'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.
There was the Calypso ahead, all her masts, yards and rigging looking like yellowish - red lacework in the light of the flames, but the hull was solid black and menacing. And beyond her the dancing reflection of the flames just caught the masts of the rest of the privateers and beyond, in the distance. La Creole. And the buildings. The flames lit up every building in Otrabanda. And Punda - there was Government House, the white walls this side showing stark, but the northern side was in harsh shadow with the harbour entrance a gaping black mouth with a fort on each side.
Suddenly there was a blinding double flash, followed immediately by a great rolling and reverberating boom that seemed solid noise. The night was black again as the shock of the explosion caught them, and then men, stunned by what they had seen but realizing that now they were safe, stopped rowing. The boom continued echoing down the channel towards the Schottegat, seeming to leave a terrified silence in its wake.
Then it began to rain: a pattering on the water grew heavier and suddenly Ramage realized what it was: the wreckage of two blown - up ships was beginning to land.
'Duck!' he shouted. 'Crouch down - under the thwarts 1' But his voice came out as a croak and Stafford repeated it, adding his own oaths. Great splashes told of heavy pieces of timber crashing into the water, and amid the noise Ramage heard Stafford say conversationally: That flash left it all bloody dark, didn't it? You're orf course for the Calypso, Jacko."
'All right, all right, it isn't every night we see a frigate blow up.'
'Nar, but I'm soakin' wet and cold, and the capting is shivering like a sick dog.'
'Give way, men!' Jackson called, and the men began rowing again.
'The Dutch survivors,' Ramage croaked. 'Our boats . . ' search for them . . .'
'Mama mia, all is blown to Heaven, sir,' Rossi said, 'or is sitting on the clouds wondering how to make the down.'
'Well send boats as soon as we get to the Calypso, sir,' Jackson called, 'but they'll probably send 'em anyway. We want to get you and Mr Rennick and the rest back on board quickly."
'What's happened to Mr Rennick?'
'Don't rightly know, sir. It's his shoulder, and he's lost a lot of blood.' 'Where's Mr Baker?' 'He - well, sir, a musket ball caught him.' 'Badly wounded?'
'Dead, sir. Him and several men. You and Mr Rennick and a few wounded men were all we could get over the side in time.'
But the effort of concentrating was too much; Ramage tried to fight off the faintness draining him but be had no strength, and the next time he opened his eyes he was lying on the Calypso's deck, Southwick shining a lantern on him as Bowen, the surgeon, ripped the seams of his shirt and trousers and said quietly to the master: 'Nasty cut on the skull but the cranium not damaged: musket or pistol ball still lodged in his left forearm. Get him to his cabin and clean him up: for the moment I've more urgent cases to attend - '
'But it's the captain!' Southwick protested.
"Yes," Bowen said crisply, 'and that's what he'd want'
Ramage seemed to be floating in a dream. Someone was scrubbing him with a harsh towel and he felt wanner, it was dark again and then someone was trying to persuade him to drink some brandy and then gradually - it seemed to take hours, but he found out afterwards it was only thirty minutes - he was wide awake, warm, sitting up in his cot and calling for clothes.
Silkin disappeared and came back with Southwick, who announced in the pompous tones that most people adopt when talking to a sick person: The surgeon says you must stay in bed, sir.