Ramage & the Saracens by Dudley Pope Page B

wad, which he thrust home and then stood back with the rammer as Louis came up, cradling a round shot, which he rammed home, followed by another wad which Albert had ready.
    Dropping the rammer, Auguste helped run the gun out and Stafford went into action again with his pricker. As Jackson prepared to sight along the barrel he saw the black shape of the French frigate through the port. Yes, her pump was going, and the wind was whipping away the water as it sluiced over the side from the pump dale.
    Back on the quarterdeck Orsini came hurrying up the ladder. He saluted Ramage and reported: “Mr Bowen’s compliments, sir: ten dead and eleven wounded, three very seriously. He says there may be more dead that he doesn’t know about.”
    â€œYes,” Ramage said, talking to himself, “they’ll just drag bodies clear and leave them in the scuppers …”
    Twenty-one dead and wounded, and the damned Frenchman seemed to be unscathed by the
Calypso
’s guns. Admittedly they were firing into her hull and it was impossible to see what damage they were doing: they might be cutting men down in swathes, for all he knew, but it was not affecting the French ship’s rate of fire, even though she was apparently slowly—very slowly, curse it—sinking under them.
    A lucky dismasting shot might let the Frenchman escape yet.
    He looked at the Frenchman again with his telescope. Still the same group of officers on her quarterdeck. He swung the glass forward and trained it on the pump dale. Yes, it was still pouring out water, and the wind was whipping it away. He looked at the frigate’s waterline. Yes! It was definitely a little lower. He waited a minute to make sure it was not the rolling, but then he was sure: he could no longer see the copper sheathing. That had been carried a good foot above the waterline, and now he could not see it despite the roll. So
Le Jason
was at least two and probably three feet lower in the water. What did that mean in terms of tons of water sloshing around below? Without knowing her tons-per-inch immersion—the number of tons needed to immerse her hull one inch—it was hard to tell, and he knew his own weakness in doing mental arithmetic. But it was scores of tons. The water was coming in faster than the pump could get rid of it, and that was all that mattered. Nearly all, anyway. If only he knew how much faster …
    Options: he must consider them carefully. Yes, the Frenchman could turn back and make a run for the shore, planning to beach the frigate before she sank. Or he could carry on firing until the ship sank under him—it would take a brave man to do that after having cut all his boats adrift, and it would mean throwing his ship’s company on the mercy of the British. And, Ramage thought, what were his own choices? Well, he could carry on as he was now and wait for the Frenchman either to turn for the shore or sink. Or he could haul off out of range and wait for the Frenchman to sink, even if he did not bolt for the shore. That way he would save his men.
    But supposing the Frenchman managed to stop the leak? Supposing he managed to stop the water entering and pump out what was already in? Then, setting courses and topgallants (and royals, too) she could make a bolt for it. If she escaped, he would look foolish. And he would get his knuckles rapped by the Admiralty.
    No, there was no question of standing off, and unless the Frenchman turned for the shore, then this present battle of broadsides would have to go on, while the French pumped their way to windward.
    While Ramage was watching the water pouring over the side from the pump dale he noticed a dozen seamen swarming up the forward shrouds. As he looked they worked their way out along the footropes of the topsail and within moments had started to furl it.
    Furl the topsail? Leave only the maintopsail set? That would just above halve the Frenchman’s speed. Why? There could be only