by Dudley Pope
He watched as a Mother Carey's chicken - known to some as a stormy petrel - flew across the Dido's stern and turned to fly along her wake. Where did they sleep? There always seemed to be a few in sight. And soon they would be seeing - admittedly only occasionally - his favourite, the tropic bird. Slender and white with a very long forked tail, the tropic bird would fly steadily, never jinking, always in a straight line as though it knew exactly where it was going. But where was that? It was often 1,500 miles to the nearest land, yet the tropic bird flew on sturdily as though it was merely crossing the five miles between two neighbouring islands.
He heard shouting and knew one of the lookouts aloft was hailing the quarterdeck. What had he sighted, so far from land? It could be a particularly large waterspout to windward, so that the officer of the deck could luff up or bear away to avoid it. Although Ramage had never been in a ship hit by a waterspout he had heard many stories about their destructive force: they could rip out masts with the sails still attached, lift anything lying around the deck and suck it up, even take up boats on the booms and hurl them over the side.
Suddenly Aitken's head appeared at the taffrail and called down: 'Sir, the foremast lookout reports a sail fine on the starboard bow, and perhaps another one beyond it. Steering on an opposite course to us.'
'Very well, beat to quarters. I'll be with you in a moment.'
That was one of the important differences between a frigate and a ship of the line: a frigate could be at general quarters in five minutes, but even with a well-trained crew it took a seventy-four at least fifteen minutes, and that was no time at all with two ships approaching each other at five or six knots: they would cover two and a half or three miles in that time.
He reached the quarterdeck just as the two Marine drummers started clattering away, and the calls of bosun's mates were twittering below, followed by the raucous shouts of 'All hands to general quarters!'
'What can you see?' Ramage asked Aitken.
'Just the hint of a sail from down here, sir.'
'Send Orsini aloft with a bring-'em-near.'
A sail out here? Possibly - no, in this position it would not be a convoy, or even a frigate on her way to England. In fact it was hard to guess why any ship should venture here on an opposite course, in other words beating to windward against the Trade winds. On the same course, yes; they could be overhauling a slower ship on her way to the magic position, 25° North, 25°West, when one turned to begin one's westing. But a ship sailing north in this position?
'Hoist the private signal,' he told Aitken.
The private signal was a challenge-and-reply code, changed every three months and known only to the King's ships in a particular area. When two strange ships met, one or other flew the challenge and the other - if British - flew the reply, and this was followed by both ships hoisting their pendant numbers, so they could be identified from the signal book, which gave a list of all the ships in the Navy with their pendant numbers.
He saw Orsini scrambling up the lee shrouds of the mainmast: he went up as fast as a topman, even though he was carrying a telescope.
The Dido was now like a suddenly disturbed anthill: men were hurriedly rigging head pumps and sluicing water across the decks; others were scattering sand. The water prevented loose grains of gunpowder being ignited by, for example, the trucks of a recoiling gun carriage; the sand stopped the men slipping with their bare feet.
More men were casting off the lashings and securing the guns and running them back ready for loading; others rolled small tubs besides the guns and filled them with water, ready for swabbing out the barrels of the guns. Rammers, mops and wormers were put ready beside the guns.
And below, Ramage knew, the gunner had unlocked the magazine and even now was beginning to issue flintlocks, prickers and powder horns to the gun captains, while the powder monkeys were beginning to form up ready to carry cartridges up to the guns.
In his cabin men would be shifting his furniture below to the hold to leave room to handle the guns and reduce the chance of splinters. Bulkheads were being hinged up to the deckhead or taken down, again to avoid splinters from shot smashing through the hull. It was this sort of preparation - mercifully absent when the Calypso used to go into action - that used up the quarter of an hour it took to prepare the Dido for general quarters.
The bustle of war: to the untrained eye it seemed as though many men were running about aimlessly: to an eye trained in the ways of a ship of war, every man was moving fast to do his duty.
Southwick came up and said: 'An odd position to find someone steering north, sir.'
'That's what I was thinking.'
Southwick gave one of his expressive sniffs. 'All the gunnery exercise might come in useful sooner than we expected.'
'We'll soon know. I wish Orsini would hurry up and give us a hail - is this sail a privateer or a ship of the line?'
Southwick shrugged his shoulders. 'In this position it could be either. Of course, it could be someone who had been heading south, spotted us first, and hauled their wind to come north to investigate us.'
'If that's the case, I shall want to know why our lookouts were asleep.'
'No,' Southwick said, 'on second thoughts it doesn't seem very likely. Damnation, Orsini's taking his time!'
A minute or two later Orsini hailed that the sail was a frigate steering on an opposite course with everything set to the royals. 'There's another sail astern of her, though I can't make out if she's following or chasing.'
Two ships? Two ships in this position both steering north? 'Furl the courses, Mr Aitken,' Ramage said. If there was any fighting to be done, let it be under topsails. With the great courses furled, only the topgallants remained to be taken in.
The bosun's mates piped the order, and men ran up the shrouds to the yards while others stood by at buntlines and cluelines. Soon the billowing canvas was stifled, gaskets passed and the sails were rolled up on the yards, almost as neat as if they had been given a harbour stow.
Then Orsini hailed again. 'The second ship is also a frigate. I think I can make out the occasional flash of guns - the bowchasers of the second ship. She's too far away to see any smoke.'
'One frigate chasing another, eh?' commented Southwick.
And that meant the first frigate was probably British, steering for the Dido in the hope that she was British. A frigate running away from a frigate? Why did she not stand and fight? But a moment after Ramage puzzled over the question, Orsini hailed again.
'There's a third ship, her masts are just coming over the horizon.'
So the first frigate could be chased by two other frigates. That would explain why she was not standing and fighting: no one expected a single frigate to fight two others of equal or greater size.
'What do you make of it, sir?' asked Aitken.
'A British frigate being chased by a couple of French, and damned glad to see us ahead of her. They're praying we're British - they may have recognized us as British by the cut of our sails.'
Orsini hailed again. 'There's a fourth ship, bigger than the others. I think she's a ship of the line. She's following the frigates.'
One British frigate being chased by two French frigates and a ship of the line? The British ship was lucky to spot the Dido . . .
The question was, would she reach the Dido before the frigate just astern of her ranged up alongside and began pouring in broadsides and a lucky - unlucky, rather - shot brought down a mast?
Ramage realized he had prolonged the time before the Dido met the frigate by furling the courses, but if the Dido was going to have to fight off two frigates and a seventy-four - assuming the ship of the line was no bigger - she had to be prepared.
'Mr Southwick, go down and inspect the guns. Stop and have a word with that new fifth lieutenant - this may be the first time he's ever been in action, and he'll be a bit nervous.'
There was no need to worry about Kenton, Martin and Hill: they had been in action enough times in the Calypso, although t
his would be the first time in the Dido. Still, the only difference was that the guns were bigger; the drill was the same.
Orsini hailed yet again: the last ship ahead was a seventy-four, and the second frigate was fast overhauling the first one. 'I think the first one is flying the private signal, but she's too far off to be sure.'
'Make sure the reply is bent on the halyards,' Ramage told Aitken. 'I don't want any delay in hoisting it when the time comes.'
Above him on the poop deck he could hear the guns' crews at work loading the carronades. Eight of them - four each side - might come in useful if there was any close fighting with the frigates, which were light and handy, much easier to manoeuvre than the heavy seventy-four. But for all that, one well aimed broadside from the Dido could wreck a frigate. With all his experience of the Calypso, Ramage found he could see just how the French frigate captains up ahead would be thinking when they saw the Dido was a seventy-four. It was an interesting situation - as soon as they got closer to the Dido would they reduce sail and wait for their seventy-four to catch up with them, leaving the seventy-four to engage the seventy-four?
They could not be blamed if they did: it was the convention that frigates engaged frigates and ships of the line engaged ships of the line - unless a ship of the line met a frigate, in which case the frigate could expect no mercy. That, he recalled ruefully, remembering his own experience, was when cunning counted more than firepower if the frigate was to escape.
He picked up the speaking trumpet and hailed Orsini. 'How far off is the first frigate?' He could see her from the deck but Orsini, up aloft, would be able to judge more accurately.
'The British frigate's a couple of miles but the second frigate is almost abreast of her. The seventy-four is about three miles, perhaps four, from us.'
Time was running out and ranges were getting shorter. Soon, he thought grimly, I shall be taking the Dido into action for the first time. It was a damned nuisance that it was not a clear-cut action with another seventy-four; having a couple of frigates thrown in as well complicated the issue, though with luck they would not be such a nuisance as the Calypso would have been in a similar situation. That was a pardonable conceit, he decided; after all, on her last voyage under his command she had been responsible for two French seventy-fours disabling themselves.
He lifted his telescope to his eye. Yes, he could see the first - presumably the British - frigate quite clearly now, and Orsini hailed again.
'The first frigate is flying the private signal, sir. Number sixty-three.'
'Mr Aitken, hoist the reply!'
The answer today was ninety-one, and quickly the two flags were hoisted, and Ramage added: 'And now our pendant numbers, Mr Aitken.'
Three more flags, representing the Dido's number in the List of the Navy, were hoisted.
Southwick, back from the gun deck, took off his hat, ran his fingers through his mop of white hair, and said: 'I'll wager he's thankful to see the right answer to the challenge. Now he's busy looking us up in the signal book. Not that he'll know you command her now.'
Southwick's compliment was matter-of-fact: the man was incapable of saying anything sycophantic. Ramage was startled to think that it might encourage another captain to find that his would-be rescuer was commanded by Captain Ramage. Yes, there had been several Gazette letters which printed his despatches, but he had never thought of the effect they might have on his fellow captains, or that they might be building up a reputation for him that affected the attitude of other captains. Admirals yes; he had already suffered once or twice from jealous admirals.
Orsini hailed again. 'She has just hoisted her pendant numbers: five seven three.'
Aitken snatched up the signal book and turned to the List of the Navy at the back. 'She's the Heron frigate, sir.'
Ramage saw through his telescope that the French frigate suddenly luffed up, and from the speckles of red erupting from her side, obviously had just fired a raking broadside into the British frigate. But as, wreathed in smoke, she resumed her course it was obvious that the manoeuvre had cost her a couple of hundred yards: she was now astern of the Heron again.
Ramage said: 'It's time to get Orsini down from aloft. Give him a hail - he can look after the poop.'
Southwick picked up the speaking trumpet and bellowed the order to Orsini, who hurried down the shrouds, still clutching a telescope.
Ramage could see now that the Heron was about a mile and a half away. She was steering north, hard on the wind, with the two French frigates close astern in her wake and the seventy-four a mile or so astern, and obviously intent on overhauling her. The Dido was still heading south with a quartering north-east wind. On this course she could collide with the Heron, so it would be easy enough to steer slightly to leeward of her - that would put him nicely to windward of the first French frigate, cutting her off from the Heron. What would the Heron do then - would she continue scampering off to the north or would she turn to help the Dido deal with the frigates? She would be silly to try to tackle the seventy-four, but Ramage knew he would be glad of her help in tackling the frigates, because there would not be much time before the French seventy-four was in the middle of the fight and probably taking up all the Dido's attention.
Which meant giving the Heron orders: he was startled to find that he would be the senior officer. It could be that the Heron was commanded by a grizzled old frigate captain whose commission was dated long before Ramage's, but he would not know it. The Heron's captain would instinctively obey orders signalled by a seventy-four, and that was all that mattered until this coming action was over.
It was time to get ready for the first broadsides. 'I'll have the guns run out, Mr Aitken, we'll be engaging first on the starboard side, so make sure the men are warned.'
Steady, he told himself; it was quite unnecessary to tell Aitken about warning the men: he was letting himself get fussed by the thought of taking a seventy-four into action for the first time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Men were wetting the decks again with the head pumps: the heat was drying the planking - an indication that they were nearly in the Tropics. More men were going round sprinkling sand. Others would be doing the same thing on the gun deck.
As Ramage reached for the signal book he heard Orsini's voice on the deck above giving some orders.
He flicked through the pages. Yes, number twenty-nine would do: there would not be a signal which said precisely what he intended, but twenty-nine should cover it: 'The ships of the fleet are, independently of each other, to steer for and engage their respective opponents in the enemy's line.'
'Respective opponents' should make it clear to the Heron that she was expected to engage the frigates, not the seventy-four.
'Mr Aitken, have signal number twenty-nine bent on ready for hoisting.'
There I go again, he thought crossly: there was no need to mention 'ready for hoisting'; if the flags were bent on obviously they would be hoisted in time.
His telescope showed him that the Heron's sails were almost new: obviously she had only recently left England. Most probably she had been bound for the West Indies, like the Dido, when she ran into the French force. But for sighting the Dido, she would have been battered into hauling down her flag. And do not forget, Ramage told himself ruefully, that even now the Heron and the Dido are outnumbered by one frigate which, in this strange contest just coming up, could be significant.
Had that Frenchman's raking broadside had much effect on the Heron?Ramage wondered. It certainly had not brought down any masts or yards, though the French usually aimed at the rigging and sails, firing on the upward roll, while the British always went for the hull, firing on the downward roll, making sure that a shot fired a little late would be likely to hit 'twixt wind and water.
The Heron was fast approaching at the combined speeds of the two ships, and she was sailing as close to the wind as possible, trying to outpoint the French. But these French frigates were close winded, usually able to point higher than thei
r British opposite numbers.
He was watching the Heron through his telescope when suddenly she turned to larboard across the bow of the first French frigate. Ramage realized at once that she was raking the enemy and was making an attack because the nearness of the Dido meant that her attempt to escape from her pursuers was not so desperate.
The frigate was covered in smoke from her broadside and immediately she hauled her wind and turned north again, towards the Dido. Ramage could not see the effect on the enemy, but it was an impudent attack which might have been lucky in bringing down a mast.
'That might teach the Frenchman not to get too close,' commented Aitken.
'The Frenchman will be slowing down very soon,' Ramage said. 'They won't want to get tangled up with us. They'll wait until their own seventy-four has caught up.'
The Heron was now a mile away and Ramage told Aitken: 'Hoist number twenty-nine.'
He wanted enough time for the Heron to see the signal - in the excitement of having just raked her pursuer they might not be watching the Dido - and for her captain to understand what was expected of him.
Now was the time to plan his own move. It was - to begin with - fairly simple: he would run down between the Heron and the Frenchman, firing his starboard broadside into the enemy - providing the Frenchman did not do the sensible thing, which would be to turn and run back to the protection of the seventy-four. Then the Dido would run on and give the second frigate a broadside, and then leaving both frigates to the Heron, he would go on to attack the seventy-four. She was, he knew, the main threat - both to the Heron and any ships on their way to the West Indies. If she got loose in a convoy, for instance - most outward-bound convoys had small escorts - the effect would be devastating.
The north-east wind was still little more than a fresh breeze; not enough to stir up whitecaps. The sky was still mottled with thunder clouds but the waterspouts seemed to have gone elsewhere. It was rather close, as though a thunderstorm was imminent. Today he had seen his first shoal of flying fish, and he had felt the usual excitement of returning to the Tropics. He freely admitted he hated the northern climate: it always seemed to be damp and cold, with usually a depressing drizzle. If he was free to live where he wanted he would buy a plantation somewhere like the island of Nevis. Not Barbados, which was too crowded and anyway too flat, nor Antigua, because he did not like the people who had settled there. Grenada, perhaps: it was a beautiful island.
