Ramage & the Saracens (13 page)

Bowen came up on deck, his clothes still bloodstained, and reported to Ramage.

“Twelve dead from gunshot wounds and splinters, five badly wounded from splinters, and seven slightly wounded, gunshot and splinters, plus one man completely dazed when the gun was dismounted. It's only the second time I've seen such a case, but he is speechless and although he's not deaf, he doesn't understand what is said to him.”

“We've been lucky,” Ramage said grimly. “If
Le Jason
had not had that leak, we could have lost half a hundred men.”

Bowen looked up at the ragged group of men up on the fo'c'sle. “At least. Are those the French survivors?”

“A hundred and sixty-three, and two officers.”

“How many men did she have on board?”

“I haven't asked the captain yet, but probably about two hundred and fifty.”

T
HE trip back to Capraia was a run of less than two hours, and Ramage steered for a position on the coast about three miles north of the little port. He took the
Calypso
in to three quarters of a mile from the beach and then, wary of the kind of outlying rocks that had holed
Le Jason,
brought the frigate head to wind and anchored.

“Hoist out the boats, Mr Aitken,” he said after Southwick assured him the anchor was well dug in. “Let's get rid of our passengers.”

During the run back to the island he had a long talk with Peyrafitte.
Le Jason
had had a complement of 277 when she began the action, so that 112 men had been lost, either from the
Calypso
's gunfire or by drowning.

The French captain confirmed that the ship had hit a rock off Capraia and the impact had started several planks. At first the pump had kept up with the leak but after that
Le Jason
's speed through the water while engaging the
Calypso
had made it worse, and towards the end he was having to take men away from the guns to replace those exhausted at the pump.

Peyrafitte, a stocky and black-haired man with deep brown eyes, said ruefully: “But for the leak, we may have taken
you!
”

“You had 50 more men and we had the same number of guns,” Ramage said. “We should both have lost a great number of men.”

“I did anyway,” Peyrafitte commented.

Ramage shrugged his shoulders. “There could have been more. Considering everything, you are fortunate that you have more than half your men up on the fo'c'sle.”

“I know,” the Frenchman said, “but I will have to account to my admiral for my navigation.”

“Your navigation?” asked a puzzled Ramage.

“That rock,” Peyrafitte explained. “It was shown on my chart. I thought we were farther offshore.”

“Your chart is better than mine: I had no indication that there were any rocks there.”

It was the Frenchman's turn to shrug. “Your chart showed no rock and mine did. You didn't hit it and I did. My admiral will want to know why. He will order a court of inquiry …”

“But a court of inquiry is routine anyway,” Ramage protested.

“Yes,” the Frenchman agreed, “but what can I answer when they question me? They won't even know that your chart did not show a rock: it will be enough that mine did and I hit it.”

Ramage wanted to console the man: he had fought bravely and he had been beaten by a leak. But from what Ramage had heard the French Navy dealt harshly with anyone who made mistakes, even if they involved misjudging the position of a rock by a few score yards in the midst of an action.

It took an hour to ferry the prisoners ashore. The two hours spent up on the fo'c'sle had done much to revive their spirits; so much so that Ramage told Rennick to put four marines in each boat, just in case a wild spirit decided to try to rouse his comrades into making an attempt to get control.

The first frigate,
Le Tigre,
was out of sight round the bend in the coast, and after the boats had returned and men had weighed anchor, Ramage ordered the ship to general quarters.

“She probably won't be there,” he said sourly to Aitken.

“They've certainly had time to send up the yards, but we damaged the main-yard.”

“She could have got under way with topsails,” Ramage said. “She could have gone southabout round the island and we would not have seen her.”

“Well, we gave her a battering,” Aitken said. “For sure the captain won't be able to use his cabin without dockyard repairs!”

Ramage recalled the raking broadsides they had poured into
Le Tigre
's stern. How many of those broadsides had swept the length of the ship, dismounting guns and slaughtering men? Perhaps not enough to prevent her escaping while the
Calypso
pursued
Le Jason.

Jackson sat on the deck surrounded by his gun's crew. Stafford said firmly:

“She won't be there. She's had plenty of time to bolt. You fink she's going ter ‘ang about after
Le Jason
came down to rescue ‘er?”

“Didn't do
Le Jason
much good,” Rossi observed.

“Nah, but what's ter stop
Le Tigre
escaping?”

“We left them in a mess,” said Jackson. “Could they have got the yards up?”

“They'd ‘ave escaped with what they got up already,” Stafford said scornfully. “Topsails, t'gallants—enough to get under way.”

“True enough,” Jackson agreed, “providing our raking broadsides didn't do any damage. When we swept the deck I saw a lot of damage. Must have cut a lot of cordage, apart from putting paid to that main-yard.”

“We shall know in a few minutes,” Gilbert said, getting up and going over to the port. “No, we're not far enough round to see yet.”

“Who is making a bet?” Auguste asked. “I bet a tot that she is still there. Any takers?”

“Done!” exclaimed Stafford. “I say she's gone.”

“Who'll bet that if she's gone we don't start chasing her?” Jackson asked.

“Cor, you'd ‘ave to be mad to take that bet,” Stafford said scornfully. “If she's gone she could only have gone round to the westward, and Mr Ramage'll be after her like lightning.”

“We'd never catch her,” Rossi said. “She'd have a two-hour start on us.”

“But she'd be under reduced canvas,” Jackson pointed out. “She won't have her main course up. She'll be just jilling along under topsails and topgallants.”

“Two hours is two hours,” Rossi said doggedly. “Why, she'll probably be out of sight—there's plenty of haze about.”

“Let's wait and see,” advised Jackson. “We'll know in a few minutes whether or not Staff's won his tot.”

Up on the quarterdeck Ramage waited as impatiently as Stafford as he watched the coastline with his telescope.

“It's nice seeing our fo'c'sle clear of prisoners,” he commented to Southwick.

“Aye, but they'd had all the fight washed out of ‘em!”

“Maybe,” Ramage agreed, “but it only needed one hothead to rouse them up.”

“It would have taken more than one hothead,” Southwick said. “Most of them had swallowed a lot of the Mediterranean, and all they wanted to do was sick it up.”

Ramage gestured ahead. “I thought that dam' frigate was anchored in this next bay, but it's not the right shape.”

“No, it's another mile or so yet. And the bay cuts in so you won't see anything until you pass the first headland.”

Aitken said: “I expect the ship's company are making bets whether or not she's still there.”

“What odds are you offering?” Southwick asked jocularly.

“If I was a betting man—which I'm not—I'd give twenty to one that she's gone,” Aitken said. “She'll be halfway to Toulon by now.”

“We'll see,” Southwick said calmly. “If she's gone we'll have a hard time finding her in this haze—it seems to be getting worse.”

“She's still there,” Ramage said calmly. “I can see the trucks of her masts over the headland.”

“Twenty to one, eh?” Southwick said to Aitken. “Don't start taking bets—you'd be bankrupt in short order. Horses are more unpredictable than Frenchmen!”

Ramage tapped one hand with the telescope. “If they've hoisted their colours again—and are still anchored as before—we'll rake ‘em a few times: they'll probably take the hint and haul down their colours again.”

“I wish we could rake her across the bow,” Southwick said. “There can't be much aft for us to smash up.”

“I want to sail her out of here,” Ramage said sharply. “So we don't want to risk any damage to her jib-boom or bowsprit.”

“Oh, I realize that, sir,” Southwick said. “It was just getting rather boring raking her stern!”

“Just bear with us a little longer,” Ramage said sarcastically.

“Anyway, they may haul down their colours again as soon as they sight us.”

“They couldn't have seen us coming back, sir?” Aitken asked.

“I thought of that—in fact I was trying to spot them,” Ramage said, “but the bay they are in cuts up to the north-west, so they can't see out to the east or north-east.”

“So, we'll surprise them,” Aitken said cheerfully. “We've been surprising Frenchmen a lot today.”

“As long as they don't start surprising us,” Ramage said. “Let's not get too confident.”

He gave Aitken a helm order to start rounding the headland and looked for Orsini. The young Italian was standing five yards away, pretending he could not hear the conversation.

“Go round all the guns on the larboard side and warn them that they will probably be raking the Frenchman in about five minutes,” he said. “And tell the officers that the Frenchman is here.”

His telescope showed the stunted, gnarled olive trees growing along the headland, their leaves glinting silver as the wind caught them. There were dark green patches where cactus grew in sprouting clusters. The ground was rocky: there was little soil on this eastern side of the island and what little grass there was had been ripped up by goats, whose tracks made spiders' web trails.

Le Tigre
must be lying in the same position, head to wind and her bows to the east, her stern pointing at the far headland and leaving little room for manoeuvre. At least, that much he could make out from the position of her masts.

And then suddenly the
Calypso
had rounded the first headland and there, fine on her larboard bow, was
Le Tigre,
looking much the same as when Ramage had first seen her. The main-yard was still down on deck but her stern was still out of sight. The Tricolour had been hoisted again; it streamed aft in the breeze in what seemed to Ramage a pointless act of defiance. Not so pointless, he corrected himself:
Le Tigre
thought she had been rescued by
Le Jason;
she was not to know about that rock further up the coast.

“It'll be like a wasp's nest on her quarterdeck,” observed Southwick. “They never expected to see us again.”

“There were times when I didn't expect to see her,” Ramage said sourly.

He turned to Aitken. “We'll rake her astern with our larboard broadside, if you please; pass thirty yards off her transom.”

Round shot this time at a range of thirty yards. And if they approached carefully, at right angles to the French ship, only a few of the enemy's guns would be able to fire at them.

The
Calypso
's first broadside smashed even more of the French ship's transom into dust: it always surprised Ramage just how much dust was created. Dust you could see, clouds of it; splinters, many six feet long, you could not see: they were flung up faster than the eye could detect, and they scythed along to kill more men than the round shot.

The smoke of the guns was just sweeping across the quarterdeck, setting the three officers coughing, when Ramage gave the order to wear round and cross
Le Tigre
's stern on the other tack.

Slowly, with sails slatting and men hauling at the braces, the
Calypso
wore round and, after reloading their guns, the crews ran across to the starboard side to be ready for the next broadside. As Aitken shouted orders for trimming the sails the
Calypso
steadied on her new course and increased speed.

Southwick, staring grimly at
Le Tigre
's stern, growled: “She won't be able to take many more broadsides like that!”

As he spoke, the Tricolour fluttered down, something first seen by an excited Orsini. Ramage at once seized the speaking-trumpet and shouted to the guns to cease fire, but five had already fired before the order was understood through the ship.

“Serves ‘em right,” Southwick commented unsympathetically. “They should have hauled down their colours the minute we hove in sight.”

Two frigates in one day: as Ramage thought back to how the day had begun—with the prospect of destruction by those two ships of the line—he was hard put to believe what he saw. But the Tricolour had been lowered at the run and he had to admit that, with the prospect of another raking broadside, he could not blame the French captain. Blame him, yes, for not getting the yards across and preparing to get under way, instead of assuming that the other frigate would drive off the Englishman. But that was a piece of unjustifiable optimism since he knew that both ships were evenly matched.

“Back the fore-topsail, Mr Aitken,” Ramage said, wanting to heave-to outside the arcs of fire of
Le Tigre
's broadside: there was no need to start trusting the Frenchman just because he had hauled down his colours.

But he was back with the same problem: what to do with prisoners. Only this time he would have almost a whole ship's complement, less those killed by the
Calypso
's broadsides…. Well, it was the same problem, and there was the same answer: put the prisoners ashore while
Le Tigre
was repaired and got ready to be sailed away by a prize-crew from the
Calypso.
But the prisoners from
Le Tigre
would not be half-drowned men unlikely to put up a fight. “We'll anchor, Mr Aitken. And then I want a boat-gun fitted in the cutter.”