Ramage Read Online Free PDF Page B

just about reach her with that knife of yours, sir!’
    Ramage laughed: his prowess at knife thowing – he had learnt the art as a child in Italy from his father’s Sicilian coachman – was well known.
    He walked across to where the wounded were lying, careful not to trip over the dead men sprawled in grotesque attitudes.
    ‘You men – I’ll be seeing you soon at Greenwich!’
    One or two of them raised a wry cheer as he mentioned the home for disabled seamen.
    ‘We have to leave you, but we’re not abandoning you!’ (Would they understand the difference? He doubted it.)
    ‘With half a dozen guns left we can’t fight and they’ – he pointed towards the Barras – ‘can board us whenever they like. They’ve a surgeon and medical supplies while we haven’t. Your best chance is to be taken prisoner. One of you will be given the ensign halyard: let it go as soon as we leave the ship, so that the French just walk on board: that will make sure none of you gets more wounds. We who haven’t been wounded – well, I suppose we’re running away – but to fight another day. People will always talk of the Sibella ’s last fight. So – well…thank you…and good luck.’
    It sounded lame enough and he was embarra s sed because emotion tightened his throat so he had to force out the last platitudes. Yet it brought a cheer from the men.
    ‘Bosun – all ready forward?’
    ‘Aye aye, sir.’
    ‘By the way,’ he told Jackson, ‘if the French open fire and anything happens to me, tell the Bosun at once, and destroy the letter you saw me put in my pocket: that’s absolutely vital. Now give the ensign halyard to one of the wounded and make sure he understands what he is to do.’
    ‘Aye aye, sir.’
    Curious how reassuring that American was, Ramage thought.

Chapter Two
     
    Ramage climbed up to the hammocks on the bulwark. God, the Barras was close now – a hundred yards perhaps, and just about abeam. He could see her bow wave, a little smother of white at the stem. He put the mouthpiece of the speaking trumpet to his ear and pointed the open end towards the Barras , but could hear nothing.
    For the moment it seemed the French captain intended to bring his ship alongside without undue haste. Anyway, that was the seamanlike thing to do – no point in crashing alongside and risk the yards of the two ships locking together.
    Unless – Ramage shivered momentarily, shocked by an awful fear: unless I’m completely wrong. I must be wrong, because the Frenchman must know just how badly damaged the Sibella is: she’s low in the water and rolling sluggishly: he knows she’ll never be towed back to Toulon. And he’s slowly closing to administer the coup de grâce : it’ll come any moment now: a sheet of flame rippling along the Barras’ rows of gun ports like summer lightning on the horizon, and I and the rest of the Sibellas will be dead.
    I’ve been so clever, convincing myself the Frenchman’s vanity will make him want to tow the Sibella home as a prize; but I persuaded myself because I want to live: I didn’t consider any other possibilities. Now – well, I’ve as good as murdered the wounded on the quarter-deck: men who gave me a cheer a few moments ago.
    While these thoughts milled round his head he was listening intently; but he took the speaking trumpet from his ear. What’s the use, he thought bitterly: I’ll never hear the French captain’s order to open fire at this distance; and what difference does it make, anyway?
    Suddenly anger with himself drove away his fears: there was still a way out. It involved a gamble, certainly: he had to gamble that Barras would come within hailing distance before firing her final broadside. At the moment she was too far away from him to be certain they would hear if he shouted.
    Ramage found himself thinking about the XVth Article of War, which laid down with harsh brevity that ‘Every person in or belonging to the Fleet–’ (God, what a time to be reciting this)