by Dudley Pope
The glass was swinging, and he had to move it back slowly to spot what had attracted him. It was the Peacock, the last ship in that column. He looked more carefully and, as he watched, there was another movement - the fore course was let fall, the canvas of the big sail came tumbling lazily down in the light wind. He could see it gradually taking up a billowing shape as the seamen braced the yard round and hauled home the sheets. Her main course was already set - that must have been what had first caught his eye. The Peacock was already turning slightly towards him, to starboard and out of the convoy.
"Mr Southwick, get your glass on the Peacock. Quartermaster - pass the word for my coxswain!"
"My oath!" exclaimed Southwick. "What's she up to now?"
Jackson reported and was told to get aloft with a night glass.
"Report anything unusual. Watch that last ship, the Peacock. She's leaving the line with her courses set. And see if the Lark lugger and the Greyhound spot her."
Ramage could see the Greyhound and she seemed to be continuing on the same course. Her masts were in line, she had reefed topsails and no other sails were being let fall. Apparently she hadn't noticed anything suspicious. But the cloud to the south-west now covered more of the sky and from the Greyhound's position the Peacock's silhouette probably blended in with the blackness.
"Could be in trouble, sir," Southwick said in a voice flat enough to show he had little enthusiasm for the idea. "Might be hauling her wind to close with the Greyhound. Sprung a leak ... needs a surgeon ... hard to say."
Jackson was hailing from aloft: "She hauled out of the line to windward, but now she's back on the convoy course and maybe fifty yards to windward. They'll never notice anything from the Greyhound," he added.
"No, the angle's wrong," Southwick muttered. "The Lark might notice."
"I doubt it," Ramage said. "She's pretty far over."
Jackson called: "She's overhauling her next ahead. Both courses and topsails set. I think she's shaking out the reefs in her topsails."
"Not leaking," Southwick said. "Not on that course. So help me, why is it always us?"
Ramage was thinking the same thing.The Greyhound, whose captain was not out of favour with Admiral Goddard, and who was a post captain already on his way up the list, could afford to make a mistake. The Greyhound was nearer the Peacock, too. Why had the responsibility fallen on the Triton?
"Shall I turn up the hands?" Southwick asked.
"Yes, but quietly: don't let the bosun's mates pipe it, and no shouting. Noise carries on a night like this."
"Aye, we don't want to look foolish."
"Or warn anyone," Ramage said grimly.
"Deck there." Jackson called. "She's abreast her next ahead."
"With all that canvas set she'll come through like a surf-boat,"
Southwick grumbled.
She's coming to the head of the convoy - that is obviously her intention, Ramage thought to himself, because she's set a lot more canvas and she's hauled clear of the line.
"Maybe she's leaving," Southwick said. "Decided to sail independently. She was a runner anyway, before she joined."
"I don't think so," Ramage said. "She's for Jamaica. If she was leaving the convoy why not reduce sail for a few minutes, let the convoy draw ahead and then bear away to the westward? Why steer north? She'd be crazy to pass the convoy on the outside - which is what she's trying to do now - and then have to cut right across in front of the Lion."
"Maybe she's decided to make for Antigua," Southwick said doggedly. "She's a runner, so her master can make up his own mind."
"True - but what could have changed his mind in the last twenty-four hours? There'd be nothing for him in Antigua except transhipment cargoes which wouldn't interest a runner. The good freights are in Jamaica and he knew it when he asked to join the convoy."
"It's a puzzle," Southwick admitted. "But he's certainly going a long way round for Jamaica."
Again Jackson hailed. "Abreast her second ahead, sir."
Now the Peacock must be just about abreast the Greyhound.
"That frigate's lookouts," Southwick suddenly snarled. "They ought to be flogged."
Ramage decided to reserve judgment until he saw how well the Peacock showed up against the cloud when she came abreast of the Triton. But, he told himself quickly, if she gets as far as that, I'd better be doing something about it! For the moment I can risk leaving her, but not for long.
Yet why the devil were he and Southwick getting so worked up over a ship out of position? In a convoy this size it'd be usual for at least ten ships to be out of position by now, and half the convoy would be spread all the way to the horizon by dawn. Why were they so obsessed by this miserable runner? He could imagine the Admiral's scornful sneers to Croucher, his flag lieutenant and anyone else who cared to listen about young Ramage deciding to declare war on a merchantman that displeased him ... Was he getting obsessed?
All captains risked getting obsessions - it was part of the lonely life of command. The Navy understood the problem and was patient with such men. One he knew of had an obsession about flags - couldn't bear the idea of any flag having a speck of dirt on it or the slightest worn patch. Another couldn't bear brick-dust on board and the men had to use fine sand for polishing brasswork. Where does Lieutenant Ramage fit into all that? Oh, he turns a merchantman into a fleet of enemy ships ...
"Deck there! - abreast the fifth ship!" Jackson called, and a few minutes later: "Deck there! - abreast the fourth ship."
Merchantmen out of position always dropped astern. But both times when the Peacock had been out of position she had forged ahead ... He turned to Southwick.
"Fetch Jackson down, and send the men to quarters."
Dammit, he'd left it late now; minutes wasted with a lot of daft thoughts. He put his speaking trumpet to his lips: "Marines stand by on the larboard side with muskets loaded; boarders muster at the main chains with pikes and pistols, but keep clear of the guns!"
"Deck there!" Jackson hailed. "There's another ship moving up the inside of the column!"
"The devil there is!" exclaimed Southwick.
"Tell us ship and position, blast you!" Ramage snarled.
"I'm just trying to make sure, sir," said Jackson's chastened voice from above them in the darkness. "I think it's the one that was ahead of the Peacock - I'm just trying to give an idea," he added hastily, knowing how Ramage hated indecisive answers that included the phrases "I think" or "about".
"Yes, it's her all right - the seventh, and now she's abreast the sixth ship, and the Peacock's abreast the third."
"Leave him up there," Ramage told Southwick, who had quietly passed the order that sent the men running silently to the guns.
Southwick asked, "What do you make of it, sir?"
"Damned if I know," Ramage admitted frankly. "It's some monkey business, but exactly what, I can't think. That second ship's the one the Peacock went aboard last night - why, it's absurd!"
"At least we're up to windward," Southwick said.
This was Ramage's only advantage: he could wait until the last moment before doing anything; wait until there could be no mistake about what the Peacock and the second ship intended to do. What, exactly, did he intend to do? Strictly speaking he ought probably to drop down to the Peacock, close with her and ask her what she was up to. If there was trouble he would have to explain to a court martial why he had not done so.
But he didn't want to show his hand until the last moment. He was certain that the Peacock was up to something sinister and there was very little time left. His greatest ally would.be surprise, if he could avoid raising the alarm. If he was wrong, and there was an innocent explanation of the Peacock's manoeuvres, the damned ship could give the Admiral all the ammunition he wanted to fire the final broadside into the Ramage family.
And he knew that Southwick was thinking of that, too; aye, and Jackson as well, up aloft there. They were all on his side; and they could all be wrong...
The Peacock
was closing fast: Ramage was startled when he looked over the Triton's quarter with the night glass: even though it showed the Peacock upside down, she nearly filled the eyepiece.
"Quickly, Mr Southwick; check over the larboard side guns; I wasn't listening as they reported."
"Aye aye, sir; I was, though, and all is well."
Southwick disappeared forward and again Ramage turned towards the Peacock, at the same time hailing Jackson to come down: the Peacock would soon be close enough to hear any shouting on board the Triton. If only there was some moonlight, so he could get a sight of the Peacock's decks. Were they empty of all but the watch?
The Master reported: "All loaded and the men hoping they won't have to draw shot and powder."
It was a childishly reassuring report: the only way of avoiding having the men drawing shot and powder from the bore of a gun was to fire it.
The Peacock was almost abreast the second ship: almost abreast the ship astern of the Topaz: in one minute's time he had to do something ... ye gods, do something! And he still hadn't given it any real thought. Suddenly he felt cold as he remembered Goddard's warning at the convoy conference about the valuable cargo. He knew now what the Peacock was doing and it was probably too late. He was so frightened he froze; the worst kind of fear, the fear for someone else.
"Mr Southwick!" His voice was high and he hoped the men would not notice. "Mr Southwick - I'm laying us aboard that rascal!"
He put the speaking trumpet to his mouth: "Man the weather braces - tend the lee ones ... Quartermaster, larboard four points ... Ease away and haul in; run away with it, lads ... right, tally aft those sheets ..."
Why hadn't he shaken the reefs out of the topsails? He had thought of it earlier and decided against it for fear the Peacock would see men out on his yards, but he'd been wrong: he needed every square inch of canvas now to catch up.
As the Triton's bow swung round towards the Topaz, the great yards overhead slowly moved, keeping the sails filled. Men, one behind the other on the ropes like one side of a tug of war, hauled and strained.
Within a minute the Triton was steering for the head of the convoy. He could just see the Peacock silhouetted, larger and closer. The convoy was moving slowly to starboard; he now needed to steer a converging course, slightly crabwise to starboard.
Hurriedly he shouted once again the orders to trim the sails. A few words to the quartermaster and the Triton's bowsprit swung slightly to starboard, heading towards where the Peacock should be in a few minutes. Should be - damn and blast, he'd never make it under just topsails, but it'd throw the ship – and himself, if he was honest - into confusion if he set the forecourse now, and then tried to get it clewed up as he turned alongside the Peacock.
Last-minute rush and stupidity was what lost battles, and he was proving it...
With the wind almost dead astern, the Triton was at last picking up a bit of speed: the seas, too, were now dead astern, instead of being on the quarter, and that small fact added its quota to her speed through the water.
"Puzzle to know whether to raise the alarm or not," Southwick said, and Ramage realized that the old Master was thinking aloud, not asking a question. He was holding something out to Ramage - a cutlass.
As Ramage took it he noticed that Southwick had buckled on his own huge sword, a real meat-cleaver.
"You stay on board, Mr Southwick," he said. "No dashing over with a boarding party. That will be Appleby's job. Hear that, Appleby?"
"Aye aye, sir," the Master's mate answered cheerfully, waving his cutlass. "My party's all ready."
Since Ramage had guessed what the Peacock probably intended he had done all he could to counter it. But there was still just a chance that he was completely wrong and the Peacock entirely innocent.
There would be nearly a minute, as the Triton turned on to a parallel course, in which he had to decide whether he shouted a cheerful warning to the Peacock, or fired a broadside into her, killing a dozen possibly innocent men.
He didn't want to be babbling sail and helm orders while he made up his mind so he turned to the Master: "Mr Southwick, take the conn, if you please. Steer to converge on the Peacock. We'll luff at the last moment if she's not up to mischief; otherwise put me alongside her."
The Master said: "It'll be a pleasure, sir; leave it to me."
Leave the ship to me, he might have been saying, but don't make any mistakes with the thinking part. Ramage felt deep affection for the man, and wondered if anyone else could give so much and such good advice without speaking a word.
Ramage stuck the cutlass in the deck beside him and watched the Peacock through his night glass, cursing the inverted image. There were no more than three or four men on deck but suddenly the main and forecourse changed shape, like curtains being lifted to the yards.
"They're clewing up their courses!"
Southwick had spotted it too and Ramage put down the glass. The Peacock was less than a hundred yards from the Topaz and yet none of Yorke's people had shouted or fired a warning musket. They might have spotted her, but since they knew nothing of last night's episode they might not be suspicious. He pictured the officer of the watch idly watching...
Should he fire a shot to warn the Topaz or hold on and hope to surprise the Peacock by slapping the Triton alongside her?
He was just going to order the forwardmost gun to fire a warning when he saw sails moving beyond the third ship in the column. It was the Peacock's next ahead and he'd forgotten all about her. He'd clean forgotten half the potential enemy force, but it didn't make much difference as it happened. There was nothing he could do about it: the Peacock would occupy all his energy.
Now Southwick was bellowing the order that would bring the Triton alongside the runner and was looking to Ramage for orders. Were they to open fire or not? Was he to crash the brig alongside, risk carrying away masts, and prepare to send a boarding party over as soon as the carronades had swept the decks a few times?
Ramage could not decide. All he could see were three or four men on the Peacock's quarterdeck, and a few more men clewing up the courses. There was nothing really wrong with that and the Peacock still had fifty yards or so to go before she was abreast the Topaz. Then the distance between the masts changed slightly: the Peacock was turning to larboard: turning just enough so that a further turn of a few degrees to starboard could lay her alongside the Topaz!
But still nothing had happened that could tell him for certain that the Peacock was an enemy ship bent on attacking the Topaz rather than a friendly ship out of position on a dark night...
"Sir!" Southwick had been wailing the word for several seconds. He had to know now whether to luff up or lay her alongside: no further delay was possible.
"Put her alongside," Ramage heard himself shouting and, using the speaking trumpet, added: "Gun captains! Hold your fire until I give the order - then aim for the quarterdeck!"
The Triton's jibboom had been pointing just ahead of the Peacock, but in response to Southwick's orders it swung away to starboard and the merchantman moved round to broad on the Triton's bow. The combined movement of the two ships made it seem as though the Peacock was coming sideways towards the Triton; a fast-moving nightmare. Upside down in the night glass, black maggots swarmed suddenly over the Peacock's decks, and without consciously registering what he had seen, Ramage bellowed:
"Gun captains - fire as you bear!"
As the first carronade fired the flash lit up the Peacock like a flicker of summer lightning. With awful clarity he saw that the Peacock's decks were now covered with armed men. Scores and scores of them had been hiding below the bulwarks. As other carronades fired he saw more men pouring up from below, their cutlasses glinting in the flashes of gunfire. The Peacock was not yet alongside the Topaz, which he could just make out twenty or thirty yards beyond. Almost unbelievably the Triton had arrived just in time.
Just in time, if he could stop the Peacock being manoeuvred those last few yards to the Topaz. Nothing could save the Top
az or even the Triton from that swarm of men once the Peacock was alongside.
"Aim at the wheel!" he screamed at the men at the carronades. "Gun captains - the wheel!" In the flashes of gunfire he saw Jackson standing on the bulwark carefully aiming a musketoon, methodically aiming and firing it and passing it down to be reloaded, while another loaded one was handed up to him. Standing beside him on the bulwark, Ramage saw that the men in the Peacock were in confusion, and guessed her captain had been so sure he'd get alongside the Topaz before the Triton could reach him that he had all his gunners at the larboard side guns, ready to sweep the merchantman.
Not one of the Peacock's starboard side guns had fired back at the Triton yet and Ramage decided to take advantage of the fact. Leaping down from the bulwarks he ran over to Southwick and shouted, above the thunder of the carronades: "Stay twenty yards off - I want to give them a good pounding with the guns, otherwise we don't stand a chance against all those : they'll swarm over us!"
Southwick bellowed into his speaking trumpet, choosing moments between the guns firing, and as Ramage rejoined Jackson at the bulwark the brig settled down to a course parallel with the Peacock but twenty yards to windward. Ramage watched warily for the first sign that the Peacock was going to try to luff up and get alongside the Triton.
The gunners were settling into a steady rhythm and the flash as each carronade fired momentarily lit up the Peacock, like a furnace door being opened quickly and shut. The flashes showed the Peacock's deck was now clearing: there were small dark piles of bodies where grapeshot had torn into her boarders, but the rest had dispersed to find some shelter. Ramage knew many must be crouching in the lee of the bulwark, waiting for the Tritons to board.
Suddenly Ramage realized the Topaz was no longer ahead of the Peacock. He glanced round in alarm and it took him several moments to realize that the Peacock must have come round to starboard a little - with the Triton conforming - and, sailing faster than the convoy, had left the rest of the ships astern. The nearest part of the convoy was now a good half a mile away on the starboard quarter. The Topaz was safe now, whatever happened to the Triton.