Vignettes of the Sea

 I've been reading some inspirational literature while I kick around ideas about how to handle, well, ship handling.  I've been keeping track of some particularly interesting passages as inspiration not just for particular rules, but for rulings in general.  Specifically, I've been keeping track of passages about tricky maneuvering, the effects of damage, and storms (and how they cause that damage).  The process of blowing ships apart with artillery is interesting and all, but I think most people have a pretty good handle on how that works.  If you have any doubts, go watch some Age of Sail type movies.

Anyway, here's a pretty cool bit from the first Lord Ramage novel by Dudley Pope, unsurprisingly titled Ramage.  Ramage is the third lieutenant of the British Royal Navy frigate Sibella when they encounter a French ship-of-the-line.  He awakens from a concussion to discover he's the highest ranking surviving officer, and has to figure out how to keep his wounded men alive with no surgeon and his unwounded men alive and uncaptured by the French, and, oh yeah, the Sibella is about to lose a mast, has no rudder, and will sink in spite of anything that can be done about it now, which incidentally, makes the loss of the ship his responsibility.  This vignette shows that part of his plan playing out, specifically using a fallen mast to slow the ship and slew it around, and timing the whole thing so the French ship can't just put a broadside into the Sibella and sink it right away.

He put the speaking-trumpet to his lips again and bellowed across the water at the French ship:

“Bon soir, messieurs!”

With the mouthpiece to his ear he heard, after what seemed an age, a puzzled “Comment?” being shouted back from the Barras's quarterdeck. He could imagine their astonishment at being wished good evening. Well, keep the initiative.

“Ho detto 'Buona sera.'”

He almost laughed at the thought of the expressions on the Frenchmen's faces as they heard themselves being told in Italian that they had just been wished “Good evening.” There was an appreciable pause before the voice repeated:

“Comment?”

By now the Barras was not more than fifty yards away: the bow wave was sharply defined and he could pick out the delicate tracery of her rigging against the night sky, whereas a few moments ago it had been an indistinct blur.

This is the moment: once again he lifted the speaking-trumpet to his lips. Now, he thought, let us commend ourselves unto the XVth Article of War and still take as long as we can about it, and he yelled in English:

“Mister Frenchman – the ship is sinking.”

The same voice answered: “Vot say you?”

“I said, 'The ship is sinking.'”

He sensed Jackson anxiously shifting from one foot to another. There was a strange hush in the Sibella and he realized the wounded were not making a sound. The Sibella was a phantom ship, sailing along with no one at the helm, and manned by tense and silent men.

Then through the speaking-trumpet he heard someone say in French, “It's a trick.” It was the voice of a man who held authority and who'd reached a difficult decision. He guessed the next thing he'd hear would be that voice giving the order to open fire.

“You surrender?” came back the question, in English this time.

Hurriedly Ramage turned his head towards the Bosun and called softly:

“Bosun – start chopping.”

He had to avoid a direct reply; if he surrendered the ship and then escaped, the Admiralty would be just as angry as the French at a breach of the accepted code.

Putting the speaking-trumpet back to his lips he shouted:

“Surrender? Who? Our wheel is destroyed – we cannot steer – we have many wounded...”

He heard the thud of the axes and hoped the noise would not travel across to the Barras: he must drown it with his own voice, or at least distract the Frenchmen's attention.

“– We cannot steer and we have most of our men killed or wounded – we are sinking fast – we've lost our captain –”

Damn, he couldn't think of anything else to say. Jackson suddenly whispered, “Livestock's killed, guns dismounted, burgoo's spoiled...”

“Yes, Mister,” Ramage yelled, “all our pigs and the cow have been killed – all the guns are dismounted --”

“Comment?”

“Pigs – you've killed our pigs!”

“Je ne comprend pas! You surrender?”

“You've killed our pigs--”

The devil take it, would that foremast never go by the board?

“– The cow has been dismounted – the guns don't give any more milk – the pig's making water at the rate of a foot every fifteen minutes!”

He heard Jackson chuckling and at that moment there was a crackling from forward and a whiplash noise as several ropes parted under strain. Then there was a fearful groan, like a giant in pain, and against the night sky he could see the foremast beginning to topple. It went slowly at first; then crashed over the side, taking the yards with it.

“Wilson! The topsail and spanker!”

He saw the spanker being sheeted home in the boom end as the topsail was let fall from the yard. A few moments later, when he looked back at the Barras, she had vanished: He realized the Sibella was swinging round to larboard faster than he expected, and he glanced aft. The Barras had been caught unawares – she was still sailing on her original course and had gone too far for her guns to be able to rake the Sibella's completely unprotected stern.

    -- Ramage, Chapter 2