'Martin, you'll take fifty men and secure the quarterdeck. Detail five men to seize the wheel: make sure they have pistols and cutlasses. And don't forget, sheets and braces. Right, off you all go!'
As the three lieutenants hurried away both Aitken and Southwick said in unison: 'What about me, sir?'
'You remain in command of the Calypso,'Ramage told Southwick, who groaned theatrically.
'Look here,' Ramage said angrily, 'I'm not having a debate about this every time we go into action. There'll be you and less than fifty men to beat off any attempt by the French to board us. Oh no, don't sneer at the idea. That's the best defence the French have, if they only realize it.'
Aitken, watching the smoke rolling along the enemy line and keeping an eye on the Britannia, looked questioningly at Ramage. 'You'll come with me,' Ramage said. 'The Frenchman's quarterdeck. Watch out for Martin's men and remember, we're interested in securing the wheel.'
Ramage realized that Jackson was looking at him, pleadingly. 'All right then, if you can get word to your relief, you can come with me!'
Jackson promptly shouted to a passing seaman, who then hurried down the quarterdeck ladder. Ramage turned to the Marine lieutenant. 'Ah, Mr Rennick: a change in plans. There's a French frigate the other side of this smoke that interests us. You should put half your Marines under Sergeant Ferris and tell them to help secure the enemy's waist: Hill will be going across with fifty seamen, but most of the French guns' crews will be there. You take the other half yourself and make for the quarterdeck. You'll find Mr Aitken and myself strolling round somewhere up there, along with Martin and fifty seamen. Is all that clear?'
Rennick gave a wolfish grin and hitched round his sword. 'Absolutely, sir: my men are getting bored just watching the battle.'
Ramage thought of the boredom of twice daily parades when the Marines marched and countermarched, musket butts clattered amid showers of pipeclay and heels stamped. And they were bored watching the greatest sea battle - or rather the opening rounds of it. No, it wasn't possible. Then he realized that the men were bored not with the sight but the fact they could not join in: each of the Marines had the soul of a butcher imprisoned in a spectator . . .
At last he could look ahead again. Yes, the Calypso was tucked in nicely astern of the Britannia. The Santissima Trinidad had the Conqueror raking her stern and the little Africa raking her bow, while the Neptune was pouring in broadsides from to leeward. The Bucentaure was firing broadsides into the approaching Ajax but any moment the Britannia would start raking her from astern. To leeward of the Bucentaure the French Neptune, heading east at right-angles to the line of battle, was exchanging broadsides with the Leviathan while the Victory was the first ship in a row - she too was heading east, almost alongside the Redoutable, which in turn was alongside the Téméraire, which was pouring broadsides into the Fougueux . . .
But all that really mattered to the Calypso was that the gap between the Bucentaure and the Victory was wide, and the Leviathan was on the French Neptune's larboard side. The Calypso's sister ship was a mile away on the Leviathan's larboard bow.
The Calypso caught a sudden puff of wind that did not reach the Britannia and she surged up on the three-decker. Ramage thought for a moment of Rear-Admiral the Earl of Northesk wondering why the Calypso frigate was following so close in his wake, but the Scotsman would probably assume she was acting under orders from the commander-in-chief.
That, he realized, was the advantage of doing the unexpected: everyone assumed you must have orders . . . And if he timed it right he would be able to stay on the Britannia's larboard side as she passed the Victory to starboard so that no one would spot a little frigate apparently lost in the banks of smoke . . .
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 slowmatch from its notch.
He came back to the brazier, put the burning end of the slowmatch 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 woodsmoke, 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.
