Ramage

Chapter 2

Ramage climbed up to the hammocks on the bulwark. God, the Barras was close now - a hundred yards perhaps, and just about abeam. He could see her bow wave, a littlesmother of white at the stern. He put the mouthpiece of the speaking trumpet to his ear and pointed the open end towards the Barras, but could hear nothing.

For the moment it seemed the French captain intended to bring his ship alongside without undue haste. Anyway, that wasthe seamanlike thing to do - no point in crashing alongside andrisk the yards of the two ships locking together.

Unless - Ramage shivered momentarily, shocked by an awful fear: unless I'm completely wrong. I must be wrong, because the Frenchman must know just how badly damaged the Sibella is: she's low in the water and rolling sluggishly: he knows she'll never be towed back to Toulon. And he's slowly closing to administer the coup de grace: it'll come any moment now: a sheet of flame rippling along the Barras's rows of gun ports like summer lightning on the horizon, and I and the rest of the Sibellas will be dead.

I've been so clever, convincing myself the Frenchman's vanity will make him want to tow the Sibella home as a prize; but I persuaded myself because I want to live: I didn't consider any other possibilities. Now - well, I've as good as murdered the wounded on the quarter-deck: men who gave me a cheer a few moments ago.

While these thoughts milled round his head he was listening intently; but he took the speaking trumpet from his ear. What's the use, he thought bitterly: I'll never hear the French captain's order to open fire at this distance; and what difference does it make, anyway?

Suddenly anger with himself drove away his fears: there was still a way out. It involved a gamble, certainly: he had to gamble that Barras would come within hailing distance before firing her final broadside. At the moment she was too far away from him to be certain they would hear if he shouted.

Ramage found himself thinking about the XVth Article of War, which laid down with harsh brevity that 'Every person in or belonging to the Fleet—' (God what a time to be reciting this) who yielded his ship 'cowardly or treacherously to the enemy... being convicted... shall suffer death.'

Well, if he was a coward or traitor, at least he would have to be alive for them to sentence him to death, and the way he'd been muddling along so far that possibility was fast becoming remote.

How far was she now? It was damned difficult to judge in the near darkness. Seventy yards? He put the speaking trumpet to his ear. Yes, he could hear French voices calling to each other now: just the normal order and acknowledgement. They must be pretty sure of themselves (and why not?) otherwise there'd be a lot of chattering. Would they open fire too soon? If only something would happen in the Barras to create a little confusion and uncertainty: that would gain him the time. Ramage put the speaking trumpet to his lips: he'd confuse them, he thought grimly.

He stopped himself from shouting just in time, and called forward: 'Bosun! Belay what I said about cutting when you hear me speaking French: don't start until I give the order.'

'Aye aye, sir.'

He put the speaking trumpet to his lips again and bellowed across the water at the French ship:

'Bon soir, messieurs!'

With the mouthpiece to his ear he heard, after what seemed an age, a puzzled 'Comment?' being shouted back from the Barras's quarter-deck. He could imagine their astonishment at being wished good evening. Well, keep the initiative.

'Ho detto "Buona serd'.'

He almost laughed at the thought of the expressions on the Frenchmen's faces as they heard themselves being told in Italian that they had just been wished 'Good evening'. There was an appreciable pause before the voice repeated:

'Comment?'

By now the Barras was not more than fifty yards away: the bow wave was sharply defined and he could pick out the delicate tracery of her rigging against the night sky, whereas a few moments ago it had been an indistinct blur.

This is the moment: once again he lifted the speaking trumpet to his lips. Now, he thought, let us commend ourselves unto the XVth Article of War and still take as long as we can about it, and he yelled in English:

'Mister Frenchman — the ship is sinking.'

The same voice answered: 'Vot say you?'

'I said, "The ship is sinking."'

He sensed Jackson anxiously shifting from one foot to another. There was a strange hush in the Sibella and he realized the wounded were not making a sound. The Sibella was a phantom ship, sailing along with no one at the helm, and manned by tense and silent men.

Then through the speaking trumpet he heard someone say in French, 'It's a trick.' It was the voice of a man who held authority and who'd reached a difficult decision. He guessed the next thing he'd hear would be that voice giving the order to open fire.

'You surrender?' came back the question, in English this time.

Hurriedly Ramage turned his head towards the Bosun and called softly:

'Bosun - start chopping.'

He had to avoid a direct reply: if he surrendered the ship and then escaped the Admiralty would be just as angry as the French at a breach of the accepted code.

Putting the speaking trumpet back to his lips he shouted:

'Surrender? Who? Our wheel is destroyed - we cannot steer - we have many wounded...'

He heard the thud of the axes and hoped the noise would not travel across to the Barras: he must drown it with his own voice, or at least distract the Frenchmen's attention.

'—We cannot steer and we have most of our men killed or wounded - we are sinking fast - we've lost our captain—'

Damn, he couldn't think of anything else to say. Jackson suddenly whispered, 'Livestock's killed, guns dismounted, burgoo's spoiled...'

'Yes, Mister,' Ramage yelled, 'all our pigs and the cow have been killed - all the guns are dismounted—'

'Comment?'

'Pigs - you've killed our pigs!'

'Je ne comprend pas! You surrender?'

'You've killed our pigs—'

The devil take it, would that foremast never go by the board?

'—The cow has been dismounted - the guns don't give any more milk - the pig's making water at the rate of a foot every fifteen minutes!'

He heard Jackson chuckling and at that moment there was a crackling from forward and a whiplash noise as several ropes parted under strain. Then there was a fearful groan, like a giant in pain, and against the night sky he could see the foremast beginning to topple. It went slowly at first; then crashed over the side, taking the yards with it.

'Wilson! the topsail and spanker!'

He saw the spanker being sheeted home to the boom end as the topsail was let fall from the yard. A few moments later, when he looked back at the Barras, she had vanished: He realized the Sibella was swinging round to larboard faster than he expected, and he glanced aft. The Barras had been caught unawares - she was still sailing on her original course and had gone too far for her guns to be able to rake the Sibella's completely unprotected stern.

He felt shaky with relief and his clothes were soaked with perspiration. He scrambled down from the bulwark, and as he jumped to the deck his knees gave way slightly and Jackson caught him. 'Pity about that cow, sir,' he said dryly, 'I just fancy a mug o' milk.'