Ramage At Trafalgar (29 page)

Ramage looked across at the coxswain. There would be one more helm order – the one that would bring the
Calypso
crashing alongside the
Hasard
and, the rudder hard over, hold her there while the grapnels flew. If only Sarah could see this. And his father. Frigates did not stand in the line of battle – well, if only father would (in his splendid French) tell that to the
Neptune
.

Fifty yards – a frigate’s length…now the first few guns of the
Calypso
’s broadside are firing…a shout to the quartermaster… Aitken is bellowing at the grapnel men to throw high and hard… More guns firing…the officer on the
Hasard
’s quarterdeck is firing his pistol, obviously overexcited… Astern the
Neptune
is getting very close, the wineglass curve of her tumblehome and her masts nearly in line showing that she is almost in the
Calypso
’s wake.

“Mr Southwick!” Ramage shouted, and almost immediately there was a faint crackling and then smoke billowed up from braziers on the quarterdeck, to be carried by the breeze over the starboard side.

“It works!” bawled an excited Aitken. “Just look at it!”

At the root of the billowing smoke cloud Ramage could see Rossi and Stafford and the Frenchmen tossing handsful of what seemed like wet dust on to the flickering braziers.

Ramage hurried to the larboard side to look astern at the
Neptune
, which had been hidden by the tumbling smoke. How would the clouds of smoke appear to her?

Several sharp crashes showed that the
Hasard
’s gunners were firing. Thank goodness – fire from her would make it seem more likely from the deck of the
Neptune
that the British ship was ablaze…

“Most of the grapnels are secured, sir!” Aitken shouted. “We’re right alongside!”

“Away boarders!” Ramage yelled over his shoulder, still trying to watch the
Neptune
. She had not altered course: she was steering to come close alongside the
Calypso
. In perhaps four minutes they’d all be blown to pieces.

But anyway, Southwick’s trick certainly produced smoke: the breeze was blowing it right across the
Hasard
’s deck: Ramage could imagine the Frenchmen coughing and spluttering, gasping for breath. Thank God the breeze was from the west, from the
Calypso
to the
Hasard
.

And it was time he boarded the
Hasard
as he had planned: to lead the seamen and Marines. But should he continue with the wet powder to make a smokescreen? What would the
Neptune
conclude if the smoke suddenly stopped? At the moment she must think the whole after-part of the
Calypso
was on fire. Would that be enough to make her keep her distance, for fear the
Calypso
’s magazine would go up, hurling blazing wreckage all over her?

“Keep that smoke coming, Mr Southwick!” he called. And this was a splendid breeze, blowing in just the right direction, even if he could not see across the
Hasard
’s deck. If only the wind had bulk, so that it would be a shield between the
Calypso
and the
Neptune
; a shield that would ward off that broadside that the French gunners were preparing.

If only he had attacked the starboard side of the
Hasard
: then he would have the
Hasard
as a shield between him and the
Neptune
’s broadsides… The French 74 would never risk hitting the
Hasard
…

But the wind is west!
he almost screamed at himself, snatching a quick glance astern at the
Neptune
before shouting at Aitken: “Let fall the courses! Quartermaster, keep the wheel hard over! Southwick, more smoke! Jackson, look quickly and tell me how our boarders are getting on!”

Would those grapnels hold, though? They were on comparatively light lines – light so that they could be thrown easily, but not particularly strong because it was always assumed there would be several – as indeed there were. But would they be strong enough to withstand the wrenching? Strong enough to hold the
Hasard
alongside while the
Calypso
swung her round?

The devil take it, there was just a chance!

“Courses, Mr Aitken, and let fall the topgallants! Watch those sheets and braces!”

Now there was a defiant shouting and the popping of muskets from the
Hasard
: more than a hundred of the
Calypso
’s seamen and all her Marines were swarming across the Frenchman’s decks, fighting pike against cutlass, tomahawk against musket. Ramage could picture the bitter battle in the smoke drifting like banks of fog.

Overhead the great courses suddenly flopped down and as the yards were braced and the sheets hauled home the canvas took up the familiar curves. Then, higher up the masts, above the topsails, the topgallants spilled down and filled at once as men hauled on the halyards. The smoke seemed too thin as the sails bellied out, but Ramage realized it was a lucky fluke of wind.

For a few moments there was nothing for him to do, except look astern at the
Neptune
and wonder. Would the
Calypso
’s sails draw in time so that, secured alongside the
Hasard
by the grapnels, she could pivot round, turning the
Hasard
and forcing the French frigate between her and the
Neptune
for long enough to act as a shield?

Would the grapnel lines hold the two ships close enough together? Anyway, at the moment the
Calypso
’s hull was pressed hard against the
Hasard
: open gunports in both frigates would be jamming against each other as they rolled in the swell; the two ships’ chainplates would probably lock; just long enough, Ramage prayed, for the
Calypso
to wrench the Frenchman round.

He stared ahead over the
Calypso
’s bow. Yes, the horizon was beginning to shift. The
Santissima Trinidad
and her attackers, which had been on the beam, were gradually drawing round on to the quarter. The
Calypso
’s sails
were
filling enough to lever round the
Hasard
.

But in time?

He looked astern at the
Neptune
. She was rolling heavily in a swell wave which shook the wind from her sails and then let them fill with a bang. Two hundred yards? Perhaps less.

But supposing this trick worked, what then? Would the
Neptune
heave-to and try to save the French frigate? Or (Ramage looked across the line of battle and through a gap saw more British ships coming into battle) would the
Neptune
make a bolt for the north, towards Cadiz and in the company of the van ships, which (so far, anyway) showed no sign of turning back to come to the help of the centre and rear?

Among thirty-three line-of-battle ships, one frigate more or less should make no difference – unless the captains were old friends: joined together by some revolutionary act in the past, or friends from the time that the
Neptune
’s captain also commanded a frigate?

Now the
Calypso
was turning the
Hasard
fast: topgallants, topsails and courses against the Frenchman’s topsails only: the two ships were fairly spinning! Now both frigates had their sterns pointing at the line of battle – and the
Neptune
was a ship’s length away: Ramage could make out the planking of her hull, interrupted by the black stubby fingers of her guns, run out ready. Her sails were patched; they were old, pulled out of shape by too much use. And he could almost distinguish the lay of the rope of her rigging. The foretopsail yard curved so much it looked as if it was sprung. Dun-coloured hull, mast hoops black.

Would she risk a raking broadside into the
Calypso
’s stern? Unless every gun was carefully aimed, there was a good chance that some of the shot would rake the
Hasard
too.

Ramage shook his head to clear his thoughts. There was nothing more to be done about the
Neptune
: the
Calypso
was doing her best to force round the
Hasard
as a shield, the smoke was now streaming forward over the
Calypso
’s quarterdeck as she turned in the wind.

“Belay that smoke, Mr Southwick! Have the men heave those braziers over the side. You’re now in command!”

With that Ramage unsheathed his Patriotic Fund sword with his right hand and hauled out a pistol with his left. “Come on!” he shouted at Jackson and made for the quarterdeck ladder, followed by Aitken.

The
Hasard
’s maindeck was crowded. The lines of the grapnels flung aboard the Frenchman from the
Calypso
’s deck were stretched tight, holding the two frigates together, and from the ends of the yards more grapnels were swung out and hooked into the
Hasard
’s rigging.

There were still pockets of smoke across the French ship’s deck and Ramage ducked through a gunport, leapt across the gap to one of the
Hasard
’s open ports – noting that the lids just caught each other, despite the tumblehome – and a moment later he was racing for the
Hasard
’s quarterdeck, shouting “Calypsos, to me Calypsos!”

A Frenchman lunged at him with a half-pike and Ramage slashed it to one side with his sword. Blurred in the corner of his eye he saw the muzzle of a musket pointing at him, but from behind there was a sharp crack: presumably Jackson’s pistol had taken care of it.

There were some of the
Calypso
’s Marines: Sergeant Ferris was holding the barrel of a musket and swinging the butt round his head like a flail as he ploughed through a group of Frenchmen, roaring curses and threats.

Ramage saw a screaming Frenchman running at him with a cutlass, flung his pistol left-handed into the man’s face and sliced upwards with his sword. As the man collapsed he leapt over the body and made for the quarterdeck ladder.

He was conscious that Jackson was beside him and Aitken, shouting threats in broad Scottish, was just behind. Grinning faces blurred as he ran but he just had time to register they were Calypsos.

Suddenly someone was tugging his shoulder and shouting. Aitken. “There she goes! By God we did it! There she goes!”

An excited Aitken was pointing over the larboard quarter and, across the
Hasard
’s quarterdeck, Ramage saw the enormous bulk of the
Neptune
sliding past. He registered that she was a fine sight – and that her guns were not firing: the
Calypso
was completely shielded by the
Hasard
though, judging by the slatting of canvas, Southwick and his men must be doing some hasty sail trimming.

Now he was almost at the top of the quarterdeck ladder, slashing at a Frenchman’s legs and hurriedly leaning to one side as the man fell. And there was the entire quarterdeck, a replica of the
Calypso
’s but full of men fighting desperately, cutlasses slashing and pikes jabbing.

“The wheel!” Ramage shouted, and with Jackson and Aitken they slashed and parried their way towards it. A French officer, dead from a gaping head wound, hung over the wheel, his coat caught in a spoke. Ramage had just reached the binnacle when a cursing, sword-slashing Rennick reached it from the other side.

“Steady!” Ramage bellowed, recognizing the bloodlust in the Marine officer’s face.

“Oh, it’s you, sir!” Rennick exclaimed, as though startled in the midst of the frenzy. With that he turned and rushed aft, to where Marines were still fighting it out with a group of French seamen.

From forward the popping of pistols and muskets and the clashing of cutlass blades showed that neither the waist nor the fo’c’sle had been secured, and then Ramage realized that most of the fighting on the quarterdeck had suddenly stopped and a Frenchman – Ramage recognized him as an officer – was shouting at the top of his voice that the ship surrendered. At that moment for Ramage everything went black.

Ramage came to knowing at first that he was lying on a hard deck, that his head rang as though inside a bell, and someone was pouring water over him from a bucket – salt water, which made his eyes sting.

As the red mist cleared from his eyes and with a great effort he managed to get them to focus, he found he was lying on the
Hasard
’s quarterdeck with Jackson dousing him and Aitken kneeling beside him while Rennick, musket at the ready, stood at his feet.

There was still the smell of the
Calypso
’s powder smoke and he could just distinguish a group of seamen – French seamen – being guarded by a party of the
Calypso
’s Marines.

“Are you all right now, sir?” Aitken said anxiously.

No bones were broken; only his head throbbed as though an enthusiast was whacking it with a caulker’s maul.

“Wha’ happened?”

“As that French officer shouted that he surrendered the ship, you stopped to listen and one of the French seamen fetched you a crack across the head with the butt of a musket.”

“Feels as though he dropped an 18-pounder on me,” Ramage muttered. “Have we secured the ship?”

“Yes, sir,” Aitken assured him. “The French officer,” he added, “is waiting to surrender his sword to you – and apologize.”

“The captain?”

“No, second lieutenant. The only surviving officer. Seems Rennick and his Marines did for the others.”

“Too bad,” Ramage growled, struggling to stand up. “Here, give me your shoulder.”

Then, as though the noise had been blocked out for awhile, he heard the rolling thunder of the battle to windward. “What happened to the
Neptune
?” he asked

“Went on. Never fired a shot. Afraid of hitting this ship.”

“I thought she might wear round on to our larboard side.”