'Dyson,' Ramage snapped, 'we're going to wear right across this fellow's bow at the very last moment. Just shave his stem. I’ll give the word, but be ready. The rest of you, stand by at the sheets. One kinked rope jamming in a block and she'll cut us in half, so have a care!'
He looked back over the Marie's larboard quarter but, as he turned his head, he caught sight of a large, dark shape: a dark shape topped by a series of rectangles that glowed in the moonlight like distant phosphorescence - the frigate was back, reaching south along the coast and steering to intercept the chasse-marée, which seemed to have not yet sighted her.
'Belay all that,' he told Dyson hastily, 'here comes the frigate!'
At that moment the chasse-marée sighted her and immediately wore round to larboard, her booms and gaffs crashing across with a noise that could be heard from the Marie, hardening in sheets at the run and obviously hoping to claw up to windward of the frigate. But it was going to be close. It was the Frenchmen's only chance, and a desperate one, with the chasse-marée's captain gambling that he could pass the frigate so fast on an almost opposite course that their combined speeds would spoil the British gunners' aim.
The frigate's starboard side suddenly dissolved in a blinding flash. The roar and rumble of her whole broadside came across the water and moments later echoed back from the cliffs.
'Cor, that blinded me!' Stafford exclaimed.
'Likely to have done more than that to the Frenchies,' Dyson said. 'An 'ole broadside!'
'Dismasted her,' Jackson said quietly. 'I can just see her. She's lying -'
'I see her,' Ramage said, 'but that damned frigate's seen us: she's going to leave the Frenchman for a few minutes and deal with us.'
The frigate ploughed on towards the Marie and Ramage knew there was now no chance: she would be on them before they were close enough inshore to get her captain worried about the depth of water under her keel, and with her gunners alert the Marie's chances of tacking and wearing her way out of trouble were nil.
Surrender! The frigate would soon heave-to and hoist out boats to deal with the dismasted chasse-marée, so there was a chance they would accept the Marie's surrender, and that would give him time to identify himself.
'Jackson and Stafford - let go the main halyards! Watch your head, Dyson! Rossi, let the jib halyard run!'
At the same time Ramage jumped over and let the jib sheet fly: the sail started flogging immediately, and he jumped back to the weather side with Dyson as the heavy boom, mainsail and the gaff crashed down like a collapsed tent.
Slowly the Marie lost way and paid off with the wind and sea on her beam. A minute or two later the frigate was to windward and Ramage heard shouts and blocks squealing as she tacked, and a voice shouted in bad French: 'You surrender?'
'We're British,' Ramage bellowed. 'Yes, we'll wait here!'
'You surrender,' ordered the voice, magnified by a speaking-trumpet, in a disbelieving and uncompromising tone. 'We'll send a boat in a few minutes.'
With that the frigate bore away and headed back to the chasse-marée, now a wallowing hulk, and hove-to just to windward. Ramage could imagine the bustle as boats were hoisted out. One would be enough for the Frenchmen - they would have no fight left in them, and the frigate was perfectly placed to give them another broadside if necessary. And one boat would be enough for the little Marie!
'Dyson, see if you can get into the cuddy: we need a lantern. It might save a lot of misunderstanding when the boat gets here.'
With that they began hauling the heavy folds of sail away from the hatch. It was hard work, with both boom and gaff sliding a few inches one way and another as the Marie rolled. Several minutes later they had cleared enough space for Dyson to slide down into the cuddy while the five of them leaned hard against the boom in case it slipped and crushed him.
Suddenly Dyson vanished and a moment later began swearing violently. 'Me ankle!' he shouted. 'I slipped and wrenched it! I can't even stand up again!'
Ramage was nearest to the hatch. 'Hold tight,' he told the men, 'I'll go down and fetch him out.'
He lowered himself, carefully feeling with his feet so that he landed astride Dyson, who was lying on the cabin sole, groaning and cursing.
'Left leg, sir,' he muttered. ‘That's it - ow! Cor, I think it's busted. Oow,' he screeched, as Ramage ran his hand over it.
It was broken, and how the devil were they to hoist Dyson out of this mess?
'Where's the brandy?'
'Locker by the step,' Dyson grunted.
A few moments later Ramage pulled the cork out and gave Dyson the bottle.
Jackson was peering down into the cuddy. 'Is it broken, sir?'
'Afraid so,' Ramage said. 'Find some light line and take this locker lid: smash it up and give me a piece of wood for a splint.' The American disappeared and a few moments later Ramage heard thudding as he broke up the lid.
'You've had enough of that brandy, Dyson.'
'Just another sip, sir, it 'urts cruel 'ard.'
'I know it does, but I don't want you being sick over everything; it's difficult enough down here as it is.'
Dyson gave him the bottle and he corked it. 'Another tot when we get you up on deck.'
Jackson handed down a strip of wood and several lines. 'Shall I come down and give you a hand, sir?'
'There's no room; Dyson's lying here like a couple of sacks of potatoes.' Ramage braced himself, tucking all but one of the lines under a knee. 'Now, this is going to hurt, Dyson, but we can't move you until I've got a splint on it.'
Dyson grunted from time to time but he did not say a word. Ramage was not sure if the brandy was taking effect or whether the man realized that cursing and complaining would only cause delay. And time, he thought to himself as he gently knotted the first line, is getting short: the frigate's boarding party will soon be here.
The Marie was now rolling more violently: probably the water was getting shallower and the uneven bottom was kicking up an awkward swell with the wind against an ebb tide.
'How are you up there with that boom?' he shouted to Jackson.
'Trying to secure it with the mainsheet, sir. The topping lift's carried away. We've got to move it back across the hatch for a minute; we can't get at the bitter end: the boom's jamming the cleat.'
'Carry on but hurry; it's hot down here!'
The little cabin exaggerated every noise on deck; the boom being dragged a few feet sounded as if the hull was collapsing.
Ramage reached for another line and carefully slid it under Dyson's leg, trying to wedge his own body so that the rolling did not dislodge him. He tied a reef knot and took the third line. That passed round easily and he reached for the fourth, wishing Jackson would hurry and get the sail off the hatch.
Suddenly there was a heavy thud against the hull, a babble of voices, and a startled exclamation in French by Louis. Almost at once Jackson was shouting in English and Stafford joined in. The frigate's boat had got alongside without the men, busy securing the main boom, seeing them.
Many feet were pattering over the deck overhead; someone - he sounded like an excited midshipman - was giving shrill orders.
'Hold on a minute,' Ramage told Dyson and stood up, clawing at the canvas and finally thrusting his head and shoulders clear. There was at least a dozen men on board, all with cutlasses or boarding pikes pointing at Jackson and his men.
'Ahoy there!' Ramage bellowed, ‘we are -' he broke off as he sensed a movement above him, a swift movement which showed against the stars: it looked like the butt of a pistol coming –
CHAPTER SIXTEEN