Ramage's Diamond (22 page)

Southwick, crouching down and peering through the aftermost quarterdeck gun port, the white headband barely visible below his flowing white hair, said quietly: “The one to starboard is beginning to close in.”

Jackson, also stretching over a gun and peering through a port on the larboard side, hissed: “The one this side is doing the same, sir; bearing up on to a converging course.”

Ramage walked to the forward end of the quarterdeck with the night glass and looked at both ships. They were acting together, the windward one easing sheets and coming crabwise down to leeward, the one to larboard hardening sheets a trifle and bearing up. It was difficult to judge, since the sails were illdefined in the darkness, but they would crash alongside in about three minutes.

There was no need for lookouts any more. He tapped Stafford on the shoulder: “Go round the ship and tell the lookouts to go to their positions for repelling boarders; bring Mr Orsini back here.”

The French were patient and confident: they could have crashed alongside fifteen minutes ago, when it was really dark, but they had waited for the cloud to clear and give them the advantage of intermittent starlight. That needed courage. The two schooner captains must have been fighting their impatience and anxiety to attack before the
rosbifs
spotted them, but they had waited, believing that almost complete darkness would increase their own problems more than the risk of discovery. They needed a little light, even if it doubled the risk of the
Juno
's lookouts spotting them. These were cool fellows, and Ramage wondered if they were in fact privateersmen. From the way they had waited and were now manoeuvring, they were more likely to be manned by French naval officers and disciplined men from the two frigates, and probably carrying a few score French troops to carry out the actual boarding. He was up against trained men, not the usual cut-and-run privateersmen whose only concern was loot.

As the schooners converged so that they were now only fifty yards apart more banks of cloud came up from the east. They were taking an enormous risk that they would be sighted … Not so enormous now, he corrected himself: both those schooner captains think that even if they are sighted at this very moment the
Juno
has only two minutes to send the ship's company to quarters. The French think they have only to deal with the watch on deck, with the watch below scrambling up sleepily, unarmed and bewildered …

Through the night glass he saw the big sails begin to broaden: they were easing sheets, slowing down to let the
Juno
sail between them. Southwick was beside him now, crouched down and peering over the quarterdeck rail. “They know what they're up to, those fellows,” he whispered.

“They certainly do,” Ramage muttered grimly. “I'm wondering if they'll get suspicious if we don't give some indication soon that we've sighted them.”

“Leave it until the last moment, sir,” Southwick advised. “There's not much they can do now except get alongside, even if they do get suspicious. If one of our men gives a shout when they're almost alongside it'd be enough.”

Stafford was back with Orsini now, and Ramage told the boy to hurry round and tell the lieutenants that a minute or less before the schooners came alongside there would be a shout from the quarterdeck. “But,” Ramage emphasized, “tell them they are to stay out of sight and do nothing until they hear me shout, ‘Repel boarders!'”

Orsini repeated the instructions and then disappeared into the darkness.

The schooners were barely the length of the
Juno
ahead and edging in. It was excellent seamanship, and he pictured the scores of Frenchmen crouching down on the schooners' decks, pistols, pikes and cutlasses ready, waiting to leap up the
Juno
's sides.

“Steer small, blast it!” he hissed at the men at the wheel as the
Juno
yawed. It would be ironical if she rammed one of the schooners accidentally. Ironical and dangerous because it would probably smash the frigate's jib-boom, if not the bowsprit as well.

Now he could see each schooner's transom clearly, and started worrying about whether the schooner to windward had made allowances for her main and foresail booms, which were now protruding several feet over the lee side and likely to hit the
Juno.
More irony, but he was anxious to capture both vessels undamaged. If one of them escaped his whole plan would have failed.

The
Juno
's jib-boom was now level with the transom of both schooners, and because of the frigate's forward movement the two French vessels seemed to be moving astern. He would wait until their transoms were abreast the foremast, then imitate a lookout's warning. They were abreast now!

“Sail close to larboard!” he yelled in an alarmed voice and took a firm grip on the speaking-trumpet.

A heavy thump to starboard, another to larboard, the scraping of wood against wood and metal against metal, the slatting of canvas and a rasping hiss as the schooner to windward let her main halyards go at a run, and then uproar: a fantastic medley of French cheers and curses, threats and orders.

Fear hit him like a blast of cold air as he kept glancing from side to side for the first sign of a French head over the bulwarks. Yes, to larboard! He jammed the speaking-trumpet to his mouth. “Repel boarders! Come on, Junos, let every shot count!”

Suddenly the frigate's bulwarks were swarming with men. Some seamen perched on the hammock nettings were firing into the schooners; others hung over the nettings slashing down with cutlasses. More were squeezing through the ports and jabbing with boarding-pikes. Pistols and muskets were going off along both sides with the curious popping that never sounded dangerous. There was a rattle and a crash as the schooner to leeward lowered its mainsail and a moment later the foresail came crashing down. From the screams that followed Ramage guessed that the gaff had landed on men below.

“We're holding 'em,” Southwick said excitedly.

“They haven't sorted themselves out yet,” Ramage snapped. He saw grapnels with ropes attached being thrown up on to the
Juno
's decks: the French weren't risking the ships drifting apart, and this should help him more than them.

Southwick suddenly pointed with his sword: “There, sir, by the starboard forechains!”

The Junos were being forced down to the deck and Frenchmen were swarming over the hammock nettings, screaming and yelling. The flash of pistol shots flickered across the deck. Ramage waited: his dozen former Tritons were the only reserve. Let the French get right down on the deck; it was easier for the Junos to get at them there.

The white headbands were effective and showed up well. Now the French were bursting over by the main chains; a dozen or more had reached the deck and he saw a group of Junos dash into the middle of them. They were being held off along the larboard side, but more were pouring at the same two places on the starboard side.

“More'n a hundred o' them to starboard,” Southwick growled. Ramage still felt chilled although the fear was going. He began rubbing at the scar on his brow but found the white band in his way. How many Frenchmen were down there? The two masses of men moved like clumps of seaweed in a swirling current. There were few pistol and musket shots now; just the clang of cutlass against cutlass and the screams of men cut down. Slowly the two groups were melting into one. The Junos were holding their own the rest of the way aft along the starboard side and all along the larboard side, but the group of Frenchmen was growing as more men poured over the bulwark.

There was no chance of the Junos holding them there: the men covering that section must have been killed or wounded. Down in the schooner someone was directing the boarders, sending up more men wherever they would be most effective. They had found the weak spot along the
Juno
's side and were quick to exploit it. If another twenty Frenchmen got on board the
Juno
she might be overwhelmed.

“Southwick, take the conn,” he yelled. “You Tritons, follow me!”

Before he could move, wrenching at his sword and holding a pistol in his left hand, there was a shout of protest from Southwick: “'Tis not for you to fight off boarders, sir! You handle the ship! Follow me, men!”

Before Ramage could stop him the old man, sword whirling over his head, ran to the quarterdeck ladder, bellowing: “Junos, come on, m'lads, cut 'em to pieces!”

Jackson and Stafford were close behind him, yelling their heads off, and the rest of the seamen followed. A startled and angry Ramage found himself on the quarterdeck with only the four men at the wheel and the quartermaster. He thrust the pistol back in his belt, thought better of it and sheathed his sword instead. He took out the second pistol, cocked them both and ran to the starboard side. The schooner's taffrail was below and five yards forward, and he could just make out men grouped round the binnacle. In the flash of a musket shot fired from the schooner's deck he saw that two of the men were wearing uniform. They were staring up at the
Juno
's main chains.

He aimed carefully at one of the men and fired. Though the flash blinded him momentarily he thought he saw the man fall. Hurriedly switching pistols, he saw the second uniformed man crouching over the first, who had fallen to the deck. Again he aimed carefully, cursing the excitement that made his hand tremble like a leaf in the breeze. He held his breath for a moment and fired again, and saw the second man collapse.

With luck they were the Captain and First Lieutenant, though whether their loss would make any difference now he did not know. He should have put Marine sharpshooters round the quarterdeck, but he had forgotten. He ran to the quarterdeck rail and looked forward. Along the larboard side there was fighting on the deck but the only Frenchmen who had managed to get on board were being dealt with. To starboard the group of Frenchmen on the
Juno
's deck was being broken up: men without white headbands were running in all directions, bolting, trying to find somewhere to hide from flashing cutlasses and jabbing pikes.

He saw Southwick's white hair in the midst of the mêlée; even above the din he could hear the old man yelling encouragement as he swept left and right with his great sword. Paolo's small figure was beside him wielding a cutlass and screaming excitedly in high-pitched Italian. Ramage could distinguish a scream of blasphemy that would have made a hardened Neapolitan brigand blanch.

He stood helpless at the quarterdeck rail, separated from the fighting and holding two empty pistols. Dare he leave the quartermaster to cover the quarterdeck? He looked back along the larboard side again and was surprised to see that there was now very little movement. Men with white headbands were back on the hammock nettings—damnation, not just on the nettings but going over the ship's side, down into the schooner, with Aitken standing at the break of the gangway waving his sword and leading the men! There were bodies lying all round the guns but he was thankful to see that only a few of them wore the white headbands.

On the starboard side Southwick's men were slowly breaking up the group of Frenchmen. He saw two French turn and bolt back to the bulwarks, obviously trying to jump back on board the schooner. A third man followed, and then three more.

Further aft, only a few yards away from him, Wagstaffe was standing up in the hammock nettings surrounded by Junos and a moment later he vanished from sight and the nettings cleared of men. Ramage ran to the side and looked down, watching Wagstaffe lead his men aft along the schooner's deck. More Junos were dropping down and suddenly a group of French appeared, scrambling over the nettings from the frigate's deck, some falling in their haste, and tumbling down to the schooner. A moment later Southwick was standing on the nettings above them, his sword waving. He leapt down on to the schooner's deck, followed by a dozen or more men with white headbands.

Except for sprawled figures, the
Juno
's decks were now clear. Ramage ran from one side to the other frantically trying to distinguish what was going on in the darkness. From the deck of the schooner to larboard he could hear Aitken's voice, the Scots accent very strong, shouting orders, not yells of encouragement. The Marine Lieutenant was bellowing at his men to form up aft. Well, he thought grimly, that schooner is secured. He ran back to the starboard side in time to see Southwick leading his men in a rush aft to a knot of Frenchmen who were standing with their backs to the taffrail. There was shouting, though he could not distinguish the words, but Southwick had paused. Now he could see Frenchmen throwing down their swords and pikes in surrender.

His knees were shaky, his hands trembling, his stomach queasy. He wanted to giggle, and he wanted to talk to someone. He only just stopped himself from clapping the quartermaster on the back. Three minutes ago he had been afraid he had failed and that the
Juno
would be taken.

Benson, waving a cutlass, was trying to catch his attention. “Message from Mr Aitken, sir: he—” the boy realized he was gabbling and made an effort to keep his voice even. “Mr Aitken's respects, sir, and the schooner to larboard is secured.”

“Very well, Benson,” Ramage said. “My compliments to Mr Aitken, and ask him to report to me as soon as he finds it convenient.”

The boy ran off, and Ramage hoped he would remember the exact wording: Aitken would appreciate the “convenient.” Then Jackson was standing in front of him, white band askew, the blade of his cutlass dark. “Mr Wagstaffe has the schooner to starboard under command, sir, but he said to tell you it'll be half an hour before he's ready to get under way.”

Ramage laughed, a laugh which nearly got out of control. “Very well, Jackson, my compliments to Mr Wagstaffe and tell him to let me know how many prisoners he has.”

“The French Captain and the First Lieutenant are dead, sir: we found 'em lying together by the binnacle. She's called
La Mutine
and was manned by French seamen with soldiers for boarders.”