Ramage and the drum beat

CHAPTER NINETEEN

As Ramage looked through his telescope at the six Spanish ships trying to claw across the head of the British line to join Cordoba's division to windward he was reminded of two stage-coach drivers racing each other to a crossroad, one coming along the northern road, the other the eastern. And he knew from bitter experience the almost paralysing tension that must now be gripping each of the Spanish captains.

Ahead of them, less than three miles away, was the safety offered by their Commander-in-Chief and nineteen comrades; but approaching rapidly on their starboard side was the British line, led by the Culloden, intent on cutting them off.

Somewhere out there on the surface of the sea, he mused, is a spot unmarked by even a wavelet, and it's the crossroads, the point where an invisible line drawn along the course the British are sailing crosses a similar line along which the Spanish are steering. Whoever reaches that point first wins the race.

For a moment he felt sympathy for the Spanish captains. Even now each of them must be bending over the compass, taking a bearing of the Culloden and comparing it with a previous one. In a couple of minutes each will again bend over the compass and take yet another. And every successive bearing tells each captain how the race is going, a race which means all the difference between life and death for many of the men of both sides.

It's all beautifully and brutally simple: if the latest compass bearing shows the Culloden more to the north, the Spaniards know they are winning the dash for that unmarked crossroad; if more to the west, then the British are winning. And if the bearing stays the same, then they'll collide.

Even as he watched, Ramage was half-ashamed to admit his sympathy for the Spaniards was growing: he was sure they were losing and a little later he was certain.

Since Sir John had already hoisted signal number five, 'Engage the enemy', all the British ships were free to fire as soon as they had a target. At this moment, he mused, every gun in the Culloden is loaded; every gun on her larboard side is ready to fire. And from what he'd heard of Captain Troubridge, he'd be waiting until the last possible moment for the maximum effect, knowing the smoke of his first broadside (almost always the best-aimed) would then hinder his gunners by drifting to leeward and masking the enemy.

Spurts of smoke along the Culloden's larboard side; then distant thunder. He glanced at Southwick, who snatched Jackson's telescope. The battle of St. Valentine's Day had begun. The spurts of smoke slowed and spread, merging into a low cloud drifting in the wind just above the surface of the sea.

Then a longer peal of thunder, and he saw the Blenheim streaming smoke from her broadside. Were they both firing at the same Spanish ship? The Prince George, third in the British line, fired her first broadside at the same instant the Culloden fired her second, and there was a brief interval as the noise rolled across the sea and the smoke began to spread before the Blenheim's second broadside.

So the six Spaniards had lost the race: by reaching that unmarked crossroad first, the British ships had been able to fire raking broadsides into the enemy's bows. Then through the smoke he saw the two leading Spanish ships turning away to starboard, to steer a parallel but opposite course to the British, and a distant rumble, followed by another, showed they were firing back as soon as their broadside guns could bear.

Suddenly Southwick, telescope still jammed to his eye, shouted excitedly. Yes! Both Spaniards had continued turning: instead of remaining on an opposite course they were bearing away, followed by the other four.

'Got their helms hard up for Cadiz!' yelled Southwick. "That's half a dozen Cordoba can cross off the board!'

Again the Culloden, Prince George and Blenheim fired, and the smoke spreading to leeward hid all six Spaniards from Ramage's view.

'Sir!' shouted Southwick, though Ramage was only a couple of yards from him, pointing excitedly across at Cordoba's nineteen ships over to starboard. They too had given up trying to cross ahead: the leaders were turning to larboard, on to an opposite course to the British. In a few minutes they'd be passing down the Culloden's starboard side, and Ramage pictured men from her larboard guns' crews hurriedly crossing to reinforce those on the starboard side.

Swinging his telescope round to look at Cordoba's division, Ramage was surprised at the foreshortened and enlarged image, which revealed just how much the leading ships were crowded together, three and four abreast, so that their outlines merged together into apparently continuous tiers of open gun ports, the barrels like bristles on a scrubbing brush.

The red hull of the Santisima Trinidad (her white strakes broken at geometrically precise intervals by the four rows of open gun ports) was even more conspicuous, although ahead of her were the Salvador del Mundo and San Josef, both three-deckers, the San Nicolas and a seventy-four he did not recognize.

The five ships hid many of the others but apart from their lack of formation - or perhaps because of it - they looked formidable. Ramage was glad to lower the telescope and get them back in perspective, but several impressions remained - among them the San Nicolas's beakhead painted in scarlet and topped by the huge gilded figurehead depicting the saint after whom the ship was named.

He heard Stafford say, 'If yer 'ears a crunch, it'll be the Commodore usin' us as a fender between the Capting and the Santy Trinidaddy!’

And Stafford was likely to be only slightly wide of the mark: in ten or twenty minutes the Kathleen would be squeezed between the upper grindstone of Cordoba's line to windward, and the lower of the British to leeward. Still, if the Commodore wanted him to leeward he'd make the signal.

'We're going to 'ave the best view of the guillotining,' Stafford said with apparent satisfaction to one of his mates, 'an' yer know the chap that gets the best view? Why, the chap that's 'avin' 'is 'ead trimmed orf. That is, if they don't stow 'im keel down, so 'e don't see the blade coming.'

'Would you want to see it comin', Staff?' someone asked.

'Oh, yus, I don't like anythin' sneakin' up on me.'

'But that bleedin' knife don't sneak up on you. It drops fastern'n a master-at-arms spottin' a bottle of rum being smuggled on board.'

'Quick or slow, I still like to see what's coming,' Stafford said philosophically. 'Like when I fell orf a main t'gallant yard.'

'When you did what?' The man's disbelief was obvious.

'You callin' me a liar?' Stafford demanded hotly. 'I fell orf the t'gallant yard of the Lively - you can see her over there - 'bout three years ago. An' keepin' me eyes open did a lot o'good.'

'Why? Use yer eyebrows to 'ang on to an invisible 'ook?'

'No invisibual 'ooks in the Lively, mate. Nah, as I fell I looked down an' saw I wasn't going to be no trouble to the first lieutenant.'

'No trouble to the first lieutenant? What's he got to do with it?'

'My oath,' exclaimed Stafford, 'I do 'ave to spell it out fer the likes o' you, don't I? If I'd 'it the deck I'd made a nasty mess, wouldn't I, and it'd 'ave to be swabbed and it'd take a lot o' scrubbin' afore the first lieutenant passed it clean again.'

'But how did keeping yer eyes open stop yer 'ittin' the deck?'

'It didn't stop me 'ittin it. I just saw I wouldn't 'it it. Oh no, don't say it! Wot I mean is I saw I was goin' ter land in the sea. An' I did.'

Southwick, who'd obviously been as intrigued by Stafford's tale as Ramage, then snapped, 'All right, belay all that chatter now. You sound like a flock of gannets round a dead whale.'

At that moment he caught sight of the lanky figure of Fuller edging up to the taffrail.

'Fuller!' he bellowed. 'Where the hell are you going? Why have you left your gun?'

'My line, sir — I thought I'd see if I'd got a fish on it, sir.'

'Fish? Line? D'you mean to say you've got a fishing line trailing over the stern?'

With disbelief and rage fighting for possession of his face, Southwick banged the scabbard of his sword against his boot. 'So help me, Fuller, we're going into battle, not Billingsgate fish market! Get the—'

He broke off, catching Ramage's eye, and said, 'All right, all right. See if you've got a bite! Then get the line in and stowed out of the way.'

'It's a tunny!' Fuller shouted. 'Here, give me a hand someone or I'll never get it on board.'

Ramage turned quickly and said, 'Let him have half a dozen hands, Mr. Southwick.'

Southwick's eyebrows lifted with surprise: he was obviously thinking, one man, yes, but six! .But Ramage knew anything that kept the men occupied for the time being would do no harm. Even the dullest must realize that unless the Commodore made a signal very soon, they'd all be staring into the muzzles of nearly a thousand guns, and although it was accepted that sail of the line did not fire into frigates and smaller vessels, Ramage trusted neither Spanish marksmanship nor the officers' ability to control their men. Conditions were almost perfect for gunnery: the wind light - sufficient to keep the sails drawing but not enough to heel the ships, and only a slight swell giving the ships a slow, even roll which would be no trouble to the gun captains, although if the Spaniards followed their usual habit of having soldiers on board, it might hinder them a little.

Unhurried, splendid in their precision, the fifteen British sail of the line continued their deadly game of follow-my-leaders - a game which would begin in earnest as the approaching San Nicolas, leading Cordoba's division, received the first broadsides of the Culloden and passed on to receive those of the Blenheim.

Each gun captain in the leading ships would be down on one knee, beyond the reach of the recoiling gun. The trigger line would be held slack in one hand and he'd be steadying himself with the other arm outstretched, peering through the open port, ready to give last-minute orders for training or elevating the gun as the target came into sight and watching anxiously for the officer-of-quarter's order to fire while the rest of his crew would be waiting, cursing, praying, joking or silent, according to their nature.

Everyone would be waiting for the moment when, with the gun aimed, the second captain would cock the lock and jump back out of the way of the recoil, and the gun captain would fire. The vital first broadside, he reflected, fired before the men were really excited, everything done by the drill book, and the decks clear of smoke. After that, officers-of-quarters usually had a hard time keeping control and almost inevitably men were soon injured by a recoiling carriage, and sometimes a gun burst because in the excitement and smoke it was accidentally loaded with a double charge of powder...

Still no signal from the Commodore for the Kathleen to change her position, so Stafford might well have a chance of seeing that guillotine blade dropping.

He could just see the stern of the Culloden. She was more than two miles ahead, and the height of her masts and those of the San Nicolas showed they were almost abeam of each other. He glanced at his watch - eleven thirty exactly, three hours since Sir John signalled 'Prepare for Battle', thirty-three minutes since he ordered the line of battle, eighteen since 'Engage the Enemy', fifteen since the Culloden opened fire on the Spanish leeward division and six since they turned away ...

Three dozen red eyes winked open and closed along the Culloden's starboard side. A moment later smoke spewed from the muzzles of the guns and then the rumble of her first broadside at Cordoba's division rolled across the great Bay of Cadiz like distant thunder.

Southwick suddenly recited a familiar piece of verse:

'From rocks and sands and barren lands

Good fortune set me free,

And from great guns and women's tongues

Good Lord deliver me!'

'Especially great guns,' Ramage added. 'We've nothing to fear from the rest - at the moment'

He had been conscious of angry voices near by and suddenly Stafford staggered in front of him and fell flat on his back. As Ramage turned in surprise he saw Fuller rubbing his knuckles. A moment later Stafford was on his feet again and with fists clenched running at the Suffolk man.

'Belay that!' roared Ramage. 'Stafford, what's going on?'

' 'E 'it me, sir.'

'Fuller! Why did you hit him?'

'He was laughing 'cause 1 lost m' fish, sir.'

'Your what?'

'M' fish, sir - the one I had on the line. I lost it'

Ramage's own fists tightened with anger until he remembered they were children at heart and had to be treated as such.

'Look, you two fools: there's the Spanish Fleet. It'll be half an hour before they're abreast of us. I can have a grating rigged and the pair of you seized up and given a dozen of the best - with the bosun's mate combing the cat between each stroke - and still have twenty minutes to spare.'

At that moment the San Nicolas's first broadside echoed across the water and, as Ramage watched, the smoke formed into a cloud slowly drifting to leeward towards the British line, menacing in its oily opacity. Suddenly it came alive as the rippling red flashes of the Santisima Trinidad's broadside flickered through it like summer lightning, followed by the noise of a thousand distant drums beating a long roll.

'My God!' exclaimed Southwick. 'So that's what a four-decker's broadside sounds like!'

Instinctively everyone looked at her target, the Culloden, just as Captain Troubridge's ship fired her second full broadside, flame darting from the muzzles of all her starboard guns. Once again the spurts of smoke fused into a thick yellowish-white cloud, blowing back on board the Culloden and completely hiding her hull for a minute or two.

Then Ramage could see her, the draught down her hatchways forcing the smoke to pour out of her gun ports again as if she was on fire. The men would be coughing and spluttering while hastily reloading and running out the guns. But there was little sign of damage from the broadsides of the San Nicolas and the Santisima Trinidad.

'Can you see anything sir?' Southwick inquired anxiously.

'Nothing that matters - just a hole or two in the topsails.’

'Cordoba's got a yaw-sighted lot of gun captains. Just think - a broadside by the biggest ship o' war in the world, and nothing to show for it!'

Ramage's eye was suddenly caught by a long trail of objects floating in the water between the Captain and Diadem. They were small and he had to hold the telescope steady to see them clearly. Hmm ... dozens of casks, what seemed to be several small tables, scores of tiny crescents of wood - probably staves of barrels - and half a dozen curious white rectangles which looked like canvas berths. Obviously some of the leading ships in the line with a lot of gear on deck when the time came to clear for action had hove them over the side out of the way.

'What are they, sir?' inquired Southwick.

'Ammunition for the Navy Board clerks.'

The Master looked puzzled.

'Tables, casks, staves ... Think of all the forms to be filled in to account for them.'

Southwick roared with laughter. 'If they've got any sense they'll report 'em as destroyed in battle. That always beats those dam' quill drivers! And that reminds me, sir, we've got some sails that want replacing. More patches than original cloths. If I hear as much as one shot whistle overhead, we'll get a couple of new jibs out of it!'

More broadsides - now the Prince George and Orion were firing and several Spanish ships replying; but as they were to windward the smoke hid them from the Kathleen. Within three or four minutes, as more ships opened fire, the broadsides became ragged, echoing all round the horizon like continuous thunder.

Occasionally Ramage sighted some of the Spanish centre and rear ships for a few moments as they sailed out of the banks of smoke. The San Nicolas was still at the head of Cordoba's division with the Santisima Trinidad on her starboard quarter and the Salvador del Mundo to larboard (and, Ramage noted, completely unable to fire even one of her guns because the Santisima Trinidad was between her and the enemy). Then close astern of the Santisima Trinidad was the San Isidro with the San Josef on her larboard side and unable to fire...

He pointed out to Southwick how Cordoba's failure to control his ships was halving the guns he could bring to bear on the British.

'Doesn't seem to make much odds anyway, sir. The Culloden's been fired at by five of 'em so far, including the Santisima Trinidad, without much sign of damage!'

Ahead of the Kathleen the battle now presented an incongruous sight: on the larboard bow the centre and rear ships of the British line were sailing into battle through the smoke from the broadsides of those in the van, while over on the starboard bow the leading Spanish ships were sailing out of the smoke of battle in the opposite direction,

'The Commodore's signalling sir,' called Jackson. 'Our pendant, then one one five. "To take up station astern".'

For a moment Ramage was tempted to interpret the signal literally and bear away into the Captain's wake, ahead of the Diadem and Excellent, but the Commodore's meaning was clear: the Kathleen was to station herself at the rear of the line, astern of the Excellent.

'Very well, acknowledge. Mr. Southwick, we'll take up our station one cable astern of the Excellent.'

The Master obviously shared Ramage's unwillingness to leave their present vantage point and took his time giving the necessary orders.

Suddenly Ramage saw the San Nicolas was no longer approaching head on, parallel with the British line. She had altered course at least a point to larboard. And the ship astern was this very moment following in her wake. If the rest did the same the whole Spanish line would soon be slanting away on an increasingly diverging course: the British would be going down the right-hand side of a 'V’ towards the join (the rear of the Spanish line) while the Spaniards would be sailing up the left side towards the open end, the distance between the leading Spanish and the last British ship increasing every moment.

Because the Kathleen was still well up to windward of the British line Ramage could see this alteration of course quite clearly. But the San Nicolas was almost abreast the Victory: to Sir John it would be almost imperceptible; in fact with all the smoke it probably wouldn't be noticed at all.

He stared for several moments, and saw there was also no chance of the Victory seeing any signals from the Kathleen. But he also realized that since the San Nicolas was not yet abreast the Captain, the Commodore was bound to spot she had altered course away: her turn was gradually taking her out of range of the Captain.

Finally he snapped the telescope shut with a vicious jab. The copper of its tubes made his fingers smell. Lieutenants, he told himself, shouldn't question the actions of admirals, and as he was trying to thrust aside his doubts Southwick said: 'Puzzles me why we didn't tack in succession as soon as the Culloden was abreast the San Nicolas.'

Ramage was startled and gave a noncommittal grunt: the old Master's gruff comment echoed his own thoughts, which he'd drawn on a corner of the page with a question mark beside it. If Sir John have given that order as soon as the Culloden was in a position where tacking would take her up alongside the San Nicolas leading the Spanish van, each of the following British ships would have turned in succession in the Culloden's wake, so the second ship, the Blenheim, would have got alongside the second Spaniard, followed by the Prince George tackling the third and so on until both lines were sailing on the same course alongside each other, ship matched against ship. There was one other possiblity.

'He might be going to order us to tack together.'

It was Southwick's turn to grunt.

'With those leading ships turning away from us? We'd never get near 'em.'

And again Ramage was forced to admit perhaps his own fears weren't groundless: Southwick was making the same point.

‘Trouble is,' Southwick grumbled. 'I'm dam' sure that with all this smoke they can't see what's happening from the Victory.'

Waiting until the two lines were abreast of each other - when the San Nicolas leading the Spanish van was level with the Excellent at the rear of the British line, and the Culloden at the head of the British line level with the last Spaniard - and then ordering the Fleet to tack together was standard and meant the whole line attacked at the same time. But it depended on one thing: that both lines were on opposite and parallel courses or, if not, that the ships farthest from the enemy had a chance to get up to their opposite numbers in the enemy line.

'Look,' Southwick said, 'the San Nicolas has gone round even more, and I bet the Santisima Trinidad's going to follow in her wake. They don't want to fight: mark my words, sir, they're quitting!'

Ramage opened the telescope reluctantly, feeling like a child in bed who'd heard a strange noise in the night and was curious yet frightened, uncertain whether to look and confirm his fears or hide his head under the sheet.

There was no doubt: the San Nicolas's turn was part of some plan Cordoba had devised; it wasn't because she had sustained too much damage, or her captain was scared of British powder and shot. The ships bunched up astern had turned in her wake now, and were being followed by the rest. The Spanish line was becoming half-moon-shaped where they turned, but the trouble was they were turning after they'd passed the Victory, hidden from her by the smoke. Those ahead of her, which Sir John could see, hadn't reached the point on the bulge where they turned ...

Yet what on earth could he—

'Flagship's signalling sir,' called Jackson. 'General - number eighty. "To tack in succession".'

In succession, not together! That proved Sir John could not see Cordoba's van. And as far as Ramage could see - for the Kathleen was still to windward of the line, still bearing away slowly to get into position astern of the Excellent - the Culloden was well past the last ship in the Spanish line ... Tacking in succession meant the Culloden would turn and might with a bit of luck and good seamanship get alongside the last ship, but the Blenheim and those astern of her would tack and find no opponents...

Ramage felt there was some terrible flaw in his reasoning as he drew another sketch of them tacking in succession; some simple factor he had overlooked which would be the key to it all, which would reveal Sir John's real intentions. He then drew a diagram of them tacking together, and put a question mark beside that, too.

Southwick had no such doubts about Sir John's intentions.

'You're sure it's number eighty?' he snapped to Jackson.

The American nodded but sensing the questions had a greater significance which was lost on him looked again. 'Yes, sir, eighty it is.'

'Give me the signal book a moment,' and as he looked up the number he growled, 'Watch in case they run up "Annul".'

Turning to Ramage he said, 'It's right, sir, that's number eighty. But d'you think there's been a mistake? I was expecting "Tack together".'

Ramage said nothing: he glanced at his watch - eight minutes past twelve - and then looked at the leading Spanish ships, an idea forming in his mind.

'But sir,' Southwick expostulated, 'they'll all escape if we tack in succession!'

'Wait and see if the Victory hoists "Annul".'

'But the Culloden's already coming round,' wailed Southwick. 'All we're doing is grabbing the tip of the rat's tail when we've got his whole body dam' nearly alongside!'

'That'll be enough, Mr. Southwick,' Ramage said shortly. There was a chance Sir John had some trick up his sleeve, but he was beginning to doubt it: with a given wind a ship could sail only at a certain speed and in certain directions: likewise there were only four aces in a pack of cards.