by Dudley Pope
Already Southwick had assembled a party of foretop and fo’c’s’lemen to prepare anchors and cables. As soon as the Calypso was clear of the English Channel, her anchor cables had been taken off the anchors and hauled below, to be stowed in the cabletier. The hawse-hole, one each side, out of which the cable led when the ship was at anchor, had been blocked first with a hawse plug the size of the hawse-hole, and that had been reinforced by a blind buckler, yet another circular wooden disc backed up by iron bars, and ensuring that waves could not force water into the ship.
Now men were driving out the iron bars and then levering out the blind bucklers. The plugs were harder—men had to drive them out with heavy mauls while others, scrambling over the bow, caught them and made sure they did not fall over the side.
Meanwhile men were busy down in the cabletier, a hot and dank part of the ship, where several cables were coiled down but which was always damp because the cables, impregnated with salt (as well as sand and shell scraped off the sea bed and ingrained in the lay of the ropes), never properly dried out. Now they were hauling the end of one up to the hawse and then another. Each end was led round, one to be secured to an anchor on the larboard side, the other to starboard.
Soon Southwick was back on the quarterdeck reporting that the ship was ready for anchoring, and Ramage offering him a telescope to inspect the island. The Master was not impressed by what he saw. “If the other side’s like this, then there are no anchorages,” he grumbled. “All I can see are steep cliffs. Those mountains must be a good one thousand five hundred feet—one looks like that big sugarloaf at Rio de Janeiro. I grant they should put the other side in a lee, but a lee’s no good without a bay. Nothing for that fellow Wilkins to paint …”
At that moment Ramage saw that “that fellow Wilkins” was collecting his canvases together and taking them below. He was one of the Calypso’s more welcome guests: he had quickly picked up the routine of daily life in a frigate, and quietly went about his painting without asking for special favours. The result was, of course, that he had become popular. He had painted several striking portraits. The first, of Southwick, was one of the best likenesses that Ramage had seen of anyone: looking at the canvas, one half expected Southwick’s face to break into a grin. The second one, of young Paolo, had revealed his Italian lineage but in some subtle way merged it into his midshipman’s uniform. The next venture had been a large canvas with three seamen sitting on the deck with a sail across their legs, busy stitching. Wilkins had contrived to let the viewer feel he was sitting among the men, Jackson, Stafford and Rossi, with the canvas round him. The portrait of Bowen sitting with his head bowed over a chess board made Ramage think that Wilkins had somehow diagnosed something of the surgeon’s tragic past, when drink had nearly ruined him, but the painting showed Bowen’s victory, not a defeat. And knowing Southwick’s frequent defeats at Bowen’s hands while playing chess, Wilkins had painted in the chessmen so that Bowen was trying to find a way out of checkmate.
Within another hour the Calypso was reaching fast and only two or three miles from the southern tip of the island. Aitken came up to Ramage and saluted formally.
“Do you want the men sent to quarters, sir?”
Ramage shook his head and smiled. “It’s a hard habit to break, isn’t it! But we’re at peace and this is a deserted island, so we’ll keep your decks free of sand.”
Ramage thought for a moment and then said: “Send Jackson to the foremasthead, and Orsini to the main: tell them to watch out for any dark patches in the water that’ll warn of rocks. And light patches for reefs, too!”
Aitken passed the order and then Ramage said: “Have the deep sea lead ready. I hope we don’t have to use it, but if we can’t anchor on the other side we might as well have some idea of the depth.”
The deep sea lead was a very long line with a heavy lead weight on the end. The lead was taken out to the end of the jib-boom and the line led back aft, clear of everything, and then forward again to the forechains, where it was brought back on board. As soon as the word was given the lead was dropped, taking with it line nearly twice the length of the ship. The leadsman and his mates could let more run, but initially more than three hundred feet went in a matter of seconds. The usual hand lead was used only for depths of twenty fathoms and less.
Ramage, now holding the only telescope on the quarterdeck, because the other two had been entrusted to Jackson and Orsini, went through all the evolutions the Calypso might need to perform and could rely on Aitken and Southwick remembering the various drills, while Kenton and Martin had enough ingenuity to think of anything unusual.
“Quarterdeck there, foremast here!”
Aitken lifted the speaking-trumpet and answered Jackson.
“Thought I saw a puff of smoke at the southern end, sir, like a bonfire being put out.”
“Can you see smoke now?”
“No, sir, it only lasted a few moments.”
“Keep a sharp lookout,” Aitken said, in the standard response. He turned to Ramage, an eyebrow raised. Jackson was one of the best lookouts and probably the most reliable seaman in the ship.
“Could have been a flock of small birds flying off,” Ramage said. “I’ve known the movement being mistaken in the distance for a puff of smoke.”
“Aye, sir. It’s hardly the place one would expect to find a gillie roasting a deer!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
COLOURS could now be distinguished, although the sun dipping to the west was already beginning to throw shadows across the near side of the mountains, giving shape and design to apparently smooth peaks. There was some grass on the lower slopes, not many trees and those were evergreens stunted by constant exposure to the Trade winds. Although he had only seen paintings of it, Ramage could understand Southwick’s reference to the sugarloaf hill being like the famous one overlooking Rio de Janeiro.
“A tiny Antigua,” Aitken said. “It has that same dried up and wasted look in places, like a deserted Highland hill farm.”
“I’m glad I’m not going to command the garrison,” Ramage said, “although it seems a good spot for young subalterns dodging gambling debts and the furious fathers of jilted brides!”
He caught sight of small waves breaking on the nearest shore and noted that they showed the Calypso was now less than two miles away. Curious how one had these little mental pictures to help estimate distance when anything was close. At two miles one could see a small building on the beach, at a mile the colour of its roof was distinguishable. A man standing on the beach could be picked out at seven hundred yards and if he was walking one could spot him at half a mile.
“Pass this southernmost headland about a mile off,” Ramage instructed Southwick. “That should keep us clear of any reefs. As soon as we round it we’ll then stretch along the leeward side of the island under topsails and hope to find an anchorage for the night.”
Aitken came up holding a slate. “If the highest peak is fifteen hundred feet, sir, I calculate the island is almost exactly two and a half miles long.”
Ramage nodded: the figure coincided with his rough and ready measurement some minutes ago, when he divided the height of the peak into the length of the island and got an answer of nine.
Now the men were at sheets and braces and the quartermaster kept an eye on Southwick, waiting for the order that would begin the Calypso’s turn round the narrow south-eastern corner of the island. It was, Ramage had to admit, an island with little to recommend it. Rocky—every inch of coast he had seen so far was backed by jagged cliffs—it had patches of green, indicating grass, but the trees were little more than overgrown shrubs. Something of the coast of southern Tuscany, something of the Leeward and Virgin Islands, but nothing of the lushness of Grenada or Martinique. This was not surprising, because it was only just inside the Tropics, receiving the full force of the Atlantic winds and very little rain.
It was a long, narrow island: as the Calypso sailed diagonally across the end he could see it was less than a mi
le wide. Ah, now the western side was beginning to open up and almost at once Southwick began bellowing a stream of orders to wear ship: for several hours the Calypso had been on the larboard tack, the wind coming steadily over the larboard quarter. Now she was coming round to starboard almost eight points, nearly ninety degrees, to steer—Ramage walked over to the binnacle and looked down at the weather side compass—north-west.
The creak of yards being braced up, the thump and slam of sails filling again, the grunts of dozens of men hauling on sheets and braces, the cries of bosun’s mates, the curses of the quartermaster as the two men at the wheel swung it over too far, making the Calypso bear up a point or two and bringing a glower from the Master.
Ramage was relieved to see that although the weather coast was sheer and inhospitable, the lee coast had half a dozen prominent headlands poking seaward into the distance.
Aitken gestured towards them. “There should be some good bays between them, sir,” he said. Ramage nodded, for a moment puzzled, but as the Calypso surged ahead on the new tack he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts: he had been at sea too long and was imagining things.
“Deck there—foremast here!”
“Foremast—deck!” Southwick answered.
“I saw a small boat beyond the headland, sir! Red it was,” Jackson shouted. “Then it went behind the cliff.”
Ramage said quickly: “Just acknowledge: I saw it, too!”
“Very well, keep a sharp lookout!” Southwick said in the usual response to a routine hail.
“What’s an open boat doing here, sir?” the Master exclaimed.
“From a Brazilian fishing boat, perhaps. Or maybe there is a settlement here after all.”
Even as he said it, Ramage realized the problems mustered behind that one brief glimpse of a boat. A settlement meant people lived here; presumably they, or the country to which they belonged, claimed possession of Trinidade. Most probably it was Portugal, but it could be Spain.
It was a point not covered in his orders; the Admiralty had assumed the island was uninhabited. Yet … Lord St Vincent had, verbally, given what would undoubtedly be the Admiralty’s view: ownership of the Ilha da Trinidade was not covered in the Treaty, so Britain could claim it. Any settlers would have to leave; he would take them back whence they came—Brazil, probably.
Aitken said matter-of-factly: “Probably just fishermen: their vessel anchored in a bay while they get water, and their jolly-boat is rowing round looking for lobster to make a nice supper!”
That would be it. Ramage felt sheepish and was thankful he had kept his mouth shut: once again his imagination had outdistanced his reasoning. A fishing boat from Bahia—it was so obvious! At that moment Jackson yelled excitedly.
“Deck there—there’s a ship anchored in that first bay!”
Ramage grabbed the only telescope and before he could lift it Jackson was shouting again: “Merchant ship … British colours … a John Company ship.”
Southwick said: “Her water’s gone bad and she’s come here to fill casks!”
“Deck there! I can just make out the stern of another merchant ship, French colours …”
By now Ramage could see the first ship. Yes, John Company, flying faded but distinctive red and white “gridiron” colours of the Honourable East India Company, the Union flag in one canton, with horizontal stripes. And now he could make out the stern of the French ship as the headland appeared to slide to starboard with the Calypso’s approach, beginning to give a glimpse of the rest of the bay. She was almost as big as the John Company ship and her sails neatly furled, too. A quarter boat was hoisted in the davits and there was another boat streaming astern on its painter.
Ramage found himself listening to the monotonous chant of the depths coming from the leadsman busy in the chains, and picturing the shape of the sea bed. It was shallowing only gradually and the old adage of high cliffs and deep water seemed true. But there could be no rocks or reefs at this end, since these ships had sailed in.
“We’ll probably anchor to seaward of those ships,” Ramage snapped. Southwick hurriedly grabbed the speaking-trumpet and quickly gave orders to clew up the main and forecourses. Almost immediately and as if by magic, because the appropriate ropes were hauled from the deck, the Calypso’s two largest sails lost their curves and were hauled up to the yards like window curtains lifted by an impatient busybody.
At once the frigate began to slow down. Earlier, the bow wave curling back from the stem had sounded like water pouring through a sluice gate; now it chuckled happily and at the same time, as the ship reached the sheltered water in the lee of the island, she stopped the gentle pitch and roll. Instead, sailing upright under topsails only and with a soldier’s wind, the Calypso was like a cheerful fishwife losing her boisterous gait.
“Foremast here, sir—there’s a third ship—”
“Mainmast here—and a fourth!” Orsini yelled, not troubling to hide his excitement.
As they came into view round the headland Ramage examined them carefully through the telescope. “The third one’s British, I can make out her colours. She’s in good order; sails neatly furled—too neatly, it seems to me! And the fourth is … yes, Dutch. I thought for a moment she was French; the wind plays tricks with her colours.”
“Four ships at anchor in a place like this? What the devil’s gone wrong?” a puzzled Southwick asked, preparing to give orders to clew up the fore-topsail.
“Could be water,” Ramage said. “If they all called at the Cape and took water from the same place and it later went bad …” Then he shook his head. “No, it couldn’t be that; French and Dutch ships wouldn’t call at the Cape—coming from India or Batavia they wouldn’t know about the Treaty.”
Aitken said: “Should I send the men to general quarters, sir?” Ramage smiled at the Scot’s reluctance to abandon wartime routines. “There are a couple of British ships anchored peacefully in the bay, Mr Aitken!”
“Aye, sir, but it’s like walking into a glen twenty miles from the nearest village and finding a dozen men camped there—it gives you a shock and makes you suspicious.”
“Yes, because they’re unshaven and you don’t know who they are, but these ships have their colours flying.” Ramage looked at the four ships again. “New colours, too, most of them!”
Southwick sniffed—clearly he disapproved of the whole thing—and inquired patiently: “Where do you want us to anchor, sir?”
Now the Calypso was almost past the headland and Ramage saw a deep bay was opening up surrounded by cliffs, the northern end formed by a less prominent bluff. The four ships—
“Foremast lookout here, sir—there’s a fifth ship, almost hidden by the third and fourth, French flag.”
“Very well. Any—”
“Sixth, sir!” Jackson interrupted from aloft. “She’s close in to the cliffs. Smaller, looks fast, twelve guns. Might be a privateer, from her appearance. Ah, I can just see her colours. British, sir.”
Five merchant ships and a possible privateer, all peacefully anchored. A former privateer, Ramage corrected himself. Well, obviously Trinidade had plenty of fresh water, and equally obviously the Admiralty might know nothing of the island, but it was well known to merchant ships regularly sailing to the Cape, India and Batavia … Probably, Ramage thought, if the Admiralty had written to the Honourable East India Company and asked them for details, a delighted John Company would have sent a chart with the watering places marked.
“Mainmast, sir,” Orsini called down. “The small boat we first sighted—she’s going alongside the one we think is a privateer.”
Suddenly Ramage found himself feeling cheerful: with five merchant ships in the anchorage, there would be some entertaining. The John Company ship would have passengers, and John Company masters, well paid, lived well and were often interesting men. The second British ship looked interesting. The Dutch ship was big enough to be one of the Dutch East India Company’s fleet. And the Frenchmen, he thought, might not yet know
of the peace treaty … no, they must, he realized, otherwise they would not be in here peacefully at anchor with British ships. They must all know—but how? The only way the British would know would be for a frigate to have reached the Cape with despatches. That could have happened. But Dutch and French? Well, they could have met other Dutch and French ships, outward-bound. That was obvious, he realized, irritated with himself.
“Anchoring, sir,” Southwick reminded him.
“Ah yes. From the way all the ships are on the south side of the bay, we must conclude there’s foul ground on the north side. Two cables astern of the seaward British ship; have her bearing north-east.”
Southwick gave a quick helm order to the quartermaster and bellowed to the men to brace the topsail yards sharp up. Sheets were hauled home and the Calypso turned to starboard, hard on the wind for the last few hundred yards.
“Foretop—quarterdeck: that boat’s leaving the privateer, sir.”
“She’ll be calling on us: keep an eye on the others—especially the John Company ship.”
“Quite a social life, it’ll be, sir,” Aitken said, and Ramage was not sure whether the First Lieutenant was pleased or depressed.
“Yes, the first time any of us except Southwick has met a merchant ship in peacetime. We must mind our manners: very proud gentlemen, these John Company masters. Always anxious to put the Navy in its place.”
“Aye, and wealthy, too, sir, so I’m told. Silver cutlery, expensive china, only the best wines, fresh meat nearly every day because they carry so much livestock … Even fresh milk.”
“Unless the cow goes dry. But the luxury is for the passengers: they are paying a great deal of money for a first class passage to or from India.”
“These nabobs can afford it!”