Ramage And The Drum Beat (28 page)

Each ship sat in the water with the same elegant yet solid, four-square sense of belonging to the sea as an Elizabethan mansion house belonged on a gently sloping hill cradled among beech trees. Each hull had the symmetry of Grecian statuary – nowhere did the eye catch a straight line or harsh curve: from the end of the jib-boom one’s glance travelled quite naturally down to the fo’c’sle and on to the waist and then up again to the taffrail, carried along easily by the sweeping sheer. The bow was bluff – yet the cutwater and the elegant beakhead and figurehead made it comely, not plump; although the stern was square the transom itself raked aft with the studied elegance of a cavalry officer’s shako.

From this distance the stout masts, too, seemed slim and rakish, and it was hard to believe a mainmast was three feet in diameter at the step, and from the waterline to the maintopgallant truck was more than 180 feet. The forty or so tons of rope for the rigging made an ugly pile of coils in the dockyard, but when fitted aloft to the masts and yards it took on the tracery of Flanders lace. Yet however beautiful and powerful were the ships, they could fight only as well as the men in them. In that case, he thought, glancing along the line, the onus was now on the men because most of the ships had long since proved themselves in battle.

The Culloden, leading the line, had been with Howe at the Glorious First of June three years ago, when six French sail of the line had been captured and a seventh sunk. The third in the line, the Prince George, was with Admiral Keppel in 1778 when he fought Comte d’Orvilliers’ fleet off Ushant, and with Rodney off the Saints in 1782, when five French sail of the line were captured. The Orion, fourth in the line, fought with Howe on the Glorious First of June. The sixth was also one of the newest as far as Ramage could remember – the Colossus had been launched within the past three years, while her next astern, the Victory, was well over thirty years old and had been Keppel’s flagship at Ushant. The Barfleur was Admiral Hood’s flagship in Rodney’s action, while the Egmont had been with Keppel at Ushant and in Admiral Hotham’s action off Genoa a couple of years ago, when Captain Nelson in the Agamemnon had played a leading part in the capture of the Ça Ira and Censeur. She was followed by the Britannia, Hotham’s flagship at the time, while the Namur had been with Rodney. The Captain had been badly cut up in Hotham’s action and was followed by the Diadem, which had been with her. And the little Kathleen, Ramage thought wrily – well, she’d ventured a lot in the past few weeks, even if she hadn’t achieved much…

Fifteen ships. Yet with the French Fleet at Brest probably waiting for the Spanish to join them for an attempt at invasion, the whole safety of England depended not only on the fighting ability of each of those ships but on the tactical ability of one man, Sir John Jervis. If he made one bad mistake this afternoon he might lose the war; one bad mistake leading to his defeat would leave the Channel an open highway for a Franco-Spanish Armada, for the Admiralty wouldn’t be able to concentrate enough ships in time to do more than harry them. One man, one mistake: it was a heavy responsibility. Yet he wondered if it bothered Sir John. The old man was this very moment making the first moves in his task of destroying Cordoba’s fleet simply because it was a duty for which a lifetime’s training had prepared him. Ramage remembered his own father would want to hear about every move made in the battle and, knowing he would not be able to trust his memory, sent a man below to fetch a pad and pencil. Just as he sketched in the positions of the two Fleets Southwick asked: ‘What d’you make of the Dons, sir?’

To windward, over the starboard bow, Ramage could see Cordoba’s division of nineteen sail of the line, among them the Santísima Trinidad. If they’d ever been in any recognized formation it was now but a memory: they were like a flock of sheep being driven in for shearing, two, three and four abreast. They were running eastward, intending to cross ahead of the British line to join the second division, six sail of the line which were over on the Kathleen’s larboard bow and now trying desperately to claw their way up to Cordoba’s ships before the British line cut them off. Two flocks of sheep, in fact, trying to join up before a pack of wolves got between them, since it was through the ever-narrowing gap that the Culloden was leading the British line.

‘What d’you make of the Dons, sir?’ Southwick repeated and Ramage, lost in thought, realized he had not answered.

‘They’re paying the price for bad station-keeping during the night, Mr Southwick, and for relaxing because they thought they were near home,’ Ramage said sourly, intending the lesson would not be lost but knowing he’d merely been pompous.

‘You don’t think it’s a trap?’

‘Trap? If it is, someone forgot to set it!’

‘But might I–’

‘Yes, you can ask why I think that. Cordoba probably has at least twenty-seven sail of the line – though we can see only twenty-five at the moment – against our fifteen. If he’d kept them together he could match them two to one against thirteen of our ships and still have one left to deal with our remaining two. Just think of the Captain, for example, being attacked by the Santísima Trinidad to windward and a seventy-four to leeward. Two hundred and four Spanish guns against the Captain’s seventy-four.

‘Instead of that, you can see Cordoba has nineteen up there to windward and six more down to leeward. And with a bit of luck we’ll manage to get inbetween and stop them joining up.’

‘Yes,’ admitted Southwick, ‘they’ve split themselves up nicely, Cordoba’s letting us match our fifteen against six, or fifteen against nineteen. Sounds easy enough!’

‘It isn’t though – there’s one big “if”. If those two Spanish divisions do manage to close that gap, Cordoba will form his line of battle at the last moment right across our bows. All their broadsides against our leading ships – and we won’t be able to bring a single gun to bear…’

‘But d’you reckon Cordoba has a chance of doing it?’

‘About fifty-fifty at the moment – it’ll be a close-run affair. If the wind pipes up a bit, Cordoba’s nicely up to windward so he’ll get in first and bring it down with him. It might be just enough to turn the trick.’

Jackson said: ‘Victory’s hoisted her colours, sir!’

Ramage motioned to Southwick and the Kathleen’s colours soared up to the peak of the gaff, and one after another the rest of the ships hoisted theirs.

Almost at once Jackson sang out gleefully, ‘There she goes! Number five, sir!’

Two or three men started cheering and then the whole ship’s company took it up. It was the one signal that they all knew by heart, ‘To engage the enemy’.

Southwick sidled over to Ramage and said quietly, ‘I think the men would appreciate a few words, sir.’

‘A few words? What do you mean?’ The idea irritated Ramage.

‘Well, sir, a little speech or something. It’s – well, customary, sir.’

‘Customary in a seventy-four but hardly appropriate to us, surely? I said all I had to say when I came on board at Gilbraltar.’

‘I still think they’d like it,’ Southwick said doggedly.

Ramage saw the men had moved instinctively nearer their guns and were all watching him expectantly, and was unaware that to the men his lean, tanned face, and piercing eyes made him look like a buccaneer leader of earlier days. Then he heard himself speaking to them quietly.

‘This may be the biggest battle you’ll ever see in your lives, but our part in it is simply to repeat the Commodore’s signals. We are just one of the crowd watching the prize fighters knocking each other’s heads off.’

That’ll cool them off a bit, he thought; then when he saw their eager faces he felt ashamed of such a sneer. Southwick’s face, too, had that familiar taut look, eyes almost glazed and bloodshot with the prospect of battle.

Jackson, watching the Victory with the telescope, reported the order for a slight alteration of course, then exclaimed: ‘There’s another, sir! General, number forty.’

He fumbled through the signal book, and it was one Ramage could not remember.

‘“The admiral means to pass through the enemy’s line”.’

‘What? Check that again!’ exclaimed Southwick.

Jackson looked through the telescope. ‘It’s number forty all right, sir.’

Southwick snatched the signal book and looked for himself. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said to Ramage. ‘That’s what it says.’

‘Quite so, Mr Southwick. Don’t forget we’ve only assumed that’s what the admiral intended doing. He has to give the order and he’s left it as late as possible in case the Dons did something unexpected. You don’t want the Victory festooned with “Annul previous signal” do you?’

A moment later he realized it was an unfair remark but Southwick took it cheerfully, disregarding Ramage’s words and thinking to himself it had taken Sir John a long time to come round to Mr Ramage’s way of thinking.

As Ramage looked through his telescope at the six Spanish ships trying to claw across the head of the British line to join Cordoba’s division to windward he was reminded of two stage-coach drivers racing each other to a crossroad, one coming along the northern road, the other the eastern. And he knew from bitter experience the almost paralysing tension that must now be gripping each of the Spanish captains.

Ahead of them, less than three miles away, was the safety offered by their Commander-in-Chief and nineteen comrades; but approaching rapidly on their starboard side was the British line, led by the Culloden, intent on cutting them off.

Somewhere out there on the surface of the sea, he mused, is a spot unmarked by even a wavelet, and it’s the crossroads, the point where an invisible line drawn along the course the British are sailing crosses a similar line along which the Spanish are steering. Whoever reaches that point first wins the race.

For a moment he felt sympathy for the Spanish captains. Even now each of them must be bending over the compass, taking a bearing of the Culloden and comparing it with a previous one. In a couple of minutes each will again bend over the compass and take yet another. And every successive bearing tells each captain how the race is going, a race which means all the difference between life and death for many of the men of both sides.

It’s all beautifully and brutally simple: if the latest compass bearing shows the Culloden more to the north, the Spaniards know they are winning the dash for that unmarked crossroad; if more to the west, then the British are winning. And if the bearing stays the same, then they’ll collide.

Even as he watched, Ramage was half-ashamed to admit his sympathy for the Spaniards was growing: he was sure they were losing and a little later he was certain.

Since Sir John had already hoisted signal number five, ‘Engage the enemy’, all the British ships were free to fire as soon as they had a target. At this moment, he mused, every gun in the Culloden is loaded; every gun on her larboard side is ready to fire. And from what he’d heard of Captain Troubridge, he’d be waiting until the last possible moment for the maximum effect, knowing the smoke of his first broadside (almost always the best-aimed) would then hinder his gunners by drifting to leeward and masking the enemy.

Spurts of smoke along the Culloden’s larboard side; then distant thunder. He glanced at Southwick, who snatched Jackson’s telescope. The battle of St Valentine’s Day had begun. The spurts of smoke slowed and spread, merging into a low cloud drifting in the wind just above the surface of the sea.

Then a longer peal of thunder, and he saw the Blenheim streaming smoke from her broadside. Were they both firing at the same Spanish ship? The Prince George, third in the British line, fired her first broadside at the same instant the Culloden fired her second, and there was a brief interval as the noise rolled across the sea and the smoke began to spread before the Blenheim’s second broadside.

So the six Spaniards had lost the race: by reaching that unmarked crossroad first, the British ships had been able to fire raking broadsides into the enemy’s bows. Then through the smoke he saw the two leading Spanish ships turning away to starboard, to steer a parallel but opposite course to the British, and a distant rumble, followed by another, showed they were firing back as soon as their broadside guns could bear.

Suddenly Southwick, telescope still jammed to his eye, shouted excitedly. Yes! Both Spaniards had continued turning: instead of remaining on an opposite course they were bearing away, followed by the other four.

‘Got their helms hard up for Cadiz!’ yelled Southwick. ‘That’s half a dozen Cordoba can cross off the board!’

Again the Culloden, Prince George and Blenheim fired, and the smoke spreading to leeward hid all six Spaniards from Ramage’s view.

‘Sir!’ shouted Southwick, though Ramage was only a couple of yards from him, pointing excitedly across at Cordoba’s nineteen ships over to starboard. They too had given up trying to cross ahead: the leaders were turning to larboard, on to an opposite course to the British. In a few minutes they’d be passing down the Culloden’s starboard side, and Ramage pictured men from her larboard guns’ crews hurriedly crossing to reinforce those on the starboard side.

Swinging his telescope round to look at Cordoba’s division, Ramage was surprised at the foreshortened and enlarged image, which revealed just how much the leading ships were crowded together, three and four abreast, so that their outlines merged together into apparently continuous tiers of open gun ports, the barrels like bristles on a scrubbing brush.

The red hull of the Santísima Trinidad (her white strakes broken at geometrically precise intervals by the four rows of open gun ports) was even more conspicuous, although ahead of her were the Salvador del Mundo and San Josef, both three-deckers, the San Nicolas and a seventy-four he did not recognize.

The five ships hid many of the others but apart from their lack of formation – or perhaps because of it – they looked formidable. Ramage was glad to lower the telescope and get them back in perspective, but several impressions remained – among them the San Nicolas’ beakhead painted in scarlet and topped by the huge gilded figurehead depicting the saint after whom the ship was named.