Early in the forenoon with the sun hot and the wind still light the Dido hove-to off Pointe des Nègres, half a mile from the stranded Achille. Through his glass Ramage could see that the French ship's boats were busy ferrying the crew to the one small beach at the end of the Pointe, leaving them an arduous climb up the cliff before they could make their way back to Fort Royal. More important she was again flying a Tricolour: the surrender was being ignored.
He told Southwick about the colours and added: 'They've given up any hope of getting her off, for the time being anyway. Perhaps they're going to bring in shipwrights to patch her up, and then pump her out until she floats clear.'
'They'll probably make an effort,' Southwick said. 'After all, she's the only ship of the line they've got out here.'
'She's the only ship of any kind they have,' Ramage corrected. 'So they're bound to make every effort to repair her. They haven't a ship to send to France asking for reinforcements!'
'The Navy is short of everything, but I wonder how badly off the Army is.'
'Well . . . they haven't had the losses that the Navy has had, so perhaps they are not in such a bad way,' Ramage said.
'Let's hope they don't bring out any guns and set them up on the cliff to cover the Achille.'
Ramage shook his head. 'We'll attack the Achille tonight. We'd lose too many men if we attacked in daylight.'
The rest of the day was spent planning the attack on the Achille. All the officers were assembled in Ramage's cabin, and he opened the proceedings by saying: 'Tonight we set fire to the Achille. We can only guess how many men they've left on board. Nor do we know whether they're expecting an attack. We must assume they are - they've seen the Dido come back and anchor close by. So we have to plan the boarding on the basis that it will be opposed.
'We'll attack with as many men as we can get in our boats. Three boats will attack over the bow, and three on the quarters: that way we can keep out of the arcs of their guns. Once we have boarded, then we set fire to her. We don't have to capture the whole ship to do that. But what is important is that the fires - I want them set at several places - take hold, and once you can see they can't be put out, then quit the ship as quickly as possible: I don't want any men on board when the magazine goes up!'
Ramage then outlined his plan, giving each of the officers their orders: telling them how many men they were to take in which boat, where they were to board the Achille, and where they were to start a fire. The men were to carry combustibles - cloths soaked in grease, jars of inflammable paint, light battens that would catch fire quickly - as well as lanterns, which would be hidden from sight until they were on board.
The point of the lanterns, Ramage explained, was that they would let the men see what they were doing, once they were on board the Achille, and the candles then could be used to set light to things, helped on by liberal applications of candlewax.
The men could choose whether they had cutlasses or boarding pikes. No one would carry a musket - they were too clumsy for boarders - but all the men would be issued with pistols. At least, he amended, they would be issued with as many pistols as were available.
Oars would obviously be muffled - it was up to the first lieutenant to see that all the oars were bound with keckling - but it was impossible to say whether the boarders would achieve surprise. They must assume they would be opposed, but only with small-arms fire.
'The important thing is setting the fires,' Ramage emphasized. 'I don't want men getting carried away with fighting the French: any fighting should be only to protect the parties as they start the fires. Our job is done once she's burning; we are not trying to carry her by boarding.'
'Should the men carry slowmatch, just in case the lanterns blow out?' asked the gunner.
'Slowmatches, and they might as well have a few false fires - they will light the place up as well as setting fire to things. A few topmen getting aloft and setting off false fires in the courses should help: the canvas is so dry it will burn easily. So remember, you who are carrying topmen in your boats should have false fires and slowmatches, and make sure the topmen know what is expected of them. Any more ideas?'
'Shall we try and set fire to the magazine, sir?' asked Kenton.
'Most certainly not!' Ramage exclaimed. 'You'll only blow yourselves up. No, the magazine goes up as the ship burns.'
'How do we judge when a fire is well set, sir?' asked Martin.
'As soon as it's bigger than you could put out with buckets,' Ramage said. 'There'll probably be a good breeze blowing, so flames should spread quickly. Bear that in mind: where you can, always set a fire to windward of something that is obviously combustible.'
'Scattering some powder around would help, sir,' the gunner said.
'No,' Ramage said decidedly, 'no powder. Too much scope for accidents. We don't want to blow ourselves up.'
'Shall I go with the boarders or stay here?' asked Bowen, the surgeon.
'You stay here,' said a startled Ramage. 'What good could you do on board the Achille?'
'I was thinking that I could attend to casualties on the spot,' Bowen said lamely. His suggestion had been an attempt to join in the excitement, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that Ramage had realized that immediately.
'Very well,' said Ramage, looking round at all the officers. 'If there are no more questions, we may as well get started.'
The moon set soon after eleven p.m. and 150 seamen and Marines were formed up on deck in groups, ready to board the boats, which had been hauled round alongside. In addition to cutlasses, pikes, tomahawks and pistols, many of the men carried the greasy cloths with which they would start fires. Others had shaded lanterns and some carried lighted slowmatch.
The officers were drawn up ready to take command of the boats and their own parties of men. But it was slow work in the darkness preparing for the expedition. The starlight was spasmodic, interrupted by high blankets of cloud, and although the wind was still light from the east and the sea almost calm, it was hot and humid, and any effort soaked a man in perspiration.
Southwick, cheerfully striding round the deck with his great double-edged sword strapped to his waist, was looking forward to the operation because all too often lately - and in the Calypso's last actions in the Mediterranean - he had been left on board while others went off to do the fighting. This time Mr Ramage was leaving the first lieutenant in command of the Dido, Southwick had noted happily, and had put him in command of one of the pinnaces. So now he had twenty-five men in his party, ready to fight or burn the enemy. Although Southwick appreciated the main task was to set fire to the ship he hoped that the French would put up a fight. It was a long time since he had been able to use his sword, and the thought of soon unsheathing it was exciting.
Martin said to Kenton: 'I hope this is going to make up for George Hill getting command of that frigate. That's the second time. It doesn't seem fair, just because he speaks French.'
'If he didn't speak French one of us would get the job,' Kenton said soothingly. 'It's our fault, really, I didn't pay much attention at school - whoever would have thought that speaking French would come in useful? It seemed to be the last thing you'd need at sea. Mathematics and geography, yes: but French and Latin . . .'
Orsini, who had been listening to the conversation, said: 'Well, I speak French and Italian, but I don't get command of the prizes!'
'You're only a master's mate,' Martin said unsympathetically, 'and anyway, your navigation is a bit suspect.'
'It was but it isn't now,' Orsini said defensively. 'I've been working hard at it since we joined the Dido. Mr Southwick is very pleased with the progress I've made.'
'Maybe so,' said Kenton, 'but do you feel confident enough to take command of a frigate?'
'Give me a few good men and let me have the chance,' Orsini said impulsively. 'The trouble is there don't seem to be any frigates left!'
'Be patient,' Martin said, 'the French may send out some more. Or we might find the one that got away.'
'If he's got any sense he's already on his way back to France,' Kenton said. 'That merchantman blowing up probably persuaded him.'
'More likely he saw us in the flash and realized the convoy was being attacked by a ship of the line.'
At that moment Aitken's voice came out of the darkness: 'I hope you have inspected your men and are all ready to embark.'
The three of them assured him they were, and he added: 'Don't be misled by the French landing some of their men: there may be a couple of hundred - maybe a lot more - still left on board. Don't forget, we're not trying to capture the ship; we just want to set fire to it.'
After Aitken had gone, Kenton said: 'If the French have a couple of hundred men still left on board, we've got a fight on our hands. Boarding a ship of the line isn't like boarding a frigate: her freeboard is so much higher. Still, since she's bigger the French have more to defend.'
'And we have more to attack,' Martin said ruefully. 'On the other hand, it hasn't rained for days, so her woodwork is nice and dry. It should be easy enough to start fires.'
'Wood that's been soaked hundreds of times in salt water won't burn too easily,' Kenton warned. 'I'm going to go for sails, if I can.'
'Even rigging should burn well,' Orsini said. 'After all, it's coated in tar, so it won't have soaked up much salt. If you set fire to a few shrouds the flames should run up the masts and set fire to the courses.'
'What we need is a thunderstorm so that lightning strikes her,' Martin grumbled. 'That'd save us a lot of bother.'
It was after midnight when Ramage gave the order to start and led the way down to the boats, boarding the launch and settling himself down in the sternsheets, telling Jackson: 'Shove off. And no talking. You know where to make for, and make sure you don't get in the field of fire of those guns - just in case they spot us.'
'Aye aye, sir,' Jackson said. 'We'll be like ghosts.'
Ramage sat alone with his thoughts. He was still not sure that he was doing the right thing. For the task of destroying the Achille he had two choices: he could bring the Dido in and, as he had done when he attacked her in the first place, sail back and forth across her stern, raking her. That would take hours - destroying a ship by gunfire alone could be very difficult. Silencing her was one thing; destroying her was something quite different. Which left him with boarding her and setting her on fire. That was certain but was far riskier. As far as the Achille was concerned, it was riskier because he had no idea how many Frenchmen had been landed, and therefore how many were left on board. When the Dido had arrived and anchored, the Achille was landing men on the beach. Were they abandoning the ship? Were they the first fifty or were they the last? There was no way of knowing. So they were boarding her not knowing whether there were five hundred men on board or twenty.
That was why he had emphasized to his officers that all they were concerned with was getting on board the ship, setting a few fires, and then getting off as quickly as possible: they were not trying to capture the Frenchman; this was not a regular boarding - as when they had taken the Alerte. They were, he thought wryly, concerned only with arson.
He could make out the black shape of the Achille - she seemed enormous in the darkness. To anyone who loved ships for themselves, it was a sad thought that this handsome ship - for she had a pleasing sheer - was not only wedged on the rocks, but if all went well within half an hour would be only so much charred wreckage floating on the sea. Two thousand large trees, each piece carefully shaped by skilled men, had been used to build her ... his imagination roamed, helped by the darkness.
The men were rowing easily and silently: Aitken had done a good job of making sure that each oar was bound with keckling to stop it squeaking against the thole pins. The men were being careful to dip their oars deeply so they did not 'catch a crab' and make a splash.
He looked astern and could just make out the other boats following in the launch's wake. In a few minutes three of the boats would turn to starboard to make their way to the Achille's stern, still keeping out of the field of fire. What sort of lookout were they keeping in the French ship? For the moment they would not be able to see very far because of the darkness, but would they spot the boats in the starlight during those last few yards?
Ramage decided they would not be keeping a special lookout because they would not expect the Dido to board them: they knew that the English realized they were stuck on the rocks, and helpless. They might expect a further attack in daylight, with the Dido raking her and doing more damage by gunfire. Indeed, that might have been the reason for them landing men - to save casualties.
Casualties! The word made him shiver. If the French had not landed many men, then he was likely to suffer a lot of casualties tonight. He did not doubt that his own men would be able to start a few fires, but at what cost?
Some captains, he knew, could send their men off on operations where the number of casualties would be enormous, and the fact did not make them lose any sleep. But he was not one of these captains. He did not know whether to call them lucky or not - in war men did get killed or maimed. But the fact was that he shied away from operations where the casualties would be heavy. He had shied away from this one until he persuaded himself that if he did not destroy the Achille now, the admiral would send him back to do it.
So now he was setting off with more than 150 seamen and Marines not knowing whether there were five hundred or fifty Frenchmen on board the Achille. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed the most absurdly risky operation he had ever undertaken: it was, literally and figuratively, a leap into the dark.
He stared ahead and could just make out the black shape of the Achille outlined against the stars. Judging from the height of the masts they were closer than he had realized. He glanced astern and saw that the last three boats had already left to make for the French ship's stern. There was just the faint hiss as the launch's bow cut through the water and the muffled gasping as the men strained at the oars. The launch, carrying thirty men plus the oarsmen, was a heavy boat to row.
Yes, it was a hot and humid night: already he could feel the perspiration soaking through his clothes. But he was thankful there was little wind. Wind meant waves and waves meant a slop at the bow which could be spotted by the French lookouts. Thank goodness there was almost no phosphorescence tonight. It was extraordinary how one night it would be bright and another night there would be almost none at all. One thing was certain - had there been much of it then it would give away the positions of all six boats, warning the French long before they could actually see the outline of the raiders.
Forty yards, perhaps less. Jackson had brought the launch round - with the two pinnaces following - in a half-circle, so that he stayed out of the arcs of fire of the Achille's guns and approached from dead ahead, the direction it would be hard for the French lookouts to see, because of the network of rigging supporting the jibboom and bowsprit.
Ramage loosened the two pistols stuck in his belt: they were digging into his ribs, and they would jab him when he climbed. He hitched at his sword, making sure it was free in the sheath, ready to be drawn instantly. He was, he realized ruefully, behaving just like a nervous man, but damnation, he was nervous: not at the thought of boarding the Frenchman, but at what they might find. Fifty or five hundred - they were not the sort of odds to attract a gambler . . .
Thirty yards - no more. Jackson was hissing an order at the nearest oarsmen and they were passing it forward, from man to man. The rate of rowing slowed. The Achille was huge now, looming over them - and there was no challenge. No shooting from aft, either, so that the other boarding party had not arrived yet. He had thought of trying to synchronize the two attacks, but finally decided against it: the trouble involved increased the risk that they would be discovered if one or other party had to wait in the darkness.
Twenty yards - and Jackson was beginning to put the tiller over and hissing another order to the oarsmen nearest him. The Achille was now like the side of a huge cliff; her rigging was outlined against the star-filled sky like a fishnet, and the masts stood up like enormous trees, reaching up into the blackness.
Ten yards, and the men on the starboard side tossed their oars. Ramage poised himself, ready to leap upwards at whatever projection would give him a foothold. Still no challenge and, mercifully, still no shooting from astern. In the few seconds before the launch came alongside the French ship he thought how extraordinary it was that she was keeping such a poor lookout.
Then he smelled the stench of rotting seaweed and realized that it had been growing beneath the waterline but had been exposed when the bow had lifted as the ship had run on to the reef. He noticed that the French had not let go an anchor - an indication of how firmly she was wedged. Probably firmly enough to make this boarding quite unnecessary, but one could not be sure.
Then, in a frantic rush, the launch was alongside and he was leaping up, grasping at a loop of rigging and kicking out with his feet to find a foothold. The wood was slippery from the weed but his feet found the edge of a plank that was standing proud. He levered himself upwards, kicking and grasping, until he found he had reached the headrails. He ducked through them and worked his way up to the beakhead bulkhead, conscious just as he reached it that a French voice was shouting a challenge.
Several more men from the launch had managed to scramble up, and were almost alongside him. In fact as he looked below, the whole bow of the ship seemed to be a wriggling mass of men. He stretched up again and got a grip on the Marine's walk, the short strip of gangway leading from the fo'c'sle to the bowsprit. Then he swung himself up, kicking and struggling, until he was sprawled on the walk, and a few moments later found himself on the fo'c'sle, only a few feet from the foremast.
By now the French voice was shouting hysterically: it had stopped challenging and was calling out an alarm. Obviously there had been a single lookout forward, and he must have been dozing. Ramage heard a voice answer in the distance and knew it would be only a matter of moments before the men boarding aft would be spotted. The shooting would start any second now, and as he stood upright on the fo'c'sle he wrenched out the pistols from his belt.
He suddenly realized that Jackson, Stafford and Rossi, all puffing from their exertions, were standing beside him at the forebitts, beside the foremast. More men were climbing up the beakhead bulkhead while others were scrambling up on to the Marine's walk.
Suddenly there was the rattle of musket fire from aft and shot ricocheted off the mast. 'Start those fires!' shouted Ramage, knowing that any moment a barrage of musketry fire could sweep the deck.
Lanterns suddenly appeared and he saw several slowmatches sparkling in the darkness. There was a glow as someone took a candle from a lantern and used it to light a piece of cloth.
Now the musketry fire from aft was closer: the French were advancing along the deck towards them. What had happened to the boarders aft? Just as he wondered, Ramage noticed that some of the muskets and pistols were now aimed aft: at last the rest of the Didos had appeared. They had a far more difficult task than the men boarding over the bow: there was much less to hold on to.
'Come on,' Ramage called, 'let's get some fires started amidships.' He noticed that one of his men was crumpled up on the deck, obviously hit by a musket ball, and then Jackson shouted: 'Here they come!'
Ramage just had time to see a group of Frenchmen running along the gangway each side, heading towards them, cutlass blades reflecting in the flash of muskets and pistols. By now many more men, including Gilbert, Louis, Auguste and Albert, had joined him and Ramage led them along the starboard gangway, to meet the French halfway.
The fire from the muskets and pistols had stopped: obviously the French were not going to stop and reload, so now it would be a fight with cutlasses and boarding pikes - except that the Didos had not yet fired their pistols. How many Frenchmen were there? It was difficult to distinguish in the darkness. How many were trying to drive off the Didos attacking from aft? Impossible to say. Perhaps fifty, maybe more. The Didos had the slight temporary advantage that the French would be sleepy, just roused out of their hammocks, but they would soon be wide awake: there was nothing like a few gunshots to get rid of sleepiness.
Ramage cocked the pistols as he ran, cursing as he bumped into various projections which all seemed to have been fitted shin-high. He found himself ahead of the others but heard Jackson shouting at them to hurry.
Then the first of the French were only a few feet away, running towards him shouting at the tops of their voices. Ramage stopped and raised his pistols, aiming into the midst of the mass. He squeezed the triggers and the twin flash of them firing blinded him momentarily.
And then the French were on him. He threw away the pistols and wrenched his sword from its sheath and at the same time Jackson was alongside him, shouting defiance and slashing with his cutlass. Ramage sliced at a boarding spike jabbing at him and then ducked backwards to avoid a swinging cutlass. There was only the starlight now, apart from the occasional flash of a pistol or musket, and he found himself fighting shadows.
He felt rather than saw a cutlass blade rip his right sleeve and immediately stabbed into the darkness with his sword. He felt the blade entering flesh and heard a shriek of pain. Then behind him he heard a roar as Southwick joined the fight, and Ramage could imagine him twirling his sword two-handed, his white hair flying.
By now more Didos were running along the gangway to join him and the French were halted. He cut at a shadowy Frenchman and heard a grunt as the man collapsed. He recognized a stream of French curses as coming from Auguste and Gilbert. Then he glanced forward for a moment and saw that a small fire had been started by the forebitts and the wind was fanning it.
It was also throwing a flickering light on the Frenchmen, and Ramage jabbed again at a bearded and wild-eyed man who was slashing away with his cutlass with all the abandon of a frenzied axeman chopping at a tree trunk. The man collapsed like a pricked bladder, and Ramage guessed he had been drunk.
There was now a lot of shouting from aft, and Ramage guessed that the Didos who had boarded from aft had now sorted themselves out and were driving the French back so that they could start some fires. Another glance forward showed at least two more fires had been started, one against the beakhead bulkhead and another by the knightheads. And out of the corner of his eye he saw men scrambling up the foreshrouds - the topmen whose job was to start fires aloft among the sails.
All at once the French rallied and fought their way a few feet along the gangway, shouting and slashing with cutlasses. For a minute or two Jackson and his men were driven back, and Ramage and Southwick found themselves fighting side by side, surrounded by Frenchmen. Cutlass clanged against cutlass, men grunted and shouted, and for a moment Ramage thought he and the old master would be overwhelmed, but suddenly Jackson appeared out of the darkness with Rossi and Stafford, all of them shouting 'Dido' at the tops of their voices, to distinguish themselves in the darkness.
By now the flickering of fires forward was lighting up the Frenchmen and Ramage was able to see that there were several bodies lying on the gangway. There was a spurt of pistol fire from aft as the other Didos fired and then attacked with cutlasses and boarding pikes.
How many men were there fighting on the gangways? Ramage estimated about twenty-five French and the same number of British were fighting on this side, and guessed an equal number were fighting it out on the larboard gangway. But the important thing was that fires were being started: as the French were being held on the gangways, the men were able to set fire to the greased cloths and, any moment now, the sails.
The fire by the forebitts was now big enough to start a glow which lit the underside of the rigging and forecourse; Ramage could make out the belfry and the galley chimney. The fire, he thought grimly, had taken a good hold and beneath it - admittedly many feet away in the bowels of the ship - was the magazine.
Ramage parried a sudden attack from a Frenchman wielding a cutlass like a scythe and slashed him across the throat. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Southwick launch himself at a group of Frenchmen, his great sword jerking in front of him like a flail.
He could again distinguish Jackson, Rossi and Stafford: they had been joined by Gilbert, Louis, Albert and Auguste, and they were making concentrated attacks where the Frenchmen seemed thickest, keeping up a constant cry of 'Dido'.
Just then Ramage saw that the great forecourse above his head was now ablaze: the wind was spreading the flames and it was burning like the wick of a gigantic lantern, beginning to throw strong shadows the length of the ship. He watched a burning piece of the sail float down and land on the deck, still aflame. While that was happening flames were running up the rigging from the deck as they got a grip on the tarred rope, and Ramage hoped the topmen would find a way down without burning themselves.
How long would it take the French to realize they were in greater danger from the fires than the boarders? What would they do? Anyone trying to put out fires would be attacked by boarders, yet their attempt to deal with the boarders was failing.
As if to emphasize that, Ramage found the Frenchmen in front of him were being driven back along the gangway: step by step they were going back aft, although soon they would back into their comrades fighting off the Didos who had boarded aft. A quick glance showed at least half a dozen fires were now burning on the fo'c'sle, and the blaze by the forebitts had really taken hold, spreading along the deck planking. The forebitts themselves were now burning, looking like tree stumps.
If only they could drive the Frenchmen away from the main rigging, so that topmen could get up to set the maincourse alight. Just as the thought occurred, Ramage saw flames spreading along the mizen topsail - men must have got aloft there as soon as anyone got on board, and with the wind acting as a bellows the flames were spreading rapidly.
Gradually it was getting light on board the Achille as flames spread forward and aloft: the wind was freshening, as if allying itself with the British, and Ramage could smell the burning and could see smoke wreathing itself in the flames.
With a desperate howl a group of Frenchmen tried to break through to the fo'c'sle, obviously intent on getting at the fire round the forebitts, but the Didos beat them back, driving them even further aft. By now they were abaft the mainshrouds, and Ramage saw some of his men run from forward, weave their way through the group of men fighting, and scramble hand over hand up the ratlines.
He was just plunging back into the fight when he was startled to see both Jackson and Stafford break away and run forward. Ramage paused a moment to watch them and then saw that they had run to a large piece of blazing foresail, which had just fallen to the deck. Slashing at it with their cutlasses, they sliced away burning sections and spread them out over the deck to start more fires.
By the time Ramage looked aft again to the maincourse, he saw it was now ablaze and the topmen were scrambling back along the footropes to safety. The wind was spreading the fire and Ramage guessed that the flames would run up the rigging and set the topmast alight.
Both the forecourse and the maincourse were now well ablaze and the mizen topsail was now burning. He could see the topmen who had set that sail alight now scrambling down the mizen ratlines. The three blazing sails looked like fiery crosses and Ramage imagined what a fine sight they must make from the Dido: Aitken and his men would have no doubt about the success of the operation so far.
He could hear the crackling of flames above the shouting and clanging of cutlasses, and wind eddies were now bringing smoke from the burning sails down to deck level. He just had time to ward off a boarding pike wielded by a huge Frenchman and was about to lunge at him with his sword when the man collapsed and a jubilant Orsini, waving a bloodstained cutlass, shouted: 'Not many left now!'
Nor were there: the Didos were forcing the Frenchmen aft, past the mainshrouds and into the arms of the men who had boarded from aft: the French were caught in between. And, almost more important, Ramage saw that other Didos following up the boarders were crouching down, setting new fires.
For a moment he thought of the French captain: the man would be in agony, seeing his ship slowly begin to blaze, set on fire by an enemy he could not dislodge. And he must be cursing at having put ashore some of his men: he would now be glad of anyone who could wield a cutlass or stab with a pike.
Southwick was gesticulating aloft and Ramage looked up to see that the great foreyard itself was now on fire, the dry wood obviously set ablaze by the burning canvas. Then he noticed that flames or sparks had set fire to the next sail: the foretopsail was now beginning to burn.
There were now twenty or more fires burning on the fo'c'sle: the burning sail spread about by Jackson and Stafford had started three or four others, and the original one round the forebitts had spread across twelve feet or more of deck, lapping at the foot of the foremast like flaming waves at a mangrove root.
The fires, Ramage realized, were more than the French could put out without using a fire engine: no buckets would douse the flames. And the fire engine was not on deck: it would take them ten minutes to manhandle it up from below.
Just at that moment the whole maincourse dropped to the deck as the ropebands burned through along with the gaskets. The blazing mass of canvas blanketed almost the whole width of the ship, and at that moment Ramage knew the ship was doomed: the canvas was a massive torch. The flames lit up the whole ship, and nothing now could save her.
The time had come to save the Didos. Already the French were breaking off the fight and dashing to the blazing sail, wrenching at the unburned parts in a hopeless attempt to pull them clear. But the sail was enormous: it lay across the deck like a sinuous fiery dragon, spurting flame and sparks.
The fires were now crackling like burning bracken, and the Achille was lit up as though by a dozen small suns. The Frenchmen who had been fighting on the gangway were now all struggling with the burning sail, and the Didos were watching them.
'Why don't we attack 'em?' bawled Southwick.
'It's time for us to go,' Ramage shouted back. 'The fires have taken a good hold.'
With that he shouted: 'Didos - to the boats!'
The nearest men heard him and began to make their way forward, ready to climb down into the boats. What about the boarding parties aft - would they be able to see that the forward parties were withdrawing? He could not risk it, and looked round for Orsini.
'Can you get through to the after parties and tell them to withdraw? At once!'
'Aye aye, sir,' said Orsini, delighted at being given a special task. There was so much movement amidships that he saw no difficulty getting through in the confusion.
As he walked forward Ramage was surprised at how successful his men had been in setting fires. Apart from the big blazes where the foresail had dropped down and round the forebitts, there were many more smaller ones where flames had got a firm grip on woodwork. A six-foot section of the bulwark was now burning fiercely in one place and a twelve-foot section in another. The whole deck was burning at the foot of the belfry and the galley chimney stood up amid a sea of flames.
The boarders were now climbing down into the boats, and Ramage reflected on how he had imagined this episode might have ended: that the French would drive them back into the boats amid a withering fire of musketry. Instead the men were boarding with as little concern as they had shown when they first boarded the boats from the Dido.
He and Southwick had looked at the bodies left on the gangway. Five Didos were dead, and he saw that four wounded were being helped down into the boats. There were many French dead on the section of the gangway where they had been fighting. There were more aft. How many of the after boarding parties had lost their lives?
Finally the last of the men had scrambled off the Marine's walk and the beakhead, and Ramage said to Southwick: 'It's our turn now.'
'Not as agile as I was,' grunted the old master as he clambered through the headrails, 'and this blasted scabbard hooks in everything. '
'At least we can see this time,' Ramage said. When they had climbed up it had been by the light of the stars, which were often hidden by clouds. Now every detail showed up in the light of the flames. In fact, Ramage thought, they add an urgency to everything: the flames must now be spreading down below, making an octopus-like progress towards the magazine.
And when they reached the magazine, he thought grimly, we all want to be at least half a mile away: the explosion will tear the Achille apart and scatter the wreckage like chaff before the wind.
And, as he scrambled into the launch, Jackson giving him a helping hand, he realized the wind had freshened: the boats were pitching and rolling as the waves hit the Achille and swirled back. A wind . . . the bellows that would spread all those fires. He glanced up and was startled at the view from this angle: the burning sails were making great crosses of fire, and the foreyard was well ablaze. Any moment the slings and jeers would burn through and it would come crashing down, like the gates of hell opening.
The gates of hell... he had thought of that because the whole scene was unreal. Now the Achille was mottled with so many fires that even if they had a couple of fire engines working, as well as all the washdeck pumps, they could never control half of them.
'Shove off,' Ramage ordered Jackson, and he commented to Southwick, who was alongside him in the pinnace: 'It's a terrible sight.'
'Aye, it is that. The French captain must be going mad - he hasn't even got the fire engine on deck.'
'He never expected an attack like this. He didn't even expect boarders, judging from the lack of sentries.'
'What did he expect us to do - stay on board playing cards and drinking gin?'
'Apparently,' Ramage said with a grin. 'I think he made the mistake of thinking that because he was stuck on a rock then we wouldn't make a move, either. Or else - more than likely – he knows his ship is finished and assumed we knew, so that we wouldn't try anything.'
'You mean we might have done all this -' Southwick waved towards the burning ship, '- for nothing?'
'It's a possibility,' Ramage said. 'But it wasn't a risk I could take. It seemed to me that fetching shipwrights from Fort Royal, apart from using their own carpenters, could put the ship to rights and she could be towed off. And that's what the admiral would think.'
'Well, we've made a thorough job of it. Ah, there are some boats - one, two, three. The after boarding party has got away. Just look how those flames are lighting up the Dido!'
By now, as the launch and pinnace were rowed back, the seventy-four showed up in the darkness as though someone was shining a huge lantern on her: the sails seemed luminous and the rigging showed up like netting, the bowsprit and jibboom jutting out like a vast fishing rod.
Jackson steered the launch back to the Dido, with the other boats following, and soon Ramage was climbing back on board. Once on deck he turned to look at the Achille and she was a terrible sight: most striking were the yards, all of which had now caught fire, and all the rigging staying the masts was burning as thin red lines pointing up into the sky. The whole of the fo'c'sle now seemed ablaze and there was a big fire amidships, where the maincourse had fallen.
In the light of the flames he could just distinguish the other three boats approaching the Dido, the blades of the oars flashing as they were lifted out of the water. How many casualties had there been among the after boarding parties? He only hoped Orsini was safe.
'A terrible sight, sir,' said Aitken, who had been waiting at the entryport. 'You made a perfect job of it.'
'Yes, they can't save her now. The wind freshened at just the right moment - it was as though we had a thousand bellows at work.'
'Many casualties, sir?'
'Five dead in our party and four wounded. We left the dead on board. I'll give you their names presently.'
The other three boats were soon alongside and the excited Kenton was the first on board, his face twisting into a delighted smile as he greeted Ramage. 'Well, you got your end burning first, sir, but we soon caught up!'
'How many men did you lose?' Ramage asked soberly.
'Seven dead and five wounded, sir.'
'Is Orsini with you?'
'Yes, sir, he's helping get the wounded on board.'
At that moment Kenton turned and looked at the Achille, seeing her clearly for the first time from the height of the Dido's deck. 'Ye Gods, just look at her. Those masts and yards, they look like great crosses - burning on her grave.'
The four officers stood and watched, silenced by the sheer horror of what they were seeing. Finally Southwick said: 'Her magazine will go up any minute now.'
The words were hardly out of his mouth before the flaming mass of ship suddenly disintegrated and there was a gigantic thunderclap which almost stunned them. Blazing yards, burning beams, deck planks and futtocks were hurled up into the sky, curving down in precise parabolas. The flash of the explosion had blinded them all for several moments, and then the night seemed blacker than ever, with just the memory of what they had seen burned deeply into their minds. It was a sight, Ramage realized, that he would never forget.