'It's only a couple of feet at springs, and it's neaps now, so a foot o' water isn't going to do her much good.'
'Let's have a cast of the lead and put an anchor down,' Ramage said impatiently. 'I don't want to move too far away from that Frenchman, just in case he manages to get off.'
Southwick bustled off to the fo'c'sle, shouting orders for the anchor party, as Aitken called for topmen ready to furl the topsails.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dawn came with painful slowness. The ship's company went to general quarters, to meet the first hint of daybreak with the guns loaded and run out. During the night the cloud had come and gone, so that one minute the starlight showed the cliff and the Achille and the next minute they were blotted out by a bank of cloud drifting across the sky from the east. There was no sign of movement from the French ship of the line; Southwick, watching with the nightglass, swore that the French had not rowed round taking soundings.
'That could mean they are holed so badly it doesn't matter what the depths are,' Ramage pointed out.
'True,' Southwick admitted, but added: 'If they're holed that badly, they'll never get off without help.'
Now, as the blackness slowly turned to grey, Ramage watched the ship through his telescope. No, she did not seem to be floating low in the water. But yes, perhaps she was up a bit by the bow. It was hard to be sure in the half-light, but Ramage found himself impatient to know.
Where was the convoy - when and where was the Achille due to meet it? He could not wait around too long off Fort Royal and Pointe des Nègres because he had to get down to the south to wait off Cabrit Island for the merchant ships to arrive. Why the devil was it that so often one was supposed to be in two places at once?
The Scourge passed close and Ramage grasped the speaking trumpet and shouted to Bennett. 'Thanks - that was a good job of shadowing. You can see the result. Now get down to Cabrit Island and keep a watch there.'
Bennett waved an acknowledgement and the brig turned away to head southwards.
With almost startling suddenness it was daylight and Ramage could see the Achille clearly. She had run up on the landward end of the short reef running seaward from the cliff. The cliff itself was a good fifty yards away.
'If she'd been twenty yards further out she'd have passed clear,' Southwick said, and snapped his telescope shut. 'Her captain is an unlucky fellow.'
'He's going to have a hard time at his court martial explaining why he was so close inshore,' Ramage said dryly. 'Gun flashes or no gun flashes, he was passing the Pointe much too close.'
'He was probably rattled by the Scourge's false fires,' Aitken said. 'He never thought of us waiting here for him.'
'And that's why he's on the rocks,' Ramage said unsympathetically. 'It should have been obvious that the Scourge was shadowing him, and she would only have been burning false fires to warn us.'
'Let's be thankful that French captain is unimaginative,' Southwick said. 'It makes our job easier.'
'Well,' Ramage said, 'now we are at general quarters we may as well go across and give our French friend a few broadsides. Let's weigh anchor, Mr Southwick. We'll do it under topsails, Mr Aitken.'
By now it was light enough to see the Achille clearly, and Ramage noticed that she had the same faded appearance as the Alerte: her paintwork was bleached by the hot sun and she looked as though she had been neglected for months. The effect of the blockade? Ramage suspected it was: paint (and probably rope) was not getting into Martinique. How were the French off for powder and shot? They might be getting short of wine but the island grew enough vegetables, and there were plenty of cattle, so no one would be starving.
There was no doubt that the Achille was stranded: she was close up under the cliffs and slightly up by the bow. But, Ramage noted, she was not noticeably down by the stern, so she was not making a lot of water. Just then he saw that there was a stream of water running down her side: her pump was working hard, so she definitely had a leak.
But she sat on the end of the reef like a huge black animal which had been cast up in a hurricane: helpless and at the mercy of the sea. What surprised Ramage was that there was no flurry of boats round her: he would have expected the French to be carrying out anchors, ready for an attempt to heave her off. Had the French captain decided that she was too firmly wedged on the rocks to be hove off? Or were they waiting for a flotilla of boats to come out from Fort Royal?
As if echoing his thoughts, Aitken said to him: 'They don't seem very excited over there. I'd have expected to see boats laying out anchors.'
'They might be waiting for boats to come round from Fort Royal. Or she might be too firmly lodged on the reef.'
'I doubt if she hit that hard - her foremast didn't go by the board.'
In the distance Ramage could hear the clanking of the pawls on the Dido's capstan as the anchor came home. Then came a message from Southwick: the seaman announced that the cable was at long stay, and he had hardly left the quarterdeck before another arrived to report it at short stay, followed by another to tell Ramage that the cable was up and down. Then a seaman announced that the anchor was aweigh. Immediately Aitken picked up the speaking trumpet and began shouting orders which trimmed the topsails and got the Dido under way.
Ramage gave orders which turned the ship to starboard, up towards the Achille. The Frenchman was lying with her bows into the reef and her stern to the south. The best way of attacking her without spending too long in the arc of her guns was to sail in towards the cliffs, crossing her stern and raking her. Then immediately the Dido had fired a broadside she would have to tack round, to avoid running aground, and head back in the opposite direction, firing her other broadside into the Achille's stern.
A few raking broadsides, Ramage thought grimly, should produce results, although the Dido was going to have to tack round smartly, or she too would go aground, right under the cliffs and at right angles to the Achille. He explained to Aitken what he intended to do. 'There's not much room for us to tack,' he added, 'so let's not waste any time.'
The sun was just beginning to rise over the land and the cliffs looked less menacing, long shadows replacing the harsh blackness of the night. The waves were small and not breaking along the foot of the cliffs. If one was going to go aground, Ramage thought, these were the ideal conditions. The French were lucky, although they did not seem to be doing anything to take advantage of it.
The Achille was now less than half a mile away on the Dido's larboard bow, and Ramage told Aitken: 'Warn the gunners that they will be engaging on the larboard side, and after we've tacked we'll be loosing off the starboard broadside.'
He thought how easy the forthcoming manoeuvre would have been in the Calypso frigate: just sail in, rake the Frenchman with the larboard broadside, tack smartly and sail back along the reciprocal course, raking the Achille with the starboard broadside. The frigate spun like a top when she tacked. In the Dido tacking was a more stately business: the great ship needed plenty of room to turn, and this was the first time Ramage had handled her in such a confined space. Well, one mistake and the Dido would end up like the Achille.
Southwick came bustling back to the quarterdeck. 'Nothing like a good raking broadside,' he said cheerfully, much as one might comment on the beneficial effect of a tot of rum. 'Not much room, though.'
Ramage watched as the Dido approached. Passing thirty yards off the Achille's stern would be just the right range. Probably the aftermost ten French guns would be able to fire at the Dido as she went by, and they would be able to rake her bow as she approached and her stern as she tacked, but it was a chance that had to be taken: it would be more than balanced by the thirty-seven guns of the Dido's broadside.
He gave a helm order to Jackson, who once again was the quartermaster, and looked at the Achille. He could just make out a group of French officers standing on the quarterdeck. One or two of them were pointing at the Dido, and Ramage was reminded of the Italian gesture for warding off the Evil Eye.
The range was closing fast and Ramage could make out the details of the French ship's rigging. He saw them holding a Tricolour, a gesture which made him glance astern to make sure that the Dido was flying her ensign.
Just then he saw puffs of smoke spurting out from the Achille's side as several of her aftermost guns opened fire, and a moment later he heard the thud of the explosions. But he did not feel any thump as shot hit home. Strange: the range was short enough.
'Warn the gunners they'll be opening fire in a couple of minutes,' Ramage told Aitken, who snatched up the speaking trumpet. Just then a French shot tore overhead, missing Ramage by a foot or two, and crashed into the mizenmast. A moment later a second shot passed overhead with the usual noise of calico ripping and also buried itself in the mizenmast, which was almost twenty-two inches in diameter.
Southwick sniffed, 'I get the feeling that they are aiming at us, sir.'
'They must be poor shots, then, at this range!'
The Dido surged ahead, caught by a random puff of wind funnelling off the cliffs, and the range closed rapidly: the Achille seemed to be sliding along the larboard side. Suddenly the first of the Dido's broadside guns fired and Ramage swung his telescope to watch the Achille's transom for shot holes. Yes, one had smashed in the sternlights of the captain's cabin, and then he saw several more shotholes as the broadside continued to thunder out. A section of the transom in way of the wardroom seemed to be beaten in by the weight of shot, and then he glanced forward. The cliffs were advancing rapidly and Ramage turned to the first lieutenant, who was watching him anxiously.
'Very well, tack Mr Aitken!'
Aitken called to Jackson and then, with the speaking trumpet, shouted to the men at the sheets and braces. Slowly - agonizingly slowly, it seemed to Ramage - the Dido began to turn amid the flapping of the topsails, which seemed to want to flog the masts out of the ship.
'The breeze is freshening,' Southwick commented as the ship began to swing, before starting to sail out the way she had come in. Ramage could imagine the gunners, crouched down because of the low headroom, running over to the other side of the ship to man the starboard broadside guns.
Aitken was still busy with the trim of the sails when Ramage gave Jackson a new helm order and the men at the wheel grabbed at the spokes. The ship had only just settled down on her new course with the sails trimmed when the first of the starboard broadside guns started firing, and once again the smoke drifted aft over the quarterdeck, starting them coughing again. Ramage watched the Achille's stern with his telescope and once again saw the shot hitting home. He could imagine the shot smashing their way through the comparatively thin wood of the transom and then tearing their way along the length of the ship below decks, killing men and sending up swathes of splinters.
