He realized the Achille had not fired, even though the aftermost guns would bear. Had that first raking broadside driven the men from the guns, or even overturned the guns as they rested on their carriages?
Finally the last of the Dido's broadside guns and Orsini's carronades on the poop had fired and Ramage repeated his order to the first lieutenant: 'We'll wear, if you please, Mr Aitken.'
Again there was a thunderous slapping of the topsails as the Dido wore round, and Ramage knew the guns' crews would be frantically reloading, ready for the next run across the Achille's stern. But, below decks, crouching in the half darkness, they would not know what was going on. The gun captains would see the target flashing past the gunports and would pull the trigger-line, but the rest of the men would be too busy to see anything, unless they managed to snatch a glance in the instant before the gun fired. Then they would be like men trapped in a thick fog as the gun smoke drifted back in through the port, half blinding them and setting them coughing. They would swab out and load the guns by instinct rather than being able to see what they were doing, and no sooner had they got their gun reloaded than it would be time to dash across the deck to the guns on the other side.
Ramage watched the Achille again as the Dido stretched across towards her. This time there were spurts of smoke as the guns on her quarter opened fire, and Ramage felt rather than heard the thud of some of her shots hitting the Dido. It gave one a particularly helpless feeling to sail along being shot at without being able to reply, but the Dido was now sailing fast enough that only a lucky shot from the French ship would do much damage.
Ramage was just considering that when a shot tore past him and again thudded into the mizenmast.
'Our mizen seems to be the favourite target,' Southwick commented, but as if to contradict him another shot ripped along the inside of the bulwark on the starboard side, spraying out a shower of splinters which cut down a seaman who was standing just forward of the quarterdeck.
Once again the range was down to a few yards and once again Ramage lifted his telescope to watch the French ship's transom. Yes, it looked battered, but even as he noted that the first of the Dido's broadside guns opened fire, smoke spurting out and the carriages rumbling back in recoil. There were several puffs of dust, showing where shot had smashed their way through the planking, and Ramage could see several rust-ringed holes where shot had penetrated. Then, as more guns fired, another section of the transom was beaten in, and the sternlights disappeared from the captain's cabin, the frames and windows completely smashed by roundshot.
Then the Dido had shot past and Aitken was bellowing orders for the ship to tack, with the cliffs looming up ahead, as if inviting the ship to run aground. Once the sails were trimmed and the yards braced round, Ramage watched as the ship sailed back along her own wake, and the starboard broadside was fired, gun by gun, each shot smashing into the Achille's transom.
'I don't know how much more of this she can take,' Aitken said. 'It must be like a butcher's shop down below there.'
'She's had enough,' Ramage said, pointing to the Tricolour, which was now being hauled down. 'I wonder how many ships have surrendered while being aground on their own soil!'
'What do we do now?' asked Southwick. 'We can hardly take possession of her.'
'No, we just stop firing,' Ramage said. 'She's in a terrible position, hard aground and being smashed by our guns. The only thing she can do to stop her crew being slaughtered is surrender. In fact her captain knows we can hardly take possession of her and he must be worrying about whether we'll take any notice of the fact he's surrendered. I wouldn't like to be him.'
'Well, he's a lucky fellow, because not everyone could resist the temptation to take a few more passes across his stern and reduce him to a complete wreck.'
'We haven't done too badly as it is,' Aitken commented. 'The captain's cabin and the wardroom must be completely wrecked, and no doubt the rudder and tiller have been smashed. It'll take months to repair her - that's if they ever get her to float again, which I doubt.'
'We'll wear round, Mr Aitken,' Ramage said. 'Tell the gunners we won't be firing again.'
'And we never got round to boarding her,' Southwick said regretfully, patting his sword. 'Well, now we have to find that damned convoy.'
CHAPTER NINETEEN
With the Dido hove-to close to leeward of the Achille, Ramage was able to examine her closely through the glass and decide that she was securely wedged on the ledge of rocks running from the foot of the cliffs of Pointe des Nègres, and he was certain that the French did not have the means to get her off.
He thought about his orders. His main concern was to prevent the convoy getting into Fort Royal, and if he spent too much time on theAchille - setting fire to her after getting the crew off - he risked missing that quarry. Far better, he decided, to deal with the convoy and return to destroy the Achille in a few days' time. Certainly she would not be going anywhere . . .
He gave orders for the Dido to let fall the courses and topgallants and then turn southwards for Cabrit Island, passing Cap Salomon and Diamond Rock. The wind was brisk enough to let the ship make six knots over the north-going current, but it was noon before they were off Cap Salomon.
As the land slipped by to the eastward Ramage felt cheerful. It was a bright sunny day, with the sun almost overhead and the big awning stretched above the quarterdeck, providing some welcome shade. The flying fish were darting out of the sea on either side of the Dido, and the occasional tropic bird flew overhead with its urgent wing beats. There was very little sea in the lee of the land and the Dido was hardly rolling. The sea was startlingly blue close in with the coast, shading into a bluish purple further out, where the water was deeper. Close along the shore it was a very light green where it broke on sandy beaches shaded by palm trees. Occasionally Ramage could see tiny villages, a dozen huts or so, nestling among the trees.
It was not only the scenery that made Ramage feel cheerful. He was pleased because two of the French ships of war that had been in Fort Royal, waiting for the convoy, had been accounted for. The Alerte frigate was in Barbados, by now probably bought into the King's service, and the Achille was hard aground on Pointe des Nègres, helpless as far as the convoy was concerned. Which left?
Well, two or three frigates escorting the convoy. There would be the one that had sneaked into Fort Royal that night and got out again without the Scourge or the Dido seeing her, and probably two more making up the escort. Three frigates to deal with before seizing the merchantmen. Unless . . . unless the French had sent a ship of the line along as well, knowing that the British were blockading Martinique (though unaware that for much of the time it was with a tiny brig).
That would make an enormous difference: the Dido would be heavily outnumbered with a ship of the line and three frigates to deal with, especially if the frigates were skilfully handled. In that case three frigates would almost equal another ship of the line. Well, Ramage decided grimly, if that was the escort then Ramage would go at them like a wolf attacking a flock of sheep - he would try and evade the escorts and go for the merchantmen, sinking any that came within range. It would cut down on the prize money they could expect to collect, but the object was to stop the convoy getting into Fort Royal.
By now the Dido was abreast of Diamond Rock. The day when he had captured Diamond Rock and swayed up guns to the top seemed a lifetime ago. He still remembered the excitement, though - and the wild day which had ended up with the capture of a French frigate which had been renamed the Calypso. He had been very lucky: there were few young captains who managed to capture frigates and be given command of them, and certainly he had had an exciting life while commanding the Calypso. Exciting enough for him to wonder what life would be like in the comparatively enormous Dido. Well, so far it had not been too bad. But chasing a convoy was not really a job for a ship of the line, because she was big and comparatively unhandy. Yet, he realized, if there were three frigates escorting the convoy, he would have little or no success with only the Calypso.
His reverie was broken as the hands were piped to dinner and the bosun's mates went through the ship blowing their calls, which sounded like piercing bird songs.
'They'll never get her off those rocks, I don't care what anyone says,' Stafford announced, sawing away at a piece of salt beef. 'You saw how she was up by the bow, and she must have stove in several planks. Probably set back her stem a couple of feet, too.
'Even if they do get her orf,' he added, 'she'll spend a long time in the dockyard. Her stern was completely smashed in. We were going past her so slowly it was no problem aiming. Every one of my shots 'it her fair and square in the capting's sternlights.'
'It's a wonder we didn't bring her mizen down,' Jackson said. 'It must have been peppered with shot.'
'That's a very exposed reef,' Rossi said. 'A good blow making her roll might bring it down. Her mainmast too, because those shot must have torn her insides out.'
Gilbert, pushing his plate away, leaving some gristle on the side, said: 'I wonder how many men we killed.'
Jackson shook his head. 'A hundred, I shouldn't wonder. I've never seen a ship so thoroughly raked since we attacked that frigate at Capraia Island. But that was with the Calypso, and we didn't have anything like the Dido's broadside. One thing about a big ship - her broadside is something to respect.'
'It's the 32-pounders that do the damage,' Stafford said solemnly.
'You don't say,' Jackson said sarcastically. 'I thought it'd be Mr Orsini's carronades.'
'Don't underestimate those carronades: they slaughter 'em on deck: cut 'em down like 'ay before a scythe.'
'Well,' said Louis, 'we must find the convoy.'
'Ah, that might be a needle in a 'aystack,' Stafford said.
'But it has to come round the south of the island,' Gilbert protested. 'If we just wait, it will come to us.'
'It's something over twenty miles from Cabrit Island to Fort Royal,' Jackson said. 'If the convoy arrived at night, it doesn't give us much time to hunt it down.'
'Arrive at night?' exclaimed Rossi. 'They'd never dare make a landfall at night. Mamma mia, they might all end up on the beach!'
'Don't forget they've got frigates that can scout ahead,' Jackson pointed out. 'They might use them as pilots.'
'I bet they won't stop one of them French mules running slap into Diamond Rock!' commented Stafford. 'It's just put there for 'em to 'it - specially on a dark night, and we've only got the new moon for an hour.'
'This salt beef is even tougher than usual,' Jackson grumbled. 'They must've had it in pickle since the last war.'
'Antique, that's wot it is,' pronounced Stafford. 'Every piece a genuine antique. You can carve it or polish it. Just don't try to chew it: it'll stave in your gnashers.'
'Those dockyard johnnies at Portsmouth knew we were going to the West Indies, so they got rid of some of their old stuff,' Jackson said. 'It's their favourite trick. They don't issue it to any ship of the Channel Fleet because they know they'd soon hear about it. But the West Indies are far enough away.'
