by Dudley Pope
Southwick gestured towards the Surcouf. ‘Just look at her, sir, she’s eating up to windward. She’s at least a knot faster than us.’
‘A point which hasn’t escaped Aitken,’ Ramage said wryly, and began to recast his plans slightly. Two unexpected things had happened. First the French merchantmen had obligingly reduced sail and cut the convoy’s speed, and second the Surcouf was not only proving faster to windward than he had expected, but she was pointing higher. On this tack, unless the convoy altered course, Aitken could actually intercept the convoy, sailing into the middle of it, instead of arriving astern of it to cut off its retreat.
Ramage began rubbing the scars over his brow and the moment Southwick noticed it he made a mental note not to interrupt the captain’s thoughts. Rubbing the scar meant concentration and perhaps a sudden change of plan. From past experience it resulted in something even more desperate than originally intended but usually more effective. He tried to guess what it would be.
At the moment Southwick thought that the situation was more or less as they had anticipated. The convoy was beginning to come through the Fours Channel towards them; the Surcouf was well round the Diamond and heading up towards the convoy to shut the escape door; La Créole was almost up to the rear of the convoy. Wagstaffe was making another tack, which was unnecessary unless he was trying to waste time until the Juno and the Surcouf were in position. The convoy had reduced speed and the leading French frigate was going to bring them through the middle of the Fours Channel.
Southwick shrugged his shoulders. The original plan had been for the Juno to try to fight her way through the leading frigates to get at the merchantmen while the Surcouf did the same from astern, with La Créole doing her best to get into the middle and use her nimbleness to savage the merchantmen like a stoat running amok in a hen run. That seemed good enough to Southwick, particularly when the Diamond batteries joined in.
Ramage looked round for Orsini. ‘Give me the signal book and stand by.’
He thumbed through the pages. Making a signal which gave a precise order was frequently difficult for a captain or admiral who wanted to do something out of the ordinary. There were nearly four hundred signals in the book, ranging from Engage the enemy more closely to The ship has sprung a leak, from Send boats tomorrow morning for water, for fresh beef, or for any other supplies of which the ship may be in need to The physician of the fleet is to come to the Admiral.
For all that, he was going to have to use two separate signals to give his new order to Aitken. The problem was that the new order was not a complete change. The Surcouf was still to attack the convoy, but not from the rear: Aitken was to attack the middle of the convoy from the seaward side. Signal number 33 said Engage the centre of the enemy, but might be misunderstood by Aitken as meaning that he was also to attack the frigates which, forming a half circle round the convoy on his side, would immediately close up to drive him off. No, Ramage had to make it clear that the English frigate’s target was still the merchant ships. Very well, there would have to be two signals. The first would be number 22, Attack the enemy’s convoy of transports or trading ships, followed immediately by number 33, Engage the centre of the enemy.
He looked across at the convoy. It was also time to make the agreed signal for the Diamond and indicate to them that their orders were unchanged.
‘Orsini, hoist number 13.’
‘Number 13, Prepare for battle, sir,’ the boy said, running to the halyard.
Ramage gestured to one of the four men to leave the wheel and give him a hand, and watched the Surcouf acknowledge.
He then said carefully to the boy: ‘Now the Surcouf’s pendant, and then two signals, number 22, and number 33.’
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ said the boy, repeating the meanings.
Ramage nodded and prayed that the Diamond batteries would not be so excited that they did not notice that the second signal was addressed only to the Surcouf.
‘We’ll tack now, Mr Southwick,’ he said and tried to look at the Surcouf. The Master had heard him tell Orsini the signals and was obviously puzzled as he walked to the quarterdeck rail with his speaking trumpet. In a few moments more Aitken would not be puzzled: he would know that he had to keep the Surcouf on the same tack and heading for a point, at the moment unmarked, where the frigate and the convoy would meet. Then, whatever the French frigates did to try and stop him, he must luff up or bear away, tack, wear, or do anything else that let him dodge the escorts and break through to attack the centre of the convoy.
What would Aitken think? Ramage knew it did not matter, because the battle had to be fought, but the young Scot might think that, at the last minute, his senior officers had left him the desperate part of the fighting, ordering him to make a suicidal attack.
Would Aitken realize that he was now being ordered to attack the centre of the seaward side of the convoy so that at his approach two, and possibly three, of the frigates would bear up to fight him off, leaving only the leading frigate to drive off the Juno as she beat up through the Channel? Would he see what would happen if the Juno managed to avoid the leading frigate and suddenly attacked the convoy from the landward side? It would be a massacre, but by then the Surcouf would probably be a shambles. For a moment Ramage sympathized with an admiral with his flagship in the centre squadron who ordered the van or the rear squadron to make some apparently unexpected and dangerous attack and stayed in safety himself. Men would die and never know that they had been part of a larger plan. They might guess it, of course, because an admiral was responsible for the whole fleet, but how about the senior of two commanding officers, like himself and Aitken? How could Aitken be sure that Ramage was not deliberately giving him orders that would take the worst of the fighting off the Juno and leave most of it to the Surcouf? Aitken might have to fight off two or perhaps three frigates.
The Juno was now swinging round on the other tack; the helmsmen were turning the wheel, sheets and braces were being trimmed, and Ramage bent over the compass, shading it from the glare of the sun. He glanced up at Jackson, who nodded: the Juno was now sailing as fast and as close to the wind as possible, at right angles to the convoy’s course. The lubber line on the compass was steady on north.
He looked across at the convoy, now broad on the Juno’s starboard bow. The Surcouf had acknowledged his signals and he could see that she would be able to lay at the centre. But what the devil were the French frigates going to do? It looked as though they were going to stay in their present positions in relation to the convoy. Putting himself in the senior French captain’s place, he was sure the plan at the moment was for the nearest two frigates to drive off the nearest enemy, without attempting to capture or destroy it.
From the French point of view this made sense: Fort Royal Bay was less than ten miles away round the Diamond headland. Four French frigates had only to keep two British frigates at bay for three hours – less, if they could persuade the merchantmen to set more canvas – and they would all be safe and have carried out their task of getting provisions to Martinique.
The colours, he thought irrelevantly: the almost harsh blue of the tropical sky, the deep blue of the sea which lightened as it closed the shore and, like the edge of a rainbow, merged into pale green along the sand of the beach. The inside of the Juno’s bulwarks was a deep blood red; the guns shiny black and the sails aloft not the white of poems and songs but a faint tan, what an artist had once described as raw umber with a touch of burnt sienna.
Looking across at the convoy he was startled at the nearness of the leading frigate. It would be difficult indeed to explain that he had been attacked unawares because he was considering how much raw umber was mixed with burnt sienna…
Then he saw two separate signals being hoisted in the French frigate. The Surcouf was a mile away from the seaward frigate. Any minute now he expected to see smoke pouring from them as they tried the range. Ramage was just estimating that the leading frigate was perhaps half a mile from the Juno when he saw all thr
ee frigates answering the signals.
Almost at once the frigates at the rear and on the quarter bore away slightly, obviously intending to drive off the Surcouf, while the leading frigate made a bold turn to starboard, to prevent the Juno getting between the convoy and the shore. The frigate which had stayed abreast of the leading ships now moved up to take the leading frigate’s place at the head of the convoy.
‘Most interesting,’ Ramage heard a voice comment quietly, and he turned to find Bowen watching.
‘It’s our move,’ Ramage said crisply, ‘and perhaps a chess-master like yourself can see it.’ There were two or three minutes to spare and after that the pieces would start moving across the board with startling speed and confusion.
The Surgeon was shaking his head. ‘No, sir, this isn’t quite my kind of game.’
Ramage gestured to Southwick, to make sure he was ready for the Juno’s next move. ‘Remember your bishops, Mr Bowen,’ he said with what seemed to the Surgeon a devilish grin. ‘The unexpected diagonal attack.’
The Master laughed drily and fingered the speaking trumpet. ‘Aye, sir, the bishop might do it. Checkmate in three moves!’
The French frigate was turning even more inshore now as the Juno crossed ahead of the convoy and Ramage thought she would try to rake the Juno, firing her broadside into the British frigate’s unprotected bow. Every yard the French frigate sailed took her farther from the convoy; every yard she held on, hoping for that raking broadside, increased Ramage’s chances of succeeding with his bishop’s move. He glanced at Bowen and nodded towards the companionway. ‘I know you’d like to watch, but you must stay alive to tend the casualties.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Time was slowing down now, and Ramage felt calm; he could understand Bowen’s fascination with chess because here were eleven French pieces under attack from three British. And every moment that passed made him certain he could out-manoeuvre the leading French frigate because her captain was at this very moment making a very elementary mistake.
He had started off correctly: the moment the Juno tacked across the convoy’s course the Frenchman had realized that she might get between the shore and the convoy and had made the proper response, bearing up to cover the gap.
Then he had seen that he might be able to rake the Juno in the process. At some point in the last three or four minutes the Frenchman had forgotten that his prime task was to cover the gap, he had become obsessed with the idea of raking the Juno and to increase his chances of doing that he was now widening the gap he had been trying to close.
In the meantime the convoy was still lumbering through the Fours Channel. Ramage estimated that all seven merchant ships were just inside the circle he had pencilled on the chart as representing the effective range of the Juno and Ramage batteries but he decided to wait a few more minutes.
The French frigate was fine on the Juno’s starboard bow and in a couple of minutes would be in a perfect position to rake her, but a quick glance at the compass showed Ramage that the centre of the convoy was bearing south-east by south. The second frigate was in position leading the convoy and keeping on a steady course through the Channel.
The first frigate was now almost dead ahead; her captain would have to wait another two minutes to be in a perfect position, firing a whole broadside into the bow of a ship which could not fire back. Now for the surprise Ramage thought to himself; it might save a few lives.
‘Mr Southwick, we’ll tack now, if you please, and tell the men at the starboard guns to get under cover and the larboard side to stand fast! Jackson, steady her on a course of south-east!’
The Master bellowed to the men at the braces and sheets, then shouted to the rest of the men to duck down beside the guns, the safest place when a raking broadside smashed roundshot through the bow and swept the decks.
The French frigate was still not quite dead ahead as the Juno’s wheel was put over. Ramage could see every one of her larboard guns and pictured each French gun captain crouching, trigger line in his hand, waiting just one more moment before the Juno’s bow came in sight.
Then the Juno began to swing fast as she tacked; swinging towards the French frigate’s stern as she turned. Instead of an unprotected bow, the French gunners peering through the gunports would see the Juno’s broadside guns.
Ramage took up his speaking trumpet. ‘Larboard guns, stand by. Fire as your guns bear!’
The gun captains would only have a fleeting glimpse of the French frigate as the Juno continued her swing towards the convoy, but if a few shot landed it would help. There was distant thudding over on the larboard bow and he saw the French ship firing wildly, her gunners obviously taken by surprise, but the Juno was still swinging round on to the other tack, with ropes squealing through blocks aloft, Jackson cursing the men at the wheel, and Orsini hurling a shrill stream of Italian blasphemy at the French frigate as she passed across the bow. Then a couple of the Juno’s forward guns fired and thundered back in recoil, followed in sequence by the rest. Smoke drifted aft and he remembered to breathe shallowly to avoid coughing.
Now the Juno’s sails had filled on the other tack and she was sailing fast to the south-east on an opposite course from her erstwhile attacker, heading straight for the head of the convoy.
The captain of the new leading French frigate waited, perhaps in indecision. The Juno’s sudden tack directly towards the head of the convoy would show him that he too had made a disastrous mistake – he was much too far ahead of the merchant ships. He could haul round immediately to the north and try to cut off the Juno before she reached the merchantmen or he could simply tack and try to get back to the head of the convoy. Give me three minutes, Ramage prayed; please hesitate a little longer! A glance astern showed him that the first frigate had already tacked and was chasing along in the Juno’s wake. She hoisted a string of signal flags and almost immediately the second frigate hauled her wind, turning north towards the Juno. Ramage watched the Frenchmen bracing the yards sharp up, desperately trying to point higher. The luffs fluttered and she paid off a fraction. That was the best she could do – and he saw it was not going to be enough: the Juno would just scrape past ahead, giving her a raking broadside on the way.
He had taken a chance going into action with topgallants set instead of fighting under topsails alone, but so far in this weasel-in-a-hen-run type of action it had paid off. The French were under topsails alone and it was costing them a couple of knots.
More signals came from the first frigate. Suddenly and almost unbelievably the second frigate tacked and came round on the same course as the Juno, but nearly half a mile to leeward, leaving the British frigate between her and the convoy.
Southwick, watching open-mouthed, turned to Ramage, and said: ‘I must be dreaming. Why the devil has he done that?’
There was only one explanation Ramage could think of. ‘They reckon we’re going down to join the Surcouf!’
He looked over towards her and felt quite sick: Aitken had two frigates bearing down on him. But there was nothing he could do. The time had nearly come for the Juno to start the bishop’s move.
‘Orsini,’ he called. ‘The Diamond’s pendant and number twenty-two!’
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ the boy yelled, running towards the halyards. ‘Engage the convoy!’
‘Mr Southwick, we’ll tack again. Jackson, keep her as close to the wind as you can!’
The Juno turned north again, heading straight for the shore and leaving the convoy on her starboard side.
‘That’ll fool them!’ Southwick exclaimed gleefully. ‘Both the frigates are tacking again. They did think we were going down to the Surcouf. Not that she couldn’t do with a hand,’ he added soberly. A moment later he was berating the men at the wheel and glowering at Jackson as a luff fluttered.
With the Juno heading for the shore Ramage kept glancing at the convoy over the top of the compass. It looked as though the frigate would run up the beach before the middle of the convoy bore south-east, so he
could fetch it on the next tack.
As he watched Orsini arrived in front of him, almost squeaking with excitement and pointing at the far side of the convoy, towards the Surcouf. Ramage stared, frowned and then snatched Orsini’s telescope, cursing as he had to adjust the focus.
One French frigate had rammed the other! Her jibboom and bowsprit were stuck in the second ship’s side and her foremast had come crashing down, locking into the other frigate’s mainmast. Even as he watched, her mainmast began to topple, slowly at first and then gathering speed, until it fell over the side, its yards giving it a cartwheeling effect. The Surcouf, which he had last seen between the two frigates, wreathed in smoke and obviously trapped, was between the wrecked ships and the convoy, sailing fast. And La Créole had hoisted her own flag and was firing into the last ship of the centre column.
Ramage thrust the telescope back to Orsini. ‘Watch the Surcouf for signals!’
There was no time to tell Southwick: all that mattered now was that the Juno stayed close-hauled until she was almost on the beach and then tacked south-east again into the middle of the convoy.
The two frigates the Juno had dodged were still tacking, trying to catch up with her. The first one had her topgallants set but Ramage knew there was precious little the Frenchman could do now to save the convoy, unless, of course, the Juno ran aground. This was becoming a distinct possibility.
Damn all this tacking! There were seven fat merchantmen almost at his mercy once he got to windward. He glanced up at the luffs, but Jackson and Southwick were watching like hawks. The beach was approaching with alarming speed and already the water had changed to green and close ahead it was an even lighter green. Ramage heard a chanting from the mainchains and saw the leadsman at work, water from the line streaming down his body.
He glanced back at the merchantmen. He needed another fifty yards before he tacked; otherwise he would not lay the middle of the convoy, which was helping him by continuing to steer the same course.