Ramage At Trafalgar (28 page)

And there was so much smoke! He had expected the thundering roll of the broadsides but not all this smoke: there had not been nearly so much at the battle of Cape St Vincent (and thanks to the dilatory Earl St Vincent, or Sir John Jervis as he then was, not nearly so much action, either). But now he could understand Lord Nelson’s foresight in ordering that all ships should fight under the white ensign (because the red or blue ensigns, hanging down in a light breeze, could be mistaken for a drooping Tricolour) and that another ship should paint her mastbands buff like the rest of the fleet – leaving them black (which was how the French and Spanish painted them) could lead to her being mistaken for the enemy when her hull and colours were obscured by smoke. Ramage realized that battles were won by this kind of foresight.

As the
Calypso
reached the line (now ragged, with many of the French and Spanish ships sagging or beaten to leeward by gunfire) it was as though the frigate was steering directly into a heavy thunderstorm: the thick banks of smoke hid the weak sun; the deep rumbling broadsides, like the growling of monsters, made even the calmest man feel uneasy.

Now the
Britannia
(notoriously a slow sailer) was on the
Calypso
’s starboard bow, and beyond her was the group of ships with the
Victory
the nearest. All the ships had the red winking eyes of gunfire on one side or the other; all were shrouded with smoke, like monks with cowls.

“Hot work,” Southwick commented, raising his voice above the rumbling of the guns. “The
Victory
’s guns are firing as fast as they ever did at exercise against a watch!”

Ramage took his glass from his eye as Aitken stood in front of him. “I’ve just inspected the boarding parties, sir. Men are standing by at the grapnels. Will a dozen be enough aft?”

Ramage thought a moment and then nodded. “Southwick,” he said, “you are in charge of the powder men. Use Rossi, Stafford and the Frenchmen. Make sure they know exactly what they have to do so that they don’t blow us up. And,” he added firmly, “make sure there’s enough water…”

Then the bulk of the
Britannia
hid four ships that were alongside each other, guns blazing, masts and yards toppling, sails spotted with shot holes as though speckled with some vile mould: the
Victory
,
Redoutable
,
Téméraire
and
Fougueux
were locked together like wildcats fighting in a bag.

And then, with the rest of the enemy line and the British attackers over to larboard and the
Calypso
overtaking the
Britannia
, there were only two ships ahead – the
Leviathan
and French
Neptune
, with the frigate up to the north-east, well beyond the line. But the
Leviathan
was bracing up her yards: she was obviously going to leave the
Neptune
and join in the battle further towards the van… What would the Frenchmen in the
Neptune
do? She was well to leeward of the rest of the fleet: in fact she was so far to leeward she was almost among the frigates…

Anyway, the
Leviathan
had kept her out of the way for long enough: the
Calypso
had just to cross ahead of the
Leviathan
and then there would be a clear run.

“Two points to larboard,” he told Aitken. “Give the
Leviathan
plenty of room. Then bear away.”

They watched as the British ship came away from alongside the French
Neptune
, which still had her masts standing. Obviously Captain Henry Bayntun, who commanded the
Leviathan
, had his eye on the long row of enemy ships forming the van.

Boarders…Stafford and his shipmates handling the powder…the Marines have their orders…men are ready with the grapnels to hook the two ships together.

Ramage tried to make sure he had not forgotten anything…his pistols, tucked into the band of his breeches, nudged against his ribs (he would still prefer a seaman’s cutlass to the Lloyd’s Patriotic Fund sword). They were passing well ahead of the
Leviathan
, which was hardening in sheets to steer northwards, along the enemy line.

Stafford, Rossi and the Frenchmen hurried up on to the quarterdeck carrying the heavy cast-iron braziers used in cold climates to dry out damp between decks after the planking had been well scrubbed or there had been a long period of wet weather.

They had taken several handsful of twigs from the cook’s supply of kindling, used for the galley stove, along with sawn wood, and quickly set up the braziers, watched by a fussy Southwick. The master looked ahead at the French frigate, now fine on the starboard bow, and then questioningly at Ramage, who said: “Get the kindling started, and then wait…”

Stafford found some small twigs which still had dried leaves attached, made them into a little nest in one of the braziers, and then went over to one of the tubs and took a length of glowing slow match from its notch.

He came back to the brazier, put the burning end of the slow match amid the leaves, and blew gently until first one and then two or three of the other leaves burst into flame. Soon, feeding the flames with larger twigs, he finally used sawn up pieces of wood that had obviously come from Chatham Dockyard.

“Pity it’s not a cold day,” Stafford commented.

“Be careful, Staff,” Gilbert said, eyeing the flannel cartridge cases stacked up under the taffrail.

The Cockney, coughing from the wood-smoke, laughed. “Not used to the sight of flames, are you Gilbert? Don’t be nervous – think what it must be like over there!” He gestured towards the flickering guns of the
Santissima Trinidad
and her attackers.

“She’s not so near,” Gilbert said, cautiously taking one of the burning pieces of wood and transferring it to another brazier and feeding it with wood. He was followed by Rossi and Auguste, and finally Louis lit the last of the braziers, until all five were flickering on the quarterdeck.

Southwick walked over to Ramage. “I was thinking, sir, if an unlucky roundshot knocks over those braziers…”

“We shall probably blow up,” Ramage said matter-of-factly. “It’s a risk I decided to take. You have plenty of buckets of water and the tubs, and you’ll keep the deck well sluiced down.”

Southwick nodded. “Thought I’d better mention it, sir.”

“Oh, indeed,” Ramage said. “No point in remembering as the ship blows up. Don’t forget to wet the powder…”

Southwick laughed cheerfully. “You’ll be the first to hear if I forget, sir,” he said.

Jackson walked across the deck to join his shipmates. “Warm work,” he commented.

“Yus,” Stafford said, “but it’ll soon be ’ot work! Is that the frigate we’re after?” he gestured over the starboard bow.

The American nodded. “The one that looks like us. Like us without the yellow strake.”

“Bit more our size,” Stafford grunted. “I didn’t fancy that 74 that was chasing us off Cadiz…”

“No shoals out here though; this has to be a guns, pikes, cutlasses and tomahawks job,” Jackson said. “That’s if you don’t blow us all up with these braziers.”

“If you hear a big bang, you’ll know I did it wrong,” Stafford said complacently.

“Not to joke,” Auguste said anxiously. “Is bad luck to joke about such things.”

“I’m not joking,” Stafford assured him. “If Jacko hears a bang…”

Ramage was judging distances and giving Aitken helm orders. The French frigate was sailing along on a course parallel with the enemy’s line of battle and roughly a mile to leeward. A mile or more ahead of her was another frigate, and well astern and scattered were three more, along with two brigs.

“She hasn’t realized yet,” Aitken commented.

“Her people are too taken up with what’s happening to the
Redoutable
and the
Santissima Trinidad
.” Ramage said. “Don’t forget, ‘frigates don’t stand in the line of battle’!”

“Ah, yes,
I’d
forgotten, sir,” Aitken said dryly.

Even though the wind was light the
Calypso
, with a clean bottom, was sailing too fast for the French frigate, which was jogging along under topsails only, obviously not trying to keep in any particular position with the line of battle.

“We’ll clew up the courses, Mr Aitken,” Ramage said briskly. The Scotsman picked up the speaking trumpet and gave the order that sent men running to the buntlines and clewlines. Quickly the corners of the big lower sails were drawn in diagonally towards the masts and then the middles of the sails were hauled upwards, until the great sails looked like bundled laundry.

Ramage walked to the side and peered down at the sea from a gunport, and then he looked ahead again. “We’ll hand the topgallants, too, Mr Aitken,” he said, and the moment the first lieutenant shouted the orders, topmen swarmed up the shrouds and out along the yards, folding the sails and securing them against the yards with gaskets. They were doing it as thoroughly, Ramage noted, as they would a “harbour furl”, where a sharp-eyed port admiral would be ready with criticisms.

So now the
Calypso
was reduced to topsails – what was generally regarded as “fighting canvas”, although none of Nelson’s ships of the line, hurrying because of the falling wind, had reduced sail: like Nelson, they were content to let enemy shot do the furling for them.

Ramage watched the French frigate carefully. If the captain was awake, then the
Calypso
’s shortening sail should alert him. Frigates did not suddenly reduce sail in the middle of a battle without a reason. Come to that, frigates did not suddenly break through the line.

Yes, the French frigate was certainly at general quarters, with her guns run out, as of course they should be, and obviously loaded with roundshot or grape. But she seemed strangely uninterested in the
Calypso
– a sister ship, too, that a moment’s thought should remind someone on board had been captured by the British…

At that moment a particularly large swell wave made the frigate yaw, and Ramage could at last read the name carved on her transom.
Le Hasard
. Green lettering – which had made it so hard to read – picked out with red. No gilt. The captain had obviously made do with what the dockyard had issued.

He told Aitken the name, but the Scotsman merely said: “She’ll get a new name in the British service!”

Half a mile, and one point on the starboard bow.

At that moment Aitken pointed astern. The look on the first lieutenant’s face made Ramage turn quickly.

The French
Neptune
, ship of the line, had turned to the north and was now getting into the
Calypso
’s wake, perhaps three quarters of a mile astern. Was it a coincidence or was she coming after the
Calypso
?

That did not matter much, Ramage realized immediately: the moment the
Calypso
opened fire on the frigate, the
Neptune
would come up on the other side and pour in broadsides: that was unavoidable. Something, as Nelson had written, must be left to chance – and he had left the ship of the line astern to chance…

Well, he could forget all about the attack and sneak back through the line of battle and take up the position he should never have left. He could, but having made all these preparations he was not going to.

Or he could try to race the
Neptune
and get alongside
Le Hasard
, perhaps overwhelming her before the
Neptune
could catch up. But even if he took the
Hasard
, the
Neptune
would be alongside moments later, and a ship of the line’s broadside… He had avoided
Le Brave
’s broadsides by guile; there was no way of avoiding the
Neptune
’s.

He realized that he could keep the bluff he was going to use on the
Hasard
and try it on the
Neptune
. But it was only bluff; it was not a magic suit of armour that would keep out the
Neptune
’s roundshot. But, he shrugged his shoulders, it was the only trick he could play.

Five hundred yards to the
Hasard
“Stand by guns’ crews and grapnel men,” he said to Aitken, raising his voice against the rumbling broadsides. It was annoying to have to use the Scotsman to relay every order, but Ramage had long since realized that his voice did not carry.

The
Calypso’
s guns would fire once, then most of the men would snatch up weapons and board. Should he have ordered two broadsides? Even three? Damnation, he told himself crossly, the boarders are the ones who will carry the enemy; one broadside of the
Calypso
’s roundshot battering into planking will only make a lot of noise and smoke.

Four hundred yards…and the
Neptune
is closing up fast. Does her captain realize what is happening or is it just a coincidence? Might he not guess until the
Calypso
, guns firing, crashes alongside the
Hasard
? Or has he realized and is even now stalking the
Calypso
, waiting for the moment he can range alongside?

Three hundred yards. He could picture the
Calypso
’s gun captains, down on their right knees, left legs flung out to the side, squinting along the sights of their guns, giving last-minute elevation orders to the handspike-men. The second captains would be waiting impatiently to cock the flintlocks and leap to one side, clear of the recoil; the gun captains would already be holding the trigger lines, ready to give the tug that would send the flint down to make the critical spark.

Two hundred yards – and yes, through his glass he could see that the French officers on the
Hasard’s
quarterdeck were now alert. One was running towards the quarterdeck ladder; another was snatching up a speaking trumpet. A third was waving his arms, and a fourth was wrenching a pistol from his belt.

One hundred yards. He looked round at Southwick and raised his hand. Stafford and his shipmates began to bob and weave among the braziers.