He had taken a chance going into action with topgallants set instead of fighting under topsails alone, but so far in this weasel-in-a-hen-run type of action it had paid off. The French were under topsails alone and it was costing them a couple of knots.
More signals came from the first frigate. Suddenly and almost unbelievably the second frigate tacked and came round on the same course as the Juno, but nearly half a mile to leeward, leaving the British frigate between her and the convoy.
Southwick, watching open-mouthed, turned to Ramage, and said: 'I must be dreaming. Why the devil has he done that?'
There was only one explanation Ramage could think of. ‘They reckon we're going down to join the Surcouf!’
He looked over towards her and felt quite sick: Aitken had two frigates bearing down on him. But there was nothing he could do. The time had nearly come for the Juno to start the bishop's move.
'Orsini,' he called. 'The Diamond's pendant and number twenty-two!!
'Aye, aye, sir,' the boy yelled, running towards the halyards. 'Engage the convoy!'
'Mr Southwick, we'll tack again. Jackson, keep her as close to the wind as you can!'
The Juno turned north again, heading straight for the shore and leaving the convoy on her starboard side.
‘That'll fool them!' Southwick exclaimed gleefully. 'Both the frigates are tacking again. They did think we were going down to the Surcouf. Not that she couldn't do with a hand,' he added soberly. A moment later he was berating the men at the wheel and glowering at Jackson as a luff fluttered.
With the Juno heading for the shore Ramage kept glancing at the convoy over the top of the compass. It looked as though the frigate would run up the beach before the middle of the convoy bore south-east, so he could fetch it on the next tack.
As he watched Orsini arrived in front of him, almost squeaking with excitement and pointing at the far side of the convoy, towards the Surcouf. Ramage stared, frowned and then snatched Orsini's telescope, cursing as he had to adjust the focus.
One French frigate had rammed the other! Her jibboom and bowsprit were stuck in the second ship's side and her foremast had come crashing down, locking into the other frigate's mainmast. Even as he watched, her mainmast began to topple, slowly at first and then gathering speed, until it fell over the side, its yards giving it a cartwheeling effect. The Surcouf, which he had last seen between the two frigates, wreathed in smoke and obviously trapped, was between the wrecked ships and the convoy, sailing fast. And La Créole had hoisted her own flag and was firing into the last ship of the centre column.
Ramage thrust the telescope back to Orsini. 'Watch the Surcouf for signals!'
There was no time to tell Southwick: all that mattered now was that the Juno stayed close-hauled until she was almost on the beach and then tacked south-east again into the middle of the convoy.
The two frigates the Juno had dodged were still tacking, trying to catch up with her. The first one had her topgallants set but Ramage knew there was precious little the Frenchman could do now to save the convoy, unless, of course, the Juno ran aground. This was becoming a distinct possibility.
Damn all this tacking! There were seven fat merchantmen almost at his mercy once he got to windward. He glanced up at the luffs, but Jackson and Southwick were watching like hawks. The beach was approaching with alarming speed and already the water had changed to green and close ahead it was an even lighter green. Ramage heard a chanting from the mainchains and saw the leadsman at work, water from the line streaming down his body.
He glanced back at the merchantmen. He needed another fifty yards before he tacked; otherwise he would not lay the middle of the convoy, which was helping him by continuing to steer the same course.
Southwick was watching him anxiously. 'Leadsman reports five fathoms, sir!'
‘We'll hold on a little longer, Mr Southwick.'
It was a devilish choice having to risk running ashore or miss getting into the middle of that convoy! He would look a damn fool with the Juno hard aground, bows into the beach, while the Surcouf and La Créole tried to finish off the convoy before the remaining two French frigates beat them off.
‘He's reporting four fathoms, sir!'
'I can hear him, Mr Southwick.'
And I can see the sand too, he thought grimly, and almost distinguish the individual palm fronds as well! He looked back over the quarter at the convoy, tried to estimate if there were twelve points between the Juno's jibboom and the merchantmen, and gestured to Southwick: 'You may tack, Mr Southwick. This is the bishop's move!'
He almost giggled at the 'may’ and he knew he was getting far too excited.
The wheel spun, the men looking as if they were trying to climb up the spokes; the blocks screeched and the Juno's bow swung along the beach so that palm trees, a few small thatched huts and the mountains in the distance swept across his vision as though he was looking from the window of a runaway coach.
Still no thump under the deck, still no gentle slowing down. The Juno had not hit a rock, a coral reef or run on to a sand bar - yet. Then there was a sea horizon ahead - a horizon on which the merchant ships were bunched. He ran forward to the quarterdeck rail. The larboard-side guns had long ago been reloaded and run out again, and all the men on both sides were watching him, rags round their brows and most of them naked to the waist.
He lifted the speaking trumpet to his mouth. 'Stand by, my lads! This tack will take us right into the convoy. I hope you're more awake than the gunners in that first French frigate!' There was a chorus of shouts and jeers and before giving them a cheery wave he said: 'Pick your targets: every shot must count!' He turned back for a good look at the convoy, knowing he must choose the course through it that gave the gunners the best chance of firing into all seven ships. Orsini was once again jumping up and down, trying to attract his attention. The boy was so excited he was incoherent. Ramage shook him and told him to report in Italian. 'The Diamond batteries, sir! They are firing at the French frigates - not the ones that collided, but the others. The shot are falling all round them!'
'Excellent,' Ramage said calmly. 'Now you continue to watch the Surcouf for signals. Look at her!' he exclaimed. The British frigate was within half a mile of the nearest merchant ships and heeling gracefully in the wind as her topgallants were furled. Aitken obviously wanted to make a leisurely job of the merchantmen, but Ramage hoped he would not forget the two remaining frigates.
A glance over the starboard beam reassured him that they were still down to leeward and then he looked back at the convoy. The nearest three ships, which had been on the landward side, were now four hundred yards ahead. As he concentrated on them he saw that their sails were not just badly trimmed, they were flapping, with sheets and braces slack, if not cut. Boats were being lowered round them - the ships were dead in the water and their crews were abandoning them! He looked at the others and saw that they were all being abandoned.
Southwick was also staring at the convoy, disappointment showing on his face like a child whose toys had been snatched away. Ramage, equally dumbfounded, noticed that most of the boats were now fairly leaping through the water as the men in them rowed frantically for the beach. They were obviously scared out of their wits at the sight of the Juno beating down on them from the north and the Surcouf stretching up from the south.