Spurts of smoke along the Culloden's larboard side; then distant thunder. He glanced at Southwick, who snatched Jackson's telescope. The battle of St. Valentine's Day had begun. The spurts of smoke slowed and spread, merging into a low cloud drifting in the wind just above the surface of the sea.
Then a longer peal of thunder, and he saw the Blenheim streaming smoke from her broadside. Were they both firing at the same Spanish ship? The Prince George, third in the British line, fired her first broadside at the same instant the Culloden fired her second, and there was a brief interval as the noise rolled across the sea and the smoke began to spread before the Blenheim's second broadside.
So the six Spaniards had lost the race: by reaching that unmarked crossroad first, the British ships had been able to fire raking broadsides into the enemy's bows. Then through the smoke he saw the two leading Spanish ships turning away to starboard, to steer a parallel but opposite course to the British, and a distant rumble, followed by another, showed they were firing back as soon as their broadside guns could bear.
Suddenly Southwick, telescope still jammed to his eye, shouted excitedly. Yes! Both Spaniards had continued turning: instead of remaining on an opposite course they were bearing away, followed by the other four.
'Got their helms hard up for Cadiz!' yelled Southwick. "That's half a dozen Cordoba can cross off the board!'
Again the Culloden, Prince George and Blenheim fired, and the smoke spreading to leeward hid all six Spaniards from Ramage's view.
'Sir!' shouted Southwick, though Ramage was only a couple of yards from him, pointing excitedly across at Cordoba's nineteen ships over to starboard. They too had given up trying to cross ahead: the leaders were turning to larboard, on to an opposite course to the British. In a few minutes they'd be passing down the Culloden's starboard side, and Ramage pictured men from her larboard guns' crews hurriedly crossing to reinforce those on the starboard side.
Swinging his telescope round to look at Cordoba's division, Ramage was surprised at the foreshortened and enlarged image, which revealed just how much the leading ships were crowded together, three and four abreast, so that their outlines merged together into apparently continuous tiers of open gun ports, the barrels like bristles on a scrubbing brush.
The red hull of the Santisima Trinidad (her white strakes broken at geometrically precise intervals by the four rows of open gun ports) was even more conspicuous, although ahead of her were the Salvador del Mundo and San Josef, both three-deckers, the San Nicolas and a seventy-four he did not recognize.
The five ships hid many of the others but apart from their lack of formation - or perhaps because of it - they looked formidable. Ramage was glad to lower the telescope and get them back in perspective, but several impressions remained - among them the San Nicolas's beakhead painted in scarlet and topped by the huge gilded figurehead depicting the saint after whom the ship was named.
He heard Stafford say, 'If yer 'ears a crunch, it'll be the Commodore usin' us as a fender between the Capting and the Santy Trinidaddy!’
And Stafford was likely to be only slightly wide of the mark: in ten or twenty minutes the Kathleen would be squeezed between the upper grindstone of Cordoba's line to windward, and the lower of the British to leeward. Still, if the Commodore wanted him to leeward he'd make the signal.
'We're going to 'ave the best view of the guillotining,' Stafford said with apparent satisfaction to one of his mates, 'an' yer know the chap that gets the best view? Why, the chap that's 'avin' 'is 'ead trimmed orf. That is, if they don't stow 'im keel down, so 'e don't see the blade coming.'
'Would you want to see it comin', Staff?' someone asked.
'Oh, yus, I don't like anythin' sneakin' up on me.'
'But that bleedin' knife don't sneak up on you. It drops fastern'n a master-at-arms spottin' a bottle of rum being smuggled on board.'
'Quick or slow, I still like to see what's coming,' Stafford said philosophically. 'Like when I fell orf a main t'gallant yard.'
'When you did what?' The man's disbelief was obvious.
'You callin' me a liar?' Stafford demanded hotly. 'I fell orf the t'gallant yard of the Lively - you can see her over there - 'bout three years ago. An' keepin' me eyes open did a lot o'good.'
'Why? Use yer eyebrows to 'ang on to an invisible 'ook?'
'No invisibual 'ooks in the Lively, mate. Nah, as I fell I looked down an' saw I wasn't going to be no trouble to the first lieutenant.'
'No trouble to the first lieutenant? What's he got to do with it?'
'My oath,' exclaimed Stafford, 'I do 'ave to spell it out fer the likes o' you, don't I? If I'd 'it the deck I'd made a nasty mess, wouldn't I, and it'd 'ave to be swabbed and it'd take a lot o' scrubbin' afore the first lieutenant passed it clean again.'
'But how did keeping yer eyes open stop yer 'ittin' the deck?'
'It didn't stop me 'ittin it. I just saw I wouldn't 'it it. Oh no, don't say it! Wot I mean is I saw I was goin' ter land in the sea. An' I did.'
Southwick, who'd obviously been as intrigued by Stafford's tale as Ramage, then snapped, 'All right, belay all that chatter now. You sound like a flock of gannets round a dead whale.'
At that moment he caught sight of the lanky figure of Fuller edging up to the taffrail.
'Fuller!' he bellowed. 'Where the hell are you going? Why have you left your gun?'
'My line, sir — I thought I'd see if I'd got a fish on it, sir.'
'Fish? Line? D'you mean to say you've got a fishing line trailing over the stern?'
With disbelief and rage fighting for possession of his face, Southwick banged the scabbard of his sword against his boot. 'So help me, Fuller, we're going into battle, not Billingsgate fish market! Get the—'
He broke off, catching Ramage's eye, and said, 'All right, all right. See if you've got a bite! Then get the line in and stowed out of the way.'
'It's a tunny!' Fuller shouted. 'Here, give me a hand someone or I'll never get it on board.'
Ramage turned quickly and said, 'Let him have half a dozen hands, Mr. Southwick.'
Southwick's eyebrows lifted with surprise: he was obviously thinking, one man, yes, but six! .But Ramage knew anything that kept the men occupied for the time being would do no harm. Even the dullest must realize that unless the Commodore made a signal very soon, they'd all be staring into the muzzles of nearly a thousand guns, and although it was accepted that sail of the line did not fire into frigates and smaller vessels, Ramage trusted neither Spanish marksmanship nor the officers' ability to control their men. Conditions were almost perfect for gunnery: the wind light - sufficient to keep the sails drawing but not enough to heel the ships, and only a slight swell giving the ships a slow, even roll which would be no trouble to the gun captains, although if the Spaniards followed their usual habit of having soldiers on board, it might hinder them a little.
Unhurried, splendid in their precision, the fifteen British sail of the line continued their deadly game of follow-my-leaders - a game which would begin in earnest as the approaching San Nicolas, leading Cordoba's division, received the first broadsides of the Culloden and passed on to receive those of the Blenheim.