'Rossi, stand by to light those port fires!'
One hundred and fifty yards to go, six ship's lengths or more. Flickering at the hatchways - Rennick's men were making a good start and the tar was probably flaring. The Delft must see the lights now - the flames, still small, were reflecting on the underside of the fore and main booms, lighting the rigging as delicate tracery and just catching the weave of the canvas. And the phosphorescence must make the bow wave and wash very obvious. Were the Dutch waiting with a broadside? He gave a quick order to Jackson which brought the schooner a point to larboard but the Dutch still could not train round their broadside guns far enough.
No point in trimming sails; the Nuestra Senora would carry more than enough way to shoot her up into the wind and alongside the frigate. For a moment he thought the crackling was musket and pistol fire from the Delft; then he realized it was the sound of flames inside the schooner. The pitch must have caught - yes, and here was the beginning of the smoke, sharp in the throat The only thing (apart from his bad seamanship) that could save the Dutch now would be for the fire down below to get out of hand, so that it reached those half - casks of powder before the Nuestra Senora could get alongside ... A hundred yards to go, perhaps less. The schooner was seventy feet long, twenty - five yards.
'Stand by at all the halyards!'
He could see men, the extra men, materializing from their hiding places behind masts, behind guns, behind coils of rope. He needed them now; it saved him calling up Rennick's men, as he'd planned. And - yes, he could improve the plan.
'A man to every grapnel,' he bellowed. 'Up the ratlines with you and haul 'em on board, ready to toss into the Dutchman's rigging as we come alongside - I'll give the word!'
There was Rossi, waiting calmly. 'Get your lanterns out but keep them down so you don't blind us!'
Rennick was shouting up through the skylight (now a gaping 'hole) of the captain's cuddy that all was well below. The smoke was swirling up through the hatches; he could hear men coughing and cursing. 'Get your men on deck, then I' he ordered Rennick. The Delft was huge now, fine on the larboard bow. Left on this course, the Nuestra Senora would pass across her stem and race out through the harbour entrance. No - don't look at those flashes along the Delft's upper decks: the Dutchmen are Mazing away with muskets. Wounded Calypsos - that was his great fear any man wounded had to be left behind: he had given strict orders about that Seventy - five yards. Jackson was watching him, the luffs of the sails and the Delft. The schooner's hatchways were yellow and red rectangles of light and flames: the draught below was more than he expected, roaring, a blacksmith's bellows. And here was Rennick, breathless. 'Everything going fine, sir!' 'Not burning too quickly?' 'No - it just looks like it from up here I'
'Rossi,' Ramage called. 'Start those port fires!' And there was the stern of the Delft on the larboard bow, the flashes of muskets making her seem like a house surrounded by fireflies. This was the moment 'Hard over, Jackson!' It was not a regular helm order but far more effective. Smoothly the Delft herself seemed to move quite slowly from the larboard side, across the schooner's bow - just missing the bowsprit - to place herself on the starboard bow, forty yards or so ahead and now heading the same way. The schooner's sails began flogging, the masts shaking the ship.
'Make up topping lifts . .. Let go all halyards! Stand from under! Mind the booms and gaffs!' Rossi's port fires burst into flame and Ramage saw Jackson, face calm, eyes sparkling in the reflection, looking up and over to the Delft. There was no need to give him any more helm orders; the American could lay the schooner alongside the Delft using the last of her way.
The Dutch musketry was now nearly deafening; the sound of balls ricocheting off metal fittings and guns varied from a sharp ping to clangs like pealing church bells. Now the Delft's taffrail was abreast the foremast and the Nuestra Senora was making perhaps two knots. Now abreast the mainmast Throw those grapnels, men - high and true!'
There was a great thud as the schooner's hull caught the Delft's side, but everyone was expecting it. Then Ramage realized that all the sails, with their great booms and gaffs, had dropped several moments before and he had not noticed the crashing and flapping as he concentrated on the Delft. And there was Rossi, calmly stuffing spluttering port fires into the folds of the mainsail.
Ramage took the silver whistle which was slung round his neck on a piece of line. One last glance round. The grapnels were holding the two ships together and the men were out of the rigging. There was no sign of wounded men lying on deck - a miracle in view of the rattling musketry, but until a few moments ago the Dutchmen were trying to hit men running around on a moving vessel.
'Abandon ship!' he bellowed, and put the whistle to his lips and blew a piercing note, and suddenly the whistle seemed to explode and everything went black.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Seas were breaking over him and the side of his head was crushed in. His left arm felt as if it was seized in a vice. A loud voice was cursing in fluent Italian; then a Cockney began swearing violently. His whole body was suddenly lifted up, rolled sideways and dropped with a thud, and then he was violently sick, bringing up salt water which tore at the back of his throat The spasm was over quickly, but the violent red flickering stayed, the wound in his head numb except for the sharp etching by salt water. Then he realized the red flickering was not in his head; it came from two ships that were less than fifty yards away, and he was now sprawled in a boat whose seamen were rowing away from the flames as though the Devil was chasing them.
'You all right nar, sir?'
He glanced up and recognized the shadowy face of Stafford, whose hair had come loose from the queue and was plastered over his face so that he seemed to be a witch after a ducking.
'I think so. Left arm feels strange. My head, too.' 'Accidente! You is alive then, commandante,' gasped an excited Rossi. 'Any minute those stronzi blow up!' 'Where . . . where is Jackson?' 'Here, sir, at the tiller. And Mr Rennick, too.' Slowly everything stopped spinning and Ramage looked round. The Nuestra Senora was ablaze forward and aft, her masts like trees in a forest fire, but as they had planned, nothing was burning near the mainmast, where the burning fuses should be sputtering their way towards the powder casks. But the blaze started by Rossi's port fires on the schooner's quarterdeck had spread to the Delft, perhaps by sparks. But no - her mizenmast and yards had collapsed across the Nuestra Senora's quarterdeck, probably because the shrouds had burned through, and now the great spar formed a column of flames joining the two ships.