Ramage At Trafalgar (25 page)

The ships of the Combined Fleet were becoming harder to see; objects on the
Calypso’
s deck – guns, binnacle, capstan, mizenmast – became blurred as night fell. Ramage gave night orders to Martin, who relieved Aitken as officer of the deck, but they were (apart from keeping a sight of the enemy) routine: Ramage knew that he himself would he spending most, if not all, of the night on the quarterdeck.

Silkin came up to tell him that a cold supper was waiting for him, and it was clear from the tone of the man’s voice that he did not think that watching the enemy from this distance was a good enough reason to have the galley fire out. Ramage had thought about it several times, anxious that the men at the guns should have a hot drink and some hot food, but the regulations were very strict: with the ship at general quarters, the galley fire had to be extinguished. Lighting it now, “within sight of the enemy”, made no sense.

No, with all that gunpowder around (and sparks would certainly fly aft from the chimney in this wind) it was not worth the risk: the men rarely spent hours at general quarters or went without hot food. And, he guessed, none of them, knowing they were watching such a large fleet of the enemy, would be grumbling.

And then it was dark: it happened slowly and almost imperceptibly. The candle in the binnacle had been lit half an hour before, and Ramage crouched over, looking at the compass and then sighting along the last bearing they had taken of the enemy. Nothing. Not blackness because it was rarely entirely dark at sea, but…but, yes, there was a darker mass there! Ramage gave an order to the quartermaster (Jackson had gone below to get his supper) and the
Calypso
edged closer. Within five minutes, without using the nightglass, both Ramage and Martin could distinguish a line of ships close on the port side, a faint black strip on the eastern horizon.

Ramage took the nightglass from the binnacle box drawer and put it to his eye. The nightglass inverted the image so that he could just see the bulk of the Combined Fleet apparently flying and going in the opposite direction. His eye caught a flicker of light on board one of the ships. And then another. Once he knew what to look for he could see many lights from lanterns being used carelessly in the ships or displayed to avoid collisions.

He gave the nightglass to Martin. “They’re lighting up for us,” he commented. “You’ll have no trouble following…just keep on taking bearings in case you get a rain squall…”

So Sunday night passed: every fifteen minutes the gunner came up with a battle lantern and a rocket. He fussed about until he stood back smartly and the rocket crackled and then hissed its way into the night sky. From time to time Ramage saw other rockets from all round the outside of the enemy fleet. Blackwood’s little inshore squadron was doing its job. And, if they were keeping a sharp lookout in Nelson’s fleet, by now the nearest ships (and of course those forming the link) would be able to see the rockets too.

Two great fleets on similar courses sailing along in the darkness; rolling, pitching, whipping up sheets of spray, soaked by the same rain squalls – and, perhaps within hours, they would be battering each other, killing hundreds of men, with roundshot slicing through many inches of solid oak and grapeshot cutting men down in swathes and parting rigging like a cobbler’s knife severing thread.

There was such a dreadful inevitability about it that Ramage shivered. Exactly sixty ships of the line, many of them three-deckers, had a grim rendezvous within a matter of hours, and at a guess half of them would be sunk, captured or so battered they would be scuttled before the sun set again. It was not often that he thought about death, but perhaps it was the sight of the Combined Fleet in such disorder at nightfall that brought it to mind.

Kenton relieved Martin as officer of the deck, and in turn Hill took over, and almost as soon as Kenton had reported the course, wind direction and strength, and that there were no unexecuted orders, Hill commented to Ramage. “I think the wind’s eased a bit, sir.”

Ramage, sleepy and dazed and wishing he had not rushed his cold supper because it kept repeating itself, had not noticed it. But yes, Hill was right: the ship was not heeled so much and the seas had eased slightly.

“Just as well,” he commented. “Much more bad weather and I think the Combined Fleet would go back to Cadiz with torn sails and sprung masts. And once they’re in there we’d never get them out again!”

“Half those Dons are seasick, I’ll wager,” Hill said. “If the story told by the man you saw in Cadiz is true, half the Spanish ships’ companies were ploughing the fields or traipsing the streets of the city a month ago…”

“Yes,” Ramage agreed, “but the fact that Villeneuve has stayed at sea this long instead of bolting back to Cadiz probably means he’s determined to get down to the Gut, so there’ll be a battle.”

“I don’t fancy spending the winter off Cadiz on blockade duty,” Hill said. “There’s no lee round here. We’d have to rush down to the Gut every time a storm comes up from the west…”

“The wind’s now easing quickly,” Ramage commented. “We’ll probably be becalmed by dawn!”

“Aye, Southwick says this Gulf of Cadiz is famous as a strange place for sudden gales and calms, like the Texel. The seas are easing, certainly, sir, but there’s the very devil of a swell.”

Ramage watched the eerie blue glow of signals from the
Euryalus
as Blackwood passed the signal to the
Sirius
that the Combined Fleet was still steering south, and a minute or two later the
Sirius
repeated the signal for the next ship forming the link with Nelson’s fleet.

Ramage felt very sleepy and his eyes seemed to have sand in them. The Combined Fleet was still jogging along to the south, probably much more concerned with avoiding collisions with each other than fighting the British. Now was the time to snatch some sleep: he would need to be wide awake during the coming day.

“Call me if there’s any change concerning the enemy,” Ramage told Hill. “And if we get becalmed!”

Three hours later, waking just before dawn, Ramage realized that the wind had dropped away, because the ship was rolling badly from the westerly swell left by the gale, the masts and yards were creaking wildly, with little weight on the sails.

By the light of the lanthorn left hung up in his bed place, Ramage hurriedly washed and shaved. He would be one of the few men shaved in the
Calypso
, but shaving was almost an obsession: he hated the rasp of stubble on his silk stock; unshaven, he always felt greasy and unclean and his brain never seemed sharp. The razor, it seemed, woke him up and cleared his head.

Aitken was officer of the deck and Southwick was with him. It was still dark but dawn was close, and the wind no longer howled across the quarterdeck. The guns gave impatient grunts as the frigate rolled heavily, allowing the carriages half an inch of movement, just enough to let the trucks turn a fraction.

“Bit o’ a change in the weather, sir,” Southwick said cheerfully as Ramage walked up to the quarterdeck rail. “I’ll wager that Villeneuve fellow is thankful.”

Ramage looked to the south-east. Yes, there was the long darker band representing the ships of the Combined fleet.

“Are we any closer?” he asked Aitken.

“No, sir – at least, I don’t think so. They’re steering a regular course and we’re doing the same.”

“I have the same feeling as you, sir,” Southwick admitted. “They seem to be more stretched out…”

“They are, much more,” Ramage said. “And it’s not because the rear ships are straggling.”

“What do you reckon is happening, then, sir?” Aitken asked. “They don’t seem any different from when I came on watch.”

“I think Villeneuve was in even more trouble last night than we thought. As night fell he seemed to be still trying to get his ships into three columns, which is the wrong formation for when he meets His Lordship.

“I think he realized that, and without us seeing it he signalled his fleet to form line of battle. That’s why they seem to be more stretched out now – they’re still trying…”

The poor devils, Ramage thought; they’ve spent the night trying to form up one ship astern of the other (in no particular sequence), a clumsy game of “After you” played in the dark with snapped jib-booms, locked yards and torn shrouds the penalty for misunderstandings or clumsiness.

Thirty-three ships trying to form the line of battle in the darkness… Much of the night there had been those slashing rain squalls…even now there was this miserable swell to knock the wind out of sails, catching the unwary in irons and sending them drifting into the next ship.

“Like tipsy one-legged seamen, playing blind man’s buff,” Southwick said, taking out his watch and looking at the time in the light of the candle in the binnacle. “Hmm, dawn is not far off.”

Ramage could see stars here and there, fighting thin cloud and now fading slightly. It might even turn into a fine day… And just where was the British fleet?

Dawn came fast, or so it seemed to Ramage: as soon as there was enough light to see the ritual grey goose at a mile and lookouts went aloft, Ramage saw that the
Calypso
was about two miles to windward of the Combined Fleet which was still steering south. As he had guessed, the first dozen or so ships were in line of battle and regularly spaced, but astern of them the rest of the fleet was still lumped together. The leading ships seemed a row of leafless trees lining a road; the rest looked like a small forest, their masts and yards merging like trunks and branches bared after winter frosts.

And in the distance to the westwards, way up to windward, there were mastheads: the British fleet.

“His Lordship’s got the weather gage all right,” Southwick muttered admiringly. “Nicely tucked up to windward, ready to jump on Villeneuve whatever he does.”

“How far are we from Cadiz?” Ramage asked.

“It’s twenty-five miles to leeward of us,” the master said. “Ah, now they’re making more of an effort to form the line of battle,” he added, lowering his telescope. “Fifteen in position ahead, as best I can count. Another hour, and they’ll be ready!”

“They’re still only jogging along,” Aitken said. The first lieutenant had come up to the quarterdeck just before Ramage. He had relieved Hill as officer of the deck and sent him off to his division of guns. “Since we’re staying in the same relative position, it’s not hard to judge their speed.”

“They won’t be able to bolt from Lord Nelson now, that’s for certain,” Southwick said. “I reckon a third of them don’t know how to get the best out of their ships, whether beating to windward or running, and Admiral Villeneuve won’t be able to leave ’em behind.”

For an hour, after having the ship’s company stand down from general quarters to get their breakfasts, Ramage walked the quarterdeck with Southwick, neither man speaking but each watching the Combined Fleet on their larboard bow and the masts of Nelson’s fleet approaching over the starboard quarter.

Suddenly Orsini shouted excitedly. “The French flagship’s run up several hoists of flags, sir!” He was bracing himself against the frigate’s roll as he watched the Combined Fleet with his telescope. “And yes, all the ships have hoisted what I suppose is the answering pendant.”

“A signal to the fleet…hmm, I wonder what that is?” Southwick said.

“Well, it can’t be ordering them to form line of battle,” Ramage said. “Perhaps an alteration of course, though they’re already on the right tack and they can’t steer any closer to the wind.”

He walked over to the binnacle box and took out his telescope. “I wonder…” he mused. “There’s really only one other signal it could be…”

Even as he watched, the masts of the last ship in the line slowly diverged and then lined up again as she wore round and began steering back along her wake. Then the next followed, and the next.

“Cadiz!” Southwick bellowed excitedly. “Villeneuve’s going back to Cadiz!”

Ramage ordered Orsini to hoist the signal to warn the
Euryalus
, although it was only a formality, since Blackwood could see what was happening. Within minutes the
Sirius
would be repeating the signal to the
Naiad
, and she to the
Phoebe
, and from her to the
Defence
, and so on until Lord Nelson was warned that his prey was making a bolt back to itslair.

By now the sun had come over the horizon, weak and watery, but the wind was falling away and through his glass Ramage could see that several of the Combined Fleet were having trouble wearing round, their ships hard to handle in a heavy swell and light breeze.

So now the Combined Fleet’s line of battle was being led by what had been the last ship. Ah there was the massive
Santissima Trinidad
: she was wearing round slowly, and she would be the ninth or tenth ship in the line. And her next astern would be the French flagship, the
Bucentaure
.

Ramage could see several masts beyond the line: eight or more big ships were well away to leeward, though he was not sure if they had been out of position when Villeneuve gave the order to wear or had sagged off while trying to obey. From their ensigns (most of the ships had now hoisted their colours, having waited for sunrise) Ramage could see that half the ships out of position were French, so it was not all poor Spanish seamanship.

“They’re making about five knots, and it’s twenty-five miles to Cadiz eh?” he said to Southwick. “Well, with Lord Nelson up to windward, are you taking any wagers on this race?”

“Signal from the
Euryalus
, sir,” Orsini said.

Blackwood was telling Ramage that he himself had been ordered to report on board the
Victory
and that the
Calypso
, along with the other frigates, should fall back on the fleet.

“I was hoping we’d be told to do that,” Southwick said. “We’re not doing any good out here now, and frigates caught between two fleets could get their toes stamped on! I see the French frigates are well to leeward of their line.”