by Dudley Pope
He could see pockmarks, holes surrounded by rust, where the Dido's roundshot had hit home, and smoke was streaming out of her gunports and there was the red winking as guns fired. The din was greater than he had ever experienced; twice as loud as anything he had heard in the Calypso. Ontop of the dreadful crash of the guns there was the rumbling of the trucks as they recoiled, the shouting of men giving orders, the screams of those cut down by shot or splinters, and the ominous thud of shot striking home.
Then, as the Dido shot past the Junon's bow, the noise stopped as neither ship's guns would bear. Ramage felt as if he had been standing there with his eyes shut but realized everything had happened too quickly to be fully appreciated and absorbed. Now the gunners would be scurrying round reloading their guns, and he said to Aitken: 'Bear away across his bow; we'll rake him again.'
Hurriedly sheets and braces were trimmed as the Dido turned to larboard to cross ahead of the Junon, out of reach of her guns but able to batter her with the larboard broadside. The Dido was crossing the Junon's bow diagonally and as soon as the broadside was fired Ramage said: 'Luff up, Mr Aitken; we'll tack and give him our starboard broadside as we pass across his bow again.'
The sails billowed and filled again with a bang as the Dido tacked. The two midshipmen were sent hurriedly below again to warn the lieutenants of divisions to be ready to fire the starboard broadside.
Once again the Dido raked the Junon, each gun fired deliberately and the roundshot crashing home into the French ship's unprotected bow.
'Just look at that foremast,' commented Southwick. 'If they try to fire those forward guns on the larboard side they'll set the sails on fire!'
The canvas was hanging down over the muzzles of the forward-most guns like huge curtains, held out at strange angles by smashed yards. There was no sign of men cutting it clear: Ramage guessed that the Frenchmen were too busy at the guns to spare anyone to clear away wreckage.
Well, he thought grimly, they will have plenty of opportunity now because, unless I make a bad mistake, those guns will not be firing for many minutes.
He was beginning to feel more confident handling the Dido now: probably the first encounter with the Sylphe and now attacking a crippled enemy was showing him that a seventy-four was simply an overgrown frigate; the tactics remained the same. The noise was worse, the casualties would be higher, and the penalties for mistakes would be higher also: otherwise handling the Dido was like fighting the Calypso. With the increase in size of ship, of course, went an increase in the size of the enemy. A frigate was only expected to tackle a frigate or smaller.
As the Dido bore away to start her third diagonal run across the Junon's bow the French ship was broad on the larboard bow, still making headway. Although her foremast had gone by the board, almost miraculously the bowsprit and jibboom were still standing, thrusting out like fishing rods. The Dido, now speeding down with the wind on the quarter, was hardly rolling: the gunners could not hope for a steadier gun platform.
Ramage decided he would give the helm orders: he wanted to pass only a matter of a few yards ahead of the Junon, and since she was still making headway it needed fine judgement to avoid a collision. But a raking broadside at that range should do enormous damage to the Frenchman, the roundshot smashing through the beakhead bulkheads at the bow to travel the length of the ship, overturning guns, cutting down men and sending up a lethal shower of splinters.
Aitken, speaking trumpet to his lips, bellowed orders which sent seamen rushing to the sheets, hauling on them to trim the sails more precisely. Ramage could hear the creaking of the yards above the whine of the wind and the hissing of the sea.
Judging the forward motion of the Junon, he gave a brief order to Jackson, and the Dido turned slightly to starboard. The range was closing fast now and Ramage found he was still underestimating the Junon's forward speed. He gave Jackson a second order, and the Dido turned a fraction more to starboard.
The flintlocks on the guns along the larboard side would be cocked; the gun captains would be holding the lanyards taut, watching through the gunports for the Junon to come in sight. Ramage looked again at the Junon: yes, he had judged her speed just right: the Dido would, in a few moments, pass across her bow.
He heard Orsini shouting orders up on the poop and noticed that both Southwick and Aitken were now watching the approaching Junon with all the fascination of a rabbit trapped by a stoat.
Then, in a bewildering swift blur, in which colour seemed to vanish and give way to a grey smear, the Junon was passing. Guns thundered out, the noise advancing down the Dido's side like a procession. The smoke billowed out of the ports and then drifted aft as the ship sailed through it. They were so close to the Junon that Ramage could see clouds of dust erupting where the roundshot smashed through the bulkhead. But, apart from the dust, the Junon seemed to be little damaged. However, Ramage knew what that dust indicated: it was a strange thing how roundshot smashing their way through woodwork sent up the dust: a lethal fog behind which was often hidden dreadful damage.
And then the Dido was clear, the last crash of guns being from Orsini's carronades on the poop, no doubt blasting the Frenchman's quarterdeck where the targets ranged from the binnacle to the wheel.
As the Dido sailed away at an angle from the Junon the French ship's larboard side erupted smoke and red flashes as they poured a broadside into the Dido's larboard quarter. Ramage could picture the Dido's gunners hurriedly swabbing out the barrels of their guns and ramming home wads, cartridges and roundshot before running out the guns ready for the next broadside.
The Junon's broadside did no damage that Ramage could see: but there was no telling, from the quarterdeck, what had happened in the vitals of the ship. The carpenter at that moment came up on to the quarterdeck to report to Ramage that he had just sounded the well and there was nothing to report. In answer to Ramage's question he said there were no shotholes yet 'twixt wind and water that needed any shot plugs.
Were the Frenchmen firing high, to dismantle the rigging? He had not heard many shots passing overhead and decided they must be still firing into the hull. Well, it might mean more casualties but he did not want masts to come tumbling down. There was one thing about it - the Junon could not fire a full broadside on the larboard side because of the sails still draped over the forward guns.
He told the first lieutenant: 'We'll haul our wind as soon as we're in position to cross his stern and rake him again. Warn the lieutenants that we'll be firing to larboard again.'
Ramage realized that the Dido was sailing in a huge figure of eight round the Junon and because of the direction she was going the larboard guns were doing most of the work. Not that it mattered to the gunners: there were only enough men on board to work the guns on one side at a time; no ship in the King's service ever had a large enough complement to fight both sides at the same time, so the gunners had to dash from one side to the other as required.
As the Dido, now out on the Junon's larboard quarter, bore up and turned to larboard to begin her run across the French ship's stern, Southwick said diffidently: 'The smoke coming from thoseforward ports - it seems to be coming from under the sails. Surely they didn't fire those guns?'
Ramage shook his head. 'No, I'm sure they didn't.' He put the telescope to his eye. 'Doesn't look like gunsmoke, either: it's the wrong colour.'
'What on earth's going on, sir?'
It was a puzzle: the gunsmoke had blown clear of the Junon's afterports, but there were still trickles of smoke which seeped, rather than spurted, from underneath the sails.
'Perhaps some fool fired a gun and the flash set the sails on fire. That could easily happen.'
'Yes, sir, but,' Southwick persisted, 'I can't see any sign of a sail actually burning: the flames'd move pretty quickly.'
Ramage hurriedly examined the sails with the glass. Southwick was right: the sails were not on fire, but nevertheless smoke was coming from beneath them. And yes! From some of the ports just aft of the sails, the wisps
were just starting, barely distinguishable. In fact without a glass they would not be seen and anyway Southwick was sharp eyed to have noticed the smoke under the sail.
But even as Ramage watched the smoke from the forward ports, just abaft the draped sails, got thicker. He could see it with the naked eye now, and yes, it was moving aft, coming from other ports.
'She's on fire!' he suddenly exclaimed. 'She has a big fire forward, and it's spreading aft rapidly. It might reach the magazine! Mr Aitken, bear away - we don't want to be near an explosion.'
He could picture blazing wreckage raining down out of the sky and lodging in the Dido's sails, apart from falling on her decks - which, fortunately, were still wetted and sanded.
CHAPTER NINE
The sudden order shouted by the bosun's mates, 'Firemen to the upperdeck!' startled Stafford and his gun's crew as they waited for the Dido to cross the Junon's stern. None of them were down in the general quarters, watch and station bill as firemen, but fire in a ship was a seaman's greatest fear. To begin with they thought the Dido was on fire, and Stafford was already looking round at the powder monkeys, ready to order them to throw their cartridges of powder over the side. But quickly the word spread through the ship: it was the Junon that was on fire, and the reason the Dido's firemen were being ordered to the upperdeck was to deal with any blazing debris should she blow up.
Stafford immediately ran to the gunport and looked at the Junon, now broad on the Dido's beam. His sharp eyes soon spotted the smoke coming from under the foresails draped over her side, and then saw the wisps of smoke curling out of the after gunports.
'It's her all right!' he shouted to the others. 'She has a fire forward - I reckon it's right over her magazine. No wonder they passed the word for firemen; if she blows up she could shower us.'
'Fire,' Gilbert muttered. 'The poor devils. She's an unlucky ship. To be raked four times . . .'
'She was unlucky to meet Mr Ramage,' Rossi said. 'Don't waste too much sympathy on them!'
'Yes, but we weren't.'
'No, thanks to Mr Ramage having some tricks to play. But we could have been blown out of the water. Look what we did to that frigate, and we're only one seventy-four. Imagine what it would have been like to have one each side.'
'No.' Gilbert said emphatically, 'I don't want to imagine it.'
'Well, just because you're French don't get weepy over the Junon.'
'I'm not weepy. I'm thinking of six hundred men who risk being blown to pieces.'
'But they're French,' Rossi protested. 'If we were on fire no one in the Junon would give a damn; in fact they'd be cheering.'
Stafford called from the gunport: 'We're bearing away, putting a distance between us.'
'Thank goodness for that,' Louis said. 'It will soon be raining burning beams.'
Stafford inspected the Junon again and announced: 'The fire's getting worse: the smoke is beginning to pour out of her hatchways, too. It's even coming out of her stern ports: she's making just enough headway to make a draught through the ship.'
A minute or two later he added: 'She's trying to heave-to. They're backing the maintopsail. Ah, they've got a fire engine to work. They're squirting water down the forehatch.'
Rossi went to the gunport to have a look for himself and announced: 'No fire engine is going to put out that fire!'
'I 'ope they've flooded the 'anging magazine,' Stafford said. 'Otherwise she'll blow in the next five minutes. Oh, we're heaving-to as well,' he added, as he watched the waves and heard the slamming of sails overhead. 'That's nice o' 'em, we'll have a good view.'
The words were hardly out of his mouth when there was an enormous red and yellow flash, as though someone had suddenly opened a huge furnace door, and then a thunderclap as if they had just slammed it shut. The Junon's outline was replaced by a cloud of smoke from which yards, masts, beams and dozens of pieces of burning wood lanced up into the air in geometrically precise parabolas and splashed down into the sea.
Slowly the wind dispersed the cloud of yellow, black and grey smoke, and there was no sign of the ship: simply a turbulent ring of water pitted with splashes.
Up on the quarterdeck Ramage shut his telescope with a click and said to Aitken: 'Hoist out the boats and let's get under way: make for the spot where she exploded, then the boats won't have to row so far.'
Southwick sighed and took off his hat, running his hand through his hair in a familiar gesture. 'I think that's the biggest explosion I've ever seen. I don't suppose we'll find many survivors.'
'No, but we'll look. Anyone who survived that deserves to be rescued.' He pulled out the tubes of his telescope again and adjusted it, then he looked over the larboard bow at the two frigates, which were about a mile away. 'The Heron and the Requin are still at it. As soon as we've got the boats in the water, we'll leave them to search for men and go up and put a stop to those frigates squabbling. They must be causing a lot of casualties.'
The maintopsail yard was braced sharp up as the last of the boats were lowered into the water and the crews scrambled down rope ladders into them. Ramage directed Jackson to steer for the oily-smooth patch of water in which an almost incredible amount of debris was floating.
'Enough wreckage there to build two ships - or so it seems,' commented Aitken. 'Plenty for survivors to cling to.'
The Dido hardened in sheets and braces and headed up towards the two frigates which, almost hidden in a cloud of gun smoke, were now lying with their bows to the north, and side by side, pounding each other with their broadsides.
'Damned hard to make out which is which with all the smoke,' commented Southwick.
'The nearest one is the Frenchman,' Ramage said. 'She has something about her sheer that reminds me of the Calypso.'
'Funny how we keep thinking about her. I'm beginning to see the advantages of a ship o' the line at long last: you've more between you and the enemy's shot!'
'I don't know that's such an advantage: there are many more shot flying around.'
'Aye, there's that to it, and I suppose most of them are bigger. Still, up to now we've been lucky.'
'Yes, a frigate and a ship of the line isn't a bad score to start with. We were lucky with the Junon, though: raking her bow so many times must have smashed her up forward. And a lucky shot started that fire. I wonder what it was.'
Southwick shrugged his shoulders. 'Could have been anything. Most probably a roundshot hit a cartridge. Or maybe it wasn't us at all: it could have been started accidentally by the French. Must have been chaos forward, after our broadsides.'
It took fifteen minutes for the Dido to work her way up to the frigates: the wind turned fitful and once the big ship was left almost becalmed, Ramage tantalized by the thunder of the frigates' guns.
Finally the Dido was in position, two hundred yards on the Requin's larboard quarter, and ready to make the final run in to pour a broadside into her. The gunners on the starboard side were warned to be ready, and Ramage found himself feeling slightly queasy: he could remember only too vividly what the Dido's broadside had done to the Sylphe.
The Requin, like the Heron, was almost hidden in smoke and the flash of her guns firing played in it like summer lightning among evening clouds. The Dido approached slowly on her larboard quarter, Ramage watching her closely with the telescope. Not watching the ship, but watching the Tricolour, now hanging limp in a cloud. Suddenly he saw what he had been waiting for - the flag came down at the run: the French, seeing the Dido coming, had very sensibly decided the only way of escaping complete destruction was to haul down their colours before the ship of the line had a chance of firing a broadside into them.
'Put us alongside, Mr Aitken,' Ramage said. 'I doubt if the Heron is in much of a shape to take possession of her.'
Ramage waited for Aitken to pass the necessary orders and then sent one of the midshipmen to fetch Rennick. The Marine captain arrived in a hurry and stood to attention in front of Ramage.
'As soon as we get alongside I want your Marine
s to take possession of the frigate,' Ramage said. 'Be very careful they don't get mixed up with a boarding party from the Heron. The smoke should be clearing very quickly, so there'll be less chance.'
Rennick strode off, glad to have something specific for his Marines to do, and quickly the men were drawn up in files under the two lieutenants, one to board from forward, the other aft.
The Dido was carrying more way than Aitken expected and he gave the order to clew up the topsails a minute too late, so that she crashed into Requin with a thump that threw some of the Marines off their feet. But almost at once Rennick was bellowing orders and the Marines swarmed across the gap between the two ships, while Ramage was thankful that in addition to telling the Dido's gunners not to fire he had ordered them to run their guns in, so their muzzles would not be torn aside by the Requin's
topsides.
Ramage suddenly remembered that the French captain would probably formally surrender to the larger ship, the Dido rather than the Heron, and sent a midshipman hurrying down to his cabin to fetch his sword. As soon as the boy arrived back with it he put it on, saying to both Southwick and Aitken: 'You ought to be wearing swords: these French have fought well and we owe them the courtesies.'
Five minutes later, Rennick came back on board with the French captain escorted by two Marines. The Frenchman was about thirty years old, with a lean face, aquiline nose and sallow complexion. He spoke some English and, proffering his sword, haltingly began explaining why he had surrendered.
He had only just started when, helped by two of his lieutenants, the captain of the Heron hobbled on board, his shin tied up with a bloodstained bandage.
He was an older man, heavily built and with a chubby face and grey eyes. 'Edward Eames,' he said as he introduced himself to Ramage. 'I'm sorry I took so long to get over here, but the beggars winged me just before they hauled down their colours, and I had to get a lashing put on it - it was spilling a lot of blood and filling m' boot.'
