler…
Thirty yards – no more. Jackson was hissing an order at the nearest oarsmen and they were passing it forward, from man to man. The rate of rowing slowed. The Achille was huge now, looming over them – and there was no challenge. No shooting from aft, either, so that the other boarding party had not arrived yet. He had thought of trying to synchronise the two attacks, but finally decided against it: the trouble involved increased the risk that they would be discovered if one or other party had to wait in the darkness.
Twenty yards – and Jackson was beginning to put the tiller over and hissing another order to the oarsmen nearest him. The Achille was now like the side of a huge cliff; her rigging was outlined against the star-filled sky like a fishnet, and the masts stood up like enormous trees, reaching up into the blackness.
Ten yards, and the men on the starboard side tossed their oars. Ramage poised himself, ready to leap upwards at whatever projection would give him a foothold. Still no challenge and, mercifully, still no shooting from astern. In the few seconds before the launch came alongside the French ship he thought how extraordinary it was that she was keeping such a poor lookout.
Then he smelled the stench of rotting seaweed and realised that it had been growing beneath the waterline but had been exposed when the bow had lifted as the ship had run on to the reef. He noticed that the French had not let go an anchor – an indication of how firmly she was wedged. Probably firmly enough to make this boarding quite unnecessary, but one could not be sure.
Then, in a frantic rush, the launch was alongside and he was leaping up, grasping at a loop of riggi
ng and kicking out with his feet to find a foothold. The wood was slippery from the weed but his feet found the edge of a plank that was standing proud. He levered himself upwards, kicking and grasping, until he found he had reached the headrails. He ducked through them and worked his way up to the beakhead bulkhead, conscious just as he reached it that a French voice was shouting a challenge.
Several more men from the launch had managed to scramble up, and were almost alongside him. In fact as he looked below, the whole bow of the ship seemed to be a wriggling mass of men. He stretched up again and got a grip on the Marine’s walk, the short strip of gangway leading from the fo’c’sle to the bowsprit. Then he swung himself up, kicking and struggling, until he was sprawled on the walk, and a few moments later found himself on the fo’c’sle, only a few feet from the foremast.
By now the French voice was shouting hysterically: it had stopped challenging and was calling out an alarm. Obviously there had been a single lookout forward, and he must have been dozing. Ramage heard a voice answer in the distance and knew it would be only a matter of moments before the men boarding aft would be spotted. The shooting would start any second now, and as he stood upright on the fo’c’sle he wrenched out the pistols from his belt.
He suddenly realised that Jackson, Stafford and Rossi, all puffing from their exertions, were standing beside him at the forebitts, beside the foremast. More men were climbing up the beakhead bulkhead while others were scrambling up on to the Marine’s walk.
Suddenly there was the rattle of musket fire from aft and shot ricocheted off the mast. ‘Start those fires!’ shouted Ramage, knowing that any moment a barrage of musketry fire could sweep the deck.
Lanterns suddenly appeared and he saw several slowmatches sparkling in the darkness. There was a glow as someone took a candle from a lantern and used it to light a piece of cloth.
Now the musketry fire from aft was closer: the French were advancing along the deck towards them. What had happened to the boarders aft? Just as he wondered, Ramage noticed that some of the muskets and pistols were now aimed aft: at last the rest of the Didos had appeared. They had a far more difficult task than the men boarding over the bow: there was much less to hold on to.