Ramage's Diamond (42 page)

He turned to Southwick as the signal was hoisted and pointed to the frigate, which was slowly drifting westward through the Fours Channel, turning slowly like a feather in a stream as the wind caught her torn maintopsail aback and swung her round so far that she tacked and the sail filled. “Aitken will be getting to leeward of her in a few minutes, and I want the
Juno
tacking back and forth about eight hundred yards to windward.”

“She hasn't hauled down her colours yet,” Southwick commented as he put the speaking-trumpet to his lips.

Ramage was less concerned with what was little more than a formality than with the problem of physically taking possession of this frigate and the two that were locked together. There would be nine hundred Frenchmen altogether. One mistake on his part, one hint to any of the three ships that the
Juno
and the
Surcouf
had less than seventy men on board, might result in some enterprising French captain boarding them, capturing both ships, getting the merchantmen manned again, and sailing the convoy into Fort Royal. There he would report the loss of one frigate blown up, two damaged but repairable, and two more captured: a net gain of one frigate for the French.

N
OW
the
Juno
was running down with a quartering wind towards the disabled frigate, which was beginning to turn again, presenting her transom. Ramage snatched the telescope and read the name,
La Comète,
painted in flowing gold script on a background of red. Like the
Surcouf
she was a well-designed ship with the same flowing sheer, but two white strakes along her hull instead of one gave the appearance of lower freeboard—an example Ramage noted, of how a pot of paint can improve the sheer of one ship and spoil that of another.

He looked again, remembering the cloud of dust he had seen rising from one of the Diamond batteries' roundshot, then some of his elation vanished. The two white strakes certainly gave
La Comète
the appearance of a lower freeboard than usual, but the streams of water running through her scuppers told him that there was more to it than appearance: she was settling in the water. She had a bad leak—perhaps more than one—and the Frenchmen were pumping desperately. They had the head pumps rigged, and the steady stream of water pouring over the side amidships was from the chain pump.
That
explained why the French were not rushing about trying to rig preventer stays and get the ship under way. If three hundred Frenchmen could not stop her sinking what hope had a handful of men from the
Juno
and
Surcouf?
He realized that in the past fantastic fifteen minutes he had been counting on having three French frigates as prizes …

He waved to Southwick, who came running up to take the proffered telescope. The Master examined
La Comète
for a full minute, then gave the glass back to Ramage. “Seems a pity to let her slip through our fingers …”

Ramage walked forward and leaned his elbows on the quarterdeck rail. He never allowed any men to do that, and he had never previously done it himself, but now his head felt heavy.

Scattered round him were ten prizes. If Admiral Davis had caught the convoy with the
Invincible
and three frigates, he would have been delighted with himself for having destroyed one ship and captured the rest. Ramage realized bitterly that that was the difference: ten helpless ships were not ten prizes. Nothing was a prize until she was under his control and now his lack of men was likely to prove disastrous.

One frigate was sinking, two more were locked together, seven merchantmen were slowly drifting out to sea, and the further they got to the west the more the current would catch them. Finally they would come clear of the wind shadow cast by the island of Martinique and probably end up drifting across the Caribbean to Jamaica.

Southwick was still standing beside him, and looking ahead they could both see
La Comète.
She was less than a mile away now, with the
Surcouf
racing down to get to leeward of her.

“It's a good thing we can leave the merchantmen for a while longer, sir,” Southwick said quietly. “Wagstaffe is tacking back and forth between them and the beach making sure those beggars don't row out again. Leaves us a few hours of daylight to tackle the frigates one at a time …”

Ramage stared at the two frigates locked together before answering. All their sails had been furled, but the jib-boom and bowsprit of one was still locked into the other. Through the glass it seemed as if her bow had ridden up the side and then dropped down in a chopping movement, perhaps smashing a hole in the planking above the waterline. They would not get free for many hours.

“One at a time, Mr Southwick,” Ramage agreed, and the Master's cheery and confident manner helped the plan forming in his mind. “First we force
La Comète
to surrender …”

“Then I'll go over and inspect the damage, sir,” Southwick interrupted eagerly.

“No, you remain on board here. I'll go over and take the carpenter and some of his mates with me.”

“But, sir,” Southwick protested, “'tis not a job for a captain!”

“You don't speak French, and there's more to it than hammering in leak plugs. We need bluff more than planks and nails.”

He cut short Southwick's protests by ordering Jackson to tell a cutter's crew to stand by and hand over to someone else as quartermaster.

La Comète
's Tricolour was still streaming in the wind. Would the French go through the ritual, by which they set so much store, firing a broadside before hauling down the Colours? She was still turning slowly and by the time the
Juno
reached her she would be lying with her bow to the south.

“We'll pass along her larboard side about five hundred yards off,” he told Southwick. “Warn the starboard side guns not to open fire until I give the order. That is most important.”

Now the
Surcouf
was passing a few hundred yards to leeward of
La Comète,
and Ramage watched her bow swing as she began to tack back again.

Southwick brought the
Juno
round so that she was heading south, with
La Comète
broad on her starboard bow. He shouted orders down to the starboard-side guns, and then, turned to face Ramage, waiting for the next move.

Ramage had the telescope to his eye, watching the French frigate's quarterdeck. A group of officers was standing by the binnacle and men were running to the guns. They had left it very late and there were not many men. A score or more on the other side were still at the head pumps—and the wheel had gone! At that moment there were spurts of flame and smoke as four or five of
La Comète
's guns fired into the sea: the
Juno
was too far astern of her for the guns to be trained that far aft. Then, suddenly, the Tricolour came down at the run.

Southwick began a bellow of laughter but broke it off to shout through his speaking-trumpet that the starboard guns were not to fire. Then he strode over to Ramage, giving another of his contemptuous sniffs. “You guessed they'd do that, sir,” he said almost accusingly. “What do they call it?”

“Firing a few guns
‘pour l'honneur de pavillon.'
”

“Just another way of covering yourself against being accused of surrendering without firing a shot,” Southwick growled, watching closely as the
Juno
passed the frigate.

“It seems to be necessary in the French service,” Ramage murmured, his eyes taking in the damage to
La Comète
's yards and rigging. “And they're always careful to fire the shots where they'll do no harm. Now,” he added briskly, “if you'll heave-to the
Juno
to windward, and pace the quarterdeck like an irascible captain, I'll go over and deal with these Frenchmen.”

“Irascible captain!” Southwick snorted.

“Oh yes,” Ramage said. “As far as the French are concerned, I'm merely the First Lieutenant. You've given me harsh orders which I've no choice but to carry out. You'll listen to no argument …”

Southwick grinned as he began bellowing orders to back the
Juno
's fore-topsail. “By the way, sir, I'll furl the t'gallants if I may.”

Fifteen minutes later Ramage climbed up the side of
La Comète,
thankful that the French had thoughtfully rigged well-scrubbed manropes. He was followed by half a dozen men armed to the teeth and who, he had noticed as the cutter was being rowed over, were all former Tritons.

As he reached the deck and acknowledged the salutes of the group of French officers he saw out of the corner of his eye that not only was the wheel missing but a gaping hole had been torn in the deck where it had stood. A plunging shot from one of the guns of the Diamond batteries had done terrible damage.

One of the officers stepped forward, proffering his sword, which he was holding horizontally in both hands. Ramage noticed that his uniform was identical with the other officers, but covered in fine dust. The man's face was white and he was gripping the sword like an alcoholic clutching a glass.

“I am Lieutenant Jean-Baptiste Thurot, sir, and to you I surrender the French national frigate
La Comète.
”

Ramage took the sword and then saw that the man's hands were trembling violently. He answered in French: “I accept the surrender, but your Captain … ?”

Thurot swallowed and, turning slightly, gestured towards the hole in the quarterdeck. “He was standing there talking to me … There was a terrible crash … I was hurled three metres against the taffrail … All we found of him was …” He pointed at one of the officers, who held out a bent sword and a torn tricorne.

“My sympathies,” Ramage said formally. “You were the First Lieutenant?”

“Yes, so I succeeded to the command. But before I could warn
La Prudente,
she blew up. Those guns on
le Diamant—mon Dieu!
”

Ramage passed the surrendered sword to Jackson and immediately another French lieutenant stepped forward to proffer his. Ramage took them one after another until Jackson had four tucked under his arm.

Ramage told Thurot to take him on an inspection of the damage. It took ten minutes, and at the end of it Ramage felt more hopeful.
La Comète
had two holes in her. The shot which had killed the Captain and smashed the wheel had come in at a steep angle over the starboard quarter as she tacked back to the convoy. After ploughing through the wheel and deck it had gone on through the half deck and buried itself in the ship's side in the Second Lieutenant's cabin, springing two planks and forcing them outwards but not actually making a hole. A second shot had gone down the main hatch and smashed through the hull planking well below the waterline.

The French carpenter's mates had managed to nail canvas and tallow-smeared boards over the first leak, but little had been done about the second because the carpenter had by then lost both his nerve and his head. Now he was running around in a panic, screaming at his mates, picking up a maul one moment and tossing it down the next. The officers could do nothing with him, nor would he let them set seamen to work. When Ramage approached with Thurot the carpenter caught sight of the British uniform, uttered an enraged bellow and rushed at Ramage, to find himself staring at a hard-eyed Jackson who had dropped the surrendered swords with a clatter and had the point of his cutlass an inch from the man's corpulent stomach.

Ramage wasted no time: he ordered Jackson and Rossi to secure the man while Thurot was sent to get irons and Stafford told to fetch the
Juno
's carpenter and his mates, who were still waiting in the cutter.

The carpenter took one look and told Ramage what wood he needed and that he and his mates had their tools with them. He would have the leak under control in two hours. Ramage found that one of the French lieutenants spoke English and ordered him to stay with the carpenter to act as translator and make sure he received whatever he needed.

Then he took Thurot to the dead Captain's cabin, intending to give him instructions. As they walked into the cabin Ramage saw that, apart from the battle damage, nothing had been touched. The desk drawers were still closed and presumably locked, and beside the desk was a small wooden box with a roped lid and holes drilled into the sides.

As Ramage stopped and stared, Thurot noticed the box and gasped. He moved towards it but Ramage waved him away and made him sit down. Pulling the lid back, Ramage took out the handful of papers and glanced through them. The French challenges and replies for several more months, a copy of the signal book (there must have been two on board, because presumably one had been on deck) as well as the Captain's orders and letter book.

Ramage sat at the desk with the box between his feet. Thurot was now verging on collapse. Obviously badly shaken when the shot blasted a hole in the deck, he now realized that he had failed to throw the weighted box containing the ship's secret papers over the side. In the Royal Navy that was, next to cowardice, one of the most serious offences a commanding officer could commit. In the France of Bonaparte Ramage guessed that it might well lead to Thurot's execution if it was ever discovered. He looked at the box and then at Thurot. The man's eyes dropped, his skin seemed to turn green and perspiration beaded his face.

“The Widow?” Ramage asked in a conversational tone.

Thurot nodded. The guillotine, nicknamed The Widow, did indeed await an officer who allowed the enemy to capture such papers. Being “married to the widow” was the slang expression for an execution.

“My Captain,” Ramage began, as though the affair of the secret papers was of no further consequence to him, “could send you all to England as prisoners. There you'd rot in the hulks, as well you know.”