Governor Ramage R. N. (13 page)

“At least we're up to windward,” Southwick said.

This was Ramage's only advantage: he could wait until the last moment before doing anything, wait until there could be no mistake about what the
Peacock
and the second ship intended to do. What, exactly, did he intend to do? Strictly speaking he ought probably to drop down to the
Peacock,
close with her and ask her what she was up to. If there was trouble he would have to explain to a court martial why he had not done so.

But he didn't want to show his hand until the last moment. He was certain that the
Peacock
was up to something sinister and there was very little time left. His greatest ally would be surprise, if he could avoid raising the alarm. If he was wrong, and there was an innocent explanation of the
Peacock's
manoeuvres, the damned ship could give the Admiral all the ammunition he wanted to fire the final broadside into the Ramage family.

And he knew that Southwick was thinking of that, too; aye, and Jackson as well, up aloft there. They were all on his side;
and they could all be wrong …

The
Peacock
was closing fast: Ramage was startled when he looked over the
Triton's
quarter with the night glass: even though it showed the
Peacock
upside down, she nearly filled the eyepiece.

“Quickly, Mr Southwick; check over the larboard side guns; I wasn't listening as they reported.”

“Aye aye, sir; I was, though, and all is well.”

Southwick disappeared forward and again Ramage turned towards the
Peacock,
at the same time hailing Jackson to come down: the
Peacock
would soon be close enough to hear any shouting on board the
Triton.
If only there was some moonlight, so he could get a sight of the
Peacock's
decks. Were they empty of all but the watch?

The Master reported: “All loaded and the men hoping they won't have to draw shot and powder.”

It was a childishly reassuring report: the only way of avoiding having the men drawing shot and powder from the bore of a gun was to fire it.

The
Peacock
was almost abreast the second ship: almost abreast the ship astern of the
Topaz:
in one minute's time he had to do something … ye gods,
do
something! And he still hadn't given it any real thought. Suddenly he felt cold as he remembered Goddard's warning at the convoy conference about the valuable cargo. He knew now what the
Peacock
was doing and it was probably too late. He was so frightened he froze; the worst kind of fear, the fear for someone else.

“Mr Southwick!” His voice was high and he hoped the men would not notice. “Mr Southwick—I'm laying us aboard that rascal!”

He put the speaking-trumpet to his mouth: “Man the weather braces—tend the lee ones … Quartermaster, larboard four points … Ease away and haul in; run away with it, lads … right, tally aft those sheets …”

Why hadn't he shaken the reefs out of the topsails? He had thought of it earlier and decided against it for fear the
Peacock
would see men out on his yards, but he'd been wrong: he needed every square inch of canvas now to catch up.

As the
Triton's
bow swung round towards the
Topaz,
the great yards overhead slowly moved, keeping the sails filled. Men, one behind the other on the ropes like one side of a tug of war, hauled and strained.

Within a minute the
Triton
was steering for the head of the convoy. He could just see the
Peacock
silhouetted, larger and closer. The convoy was moving slowly to starboard; he now needed to steer a converging course, slightly crabwise to starboard.

Hurriedly he shouted once again the orders to trim the sails. A few words to the quartermaster and the
Triton's
bowsprit swung slightly to starboard, heading towards where the
Peacock
should be in a few minutes. Should be—damn and blast, he'd never make it under just topsails, but it'd throw the ship—and himself, if he was honest—into confusion if he set the forecourse now, and then tried to get it clewed up as he turned alongside the
Peacock.

Last-minute rush and stupidity was what lost battles, and he was proving it….

With the wind almost dead astern, the
Triton
was at last picking up a bit of speed: the seas, too, were now dead astern, instead of being on the quarter, and that small fact added its quota to her speed through the water.

“Puzzle to know whether to raise the alarm or not,” Southwick said, and Ramage realized that the old Master was thinking aloud, not asking a question. He was holding something out to Ramage—a cutlass.

As Ramage took it he noticed that Southwick had buckled on his own huge sword, a real meat-cleaver.

“You stay on board, Mr Southwick,” he said. “No, dashing over with a boarding party. That will be Appleby's job. Hear that, Appleby?”

“Aye aye, sir,” the master's mate answered cheerfully, waving his cutlass. “My party's all ready.”

Since Ramage had guessed what the
Peacock
probably intended he had done all he could to counter it. But there was still just a chance that he was completely wrong and the
Peacock
entirely innocent.

There would be nearly a minute, as the
Triton
turned on to a parallel course, in which he had to decide whether he shouted a cheerful warning to the
Peacock,
or fired a broadside into her, killing a dozen possibly innocent men.

He didn't want to be babbling sail and helm orders while he made up his mind so he turned to the Master: “Mr Southwick, take the conn, if you please. Steer to converge on the
Peacock.
We'll luff at the last moment if she's not up to mischief, otherwise put me alongside her.”

The Master said: “It'll be a pleasure, sir; leave it to me.”

Leave the ship to me, he might have been saying, but don't make any mistakes with the thinking part. Ramage felt deep affection for the man, and wondered if anyone else could give so much and such good advice without speaking a word.

Ramage stuck the cutlass in the deck beside him and watched the
Peacock
through his night glass, cursing the inverted image. There were no more than three or four men on deck but suddenly the main and forecourse changed shape, like curtains being lifted to the yards.

“They're clewing up their courses!”

Southwick had spotted it too and Ramage put down the glass. The
Peacock
was less than a hundred yards from the
Topaz
and yet none of Yorke's people had shouted or fired a warning musket. They might have spotted her, but since they knew nothing of last night's episode they might not be suspicious. He pictured the officer-of-the-watch idly watching….

Should he fire a shot to warn the
Topaz
or hold on and hope to surprise the
Peacock
by slapping the
Triton
alongside her?

He was just going to order the forwardmost gun to fire a warning when he saw sails moving beyond the third ship in the column. It was the
Peacock's
next ahead and he'd forgotten all about her. He'd clean forgotten half the potential enemy force, but it didn't make much difference as it happened. There was nothing he could do about it: the
Peacock
would occupy all his energy.

Now Southwick was bellowing the order that would bring the
Triton
alongside the runner and was looking to Ramage for orders. Were they to open fire or not? Was he to crash the brig alongside, risk carrying away masts, and prepare to send a boarding party over as soon as the carronades had swept the decks a few times?

Ramage could not decide. All he could see were three or four men on the
Peacock's
quarterdeck, and a few more men clewing up the courses. There was nothing really wrong with that and the
Peacock
still had fifty yards or so to go before she was abreast the
Topaz.
Then the distance between the masts changed slightly: the
Peacock
was turning to larboard: turning just enough so that a further turn of a few degrees to starboard could lay her alongside the
Topaz!

But still nothing had happened that could tell him for certain that the
Peacock
was an enemy ship bent on attacking the
Topaz
rather than a friendly ship out of position on a dark night …

“Sir!” Southwick had been wailing the word for several seconds. He had to know now whether to luff up or lay her alongside: no further delay was possible.

“Put her alongside,” Ramage heard himself shouting and, using the speaking-trumpet added: “Gun captains! Hold your fire until I give the order—then aim for the quarterdeck!”

The
Triton's
jib-boom had been pointing just ahead of the
Peacock,
but in response to Southwick's orders it swung away to starboard and the merchantman moved round to broad on the
Triton's
bow. The combined movement of the two ships made it seem as though the
Peacock
was coming sideways towards the
Triton;
a fast-moving nightmare. Upside down in the night glass, black maggots swarmed suddenly over the
Peacock's
decks, and without consciously registering what he had seen, Ramage bellowed:

“Gun captains—fire as you bear!”

As the first carronade fired the flash lit up the
Peacock
like a flicker of summer lightning. With awful clarity he saw that the
Peacock's
decks were now covered with armed men. Scores and scores of them had been hiding below the bulwarks. As other carronades fired he saw more men pouring up from below, their cutlasses glinting in the flashes of gunfire. The
Peacock
was not yet alongside the
Topaz,
which he could just make out twenty or thirty yards beyond. Almost unbelievably the
Triton
had arrived just in time.

Just in time, if he could stop the
Peacock
being manoeuvred those last few yards to the
Topaz.
Nothing could save the
Topaz
or even the
Triton
from that swarm of men once the
Peacock
was alongside.

“Aim at the wheel!” he screamed at the men at the carronades. “Gun captains—the wheel!” In the flashes of gunfire he saw Jackson standing on the bulwark carefully aiming a musketoon, methodically aiming and firing it and passing it down to be reloaded, while another loaded one was handed up to him. Standing beside him on the bulwark, Ramage saw that the men in the
Peacock
were in confusion, and guessed her Captain had been so sure he'd get alongside the
Topaz
before the
Triton
could reach him that he had all his gunners at the larboard side guns, ready to sweep the merchantman.

Not one of the
Peacock's
starboard side guns had fired back at the
Triton
yet and Ramage decided to take advantage of the fact. Leaping down from the bulwarks he ran over to Southwick and shouted, above the thunder of the carronades: “Stay twenty yards off—I want to give them a good pounding with the guns, otherwise we don't stand a chance against all those men: they'll swarm over us!”

Southwick bellowed into his speaking-trumpet, choosing moments between the guns firing, and as Ramage rejoined Jackson at the bulwark the brig settled down to a course parallel with the
Peacock
but twenty yards to windward. Ramage watched warily for the first sign that the
Peacock
was going to try to luff up and get alongside the
Triton.

The gunners were settling into a steady rhythm and the flash as each carronade fired momentarily lit up the
Peacock,
like a furnace door being opened quickly and shut. The flashes showed the
Peacock's
deck was now clearing: there were small dark piles of bodies where grapeshot had torn into her boarders, but the rest had dispersed to find some shelter. Ramage knew many must be crouching in the lee of the bulwark, waiting for the Tritons to board.

Suddenly Ramage realized the
Topaz
was no longer ahead of the
Peacock.
He glanced round in alarm and it took him several moments to realize that the
Peacock
must have come round to starboard a little—with the
Triton
conforming—and, sailing faster than the convoy, had left the rest of the ships astern. The nearest part of the convoy was now a good half a mile away on the starboard quarter. The
Topaz
was safe now, whatever happened to the
Triton.

There was a flash from the
Peacock's
side: one of her guns had been loaded and fired. Ramage heard neither the thud of a hit nor the noise of a shot passing close. As soon as all the
Peacock's
starboard side guns were firing, it would be time to try the other tack.

He banged Jackson on the shoulder. “Tell Mr Southwick to make sure all the starboard side guns are loaded with grape, and to pass the word when that's done and he's ready to wear ship!”

Another flash from the
Peacock's
side, and then another. Three guns manned and firing, and three more to go. With luck one or two had been damaged …

Jackson, pulling at his shoulder, reported that the starboard guns were already loaded and the Master ready to wear.

Another flash from the
Peacock's
side warned him four guns were now manned. He knew it was time to attack from the other side …

He jumped down on to the deck and strode over to Southwick, but even before he could give any orders Jackson was beside him gesticulating. Ramage turned to see another ship coming up on the
Peacock's
larboard quarter.

“The
Greyhound
frigate, sir!” Jackson yelled.

So there was no need to wear round to attack the
Peacock
on the other side.