The men at the mast let go the foresail halyard while others slackened away the sheet. After flapping for a moment or two it slid down the stay. At the same time other men eased away the mainsheet and, with the mainsail holding less wind, the cutter slowed down, her motion at once becoming less violent.
Damn ... as usual he was leaving things too late; but still, the less time anyone - including himself - had to think about the Belette's guns the better.
Jackson was standing near and Ramage said: Hoist the first signal - number one hundred and thirty-two.'
The American hauled one end of the light halyard, keeping tension on the other by letting it run through his legs.
Ramage had been watching the men at the tiller: they were good helmsmen, and it’d be easier to tell them where to go than try to give a course.
'Steer as if you were going to put us ashore three hundred yards this side of the frigate.'
By now the signal flags were streaming out in the wind and through his telescope Ramage saw the acknowledgement waved from the Tower.
Would the Belette's captain understand when it was reported to him that the cutter had just signalled, 'To exercise guns and small arms'? Ramage wanted him to make a diversion; but even if he missed the significance, it would not spoil the plan.
The Belette seemed to be deserted, but Ramage knew hidden telescopes were watching him and seeing the exchange of signals with the Tower.
'Lot of shooting from the Tower, sir,' reported Jackson.
Ramage looked up at the cliff, yes, the British had taken the hint and were doing their best: puffs of smoke were squirting from the top of the building and vanishing quickly in the wind.
Looking forward along the deck, Ramage saw the cutter was still smashing into an occasional larger-than-usual wave and throwing spray over the weather bow.
'Ease her to the big ones,' he snapped to the men at the tiller: he did not want more water over the guns.
The cliffs were getting very close now and the Belette was end on.
'Stand by to ease sheets, Mr Southwick! Quartermaster - steer as though you were going to lay us alongside!'
The Master shouted an order.
Ramage was suddenly worried that he might have taken the cutter too close, so the carronades couldn't be elevated high enough. Southwick saw his expression, misinterpreted it and, glancing up at the cliffs, said with his usual cheerfulness:
'If we hit a rock, sir, it'll be just a bit o' bad luck: should be ten fathoms under our keel with cliffs like that.'
Ramage nodded: steep cliffs usually meant deep water close in, while a low coastline normally went with shallow water.
With the Kathleen racing down on the frigate Ramage was conscious of a stream of impressions: the sea was much calmer, though the cliffs weren't blanketing the wind nearly as much as he'd expected, and he could see only the top of the Tower - the edge of the cliff hid the rest
Tfou are still on trial' - whatever Probus meant, the next trial wouldn't lack witnesses but if he made a mistake they'd lack someone to charge.
God, but they were approaching the frigate quickly! He saw Jackson looking at him and realized he was rubbing the scar on his forehead. Damn that American! Self-consciously he clasped his hands behind his back, telescope under his left arm. Once more unto the breach, dear friends....
Now he could see the panes of glass in the frigate's stern lights - they'd need re-glazing soon. And there was the jagged remains of the rudder post where the rudder had snapped off close under the tuck of the transom. Curious how the masts had fallen in just the right position against the cliff.
Three hundred yards to go; no, less, much less.
He put the speaking trumpet to his lips, then took it away and wiped the mouthpiece free of salt water - he was thirsty enough already.
'Remember, you men: every shot must count! Don't hurry -and remember I'll be bearing away slightly as you fire, so don't worry about training the carronades. Out with the tompions!'
Now he could see some details of the gilt scrollwork on the Belette's transom and quarter galleries. A face appeared for a moment where a pane of glass was missing.
'For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful,' Jackson said blithely.
Two hundred yards to go to the firing point: the cutter was creaming along like a yacht - one needed a few beautiful women on deck, laughing and joking... One hundred and fifty yards ... Women like Gianna, asking questions, mispronouncing unfamiliar words, her voice like music, her body ... One hundred yards: the quartermaster was balancing at the windward side of the tiller, easing it a fraction this way and that, the other man pushing or pulling in unison.
'Stand by to ease sheets, Mr Southwick.'
An unnecessary order - he'd just said that. Ramage rubbed his forehead again, not giving a damn whether or not Jackson noticed, and glimpsed the face at the window again.
From where he was standing it was sixty feet to the Kathleen's stemhead and her bowsprit stretched out another forty feet beyond: a little over thirty yards altogether.
Then a momentary spasm of terror gripped Ramage: he realized that it was impossible to rake the Belette and then wear the cutter round in time to avoid passing through the field of fire of the frigate's aftermost guns. He'd misjudged both his course and the curve of the Belette's quarter; but it was too late to do anything about it.
Fifty yards to the point where he could begin to bear away. Half these men now tensed by the guns would be dead in a couple of minutes' time.
'Quartermaster — bear away slowly now! Mr Southwick -sheets! Stand by at the guns!'
Slowly the cutter's bow, which had been heading almost directly at the frigate's stern, began to turn away to seaward. Ramage thought he'd never seen a ship turn so slowly and was just going to tell the quartermaster to put the helm hard up when he saw the captain of the first carronade drop down on one knee four or five feet behind the gun and peer along the barrel, the trigger line taut in his right hand.
Steady, he told himself... But God Almighty, a frigate was a damn big ship viewed from the deck of a cutter.
A sudden crash from forward as the first gun fired made him jump, but instinctively he glanced at the target; a complete section of the Belette's stern lights where the man had been standing disappeared in a cloud of dust: strange how shot hitting light woodwork always sent up dust. Some rusty-coloured pockrnarks round the hole showed where a few scattered grapeshot had smashed through planking.
Another crash as the second carronade fired, and the grapeshot blasted into the starboard side of the transom. Most of them hit below the windows, sending up more dust, showers of splinters, and sparks where they ricocheted off metaL
The third gun fired, punching in the centre section. But the Kathleen was still swinging seaward and Ramage could now look along the side of the frigate. He saw the ugly short muzzles of her broadside guns poking out of the ports, trained round as far aft as possible. He could imagine the Frenchmen, their hands taking up the slack on the trigger lines, waiting for the cutter to sail into their sights....
The smoke from the Kathleen's carronades drifted aft and although Ramage was not watching it, the smell was there, acrid and biting in the back of his throat. The noise and smell of battle: the combination drove many men temporarily crazy, transforming them from quiet, amiable sailors into bloodthirsty killers. This was the moment - particularly with boarding parties - when officers had to be alert to keep the men firmly in the grip of discipline. They rarely if ever did; but success needed no excuses, and in case of failure dead officers could not reproach themselves.