by Dudley Pope
By now Aitken would have given detailed instructions to the twenty Junos he had on board La Créole; Baker and the Marine Lieutenant would have done the same in La Mutine. The poor Lieutenant of Marines was the only man disappointed at the role he and his men were to play. Not surprisingly, he was not pleased to be acting as jailer when there was a prospect of hand-to-hand fighting, but with the Juno's ship's company now extended over the schooners as well, Ramage could not spare trained seamen to guard the prisoners.
Close hauled, the Juno could just lay the anchored frigate, but the quartermaster gave the men at the wheel an order from time to time that let her yaw, so the luffs of the topsails fluttered for a few moments.
Southwick walked up to him, the great cleaver of a sword hanging from his waist. 'The Governor over there must be rubbing his hands, sir.'
'I hope he'll be gnashing his teeth in half an hour or so!'
'No doubt about that,' Southwick said confidently. 'Let's just hope this wind holds - it couldn't be better for our purpose. If it suddenly veers to the south-east . . .' The master left the sentence uncompleted because if it went round that far the Juno would stand a good chance of ending up on the rocks at the foot of Pointe des Nègres, at the northern entrance to the bay. Luckily such a wind on a clear day like this was unlikely.
Southwick then nodded approvingly towards La Créole as she tacked, the big fore-and-aft sails swinging over, the headsails flapping for a moment before being sheeted home again. 'He's enjoying handling her!'
'Aitken's first command,' Ramage commented. 'Ironic that it's under the Tricolour! A few extra tacks will give him more confidence.'
'He's going to need it,' Southwick said grimly. 'If he arrives five minutes late it might be all up with us!'
'And if we arrive five minutes early it might be all up with him.'
The Master chuckled. 'I think he took the point when you gave him his orders, sir.' He looked aft at the anchor cable, which covered most of the quarterdeck like an enormous thick carpet patterned like a regular maze. 'If that confounded cable kinks when it begins to run out it'll tear the transom off!'
'Oh, come now,' Ramage said mildly. 'We might need some repairs to the taffrail, and Aitken will grumble about chafed paintwork.' He turned and gestured to the quartermaster, who hurriedly signalled to the men to give a slight yaw.
Southwick lifted the quadrant he had been holding and looked towards the anchored frigate. He knew the height of the Surcouf's mainmast and had already set the quadrant at an angle the mast would subtend at the distance of one mile.
'Half a mile to go, sir. I mean, she's a mile and a half away.'
Ramage nodded as he looked at a white dome of a building at the western end of the city. It was dead ahead and made an easy reference point for the quartermaster. He turned and gave the order. For the time being the Juno would not be steering by the compass; it was going to be nip and tuck as the frigate stretched up towards that dome until the anchored Surcouf was to the seaward of the Juno; to seaward and, when the Juno tacked as the water shallowed, fine on the starboard bow.
La Créole tacked again and then La Mutine tacked and suddenly Southwick pointed at Fort St Louis. Ramage saw a single puff of smoke drifting westward and began counting the seconds. He reached five when there was another puff of smoke. Damnation, he had forgotten the Fort might fire a salute to the victors! The Juno's guns were loaded with case and there was no time to start drawing shot now to return a salute.
The thud of a gun close by startled him and he saw smoke drafting away from La Créole. 'Good for Aitken!' he exclaimed. 'He was quick!'
Five seconds later another of La Créole's guns fired as those on the Fort continued a salute.-'Hope he doesn't get carried away,' Southwick muttered. 'It's time all those popguns of his were loaded with shot!'
The Surcouf was gradually drawing round on the Juno's starboard bow as the British frigate reached the seaward end of the anchorage. Southwick lowered his quadrant and said: 'One mile exactly, sir.'
Ramage looked at his watch and then over at La Créole, which tacked yet again and began to reach across the Juno's stern. Aitken was keeping his head: he had orders to tack under the Juno's stern when he judged the frigate was a mile from the Surcouf, and perhaps young Orsini, who was on board with him, was using a quadrant.
The French frigate was now on the Juno's beam and through the telescope Ramage saw fewer men on board than he had expected. They were all crowding the bulwark, no doubt gleefully, but enviously watching their shipmates bringing in the prize, and he estimated that there were fewer than a hundred. He had expected two or three hundred, and thought La Créole's, lieutenant had been deliberately misleading him when he said that less than half the ship's usual complement was working on her.
Looking over the Juno's starboard quarter he could see well into the Salée anchorage now and there was no sign of movement on board any of the schooners anchored there, at least none that could be sighted from this distance although he would be able to see if any of them were making sail.
He had been listening for several minutes to the rhythmic chanting of the depth of water from the man standing in the f orechains and heaving the lead. The man had orders only to report depths of less than five fathoms, and he was merely calling: 'No bottom at five fathoms ... No bottom at five fathoms with this line . . .' Suddenly the note of his voice changed. 'Two fathoms! Two fathoms!'
Twelve feet? The frigate drew more than sixteen forward! Ramage snatched up the speaking trumpet to tack the frigate and a moment later there was a hurried 'Belay that, sir!' from the leadsman and then, as if nothing had happened, he continued his chanting: 'No bottom at five fathoms ..."
By then Southwick was already hurrying down the quarterdeck by ladder and half-way to the forechains. Ramage saw him talking to the leadsman, who was standing on the chainwhale, a line round his waist
The damned fool!' he exploded as soon as he returned to the quarterdeck. 'He wasn't watching what he was doing and heaved the lead so that it caught up in the chainwhale. He felt the weight on the line, didn't realize it wasn't in the water, and read off the mark!'
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. 'Thank goodness he said two fathoms and not three: I realized that with two fathoms we'd have been aground already.'
The episode had taken only a minute or two but the shore was now less than half a mile ahead, with the Juno making a good six knots. Already Ramage could distinguish people on the beach and the Surcouf was half a mile away on the starboard quarter: too far for anyone on board to hear orders shouted in English but close enough for Ramage to make out every detail.
He walked back to the binnacle: the Juno was steering north-north-east on this tack; she should make good south-south-east on the other. He glanced astern at the Surcouf and took a rough bearing - south by east. The time had come to roll the dice.
Now fear was creeping in again like evening fog forming in a valley: the sun seemed more glaring, the colours brighter. Cold water.seemed to be swilling in his stomach, time was slowing down, and the hiss of the Juno's bow wave seemed louder. The excitement was there; this must be how a gambler felt when, having staked everything, he waited for the dice to stop rolling ...
Southwick had the speaking trumpet and from now on he would relay Ramage's orders. Yes, La Créole had tacked yet again and was steering to the south-east; another couple of short tacks and she would be in position.
Southwick was looking at him anxiously and he realized that the leadsman was calling four fathoms, but the men were already standing by at sheets and braces. Ramage signalled and the Master began shouting orders. The quartermaster spoke urgently to the men at the wheel and sprang to the binnacle. The wheel spun and the frigate began turning quickly to starboard, the whole of the Fort Royal shoreline moving swiftly across her bow. The topsail flapped for a few moments as the Juno turned through the eye of the wind and continued swinging until the wind could fill the sails again on the other tack.
'Me
et her!' Ramage snapped at the quartermaster, anxious that her bow should not pay off too much. He glanced down at the compass. 'Steer south-south-east.'
Jackson was handing him his pistols and he was jamming the clips into his belt after hitching round his sword. Now the American was offering his hat, discarded earlier in case the French spotted it, and he was putting it on top of the binnacle.
'Stand by the halyard of that damned Tricolour,' Ramage told Jackson. 'When I give the word it had better come down at the run!' Having the Tricolour and British ensign on separate halyards saved a lot of time.
It was a legitimate ruse de guerre to use the enemy's flag to get into position to attack, but one was honour-bound to hoist one's own flag before opening fire. Thanks to Juno's temporary role as a French prize, dropping the Tricolour and leaving up the Red Ensign would do the trick and, Ramage thought inconsequentially, Southwick can recover his precious red baize.
He glanced over the starboard quarter and saw that La Créole had tacked again and was in the right position; a quick look over the bow, and there was the Surcouf at anchor, head to wind, her deck and rigging lined with waving men. A couple of dozen Junos were standing on the hammock nettings waving back - just the number of men the Surcouf would expect to see. The rest were crouching down along the starboard side.
'A point to larboard,' Ramage called to Southwick and men trimmed the yards as the wheel turned. Now the Surcouf was fine on the starboard bow and a hundred yards ahead.
The Juno was making five or six knots. In a hundred yards she had to be nearly stopped abreast the Surcouf which should be only a few feet away, giving Ramage time to fire a broadside into her and brace the yards round so they did not lock the two ships together.
Ramage gestured to Jackson to haul down the Tricolour and shouted to the Master: 'Mr Southwick - back the foretopsail!'
He grabbed his hat from the binnacle top and jammed it on his head, looked quickly over the quarter and saw La Créole approaching rapidly on the Surcouf’s other side. She had three hundred yards to go, the Juno seventy-five and the distance was rapidly decreasing.
The big foretopsail yard was being hauled round agonizingly slowly, it seemed to Ramage, so that the Juno was likely to overshoot the Surcouf. Finally it was far enough round for the wind to fill the sail from the forward side, pinning the yard to the mast and trying to blow the ship's bow to starboard. A quick order to the quartermaster had the wheel spinning to counteract that. The Juno was slowing down rapidly now and there was a chance she would not overshoot.
There was nothing more for Ramage to do standing by the binnacle and he ran to join Southwick at the quarterdeck rail. Then he saw why Southwick was staring forward, a man transfixed: the Surcouf was swinging slightly at her anchor, caught by a fluky gust of wind. Her stern swung until she was dead ahead and Ramage was sure it was all over; that fluke of wind meant that the Juno, rapidly losing way and therefore manoeuvrability, would ram her from astern instead of coming alongside, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. The Juno's jibboom and bowsprit would be torn away, the foremast would come crashing down ... Southwick was cursing steadily in a low voice when slowly, agonizingly slowly, the Surcouf began to swing back; swing enough for Ramage to see clear along her larboard side, then swing a little more until, in a minute the gap between them would be exactly as he had wanted it.
He leaned over the rail and shouted down to the maindeck: 'Gun captains - forty yards to go! Fire as we get alongside; sweep the decks!'
Now only the gun captains were at the guns: the rest of the men had rushed to the ship's side to grab a cutlass, pistol, or boarding pike. The men who had been waving from the nettings had dropped down to the deck and armed themselves.
The Juno's stern was now level with the Surcouf’s transom but she still had a little way on. Slowly, slowly, she crept on; now the stem was abreast the French frigate's mainmast, now the foremast, and the Frenchmen who had been lining the bulwarks were scattering across the deck. Several officers were shouting and gesticulating; one had drawn his sword and was waving it: not at the Juno but at his own men. The Juno's yards were braced sharp up at Southwick's command.
Five guns forward fired in quick succession along the Juno's fo'c'sle and maindeck and the rest followed one after the other. Ramage looked over the quarter again for a sight of La Créole: Aitken had timed it perfectly. She would be ranging alongside the Surcouf’s other side in two minutes' time, when there was no risk of any of the Juno's case shot sweeping clear across the Surcouf’s deck and damaging her.
Now the Junos were swarming up into the hammock nettings or waiting at the gun ports poised with pistols, cutlasses and pikes. The Juno had stopped; now the backed foretopsail was drifting her slowly alongside the Surcouf and Ramage watched the gap narrowing: fifteen feet, ten, five, then the men, led by Wagstaffe, were leaping on board, and the gun captains were heaving grapnels at the Surcouf to hold the ships together. Southwick bellowed the order to clew up the foretopsail; in a few moments the Juno was lying head to the wind, alongside the Surcouf.
Ramage ran down the maindeck, snatching out his pistols as he reached the entry port at the gangway. Southwick was shouting after him but he neither heard nor cared what the Master said. He paused for a moment at the gangway, saw the water swirling between the two ships, and leapt on board the Surcouf.
Thirty or more Frenchmen had snatched up pikes and cutlasses and were aft, fighting desperately as Junos tried to drive them back. Suddenly a group of Frenchmen poured up the main companionway, pistols in their right hands, cutlasses in their left. A burst of fire cut down several Junos and the Frenchmen ran through the gap, making for the fo'c'sle.
Ramage aimed at the leading man and fired, saw him fall and aimed left-handed at the next. He fired and missed, and suddenly the whole group turned and ran towards him and Ramage was alone: most of the Junos had their backs to him, busy driving the rest of the Frenchmen aft. Ramage wrenched at his sword and backed a few feet to the mainmast. The first Frenchman, four or five yards ahead of the rest, and the man he had missed with his second pistol, slashed at him with his cutlass; a downward slice which Ramage parried, deflecting the man's blade so that the impetus behind the blow made the man trip. A quick flick of the wrist and Ramage caught him across the throat with the tip of his blade and turned immediately to face another man who was lunging at him with a pike. Ramage jumped to one side and the man, his face half-crazed with fear, drove on, his pike sticking into the mast. A swift blow disposed of him and Ramage turned to face the third man, but suddenly there was a roaring and a bellowing which made the man turn and bolt. Jackson and a half a dozen former Tritons were running to his rescue, and at that moment the Surcouf lurched as La Créole crashed alongside, her boarding party swarming up her side, yelling and shouting.
Ramage was thankful the fighting was now centred round the quarterdeck: that was what he had intended, so that the fo'c'sle would be left clear for the men boarding from La Créole. Several of them carried heavy axes and they ran forward, followed by others armed with cutlasses. While the axemen went to one side of the fo'c'sle, the cutlass men went to the other and began shouting over to the group of men waiting on the Juno's fo'c'sle.
A heaving line snaked across from the Juno and landed on the Surcouf's fo'c'sle. The men began hauling on it and when a heavier line followed they ran to the bow with it, passing it through the large fairlead. Then they began hauling, but it was hard work and finally they began marching across the deck as though dragging a cart. Finally the end of the Juno's anchor cable appeared through the fairlead and the men kept hauling.
By now the axemen were chopping at the Surcouf's own anchor cable, and Ramage hoped they remembered his strict instructions to leave one strand of the rope until they could see that the cable from the Juno had been secured to the bitts.
More men arrived on the fo'c'sle from La Créole and seized the heavy cable and dragged it to the bitts. One turn round the bitts and then another;
a third and then a fourth. The cable was stiff and heavy; it took two or three men to bend each turn.
The fighting aft was dying down now, and Aitken and Wagstaffe were securing the prisoners. Ramage ran to the fo'c'sle, checked that the cable was made fast and gestured to the men with cutlasses to return on board La Créole. After shouting to the men on the Juno's fo'c'sle to cut the lashings holding the cable along the ship's side, he ran back to find Southwick standing at the Juno's gangway, anxiously looking across at the Surcouf.
'All secure here,' Ramage shouted. ‘Onlyone strand of their cable left to cut.'
‘For Heaven's sake come on board, sir,' Southwick bawled. The ships will drift apart at any moment. We're just about to cut the grapnels!'
Ramage paused long enough to shout at Wagstaffe, who signalled that the prisoners were under control, and then bellowed at the axemen on the Surcouf’s fo'c'sle to cut the last strand of the French frigate's anchor cable. With that he leapt on board the Juno.
One danger remained, that the Surcouf 's yards would lock with the Juno's rigging, but already Aitken was obeying his orders and hardening in the sheets of La Créole's mainsail and foresail and backing his headsails. This would haul the Surcouf to starboard, to leeward and away from the Juno.
'Our grapnels, Southwick?' Ramage asked hurriedly,
'Already cut adrift, sir.'
Ramage glanced up and saw that the Surcouf’s yards, bare of sail, were gradually drawing clear as La Créole pulled her away. He jumped up into the hammock nettings and looked along the Juno's side. The cable was now hanging from the Surcouf’s bow in a big bight that went down into the water and reappeared by the Juno's stern, snaking round and up through the sternchase port.
