Ramage could see the Marines raising their muskets as Rennick and his lieutenants gave them orders. He imagined the second captains of guns cocking the locks and leaping back out of the way of the recoil, while the captains would be taking up the strain on the triggerlines, ready to give that tug that would fire the guns. And, of course, the French gunners would be going through the same drill.
A hundred yards, fifty, a ship's length . . . and then the deep cough and spurts of smoke and fiame as the first of the Dido's guns opened fire, punctuated by the sharper crash of the Junon's opening broadside. Almost at once the smoke drifted aft and set them coughing, and as the broadsides continued Ramage heard the tearing calico sound of roundshot passing close. There was a crash and he saw one of the cutters disintegrate: a reminder that he had not paused earlier to hoist out the boats and lower them, to tow them astern out of harm's way, and where they would not be smashed into showers of lethal splinters.
He could feel the thuds as some of the French shot slammed into the Dido's side, but so far no yards had been damaged. Were the French gunners not firing into the masts and spars as they usually did? Perhaps the Dido's steady fire after raking her had shown the French how devastating was a broadside fired into the hull.
The popping of the Marines' muskets seemed laughable, too light to be lethal, but he reminded himself that every pop meant a musket ball, each one of which could kill a man. Now the 12-pounders on the quarterdeck were firing, and almost immediately Orsini's carronades joined in. And by now the Junon's quarterdeck was abreast that of the Dido and he could see a small group of French officers standing at the forward end, looking across at the Dido just as he was watching the Junon.
He could see pockmarks, holes surrounded by rust, where the Dido's roundshot had hit home, and smoke was streaming out of her gunports and there was the red winking as guns fired. The din was greater than he had ever experienced; twice as loud as anything he had heard in the Calypso. Ontop of the dreadful crash of the guns there was the rumbling of the trucks as they recoiled, the shouting of men giving orders, the screams of those cut down by shot or splinters, and the ominous thud of shot striking home.
Then, as the Dido shot past the Junon's bow, the noise stopped as neither ship's guns would bear. Ramage felt as if he had been standing there with his eyes shut but realized everything had happened too quickly to be fully appreciated and absorbed. Now the gunners would be scurrying round reloading their guns, and he said to Aitken: 'Bear away across his bow; we'll rake him again.'
Hurriedly sheets and braces were trimmed as the Dido turned to larboard to cross ahead of the Junon, out of reach of her guns but able to batter her with the larboard broadside. The Dido was crossing the Junon's bow diagonally and as soon as the broadside was fired Ramage said: 'Luff up, Mr Aitken; we'll tack and give him our starboard broadside as we pass across his bow again.'
The sails billowed and filled again with a bang as the Dido tacked. The two midshipmen were sent hurriedly below again to warn the lieutenants of divisions to be ready to fire the starboard broadside.
Once again the Dido raked the Junon, each gun fired deliberately and the roundshot crashing home into the French ship's unprotected bow.
'Just look at that foremast,' commented Southwick. 'If they try to fire those forward guns on the larboard side they'll set the sails on fire!'
The canvas was hanging down over the muzzles of the forward-most guns like huge curtains, held out at strange angles by smashed yards. There was no sign of men cutting it clear: Ramage guessed that the Frenchmen were too busy at the guns to spare anyone to clear away wreckage.
Well, he thought grimly, they will have plenty of opportunity now because, unless I make a bad mistake, those guns will not be firing for many minutes.
He was beginning to feel more confident handling the Dido now: probably the first encounter with the Sylphe and now attacking a crippled enemy was showing him that a seventy-four was simply an overgrown frigate; the tactics remained the same. The noise was worse, the casualties would be higher, and the penalties for mistakes would be higher also: otherwise handling the Dido was like fighting the Calypso. With the increase in size of ship, of course, went an increase in the size of the enemy. A frigate was only expected to tackle a frigate or smaller.
As the Dido bore away to start her third diagonal run across the Junon's bow the French ship was broad on the larboard bow, still making headway. Although her foremast had gone by the board, almost miraculously the bowsprit and jibboom were still standing, thrusting out like fishing rods. The Dido, now speeding down with the wind on the quarter, was hardly rolling: the gunners could not hope for a steadier gun platform.
Ramage decided he would give the helm orders: he wanted to pass only a matter of a few yards ahead of the Junon, and since she was still making headway it needed fine judgement to avoid a collision. But a raking broadside at that range should do enormous damage to the Frenchman, the roundshot smashing through the beakhead bulkheads at the bow to travel the length of the ship, overturning guns, cutting down men and sending up a lethal shower of splinters.
Aitken, speaking trumpet to his lips, bellowed orders which sent seamen rushing to the sheets, hauling on them to trim the sails more precisely. Ramage could hear the creaking of the yards above the whine of the wind and the hissing of the sea.
Judging the forward motion of the Junon, he gave a brief order to Jackson, and the Dido turned slightly to starboard. The range was closing fast now and Ramage found he was still underestimating the Junon's forward speed. He gave Jackson a second order, and the Dido turned a fraction more to starboard.
The flintlocks on the guns along the larboard side would be cocked; the gun captains would be holding the lanyards taut, watching through the gunports for the Junon to come in sight. Ramage looked again at the Junon: yes, he had judged her speed just right: the Dido would, in a few moments, pass across her bow.
He heard Orsini shouting orders up on the poop and noticed that both Southwick and Aitken were now watching the approaching Junon with all the fascination of a rabbit trapped by a stoat.
Then, in a bewildering swift blur, in which colour seemed to vanish and give way to a grey smear, the Junon was passing. Guns thundered out, the noise advancing down the Dido's side like a procession. The smoke billowed out of the ports and then drifted aft as the ship sailed through it. They were so close to the Junon that Ramage could see clouds of dust erupting where the roundshot smashed through the bulkhead. But, apart from the dust, the Junon seemed to be little damaged. However, Ramage knew what that dust indicated: it was a strange thing how roundshot smashing their way through woodwork sent up the dust: a lethal fog behind which was often hidden dreadful damage.
And then the Dido was clear, the last crash of guns being from Orsini's carronades on the poop, no doubt blasting the Frenchman's quarterdeck where the targets ranged from the binnacle to the wheel.
As the Dido sailed away at an angle from the Junon the French ship's larboard side erupted smoke and red flashes as they poured a broadside into the Dido's larboard quarter. Ramage could picture the Dido's gunners hurriedly swabbing out the barrels of their guns and ramming home wads, cartridges and roundshot before running out the guns ready for the next broadside.
The Junon's broadside did no damage that Ramage could see: but there was no telling, from the quarterdeck, what had happened in the vitals of the ship. The carpenter at that moment came up on to the quarterdeck to report to Ramage that he had just sounded the well and there was nothing to report. In answer to Ramage's question he said there were no shotholes yet 'twixt wind and water that needed any shot plugs.