than the pump could get rid of it, and that was all that mattered. Nearly all, anyway. If only he knew how much faster . . .
Options: he must consider them carefully. Yes, the Frenchman could turn back and make a run for the shore, planning to beach the frigate before she sank. Or he could carry on firing until the ship sank under him - it would take a brave man to do that after having cut all his boats adrift, and it would mean throwing his ship's company on the mercy of the British. And, Ramage thought, what were his own choices? Well, he could carry on as he was now and wait for the Frenchman either to turn for the shore or sink. Or he could haul off out of range and wait for the Frenchman to sink, even if he did not bolt for the shore. That way he would save his men.
But supposing the Frenchman managed to stop the leak? Supposing he managed to stop the water entering and pump out what was already in? Then, setting courses and topgallants (and royals too) she could make a bolt for it. If she escaped, he would look foolish. And he would get his knuckles rapped by the Admiralty.
No, there was no question of standing off, and unless the Frenchman turned for the shore, then this present battle of broadsides would have to go on, while the French pumped their way to windward.
While Ramage was watching the water pouring over the side from the pump dale he noticed a dozen seamen swarming up the forward shrouds. As he looked they worked their way out along the footropes of the topsail and within moments had started to furl it.
Furl the topsail? Leave only the maintopsail set? That would just above halve the Frenchman's speed. Why? There could be only one explanation - by slowing down the ship the French captain was hoping to cut down the rush of water through the leak. That must mean he had no hope of overtaking it with the pump without drastic measures.
Ramage told Aitken to furl the Calypso's foretopsail, so that they could conform with the Frenchman's speed. The alternative would be to weave across Le Jason's stern and fire raking broadsides. Was it worth it? The damned ship would sink anyway, and soon her rate of fire would begin to slacken as men were taken away from the guns to replace those exhausted at the pumps.
'Hard pounding,' Southwick commented.
'Yes, but we don't have much choice. If we haul off and she stops the leak and gets away ...'
'Aye,' said Southwick. 'But she must be leaking badly if they have to slow down.'
'She must have been making seven or eight knots when she went aground. If it was a sharp rock it could have stove in several planks, or started some butts.'
Ramage watched Le Jason's side as another of the Calypso's broadsides coughed out, and saw several rusty marks appear on her hull. Well, his gunners were shooting accurately and with luck some of the shots were hitting 'twixt wind and water, increasing the flooding.
Ramage found himself almost sympathetic with the French captain; he had cut the quarterboats adrift and hoisted out the boom boats and dropped them over the side, so there were no boats for survivors: they would be left clinging to wreckage.
Taking some 250 survivors on board: one Frenchman for each member of the Calypso's crew. It was a daunting prospect: if the French were well led - and there was no reason to doubt that they were - they might try to take the ship.
'If we have to pick up survivors,' Ramage told Aitken and South wick, 'we put them below and then clap the gratings across the fore and maindeck hatch. Have them guarded by all the Marines and covered with a couple of guns loaded with caseshot, and then we'll land them on Capraia as soon as possible: I'm not risking having that number of the enemy on board a moment longer than necessary.'
'It's a big enough risk that we'd be justified in leaving them to drown,' Southwick said. 'Ducking them in sea water isn't going to turn them into lambs.'
'If it was us, we'd feel a bit hard done by if the French left us to drown,' Ramage said.
'But we'd try to take their ship,' Southwick pointed out.
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. 'A hundred muskets and pistols aimed at them, and a couple of guns loaded with case, might put them off their stroke.'
'Well, we'll need to bring them on board a few at a time, and make sure that we never have more than a couple of dozen on deck at a time,' Southwick said grudgingly.
'Of course,' Ramage said. 'Don't forget they'll be a bit shaken up by the time we fish them out.'
'The frigate hasn't sunk yet,' Aitken pointed out. 'Here comes another broadside,' he added, gesturing to the rippling spurts of flame and smoke along Le Jason's side.
Aitken stared at the frigate. 'She's definitely lower in the water now,' he said. 'She's gone down several inches since they furled the topsail.'
Ramage examined the hull with the telescope. Yes, Aitken was right: the distance between the lower edge of the gunports and the waterline was less. And yes, the ship was beginning to wallow now. Ramage could imagine the great quantity of water surging round below, weight which transferred from one side to the other, and from forward to aft, with terrifying speed. Like swirling water in the bottom of a bucket. It would be a tremendous surge of water to one side which would eventually capsize her.
The problem of guarding survivors stepped several paces closer.
Five minutes and several broadsides later, Ramage happened to be watching Le Jason when he realized that she was now regularly rolling with a slow, almost inexorable movement: her masts were like upside-down pendulums and her gunners were slowing down their broadsides because they had to wait longer until their guns would bear.
Southwick, too, noticed the roll. 'The leak is beating the pump,' he commented.
'It's been doing that for some time,' Aitken said. 'Every man except those in the guns' crews must be working the pump.'
Ramage pictured exhausted men hauling round the cranked handle of the pump. There was enough water floating around now to pick up things and block the pump, so that men would be constantly freeing the strainer. Round and round would go the crank, but the pump would never suck dry. The noise of the bilge pump sucking dry was, Ramage reflected, one of the most satisfying heard in a ship. It was one the French were doomed never to hear again - in that ship, anyway.
Yes, the rolling-was getting wilder; it was lasting longer as the ship heeled first to larboard and then slowly came over to starboard as tons of water swirled from one side of the ship to the other. The rush of water would, he realized, be enough to knock men off their feet; it would hinder men as they ran out or ran in guns. Soon the water must flood the hanging magazine. Even now, he guessed, the French were getting out cartridges and stowing them high enough to be out of danger from the surging water. But having so many cartridges out of the magazine always risked a flash from one of the guns, or an unlucky shot from the British. Then there would be a tremendous explosion, and the French would no longer be worrying about a leak . . .
Ramage was looking round the horizon with his telescope when Aitken said laconically: 'Their pump has stopped.'
Ramage swung round with his telescope. There was no more water streaming out of the pump dale and pouring over the side. The pump must have blocked, or the cranked handle jammed.
For a moment Ramage imagined himself in the French captain's position: now would be the time of black despair. Water would still be pouring in through the leak, and now he could only get the men bailing with buckets - a hopeless job if the pump was being overwhelmed.
The rolling was getting worse: or, Ramage corrected himself, getting better. The French rate of fire was being badly affected: for longer and longer periods the guns were either pointing too high or too low to be fired. Even better, from the British point of view, the heavy roll was exposing the underwater hull so that roundshot could smash through copper sheathing and make more holes in the hull to increase the leaks.
'Ah - there goes the pump again!''' Aitken called as he caught sight of a small stream of water starting to run over the side again. 'Not the full flow. Must be a blockage - or maybe it's been damaged by one of our shot.''
Ramage watched as Le Jason slowly rolled to larboard again, checked and then slowly began to roll back to starboard. Then he saw men gathering at the foot of the main shrouds.
'They're going to furl the maintopsail,' he said to Aitken. 'They want to try to reduce the rolling. Stand by to heave-to.'
At that moment the Calypso fired another broadside, and the group of men scattered, many of them vanishing below the bulwarks as roundshot cut them down.
But the French frigate continued her rolling: the movement was getting massive and wild now; her masts were slicing great arcs through the sky and, Ramage realized, it would be only a matter of time before the gunports dipped into the water.
Prisoners - or survivors, call them what you will: more than two hundred of them. No, he was not going to risk having them on board all the way to Naples: in fact with the island of Capraia just astern that was as far as he would take them. They would be prisoners on the island - unless they set to and made rafts - and they would be no danger to anyone, though they would run the local people short of food.
The French captain seemed to have given up trying to lighten the ship - he could still cut yards adrift, and he had not thrown all the booms and gratings over the side yet - but Ramage knew he must have given up: a hole in the hull which let in a leak which overcame the pump was the ultimate; apart from fire, it was the end.
With the freshening wind driving the frigate ahead, the rolling caused by the leak was giving her a curious corkscrew motion through the water, as though she was reluctant to move. Ramage watched as she rolled heavily towards him, paused for several agonizing seconds well heeled over, and then slowly rolled back again, to pause before returning.
'She hasn't got much more time,' Southwick commented.
'Neither have we,' Ramage said. 'I've changed my mind: we'll put the survivors up on the fo'c'sle. I want a couple of the aftermost guns on each side trained round on to the fo'c'sle and loaded with case. And pass the word for Rennick.'
The master trotted off down the ladder, his long white hair flowing in the breeze, to arrange to have the guns slewed round and their tackles made up again. A couple of minutes later Rennick was standing in front of him, waiting for orders.
'The survivors, when we pick them up,' Ramage said.
Rennick made a face. 'There'll be plenty of them, sir.'
'I know,' Ramage said. 'They might even outnumber us. But I'm going to put them on the fo'c'sle with four guns trained on them, and I want all your Marines covering them but keeping out of the way of the guns. They'll escort them from wherever they're brought on board up to the fo'c'sle. Any nonsense, they're to shoot to kill.'
'After they've swum around a bit, the French might have any wrong ideas washed out of them, sir,' Rennick said with a grin.
'I'm hoping so. But the point of keeping them up on the fo'c'sle is that I'm going to take them back to Capraia and dump them there. They'll only be on the fo'c'sle a couple of hours, and if they give any trouble a few whiffs of caseshot should quieten them down.'
