"Orsini," Ramage said sternly, "you are far too busy to observe any signals. The Victory won't make any to us - she can't even see us with all the smoke - but the Euryalus can . . ."
"I understand, sir," Orsini said with a grin. "I'll give them a hand shifting those tubs."
"Stunsails, sir?" Aitken murmured questioningly.
Ramage looked aloft, where topmen were now busy at the ends of the yards, coils of rope over their shoulders, securing the grapnels. The stunsail booms would have to be run out and the stunsails themselves manhandled up from the sail room. He then looked across at the enemy's line of battle.
Ramage shook his head. "There's no time. We wouldn't have them drawing before we'd be cutting them away."
He looked across at Southwick. "I want all the leather buckets lined up along the taffrail, full of water. And give the deck an extra wetting."
He inspected the enemy line of battle. Even in the few minutes he had used giving orders, the situation had already changed: looking along the line from the van, the Neptune had broken through and rounded up almost alongside the Santissima Trinidad; the Conqueror, following her, had rounded up to leeward of the Bucentaure; the Leviathan, passing through the line, was about to run alongside the French 74 that had been well to leeward of the rest; the Victory was alongside the fourth French ship - he could just make out her name in the drifting smoke, the Redoutable, which was squeezed between her and the Téméraire.
There was not much space, but if one was fast enough ... if the wind held . . . "Something must be left to chance ..."
"Mr Aitken," he said, "as far as I can see the Britannia is going to pass through the line in the wake of the Leviathan. We'll pass through in the Britannia's wake."
"Aye, aye, sir," Aitken said, but added: "That means we shall pass the Victory fairly close on our starboard hand."
Ramage nodded. "I doubt if anyone will be looking out for us. Anyway, the smoke is so thick -" he gestured at the thick clouds now rolling like dirty fog along the line of ships, in places as high as their mastheads, "- we'd never be able to distinguish flag signals ..."
By now the heavy drum-roll of broadsides was echoing across the water like thunder from an approaching summer storm. Occasionally there was the thud of a single gun as some gunrier twitched his trigger line accidentally, but the broadsides were almost continuous.
"A point to starboard," Aitken told Jackson, who repeated the order to the four men at the wheel: four now not because there was any weight on the spokes with this light wind but because some of them might be cut down.
"Get Kenton, Hill and Martin up here," Ramage said. Lord Nelson's plan for breaking the line in two places, cutting off the van, seemed to have worked. Surprise: His Lordship had done the unexpected. Now Captain Ramage was going to try the same tactics. The scale would be vastly smaller but the principle was the same.
With the three lieutenants standing beside Aitken, all looking startled at having been suddenly called up to the quarterdeck from their division of guns, Ramage said: "There's hardly any time." Quickly he outlined his plan for the Calypso and then said: "So the three of you -" he indicated the junior lieutenants, "- will go back and assemble boarding parties.
"You, Kenton, will board and take the fo'c'sle. Cut all sheets and braces you can lay your axes to. Hill, you do the same amidships but you'll need to pick fifty men - you'll have all the French guns' crews to deal with. Take five extra men and give them axes: they must cut sheets and braces.
"Martin, you'll take fifty men and secure the quarterdeck. Detail five men to seize the wheel: make sure they have pistols and cutlasses. And don't forget, sheets and braces. Right, off you all go!"
As the three lieutenants hurried away both Aitken and Southwick said in unison: "What about me, sir?"
"You remain in command of the Calypso,"Ramage told Southwick, who groaned theatrically.
"Look here," Ramage said angrily, "I'm not having a debate about this every time we go into action. There'll be you and less than fifty men to beat off any attempt by the French to board us. Oh no, don't sneer at the idea. That's the best defence the French have, if they only realize it."
Aitken, watching the smoke rolling along the enemy line and keeping an eye on the Britannia, looked questioningly at Ramage. "You'll come with me," Ramage said. "The Frenchman's quarterdeck. Watch out for Martin's men and remember, we're interested in securing the wheel."
Ramage realized that Jackson was looking at him, pleadingly. "All right then, if you can get word to your relief, you can come with me!"
Jackson promptly shouted to a passing seaman, who then hurried down the quarterdeck ladder. Ramage turned to the Marine lieutenant. "Ah, Mr Rennick: a change in plans. There's a French frigate the other side of this smoke that interests us. You should put half your Marines under Sergeant Ferris and tell them to help secure the enemy's waist: Hill will be going across with fifty seamen, but most of the French guns' crews will be there. You take the other half yourself and make for the quarterdeck. You'll find Mr Aitken and myself strolling round somewhere up there, along with Martin and fifty seamen. Is all that clear?"
Rennick gave a wolfish grin and hitched round his sword. "Absolutely, sir: my men are getting bored just watching the battle."
Ramage thought of the boredom of twice daily parades when the Marines marched and countermarched, musket butts clattered amid showers of pipeclay and heels stamped. And they were bored watching the greatest sea battle - or rather the opening rounds of it. No, it wasn't possible. Then he realized that the men were bored not with the sight but the fact they could not join in: each of the Marines had the soul of a butcher imprisoned in a spectator . . .
At last he could look ahead again. Yes, the Calypso was tucked in nicely astern of the Britannia. The Santissima Trinidad had the Conqueror raking her stern and the little Africa raking her bow, while the Neptune was pouring in broadsides from to leeward. The Bucentaure was firing broadsides into the approaching Ajax but any moment the Britannia would start raking her from astern. To leeward of the Bucentaure the French Neptune, heading east at right-angles to the line of battle, was exchanging broadsides with the Leviathan while the Victory was the first ship in a row - she too was heading east, almost alongside the Redoutable, which in turn was alongside the Téméraire, which was pouring broadsides into the Fougueux . . .
But all that really mattered to the Calypso was that the gap between the Bucentaure and the Victory was wide, and the Leviathan was on the French Neptune's larboard side. The Calypso's sister ship was a mile away on the Leviathan's larboard bow.
The Calypso caught a sudden puff of wind that did not reach the Britannia and she surged up on the three-decker. Ramage thought for a moment of Rear-Admiral the Earl of Northesk wondering why the Calypso frigate was following so close in his wake, but the Scotsman would probably assume she was acting under orders from the commander-in-chief.
That, he realized, was the advantage of doing the unexpected: everyone assumed you must have orders . . . And if he timed it right he would be able to stay on the Britannia's larboard side as she passed the Victory to starboard so that no one would spot a little frigate apparently lost in the banks of smoke . . .
And there was so much smoke! He had expected the thundering roll of the broadsides but not all this smoke: there had not been nearly so much at the battle of Cape St Vincent (and thanks to the dilatory Earl St Vincent, or Sir John Jervis as he then was, not nearly so much action, either). But now he could understand Lord Nelson's foresight in ordering that all ships should fight under the white ensign (because the red or blue ensigns, hanging down in a light breeze, could be mistaken for a drooping Tricolour) and that another ship should paint her mastbands buff like the rest of the fleet - leaving them black (which was how the French and Spanish painted them) could lead to her being mistaken for the enemy when her hull and colours were obscured by smoke. Ramage realized that battles were won by this kind of foresight.
As the Calypso reached the line (now ragged, with many of the French and Spanish ships sagging or beaten to leeward by gunfire) it was as though the frigate was steering directly into a heavy thunderstorm: the thick banks of smoke hid the weak sun; the deep rumbling broadsides, like the growling of monsters, made even the calmest man feel uneasy.
Now the Britannia (notoriously a slow sailer) was on the Calypso's starboard bow, and beyond her was the group of ships with the Victory the nearest. All the ships had the red winking eyes of gunfire on one side or the other; all were shrouded with smoke, like monks with cowls.
"Hot work," Southwick commented, raising his voice above the rumbling of the guns. "The Victory's guns are firing as fast as they ever did at exercise against a watch!"
Ramage took his glass from his eye as Aitken stood in front of him. "I've just inspected the boarding parties, sir. Men are standing by at the grapnels. Will a dozen be enough aft?"
Ramage thought a moment and then nodded. "Southwick," he said, "you are in charge of the powder men. Use Rossi, Stafford and the Frenchmen. Make sure they know exactly what they have to do so that they don't blow us up. And," he added firmly, "make sure there's enough water . . ."
Then the bulk of the Britannia hid four ships that were alongside each other, guns blazing, masts and yards toppling, sails spotted with shot holes as though speckled with some vile mould: the Victory, Redoutable, Téméraire and Fougueux were locked together like wildcats fighting in a bag.
And then, with the rest of the enemy line and the British attackers over to larboard and the Calypso overtaking the Britannia, there were only two ships ahead - the Leviathan and French Neptune, with the frigate up to the north-east, well beyond the line. But the Leviathan was bracing up her yards: she was obviously going to leave the Neptune and join in the battle further towards the van . . . What would the Frenchmen in the Neptune do? She was well to leeward of the rest of the fleet: in fact she was so far to leeward she was almost among the frigates . . .
Anyway, the Leviathan had kept her out of the way for long enough: the Calypso had just to cross ahead of the Leviathan and then there would be a clear run.
"Two points to larboard," he told Aitken. "Give the Leviathan plenty of room. Then bear away."
They watched as the British ship came away from alongside the French Neptune, which still had her masts standing. Obviously Captain Henry Bayntun, who commanded the Leviathan, had his eye on the long row of enemy ships forming the van.
Boarders . . . Stafford and his shipmates handling the powder ... the Marines have their orders . . . men are ready with the grapnels to hook the two ships together . . .
Ramage tried to make sure he had not forgotten anything . . . his pistols, tucked into the band of his breeches, nudged against his ribs (he would still prefer a seaman's cutlass to the Lloyd's Patriotic Fund sword). They were passing well ahead of the Leviathan, which was hardening in sheets to steer northwards, along the enemy line.
Stafford, Rossi and the Frenchmen hurried up on to the quarterdeck carrying the heavy cast-iron braziers used in cold climates to dry out damp between decks after the planking had been well scrubbed or there had been a long period of wet weather.
They had taken several handsful of twigs from the cook's supply of kindling, used for the galley stove, along with sawn wood, and quickly set up the braziers, watched by a fussy Southwick. The master looked ahead at the French frigate, now fine on the starboard bow, and then questioningly at Ramage, who said: "Get the kindling started, and then wait. . ."
Stafford found some small twigs which still had dried leaves attached, made them into a little nest in one of the braziers, and then went over to one of the tubs and took a length of glowing slowmatch from its notch.
He came back to the brazier, put the burning end of the slowmatch amid the leaves, and blew gently until first one and then two or three of the other leaves burst into flame. Soon, feeding the flames with larger twigs, he finally used sawn up pieces of wood that had obviously come from Chatham Dockyard.
"Pity it's not a cold day," Stafford commented.
"Be careful, Staff," Gilbert said, eyeing the flannel cartridge cases stacked up under the taffrail.
The Cockney, coughing from the woodsmoke, laughed. "Not used to the sight of flames, are you Gilbert? Don't be nervous - think what it must be like over there!" He gestured towards the flickering guns of the Santissima Trinidad and her attackers.
"She's not so near," Gilbert said, cautiously taking one of the burning pieces of wood and transferring it to another brazier and feeding it with wood. He was followed by Rossi and Auguste, and finally Louis lit the last of the braziers, until all five were flickering on the quarterdeck.
Southwick walked over to Ramage. "I was thinking, sir, if an unlucky roundshot knocks over those braziers ..."
"We shall probably blow up," Ramage said matter-of-factly. "It's a risk I decided to take. You have plenty of buckets of water and the tubs, and you'll keep the deck well sluiced down."
Southwick nodded. "Thought I'd better mention it, sir."
"Oh, indeed," Ramage said. "No point in remembering as the ship blows up. Don't forget to wet the powder ..."
Southwick laughed cheerfully. "You'll be the first to hear if I forget, sir," he said.
Jackson walked across the deck to join his shipmates. "Warm work," he commented.
"Yus," Stafford said, "but it'll soon be 'ot work! Is that the frigate we're after?" he gestured over the starboard bow.
The American nodded. "The one that looks like us. Like us without the yellow strake."
"Bit more our size," Stafford grunted. "I didn't fancy that 74 that was chasing us off Cadiz ..."
"No shoals out here though; this has to be a guns, pikes, cutlasses and tomahawks job," Jackson said. "That's if you don't blow us all up with these braziers."
"If you hear a big bang, you'll know I did it wrong," Stafford said complacently.
"Not to joke," Auguste said anxiously. "Is bad luck to joke about such things."
"I'm not joking," Stafford assured him. "If Jacko hears a bang ..."
Ramage was judging distances and giving Aitken helm orders. The French frigate was sailing along on a course parallel with the enemy's line of battle and roughly a mile to leeward. A mile or more ahead of her was another frigate, and well astern and scattered were three more, along with two brigs.
"She hasn't realized yet," Aitken commented.
"Her people are too taken up with what's happening to the Redoutable and the Santissima Trinidad," Ramage said. "Don't forget, 'frigates don't stand in the line of battle'!"
"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten, sir," Aitken said dryly.
Even though the wind was light the Calypso, with a clean bottom, was sailing too fast for the French frigate, which was jogging along under topsails only, obviously not trying to keep in any particular position with the line of battle.
"We'll clew up the courses, Mr Aitken," Ramage said briskly. The Scotsman picked up the speaking trumpet and gave the order that sent men running to the buntlines and clewlines. Quickly the corners of the big lower sails were drawn in diagonally towards the masts and then the middles of the sails were hauled upwards, until the great sails looked like bundled laundry.
Ramage walked to the side and peered down at the sea from a gunport, and then he looked ahead again. "We'll hand the topgallants, too, Mr Aitken," he said, and the moment the first lieutenant shouted the orders, topmen swarmed up the shrouds and out along the yards, folding the sails and securing them against the yards with gaskets. They were doing it as thoroughly, Ramage noted, as they would a "harbour furl", where a sharp-eyed port admiral would be ready with criticisms.
So now the Calypso was reduced to topsails - what was generally regarded as "fighting canvas", although none of Nelson's ships of the line, hurrying because of the falling wind, had reduced sail: like Nelson, they were content to let enemy shot do the furling for them.
Ramage watched the French frigate carefully. If the captain was awake, then the Calypso's shortening sail should alert him. Frigates did not suddenly reduce sail in the middle of a battle without a reason. Come to that, frigates did not suddenly break through the line.
Yes, the French frigate was certainly at general quarters, with her guns run out, as of course they should be, and obviously loaded with roundshot or grape. But she seemed strangely uninterested in the Calypso - a sister ship, too, that a moment's thought should remind someone on board had been captured by the British . . .
At that moment a particularly large swell wave made the frigate yaw, and Ramage could at last read the name carved on her transom. Le Hasard. Green lettering - which had made it so hard to read - picked out with red. No gilt. The captain had obviously made do with what the dockyard had issued.
He told Aitken the name, but the Scotsman merely said: "She'll get a new name in the British service!"
Half a mile, and one point on the starboard bow.
At that moment Aitken pointed astern. The look on the first lieutenant's face made Ramage turn quickly.
The French Neptune, ship of the line, had turned to the north and was now getting into the Calypso's wake, perhaps three quarters of a mile astern. Was it a coincidence or was she coming after the Calypso?
That did not matter much, Ramage realized immediately: the moment the Calypso opened fire on the frigate, the Neptune would come up on the other side and pour in broadsides: that was unavoidable. Something, as Nelson had written, must be left to chance - and he had left the ship of the line astern to chance . . .
Well, he could forget all about the attack and sneak back through the line of battle and take up the position he should never have left. He could, but having made all these preparations he was not going to.
Or he could try to race the Neptune and get alongside Le Hasard, perhaps overwhelming her before the Neptune could catch up. But even if he took the Hasard, the Neptune would be alongside moments later, and a ship of the line's broadside . . .
He had avoided Le Brave's broadsides by guile; there was no way of avoiding the Neptune's.
He realized that he could keep the bluff he was going to use on the Hasard and try it on the Neptune. But it was only bluff; it was not a magic suit of armour that would keep out the Neptune's roundshot. But, he shrugged his shoulders, it was the only trick he could play.
Five hundred yards to the Hasard. "Stand by guns' crews and grapnel men," he said to Aitken, raising his voice against the rumbling broadsides. It was annoying to have to use the Scotsman to relay every order, but Ramage had long since realized that his voice did not carry.
The Calypso's guns would fire once, then most of the men would snatch up weapons and board. Should he have ordered two broadsides? Even three? Damnation, he told himself crossly, the boarders are the ones who will carry the enemy; one broadside of the Calypso's roundshot battering into planking will only make a lot of noise and smoke.
Four hundred yards . . . and the Neptune is closing up fast. Does her captain realize what is happening or is it just a coincidence? Might he not guess until the Calypso, guns firing, crashes alongside the Hasard?Or has he realized and is even now stalking the Calypso, waiting for the moment he can range alongside?
Three hundred yards. He could picture the Calypso's gun captains, down on their right knees, left legs flung out to the side, squinting along the sights of their guns, giving last-minute elevation orders to the handspike-men. The second captains would be waiting impatiently to cock the flintlocks and leap to one side, clear of the recoil; the gun captains would already be holding the trigger lines, ready to give the tug that would send the flint down to make the critical spark.
Two hundred yards - and yes, through his glass he could see that the French officers on the Hasard's quarterdeck were now alert. One was running towards the quarterdeck ladder; another was snatching up a speaking trumpet. A third was waving his arms, and a fourth was wrenching a pistol from his belt.
One hundred yards. He looked round at Southwick and raised his hand. Stafford and his shipmates began to bob and weave among the braziers.
Ramage looked across at the coxswain. There would be one more helm order - the one that would bring the Calypso crashing alongside the Hasard and, the rudder hard over, hold her there while the grapnels flew. If only Sarah could see this. And his father. Frigates did not stand in the line of battle - well, if only father would (in his splendid French) tell that to the Neptune . . .
Fifty yards - a frigate's length . . . now the first few guns of the Calypso's broadside are firing ... a shout to the quartermaster . . . Aitken is bellowing at the grapnel men to throw high and hard . . . More guns firing . . . the officer on the Hasard's quarterdeck is firing his pistol, obviously overexcited . . . Astern the Neptune is getting very close, the wineglass curve of her tumblehome and her masts nearly in line showing that she is almost in the Calypso's wake.
"Mr Southwick!" Ramage shouted, and almost immediately there was a faint crackling and then smoke billowed up from braziers on the quarterdeck, to be carried by the breeze over the starboard side.
"It works!" bawled an excited Aitken. "Just look at it!"
At the root of the billowing smoke cloud Ramage could see Rossi and Stafford and the Frenchmen tossing handsful of what seemed like wet dust on to the flickering braziers.
Ramage hurried to the larboard side to look astern at the Neptune, which had been hidden by the tumbling smoke. How would the clouds of smoke appear to her?
Several sharp crashes showed that the Hasard's gunners were firing. Thank goodness - fire from her would make it seem more likely from the deck of the Neptune that the British ship was ablaze . . .
"Most of the grapnels are secured, sir!" Aitken shouted. "We're right alongside!"
"Away boarders!" Ramage yelled over his shoulder, still trying to watch the Neptune. She had not altered course: she was steering to come close alongside the Calypso. In perhaps four minutes they'd all be blown to pieces.
But anyway, Southwick's trick certainly produced smoke: the breeze was blowing it right across the Hasard's deck: Ramage could imagine the Frenchmen coughing and spluttering, gasping for breath. Thank God the breeze was from the west, from the Calypso to the Hasard.
And it was time he boarded the Hasard as he had planned: to lead the seamen and Marines. But should he continue with the wet powder to make a smokescreen? What would the Neptune conclude if the smoke suddenly stopped? At the moment she must think the whole after part of the Calypso was on fire. Would that be enough to make her keep her distance, for fear the Calypso's magazine would go up, hurling blazing wreckage all over her?
"Keep that smoke coming, Mr Southwick!" he called. And this was a splendid breeze, blowing in just the right direction, even if he could not see across the Hasard's deck. If only the wind had bulk, so that it would be a shield between the Calypso and the Neptune; a shield that would ward off that broadside that the French gunners were preparing.
If only he had attacked the starboard side of the Hasard: then he would have the Hasard as a shield between him and the Neptune's broadsides . . . The French 74 would never risk hitting the Hasard . . .
But the wind is west! he almost screamed at himself, snatching a quick glance astern at the Neptune before shouting at Aitken: "Let fall the courses! Quartermaster, keep the wheel hard over! Southwick, more smoke! Jackson, look quickly and tell me how our boarders are getting on!"
Would those grapnels hold, though? They were on comparatively light lines - light so that they could be thrown easily, but not particularly strong because it was always assumed there would be several - as indeed there were. But would they be strong enough to withstand the wrenching? Strong enough to hold the Hasard alongside while the Calypso swung her round?
The devil take it, there was just a chance!
"Courses, Mr Aitken, and let fall the topgallants! Watch those sheets and braces!"
Now there was a defiant shouting and the popping of muskets from the Hasard: more than a hundred of the Calypso's seamen and all her Marines were swarming across the Frenchman's decks, fighting pike against cutlass, tomahawk against musket. Ramage could picture the bitter battle in the smoke drifting like banks of fog.
Overhead the great courses suddenly flopped down and as the yards were braced and the sheets hauled home the canvas took up the familiar curves. Then, higher up the masts, above the topsails, the topgallants spilled down and filled at once as men hauled on the halyards. The smoke seemed too thin as the sails bellied out, but Ramage realized it was a lucky fluke of wind.
For a few moments there was nothing for him to do, except look astern at the Neptune and wonder. Would the Calypso's sails draw in time so that, secured alongside the Hasard by the grapnels, she could pivot round, turning the Hasard and forcing the French frigate between her and the Neptune for long enough to act as a shield?
Would the grapnel lines hold the two ships close enough together? Anyway, at the moment the Calypso's hull was pressed hard against the Hasard: open gunports in both frigates would be jamming against each other as they rolled in the swell; the two ships' chainplates would probably lock; just long enough, Ramage prayed, for the Calypso to wrench the Frenchman round.
He stared ahead over the Calypso's bow. Yes, the horizon was beginning to shift. The Santissima Trinidad and her attackers, which had been on the beam, were gradually drawing round on to the quarter. The Calypso's sails were filling enough to lever round the Hasard.
But in time?
He looked astern at the Neptune. She was rolling heavily in a swell wave which shook the wind from her sails and then let them fill with a bang. Two hundred yards? Perhaps less.
But supposing this trick worked, what then? Would the Neptune heave-to and try to save the French frigate? Or (Ramage looked across the line of battle and through a gap saw more British ships coming into battle) would the Neptune make a bolt for the north, towards Cadiz and in the company of the van ships, which (so far, anyway) showed no sign of turning back to come to the help of the centre and rear?
Among thirty-three line-of-battle ships, one frigate more or less should make no difference - unless the captains were old friends: joined together by some revolutionary act in the past, or friends from the time that the Neptune's captain also commanded a frigate?
Now the Calypso was turning the Hasard fast: topgallants, topsails and courses against the Frenchman's topsails only: the two ships were fairly spinning! Now both frigates had their sterns pointing at the line of battle - and the Neptune was a ship's length away: Ramage could make out the planking of her hull, interrupted by the black stubby fingers of her guns, run out ready. Her sails were patched; they were old, pulled out of shape by too much use. And he could almost distinguish the lay of the rope of her rigging. The foretopsail yard curved so much it looked as if it was sprung. Dun-coloured hull, mast hoops black.
Would she risk a raking broadside into the Calypso's stern? Unless every gun was carefully aimed, there was a good chance that some of the shot would rake the Hasard too.
Ramage shook his head to clear his thoughts. There was nothing more to be done about the Neptune: the Calypso was doing her best to force round the Hasard as a shield, the smoke was now streaming forward over the Calypso's quarterdeck as she turned in the wind.
"Belay that smoke, Mr Southwick! Have the men heave those braziers over the side. You're now in command!"
With that Ramage unsheathed his Patriotic Fund sword with his right hand and hauled out a pistol with his left. "Come on!" he shouted at Jackson and made for the quarterdeck ladder, followed by Aitken.
The Hasard's maindeck was crowded. The lines of the grapnels flung aboard the Frenchman from the Calypso's deck were stretched tight, holding the two frigates together, and from the ends of the yards more grapnels were swung out and hooked into the Hasard's rigging.
There were still pockets of smoke across the French ship's deck and Ramage ducked through a gunport, leapt across the gap to one of the Hasard's open ports - noting that the lids just caught each other, despite the tumblehome - and a moment later he was racing for the Hasard's quarterdeck, shouting "Calypsos, to me Calypsos!"
A Frenchman lunged at him with a half-pike and Ramage slashed it to one side with his sword. Blurred in the corner of his eye he saw the muzzle of a musket pointing at him, but from behind there was a sharp crack: presumably Jackson's pistol had taken care of it.
There were some of the Calypso's Marines: Sergeant Ferris was holding the barrel of a musket and swinging the butt round his head like a flail as he ploughed through a group of Frenchmen, roaring curses and threats.
Ramage saw a screaming Frenchman running at him with a cutlass, flung his pistol left-handed into the man's face and sliced upwards with his sword. As the man collapsed he leapt over the body and made for the quarterdeck ladder.
He was conscious that Jackson was beside him and Aitken, shouting threats in broad Scottish, was just behind. Grinning faces blurred as he ran but he just had time to register they were Calypsos.
Suddenly someone was tugging his shoulder and shouting. Aitken. "There she goes! By God we did it! There she goes!"
An excited Aitken was pointing over the larboard quarter and, across the Hasard's quarterdeck, Ramage saw the enormous bulk of the Neptune sliding past. He registered that she was a fine sight - and that her guns were not firing: the Calypso was completely shielded by the Hasard though, judging by the slatting of canvas, Southwick and his men must be doing some hasty sail trimming.
Now he was almost at the top of the quarterdeck ladder, slashing at a Frenchman's legs and hurriedly leaning to one side as the man fell. And there was the entire quarterdeck, a replica of the Calypso's but full of men fighting desperately, cutlasses slashing and pikes jabbing.
"The wheel!" Ramage shouted, and with Jackson and Aitken they slashed and parried their way towards it. A French officer, dead from a gaping head wound, hung over the wheel, his coat caught in a spoke. Ramage had just reached the binnacle when a cursing, sword-slashing Rennick reached it from the other side.
"Steady!" Ramage bellowed, recognizing the bloodlust in the Marine officer's face.
"Oh, it's you, sir!" Rennick exclaimed, as though startled in the midst of the frenzy. With that he turned and rushed aft, to where Marines were still fighting it out with a group of French seamen.
From forward the popping of pistols and muskets and the clashing of cutlass blades showed that neither the waist nor the fo'c'sle had been secured, and then Ramage realized that most of the fighting on the quarterdeck had suddenly stopped and a Frenchman - Ramage recognized him as an officer - was shouting at the top of his voice that the ship surrendered. At that moment for Ramage everything went black.