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 saiclass="underline" 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.