She was listing, not heeling; the end of her mainyard must be almost in the water. Had she sprung a sudden leak? Was she capsizing? But even as he watched, almost rigid with apprehension, Ramage saw she was up by the bow and was not listing more: she seemed immovable. Obviously she had just sailed into a rock or on to a reef with enough force to lift up her bow; then she must have rolled over enough to heel the ship.
Suddenly the yards swung fore and aft and Ramage saw her topsails fluttering like shaken towels as sheets were cut and braces let fly to ease the pressure on the canvas and the masts.
Ahead the French 74 was anchored not more than five hundred yards from the Merle, and as he recovered from the shock of the Muscade and decided it was too late to worry whether there were reefs between the Merle and the enemy, Ramage realized that his nutcracker plan was ruined; the nutcrackers had lost one arm; there was now no way of squeezing from both sides.
Five hundred yards to go ... Should he bear up and beat out of the gulf, picking up Southwick and his men as he went? If so he had to give the order to Jackson at this very moment - and he had to get both topsails and courses drawing again.
No, the fact that Southwick's brig had hit a rock was no reason why a French 74 should escape destruction, and the nutcracker plan was not the only way of doing it.
In fact, it was a dam' silly way: from her very shape and the thickness of futtocks and planking, the sides of a ship of the line were enormously strong; not only were all her guns arranged along her sides, firing out through the gunports, but that was where she was designed to receive all the punishment in the usual battle of broadsides.
Any ship of war's weakest point was her bow: there the stays came down from the masts to the bowsprit and jibboom; wrench away those two spars and there was a good chance of bringing down the foremast. And the ship, because of the batten-and-canvas bulkheads, was open from bow to stern. The bow itself was strong enough to withstand a heavy sea, but everyone feared being raked - having a broadside (or even a single gun) fired through the bow or into the stern so that the shot swept the unprotected length of the ship.
Very well, that 74's bow was like a bull's nose, the most tender spot.
'Calypsos!' Ramage yelled, 'change of plan! We're not going alongside, we'll just -' But he broke off; there was no time to finish the sentence without creating confusion.
It was essential at times like this to remember that the ship's bow turned the opposite way to the wheel order.
'Hard a' port!' he snapped at Jackson, and as the American spun the wheel the brig's bow began to swing to starboard towards the French 74's jibboom, which stuck out like a fishing rod from a river bank, moving gently across the horizon.
As soon as he was sure the brig was really swinging he said calmly: 'Now up with the helm, Jackson, and jam us athwart his hawse!'
The American gave a bloodcurdling laugh as he spun the wheel the opposite way and the brig's bow started to swing back to larboard, so that the little ship began skidding sideways through the water, pivoting with rudder acting against sail, ensuring that she would smash at right-angles across the Frenchman's bow, with that great jibboom holding the Merle far more securely than a hundred grapnels.
'Hold tight, Calypsos!' Ramage yelled. 'Secure those lanterns, Stafford!'
Then the crash came: like an enormous lance the 74's jibboom rammed into the shrouds of the foremast and as the Merle slewed slightly, tore out the brig's whole mast with a crackling and rending that made Ramage think of a forest of dead trees toppling.
Then the Merle came to a stop. Towering above her starboard side was the French ship's bow, stark against the moonlight and now alive with shouts and hysterical challenges in French.
'Stafford - light the fuses!'
Then to Jackson: 'Get the boat alongside!'
To the men forward: 'Topmen, grapnel men, sheetmen - come aft!'
There was a light forward, then another. Stafford and Arry and the Marine Albert Coke were busy with the lanterns.
Jackson was cursing somewhere aft, cursing fluently at the boatkeeper. They had forgotten to waken him up, and now Jackson was having to waste precious seconds as the sleepy man kept the painter clear while Jackson hauled.
Now the French were screaming down at the Merle. They still did not realize they were being attacked; they thought that a clumsy French merchant ship had accidentally misjudged wind or current and become stuck athwart their hawse.
'I'm sorry, captain!' Ramage shouted up in French. 'I will come on board to make my apologies! What? Yes, admiral, I will try to disengage myself this minute! Yes, sir -'
Stafford was nudging him. 'Excuse me, sir, all the fuses are burnin' merrily ...'
'Abandon ship!' Ramage bellowed. 'Down into the cutter, m'lads, and then row like madmen!'
As he stood on the afterdeck of the little brig he was almost startled by the comparative silence that had suddenly come over the ship. The Frenchman's jibboom creaked as it was pulled down by the weight of the Merle's foremast and rigging, which still hung from it, and the Merle's hull was grinding against the great ship's stem, but just round him, in the brig herself, there was only the thumping of bare feet running across the deck.
Ramage walked over to where Jackson had the cutter's painter hitched round a kevel.
'Two men missing, sir; I'm counting them.'
How many minutes had elapsed since the fuses had been lit?
'Get down in the boat and wait three minutes, and then row away -'
'What are you -?'
'Do as you're told', Ramage snapped and ran forward, snatching up one of the lanterns as he passed the hatch, noting that the burning ends of the fuses were already halfway up the coaming.
He made for the wreckage of the foremast and as he approached he could hear the muffled voice of a man swearing.
'Where are you?'
'Here, sir, some bluddy ratlines have tangled me up.'
Ramage put down the lantern and began feverishly hauling at the rope, suddenly conscious that Jackson was beside him. 'Where's the other one, sir?'
By now Ramage had burrowed into the tangled rope and was within a few inches of the trapped man. 'There's someone else missing - have you seen him?' Ramage shouted.
'Oh, that'll be Hobbs, sir', the man replied. 'He was up on the yard. He got tossed overboard when the mast went, sir. I heard him shoutin' in the water.'
With that, Jackson helped Ramage wrench the last of the ropes clear of the man and grabbed an arm to pull him to his feet. The man fell flat again with a grunt of pain.
'My leg, sir, I think it's busted. Leave me 'ere, sir, you'll all get blown up!'
'Lift him', Ramage told Jackson. 'Now sling him over my shoulder.'
Together captain and coxswain staggered aft with the injured man. Jackson sniffed as they passed the hatch. 'Those fuses are cooking well, sir.'
Finally they had nearly reached the quarter when Stafford, Arry and several other seamen reached them.
'Come on, sir', Stafford said in an offended voice as he and Arry seized the injured man, 'we wondered where you an' Jacko had gone.'
Quickly they lowered the man into the cutter.
'Has anyone seen Hobbs swimming around?' Ramage shouted.
'I'm 'ere, sir', Hobbs said. 'I swam round and was first in the boat!'
'Cast off, Ramage told Jackson. 'Now, let's say goodbye to the Merle!'
With two men at each oar the cutter leapt through the water and as he looked astern Ramage was surprised how small the brig now seemed, jammed across the 74's bow.
'Didn't even break off the Frenchman's jibboom', Jackson said, having a quick glance himself.