Ramage and the Dido

But now the Frenchman had passed and Ramage had a quick glimpse of her stern, just having time to read her name, Junon. Aitken, speaking trumpet to his lips, was shouting orders which would tack the ship and take her in pursuit of the Frenchman, who was still close hauled and making off to the east-north-east - whether trying to escape or to cover the frigate, Ramage was not sure.

What startled him was the lack of damage and casualties in the Dido: instead of the decks being littered with dead and wounded - especially the Marine sharpshooters - and the boats smashed and rigging hanging down torn by shot, there were perhaps half a dozen dead or badly wounded, and little sign of damage. Yes, the Frenchman had been taken completely by surprise. But the fight was not yet over; having lost the windward gauge, suddenly slipping across the bow was not a trick he could try a second time.

Quickly the sheets and braces of the Dido were hauled home so that the yards were braced sharp up and the Dido sailed to the east-north-east in pursuit of the Junon, which was now a good half a mile ahead.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Down at number seventeen 32-pounder on the starboard side, which Jackson normally commanded (along with number seventeen gun on the larboard side), Stafford, Rossi and the four Frenchmen sat on the gun and rested, having returned there after firing and then reloading the larboard side gun.

'I don't want to fight a long action with these brutes,' Stafford said, slapping the barrel of the 32-pounder. 'They're just so damned big. I'm used to 12-pounders: they're more my size.'

'But think of the damage they do,' Rossi said. 'Our broadside just stopped that frigate dead and probably not done much good to that seventy-four either. '

Gilbert said lugubriously: 'I couldn't help thinking of when we were in the Calypso and we met those two seventy-fours. That could have been us, pounded to a stop and hauling down our flag.'

'Well, thanks to Mr Ramage it wasn't,' Stafford said briskly, 'so don't get sad. They're only French.'

'So are we,' Gilbert said, gesturing to the other three.

'Yes, but you don't count,' Stafford said, completely unaware that he had been tactless. 'You're not the same sort of French.'

'Thank you,' Gilbert said ironically. 'We are just the sort that they shoot if they ever catch us.'

'Shoot?' Stafford was puzzled. 'You mean execute?'

'Yes, of course. They regard us as traitors. They execute all Frenchmen they find serving the British.'

'Be careful then,' Stafford said, his voice serious. 'We don't want anything to happen to you.'

'Don't worry,' Gilbert said, keeping a straight face, 'we walk very carefully.'

Stafford stood up and stretched himself, having to crouch because of the low headroom. 'I do fink the first lieutenant was a bit 'ard on us when making out the general quarters, watch and station bill. These guns are supposed to have eight men, but 'cos we're short of complement he gives us only seven, which means six when we go to general quarters 'cos we lose Jacko who has to go as quartermaster. Six ain't enough.'

'We manage,' Louis said. 'Stop grumbling, Staff. Always you grumble. The meat's too salty, too many weevils in the biscuit, not enough men at the gun: you're never happy.'

'Oh yus I am,' Stafford protested. 'It's just that when you come to a new ship you 'spect things to be right. If eight men are allowed for a 32-pounder, let's have eight: don't make us hump it around with only six.'

'Is a compliment,' Rossi said matter-of-factly. 'Mr Aitken knows that we can manage.'

'Most of the other guns have eight men,' Stafford pointed out.

'Some have only seven, and they're all former Calypsos,' Rossi said. 'And we have seven except when we go to general quarters, and Jackson has to go up to the quarterdeck.'

'That's the very time when we need the extra man,' Stafford declared.

'Well, we haven't got him so we'll have to make do,' Gilbert said cheerfully. 'For me, I prefer the Dido to the Calypso: more room, a more comfortable motion in a seaway. There's no comparison between serving in a frigate and a ship of the line.'

'You're right; there ain't no 32-pounders in a frigate,' Stafford declared. 'But there's too many people in a seventy-four. It's not friendly, like in a frigate. Too many Marines, too many officers and petty officers. No, give me the Calypso any day.'

'Well, if you were still in the Calypso and you had just met that French seventy-four, you might be dead.'

'No, not with Mr Ramage,' he said seriously. 'He'd have thought of something.'

'One day,' Auguste said, speaking for the first time in the conversation, 'Mr Ramage might not think of something, then you are dead.'

'We'll all be dead,' Stafford said cheerfully. 'Well, you can't expect to live forever, can you?'

'Yes,' Rossi said fervently. 'Well, maybe not forever, but I want to die in my bed of old age, with all my weeping grandchildren round me.'

'All sobbing and sayin' prayers, eh? Some hope,' Stafford said. 'They'll all be damned glad to see the back of you!'

'You don't deserve to have me as second captain of this gun,' Rossi said. 'Dying is a very serious matter for an Italian.'

'It's not exactly a lark for an Englishman either,' Stafford said. 'The family don't usually gather round laughing and joking.'

He walked round to the gunport and leaned out. He could just see ahead, and then came back to report.

'The Frog's less than half a mile ahead. I think we're catching up slowly. We may have raked her, but it doesn't seem to have slowed her down at all. The other French frigate is further round to leeward with the British frigate engaging her. They seem to have been having quite a scrap.'

'If it was the Calypso she'd be dismasted by now,' Rossi boasted.

'If the Calypso was here, we'd probably be engaging the seventy-four, knowing Mr Ramage,' Stafford said soberly.

'You see, it's not so bad after all being in the Dido,' Gilbert said quietly. 'It's all death and no glory when a frigate has to fight a ship of the line. I'm not a proper sailor, but even I know that.'

Stafford adjusted the strip of cloth round his forehead to stop perspiration running into his eyes. 'It's hot down here. I wish I was working on the carronades, up in the fresh air.'

'Not only fresh air up there,' Rossi said. 'Grapeshot and splinters too.'

'Well, we'll get roundshot and splinters down 'ere,' Stafford said philosophically, 'so there's not much to choose. I think I'd prefer the extra fresh air.'

With that he walked to the gunport again and, holding on to the barrel of the 32-pounder, leaned out to look ahead. 'We're gaining on her slowly and I reckon we're pointing closer to the wind,' he said.

'She must have a foul bottom,' Rossi said. 'Usually the French are closer winded than us.'

'We may have done her some damage when we raked her,' Stafford said. 'That was a smart move by Mr Ramage; we threw a raking broadside into her without getting a broadside back. One up to us.'

'But it's bound to end up a battle of broadsides,' Gilbert said. 'Gun for gun she's the same as us, so it'll be a question of who can last out the longest.'

'Unless Mr Ramage thinks up some trick,' Stafford said.

Up on the quarterdeck Ramage lowered his telescope and said: 'We're gaining on her. Slowly, admittedly, but we're pointing higher.'

'She's foul all right,' Southwick growled, 'otherwise we'd never get to windward of her. I don't know what's wrong with our builders, but we can't produce ships that go to windward like the French. Think of the Calypso. Her French builders knew a thing or two. The French can't fight, but by God they can build weatherly ships.'