But why not? Ramage asked himself. Tradition, he supposed, but the tradition that ships of the line only fought ships of the line was a little hard on the Africa: her sixty-four guns could be opposed to the one hundred and thirty guns of the Santissima Trinidad, which must be three times her size apart from carrying double the number of guns. In fact, Ramage reckoned, the difference between the Africa and the Santissima Trinidad was effectively greater than between the Calypso and Le Brave . . .
He looked across at the Victory: she seemed to be the sharp end of a thin wedge of ships aimed at the side of the enemy line of battle; but her sails flapped occasionally in the intermittent breeze as if hinting to Lord Nelson that Nature might not be on his side.
In the Calypso, Ramage knew everything was ready for battle, although they would not be firing a shot: the gunner was down in the magazine and the "fearnought" felt curtains were hanging down, doused with water and protecting the magazine and serving hatch from flashes; the decks were wetted and sanded; the guns were loaded, with flintlocks firmly bolted on, and their captains ready to grab the trigger lines which, until needed, stayed neatly coiled on the breeches of the guns. The second captains were ready with their prickers, which would be rammed into the vents to penetrate the cartridges, ensuring that the coarser powder ignited the moment the priming powder flashed into the vent. The men would have been issued with cutlasses, tomahawks, pikes or pistols, depending what was marked against their name in the general quarter, watch and station bill, which listed the name of every man in the ship and his task for every evolution, whether anchoring, tacking, wearing, furling, reefing or fighting the enemy.
Jackson had brought up Ramage's two pistols, loaded and ready to fire - a task the American had set himself years ago. And Ramage was, at Silkin's insistence, wearing his Lloyd's Patriotic Fund sword. Ramage preferred a seaman's cutlass for fighting, but today (of all days) he could be sure the Calypso would not be doing any fighting . . .
The Victory had half a mile to go. And there! the French 74 ahead of the Santissima Trinidad fired a broadside, red winking eyes giving way to smoke which, because the wind was too light to disperse it quickly, filled the ship and blurred her outline as it streamed out of the gunports.
Ramage looked at the Victory with his glass. The enemy's broadside must have fallen short. And then the great Spanish three-decker seemed to shiver as the guns on all her decks fired. Smoke curled up, wrapping itself round her tumblehome like fog and reaching up to her sails, following their shape. Again Ramage could see no effect on the Victory or the Téméraire, which seemed to be trying to race the Victory.
The range was now so short that it could only be bad gunnery, and while Ramage speculated whether he would see spurts of water from shot falling short, the French flagship fired a broadside, but wherever her shot fell she might as well have been pelting the Victory with snowballs for all the effect they had. By now the three enemy ships were sailing along in a bank of swirling smoke because the wind was so light that ships and smoke went along together.
But the range was closing fast and he saw that the Victory was passing through the line close under the stern of the Bucentaure. It was going to be a bad place, because another French 74 was very close astern of the Bucentaure while a third (she had sagged off to leeward) was just beyond the gap, ready with a broadside.
Suddenly the three enemy ships were firing at the Victory and the Téméraire; a moment later - or so it seemed - the Victory had steered under the Bucentaure's stern and, from smoke wreathing up from her bow and the clouds of dust now drifting across the French flagship's stern, had raked her with the great 68-pounder carronade on the larboard side of her fo'c'sle. Ramage could imagine dozens of grapeshot sweeping along the length of the Bucentaure, cutting men down in swathes.
Within five minutes the whole section of the enemy line of battle was hidden in clouds of twisting and swirling smoke as the Leviathan and Neptune broke through. Well beyond, the leading ships of Admiral Collingwood's column - the Royal Sovereign, Belleisle, Mars and Tonnant - smashed their way through and, like those in Nelson's column, immediately turned to larboard, to steer parallel with the enemy ships.
"What a sight! What a sight!" Southwick kept muttering. "Oh, why couldn't I be the master of the Victory'"
"It's worked, sir!" Aitken exclaimed. "The wind held up for His Lordship!"
"It needs to hold on a bit longer to bring up the rest of the ships," Ramage said grimly, "Otherwise the odds against Lord Nelson and Admiral Collingwood will be five to one . . ."
"Seems strange to be out here while all the fighting is going on over there, sir," Aitken said. "By the way, did you see that French frigate to leeward of their line?"
"Yes," Ramage said. "She's a sister ship of the Calypso, unless I'm much mistaken."
"It's hard to make out her sheer with all these ships of the line in the way, but that's the impression I get."
"Oh, she is, sir!" Orsini exclaimed. "I saw her clearly through the gap between two ships!"
"You're not supposed to be listening," Aitken said sternly, and then demanded: "Are you absolutely sure?"
"Absolutely, sir," Orsini insisted. "The frigate to leeward of the Santissima Trinidad. She's just like us - except for our yellow strake, of course. The other four French frigates have flatter sheers, and the masts are differently spaced."
"Mr Aitken," Ramage said, his voice as casual as he could make it, "have grapnels rigged from the ends of the yards, and three or four ready here at deck level."
Southwick looked at him quizzically. "If you burn wet powder, you get plenty of smoke."
"Yes, I haven't forgotten." He turned and pointed to the tubs of water beside the aftermost carronades, round the edge of which slowmatch burned. "Have those tubs hauled over against the taffrail and send three seamen down to the magazine for cartridges."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"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."