stuck out like a fishing rod from a river bank, moving gently across the horizon.
As soon as he was sure the brig was really swinging he said calmly: 'Now up with the helm, Jackson, and jam us athwart his hawse!'
The American gave a bloodcurdling laugh as he spun the wheel the opposite way and the brig's bow started to swing back to larboard, so that the little ship began skidding sideways through the water, pivoting with rudder acting against sail, ensuring that she would smash at right-angles across the Frenchman's bow, with that great jibboom holding the Merle far more securely than a hundred grapnels.
'Hold tight, Calypsos!' Ramage yelled. 'Secure those lanterns, Stafford!'
Then the crash came: like an enormous lance the 74's jibboom rammed into the shrouds of the foremast and as the Merle slewed slightly, tore out the brig's whole mast with a crackling and rending that made Ramage think of a forest of dead trees toppling.
Then the Merle came to a stop. Towering above her starboard side was the French ship's bow, stark against the moonlight and now alive with shouts and hysterical challenges in French.
'Stafford - light the fuses!'
Then to Jackson: 'Get the boat alongside!'
To the men forward: 'Topmen, grapnel men, sheetmen - come aft!'
There was a light forward, then another. Stafford and Arry and the Marine Albert Coke were busy with the lanterns.
Jackson was cursing somewhere aft, cursing fluently at the boatkeeper. They had forgotten to waken him up, and now Jackson was having to waste precious seconds as the sleepy man kept the painter clear while Jackson hauled.
Now the French were screaming down at the Merle. They still did not realize they were being attacked; they thought that a clumsy French merchant ship had accidentally misjudged wind or current and become stuck athwart their hawse.
'I'm sorry, captain!' Ramage shouted up in French. 'I will come on board to make my apologies! What? Yes, admiral, I will try to disengage myself this minute! Yes, sir -'
Stafford was nudging him. 'Excuse me, sir, all the fuses are burnin' merrily ...'
'Abandon ship!' Ramage bellowed. 'Down into the cutter, m'lads, and then row like madmen!'
As he stood on the afterdeck of the little brig he was almost startled by the comparative silence that had suddenly come over the ship. The Frenchman's jibboom creaked as it was pulled down by the weight of the Merle's foremast and rigging, which still hung from it, and the Merle's hull was grinding against the great ship's stem, but just round him, in the brig herself, there was only the thumping of bare feet running across the deck.
Ramage walked over to where Jackson had the cutter's painter hitched round a kevel.
'Two men missing, sir; I'm counting them.'
How many minutes had elapsed since the fuses had been lit?
'Get down in the boat and wait three minutes, and then row away -'
'What are you -?'
'Do as you're told', Ramage snapped and ran forward, snatching up one of the lanterns as he passed the hatch, noting that the burning ends of the fuses were already halfway up the coaming.
He made for the wreckage of the foremast and as he approached he could hear the muffled voice of a man swearing.
'Where are you?'
'Here, sir, some bluddy ratlines have tangled me up.'
Ramage put down the lantern and began feverishly hauling at the rope, suddenly conscious that Jackson was beside him. 'Where's the other one, sir?'
By now Ramage had burrowed into the tangled rope and was within a few inches of the trapped man. 'There's someone else missing - have you seen him?' Ramage shouted.
'Oh, that'll be Hobbs, sir', the man replied. 'He was up on the yard. He got tossed overboard when the mast went, sir. I heard him shoutin' in the water.'
With that, Jackson helped Ramage wrench the last of the ropes clear of the man and grabbed an arm to pull him to his feet. The man fell flat again with a grunt of pain.
'My leg, sir, I think it's busted. Leave me 'ere, sir, you'll all get blown up!'
'Lift him', Ramage told Jackson. 'Now sling him over my shoulder.'
Together captain and coxswain staggered aft with the injured man. Jackson sniffed as they passed the hatch. 'Those fuses are cooking well, sir.'
Finally they had nearly reached the quarter when Stafford, Arry and several other seamen reached them.
'Come on, sir', Stafford said in an offended voice as he and Arry seized the injured man, 'we wondered where you an' Jacko had gone.'
Quickly they lowered the man into the cutter.
'Has anyone seen Hobbs swimming around?' Ramage shouted.
'I'm 'ere, sir', Hobbs said. 'I swam round and was first in the boat!'
'Cast off, Ramage told Jackson. 'Now, let's say goodbye to the Merle!'
With two men at each oar the cutter leapt through the water and as he looked astern Ramage was surprised how small the brig now seemed, jammed across the 74's bow.
'Didn't even break off the Frenchman's jibboom', Jackson said, having a quick glance himself.
'But sent our foremast by the board without much effort', Ramage said. 'Steer for the Muscade: I want to be sure Mr Southwick's gig hasn't been stove in.'
Ramage looked round for the man with the broken leg. 'We'll get a seizing on that as soon as possible.'
'Don't you bother 'bout me', the seaman said cheerfully, 'I just want to be far enough away to get a good view of the bang.'
The words were hardly out of his mouth before a great flash like lightning lit every hill and mountain, showing anenormous column of eerily green water mushrooming from where the ships had been and followed a moment later by an echoing thunderclap which made their ears sing and a blast that Ramage thought would burst their eardrums.
For a few moments there was stunned silence and then, as gulls began mewing, Stafford said: 'Blimey, it's raining!'
The sky was clear. Ramage realized that they were being showered by spray from the explosion. And if there was spray -
'Duck!' he shouted. 'Crouch down below the thwarts.' At the same moment he launched himself across the body of the man with the broken leg.
Then pieces of wreckage from the Merle and the French ship of the line began falling from the sky as though an avalanche of trees was sweeping a mountain pass.
Finally it stopped and, with his night vision completely destroyed by the flash, Ramage was thankful for the moon to give him a sense of direction. The men resumed their places at the thwarts and Ramage found that only one couple had let go of their oar, which was quickly fished back on board.
'Right, let's find Mr Southwick and see what he thinks of our firework display.'
'Beats anyfing I ever saw at Vauxhall Gardens', Stafford admitted, 'but I fink I bin permentually deafened.'
''Permanently'', Jackson corrected automatically. 'No, it'll soon go, more's the pity.'
Southwick and the gig saw the cutter first against the moon and hailed, and five minutes later both boats were lying alongside each other, the two crews exchanging stories.
Southwick scrambled into the cutter. 'I'm sorry, sir, I let you down', he said sheepishly, 'but I swear that reef isn't on the chart!'
'I know it isn't, and it's lucky we both didn't hit it. Anyway, we all overestimated the amount of powder needed!'
'I'm ashamed to say we had the best view, sir', the master said. 'And we knew you had escaped in time because we caught sight of the cutter in the flash. But the water it threw up - it even drifted down to us, and we're to windward. And the wreckage! We could see yards and great baulks of timber landing hundreds of yards away. The splashes showed up in the moonlight.'
'The wreckage missed us', Ramage said thankfully, 'but there were some enormous lumps crashing round. Well, by the time we get to the Calypso I'll be ready for breakfast.'
CHAPTER NINETEEN
By noon the Calypso's surgeon, Bowen, came to Ramage's cabin to report that Palmer, the seaman with a broken leg, was resting comfortably. 'I gave him a drop of medicinal brandy, sir.'
'Ah, so much better than the ordinary sort.'
'Ah, yes indeed; it eases the pain like other spirits, but the seamen taste it so rarely that its effect seems magical', Bowen said with a straight face.
Ramage thought back. How long ago? It had been two or three years since Bowen had joined Ramage's ship and proved to be an alcoholic. A brilliant surgeon, he had had a flourishing practice in Wimpole Street until his patients were scared away by his drinking. Finally an impoverished wreck of a man went to the Navy, the only people who would pay him for practising his profession - and let him buy his liquor duty free ... But by chance Bowen had been sent to serve in a ship commanded by Lieutenant Ramage.
What followed had been desperate for Bowen and thoroughly unpleasant for Ramage and Southwick, but Ramage, having neither the time nor the authority to get rid of Bowen because the ship had to sail at once for the West Indies, was determined that his seamen's lives should not be in the hands of a permanently drunken surgeon. So once at sea he and Southwick had cured Bowen by cutting off his liquor. It had been a dreadful nightmare for them all; for days Bowen had been ravaged by delirium tremens; during the worst hours when they sat with him both Ramage and Southwick had themselves almost seen the imaginary horrors that attacked the struggling, fevered man. And finally it had been all over; Bowen was cured and now never touched spirits; he could sit down to dinner and pass the wine and prescribe medicinal brandy. He viewed the world with a clear eye and, when needed, used a scalpel with a hand that did not tremble.
'Palmer would like to see you, sir.'
