Ramage

'Mr Southwick: we'll tack now, if you please.'

The Master roared a string of orders and seamen ran to the jib, foresail and main sheets, while others overhauled the lee runners, ready to set them up.

 Southwick glanced forward along the deck and then aloft to check everything was clear.

'Ready ho!'

He turned to the men at the tiller. 'Put the helm down!'

 The cutter's bow began swinging to larboard, towards the shore. She came into the wind's eye and both jib and foresail started to flog as the wind blew down both sides; then the big main boom swung across overhead.

 'Helm's a lee! ... Let go and overhaul lee runners ... Aft those sheets!'

 Seamen who had let go the starboard sheets for both jib and foresail moved unhurriedly — or so it seemed: in fact they were fast but, being well trained, used the minimum of effort - to the larboard sheets and began hauling them in, bellying both the headsails as the wind once again blew life and shape into the canvas.

 'Look alive, there,' called Southwick. 'Meet her,' he snapped at the two men at the helm. They eased the tiller a fraction to let the ship pay off and gather speed, so that her bow would not be pushed too far round by the punch of the waves.

 Ramage said, 'Thank you, Mr Southwick, I want her hard on the wind.'

 'Tally aft jib and foresail sheets,' bellowed Southwick. 'Aft the mainsheet! Quartermaster - starboard a point!'

 Ramage watched the Kathleen's sharp bow come up into the wind. The alteration was only a few degrees but she responded instantly. From the time they left Bastia until she tacked the cutter had been on a reach, with wind and sea abeam, and she had hardly pitched at alclass="underline" the waves coming in from the larboard side slid under the ship and thrust at her deep keel, but the wind in her sails balanced the thrust so the cutter slipped along well heeled and with easy grace.

 But now, beating to windward, she was meeting the seas at a sharp angle; her bow rose up and crashed down diagonally on to each advancing line of waves, shouldering the solid crests and smashing them into showers of sparkling spray which flung up over the weather bow and soaked everyone forward of the mast.

Ramage balanced himself on the balls of his feet without even realizing he was doing it, and the muscles of his legs alternately slackened and tautened to keep him standing upright

 He looked at the Belette: she was fine on the starboard bow, and the Kathleen's course now converged slightly with the coast. Without realizing he was doing it, Ramage worked out the ship's leeway, saw she would pass too far off, and ordered, 'Quartermaster, come on the wind until the leech begins to shake... Right, steady as you go.'

'South by west a half west, sir,' the man said automatically.

 'Right, Mr Southwick - a swig aft with the sheets, if you please.'

 And that, Ramage thought, is just about right: the Kathleen should shoot up to the Belette as if she was going to poke her bowsprit into the windows of the captain's cabin. It was going to require perfect timing for him to bear away at the last moment, yet if he was going to give his gunners a chance, he could not bear away too quickly.

 Fortunately any big warship's most vulnerable part was her stern: the great transom was flimsily built compared with the sides. If the Kathleen's grapeshot could smash in through the transom they'd sweep the whole of the after part of the ship. The effect on the French soldiers would be terrifying: the fact they weren't used to the half-darkness and low headroom of a frigate's gun deck put them at a disadvantage; if they heard the transom being smashed down and then saw their target spin on her heel and sail out to sea again without ever getting anywhere near the arc of fire of their cannon, it would make them nervous. And the steps from nervousness to fear, and fear to panic, were very small...

 'Bosun's Mate! Pass the word down to the Carpenter's Mate that we'll probably be under fire on the starboard side in less than five minutes' time.'

 That would make sure the Carpenter's Mate's crew would be ready with shot plugs, sheets of leather and of copper, and liberal quantities of tallow, ready to stop up any holes. Because she was pitching violently, the chance of a shot hitting  the underwater section of her bow as it rose in the air was considerable; and with the wind coming off the land the Kathleen was also heeled to larboard, showing a lot of the copper sheathing along her vulnerable starboard bilge below the waterline.

 Up and over: the Kathleen's bow lifted to a wave, sliced off the top in spray, and sank into the trough. Suddenly an extra strong gust of wind heeled her right over so that the sharp wedge of the stem cut into the next crest at a much sharper angle, scooping solid water over the weather bow and sluicing it aft along the flush deck. Seamen grabbed handholds on guns and rope tackles as, a moment later, they were knee high in water which cascaded along like a river, snatching up everything loose on deck - including thick rope rammers and sponges used for loading the guns, and some of the match tubs.

 Southwick bellowed to the men at the aftermost guns on the lee side and they grabbed the flotsam before it swept out through the gun ports.

 Ramage just cursed to himself. Thank God he'd ordered the tompions to be put back in the carronades to seal the muzzles.

'Mr Southwick — make sure the guns' captains wipe the flints and the locks.'

 Ramage could now see every detail of the Belette quite clearly without the telescope. He called Southwick over, quickly ran through the plan and told him again, emphasizing each word: 'As soon as we're in range I'll begin to pay off to bring the guns to bear. The minute the last gun's fired, we wear ship to get clear to seaward.'

'Aye aye, sir: I understand.'

'And overhaul all the sheets and runners.'

 'Aye, aye, sir,' Southwick said cheerfully. 'We'll do it just as if the Admiral was watching.'

 'Better than that,' Ramage grinned. 'It's a lot worse being blown up by a Frenchman than rubbed down by an Admiral.'

 At that moment Ramage thought of Gianna: what was she doing? He deliberately pushed the thought from his mind, otherwise he'd start wondering if he'd ever see her again. A reasonable enough question, though, looking at those 12-pounder guns whose snouts were already sticking out through the Belette's ports.

 Something over half a mile, with four or five minutes to go, and the cutter sailing too fast and rolling too much to give the gunners a real chance.

 'I'll have the guns run out, Mr Southwick. Leave the tompions in.'

 He watched the carronades being hauled out on their slides, ordered a slight alteration of course, and suddenly decided on a brief few words with the men. He put the speaking trumpet to his lips — what a beastly taste the copper mouthpiece had -and shouted:

 'D'you hear there! Mr Appleby's explained what we are going to do. Remember - every shot through the captain's cabin! And look lively at the sheets when we wear round or those Frenchmen will knock off your heads and the Kathleen’s stern!'

The men yelled and waved: they were soaking wet from spray but cheerful.

 The cutter was finding calmer water in the lee of the cliffs: now he had to watch out for sudden unexpected gusts of wind. He wanted to reduce last-minute rushing about, and anyway she was still heeling too much.

 Haul down the foresail, Mr Southwick, and check the main sheet a fraction.'