Ramage & the Saracens by Dudley Pope Page A

more water was leaking in than the pump could deal with. So it reduced itself to an interesting problem of time: just when would the captain decide that the battle with the leak was irretrievably lost, and surrender his ship? Or perhaps he was one of those fanatical captains who would fight on, letting the ship sink under him. Or he might have the sense to turn the frigate round and run her ashore properly, stranding her so that he could save his crew but knowing the British could never refloat his ship. Strand her and set her on fire after the ship’s company had scrambled to safety.
    Well, the way
Le Jason
was ploughing on eastward, keeping up a high rate of fire from her broadside guns, obviously her captain was not going to give in easily.
    He beckoned to Orsini. “Go down and see Mr Bowen: ask how many casualties we have up to now.”
    â€œWe’re taking quite a few hits,” Southwick said.
    â€œAt least they’re not doing their usual dismantling shot trick,” Aitken commented.
    Coincidentally, at that moment the carpenter came up to report to Ramage: “Just sounded the well again, sir,” he said. “We’re not making any water.”
    Ramage nodded. “Very well; carry on, sound every ten minutes and report to me.”
    â€œWe’re rolling just enough to get an unlucky one ‘twixt wind and water,” Southwick said. “So’s he,” he added, pointing at the French frigate, “but he’s getting sluggish: not rolling nearly as much now.”
    â€œMakes her a steadier platform for the gunners,” Aitken commented.
    â€œAye, but wait until the water floods her hanging magazine,” Southwick said. “No one’s yet found a way of making wet cartridges fire round shot!”
    The
Calypso
’s broadside sounded ragged now, not because the gunners were failing to do their jobs properly but every gun was reloaded at a slightly different speed, and now they had their target broad on the beam the guns’ crews were loading as fast as they could, and as soon as the second captain cocked the lock and jumped clear the gun captain was tugging his lanyard.
    Jackson, his face becoming blackened with smoke, was grinning with pleasure and urging his crew on to load faster. Rossi was bellowing out a string of Italian oaths but apparently because of happiness at being in action. The four Frenchmen were hurrying about their tasks, sponging, ramming and worming as though they had never done anything else. Stafford crouched over the lock every now and again to make sure that the flint still had a sharp edge and was delivering a good strong spark.
    â€œYou’re not hitting her, Jacko!” he bawled amid the thunder of the other guns firing to the left and right.
    â€œI dam’ well am,” Jackson shouted back. “She just won’t sink!”
    â€œHer pump’s going,” Rossi called. “Maybe you had a lucky shot!”
    One more thump with the rammer and they sprang to the tackle and ran the gun out. Stafford stabbed down with his pricker and then pushed a fresh quill into the vent, shaking a small amount of priming powder into the pan. Then he snapped back the cock of the flintlock, and lifting his hand up as a signal to Jackson, jumped clear.
    Jackson sighted along the barrel and waited as the
Calypso
rolled slightly. He tugged the lanyard on a downward roll a fraction of a second before the French frigate appeared in the crude sight and once again the gun sprang back with a bronchitic cough and a spurt of flame and smoke at the muzzle.
    At once the crew again sprang into action. The soaking sponge was thrust down the bore and a powder monkey ran forward with a cartridge which Gilbert snatched up and slid into the muzzle. With the rammer poised Auguste lunged forward and thrust the cartridge down the muzzle and gave an extra hard thrust before withdrawing it and standing aside for a moment to let Albert put in the