by Dudley Pope
'Hoisting out and recovering, sir,' Southwick prompted. 'Oh yes,' Ramage said. 'Easy enough to hoist out a boat with the stay tackle in harbour, and sometimes more difficult at Spithead. But with a sea running . . .'
'I'll see the lieutenants are warned, and with your permission I'll exercise them at it as soon as we can,' said Aitken, his face getting longer and longer.
'Night work with boats means using a compass and knowing where the devil you are,' Ramage went on relentlessly, anxious to make sure that Aitken realized that the Juno would soon be engaged on a type of operation of which the First Lieutenant had no experience. 'It means developing a sense of - well, of position, more than navigation. On a night when cloud hides the stars, most men completely lose their sense of position after a boat has rowed round in a circle a couple of times. I don't mean simply knowing you are still off a certain headland, that's obvious even to a blockhead. I'll give you an example: supposing you are leading three boats in a cutting out expedition against a ship of war at anchor in Fort Royal Bay, and you run into some guard boats and have to dodge. It's being able to keep in your mind the relative positions of the rest of the boats that matters. Like playing chess when you are blindfolded after the first four moves.'
Southwick looked startled. 'Please don't say anything like that in front of Bowen, sir,' he said pleadingly. 'That is just the sort of thing that would appeal to him, an' I'm glad to say he hasn't thought of it yet.'
'You must get Aitken interested in chess,' Ramage joked, knowing that the Surgeon was always after the Master for a game, but one look at the First Lieutenant told him that Bowen already had another victim.
'I said I knew the game before I knew what a good player he was,' Aitken admitted ruefully. 'He caught Wagstaffe, too, and now he's busy teaching Baker and Lacey.'
'It's a good exercise for the brain,' Ramage said airily - he himself was now safe from being dragooned into games. 'I'm sure you all benefit from playing with Bowen.'
Southwick caught his eye. 'Oh, we do indeed, sir,' he said gravely. 'I'll soon be walking the deck making the knight's move - two steps forward and one to the side.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
A brisk easterly wind that probably started life off the African coast, three thousand miles away across the Atlantic, brought the Juno surging through the channel between the south end of Martinique and the north end of St Lucia, her bow wave creaming away and soon losing itself among the white caps. Flying spray sparkling in the bright sun left salt drying like white dust over the decks and guns. The men were thankful for their sennet hats to keep the sun's direct glare out of their eyes.
From several miles out Ramage had identified Martinique with the three high peaks jutting up from the mountain chain running from one end of the island to the other. At the northern end and four thousand feet high, the volcano of Mont Pelée had its peak hidden in cloud, as though cooling off; Les Pitons du Carbet, a series of peaks, the highest of which was only five hundred feet lower than Pelée, had thin cloud streaming away to leeward like lancers' pennons. Only Vauclin, nine miles short of Pointe des Salines at the southern end of the island and 1650 feet high, was clear of cloud.
Southwick lowered his telescope. 'That's Cabrit Island, the big rock off Pointe des Salines. The big hill in the distance almost in line with it, sir: that's Diamond Hill, and you'll see Diamond Rock in a moment.'
Ramage looked through his telescope to the north-west. ‘There!' Southwick said. 'Like a big tooth sticking up out of the sea. More than five hundred feet high, and deep water nearly all round it!'
For a few minutes, before its outline was lost against the high land beyond it, Ramage stared at the magnified picture in the lens. A tooth, yes; the tooth of an old horse, vertical sided and slightly rounded on top, sticking up out of the sea as though Nature had accidentally dropped it, for there were no other islands anywhere near. It was going to be very useful as a navigational mark: as useful for the Juno as Mr Eddystone's remarkable lighthouse was for ships approaching Plymouth. Southwick's chart, admittedly copied from some other master, showed a five fathom patch on the north side where it might be possible to anchor. Otherwise the rock was surrounded by depths of fifty fathoms or more.
He put down the telescope. His immediate task was to find the Welcome brig, hand over her orders from the Admiral and send her on her way. He squared his shoulders and began striding up and down the starboard side of the quarterdeck, hardly noticing that everyone else moved away, for traditionally that was where the Captain of a ship could walk alone with his thoughts, be they of battle or nagging wives, duty or doxies.
Yes, there were many advantages in being a post captain, even though at the bottom of a list, and a frigate was a nice command. He ran a hand along his jaw and felt the skin smooth. The Captain's steward provided hot shaving water, while poor lieutenants had only cold in which to work up a lather. A clean shirt every day and he could change his stock as often as he wanted, knowing that the steward had several more ready, laundered and ironed. If the whim took him he could call for his steward, even though it wanted a couple of hours to noon, and demand his supper. He could insist that the officers wore their hats back to front. At a snap of his fingers he could have every alternate man flogged - or allow them to laze in their hammocks for the rest of the day.
He was king of all he surveyed, as far as the Juno was concerned, and he enjoyed it. Not because of the power he wielded, for that was only comparative (Rear-Admiral Davis had taken only seconds to decide that Captain Ramage should spend the next few weeks watching for rabbits off Martinique), but because it gave him the chance of handling a much larger ship and moulding the men. The Jocasta business seemed to have worried the Admiral, and if he had asked the question about the loyalty of the ship's company off the Lizard, Ramage would have had to give a different answer. Now the Junos were cheerful; many an evening the fiddler was in demand on the foredeck so the men could dance and skylark.
Being made post mattered in small things and in large. The large of running your own ship in your own way, the small of having hot shaving water. When they met the Welcome, the brig would have to heave-to and the lieutenant commanding her would have to report to Captain Ramage on board the Juno. A small thing, but he was damned glad that for once it was someone else who had to scramble down into a boat and get soaked with spray . . . The Welcome brig's lieutenant would not know he was the first commanding officer that Captain Ramage had ordered to report on board. And he was going to be lucky in one respect: Ramage had suffered from overbearing, condescending or pompous captains when he had been a lieutenant and had vowed he would never be guilty of those particular attitudes, unless provoked ... He found himself humming as he reached the taffrail and turned to begin his walk forward again. The deck was confoundedly hot; the warmth seeped through his shoes and both his brow and cheek muscles ached from squinting against the glare off the sea. With luck all the mosquitoes that had swarmed on board in Carlisle Bay had been blown away now they were at sea again.
One thing to be said for the Admiral packing them off after the rabbits was that they had escaped the perils of Bridgetown's social life. A sheaf of invitations had arrived on board from hostesses who obviously relished the idea of hearing London's latest gossip retailed by an earl's son, but he had been spared the worst of it. He had accepted dinner with the Admiral and his wife (it had been surprisingly enjoyable: the Admiral had a lively sense of humour) and pleaded urgent work to avoid the rest. Still, the lieutenants had enjoyed themselves, finding Southwick only too willing to stand an anchor watch. They would have been startled if they knew that on one of the two evenings, while they were wined and dined on shore, the Captain had relieved the Master for a couple of hours so that Bowen could have his game of chess.
All the weeks of training the ship's company, the days of having the ship reek of fresh paint, the days of thrashing to windward out of the Channel and across Biscay, were worth it for a morning like this. Tomorrow, when they went after th
e rabbits, it might be a different story, but now he was happy and satisfied.
‘Two miles off Cabrit Island, sir,' Southwick reported.
'Can we bear up for the Diamond?'
'Yes, sir, and I'd like to stream the log and then get some idea of the current at the moment. At a guess we have a couple of knots o' west-going current under us.'
'It'll begin to trend north-west and follow the coast now we're rounding the Point,' Ramage said, for Aitken's benefit.
As Southwick gave orders for the log to be streamed and men fetched out the reel and half-minute glass, Ramage pictured the chart of the southern end of Martinique, still fascinated by its similarity to the foot of Italy. They were just rounding the heel and were going to bear away to sail across the inward-curving instep, heading for Diamond Rock, which showed on the chart like a tiny pebble on which the ball of the foot was about to tread.
Suddenly there was a hail from the foremast-head: 'Sail ho!'
'Where away?' Aitken bellowed through the speaking trumpet.
'On the starboard beam close under the land, just coming clear of the headland, sir.'
Ramage snatched up his telescope. The heel of the island, where a stirrup would fit, formed a deep, narrow bay; the headland was Pointe Dunkerque and the bay went inland for a couple of miles. He could see a sail - no, two sails, square-sails, but the rest of the ship was hidden below the curvature of the earth.
'What do you make of her?' Aitken shouted.
'Too far off, sir. Two masts, steering south-east, but that's all.'
Ramage looked round for Jackson, handed him the telescope and gestured aloft. The American ran to the main-chains and a moment later was going up the ratlines like a monkey.
The First Lieutenant looked questioningly and Ramage nodded. 'Beat to quarters, Mr Aitken. Pendant numbers ready, and I'll let you know the challenge and reply in a moment. And bear up for the Point; don't lose anything to leeward.'
With that he went down to his cabin and unlocked a drawer in the desk, taking out a heavy canvas bag. It contained the ship's secret papers, and he pulled the lines that kept it closed through the brass grommets. He took out the lead weight that would make sure the bag sank quickly if it had to be thrown over the side to avoid capture, and removed the papers. On top was a white card on which three tables were drawn. These were the challenge and reply, which changed daily for the next three months. He ran his finger down one column, noted the challenge for the day of the month, then moved his finger sideways and read off the reply. Two three-figure numbers. He never trusted his own memory and scribbled them down on a sheet of paper before restowing the documents and the weight and returning the bag to the drawer.
As he went up the companionway he heard the bustle of men going to general quarters: the gunner would be down in the magazine, gun captains would be collecting the locks and prickers for each gun, already the decks would be wetted and men sprinkling sand. The boys would be waiting at the magazine scuttle with their wooden cartridge boxes, and the Marine Lieutenant would be stationing his men round the bulwarks.
He reached the top of the companionway and glanced aloft. The Juno was now stretching northwards, rolling with the beam sea. He looked forward to see a strong west-going current setting the Juno crabwise away from the headland. Why didn't Aitken brace the yards sharp up? They would end up well to leeward of the brig at this rate.
Southwick hurried up and, guessing what Ramage was about to say, explained apologetically: 'There are reefs up to a mile off the Point, sir, and Jackson says she's a brig, and from the cut of her topsails she's British.*
'He should know,' Ramage said, and the Master grinned. The Triton, in which all three of them had served for nearly two years, had been a brig, built at the same yard as the Welcome.
Ramage watched the brig for a couple of minutes and then ordered: 'Rig side-ropes and have a boat-rope ready in the forechains. We'll be heaving-to on the starboard tack and her captain will come on board, Mr Aitken.’
He looked round for the midshipmen. 'Mr Benson, prepare the signal for the Captain of the Welcome to come on board. Make sure you look in the right section of the signal book.'
The boy thumbed through the pages as he was joined by Orsini. 'Signals from private ships,' he muttered, half to himself. 'Ah - here we are, For the captain of a particular ship to come on board. Union Flag at the mizen topmasthead.'
Ramage remembered that entry in the signal book. 'Benson!' he growled, 'what particular ship are you signalling to?'
The boy hurriedly looked back at the page and Ramage could visualize his grubby finger running across to the columns. 'Sorry, sir, Union at the mizen topmasthead, and ship's signal.'
'Well,' Ramage said sternly, 'make sure you get her numbers right. Now, get the signal bent on, and I'll masthead the pair of you if the halyards are twisted!'
As the two midshipmen scurried aft to the flag locker Ramage handed the piece of paper he was holding to the First Lieutenant. 'The challenge and reply. Hoist the challenge as soon as she's close enough to read it, and the moment she replies I want to see that signal' - he gestured to the boys — 'run up like a rocket!'
There was a hail from aloft, and Jackson reported that the strange sail was definitely a British brig.
'I wonder if she's gone to general quarters,' SouthwicK muttered to himself.
'I doubt it,' Ramage said. 'She's expecting a frigate to relieve her and she sees one ...'
'No ship's a friend until she's made or answered the challenge correctly,' Southwick said stubbornly. ‘There was none o' that slackness in the Triton!'
'Steady on,' Ramage said mildly, 'we don't know she hasn't gone to quarters yet!'
'Ah, but I know how slack these youngsters get in the West Indies.'
'The only brig in which you served in the West Indies was the Triton,' Ramage said sarcastically.
'Sorry, sir,' Southwick said apologetically, "fraid my liver hasn't recovered from Bridgetown. Those planters do spice their food so. And all those foreign kickshaws they serve.'
By now Pointe des Salines was drawing abaft the beam, with Pointe Dunkerque broad on the starboard bow and two miles off. The brig was still partly in the lee of the hills and Ramage said to the First Lieutenant: 'Mr Aitken, we'll let her come down to us; there's no point in us getting in on the lee over there. Back the foretapsail.'
There are distinct advantages in being the senior officer; Ramage thought to himself, and resumed walking up and down the starboard side of the quarterdeck as orders were shouted and bos'n's pipes twittered, and men ran up to brace round the yard as the helm was put up. The Juno came up into the wind a few degrees until the wind was blowing on the forward side of the topsail, pressing it back against the mast and trying to push the frigate's bow round to leeward, a push which was counter-acted by the rudder and the after sails, which were trying to push her bow up into the wind. Careful sail trimming balanced both forces until the Juno was lying almost stopped in the water.
Ramage watched the Welcome approaching, slowly at first, almost wallowing in the wind shadow thrown by the high ridge of land running down to Pointe Dunkerque but then heeling slightly as the first few puffs caught her coming out of the lee. Through the glass Ramage saw her yards being trimmed, then she heeled more and the sails billowed and the canvas tautened as she caught a fresh breeze and came alive.
'Make the challenge, Mr Aitken,' he said. 'Stand by with your glass, Mr Benson!'
The three flags soared upwards. Ramage counted to himself - ten seconds, twenty, forty, a minute, two minutes . . . Then three flags were hoisted aboard the brig, and even before an excited Benson called them out Ramage read the numbers: the correct reply. And the Welcome's pendant numbers.
Hearing a hurried curse from the First Lieutenant, Ramage turned to see Orsini standing helpless, flags flapping round his legs.
'Jump, boy!' Aitken shouted angrily, 'but don't let go of that halyard! Here, quartermaster, give him a hand. Benson, put that te
lescope down and bear a hand. It's a mastheading for the pair of you!'
Orsini, near to tears with embarrassment, jumped up but caught a foot in the cloth of the Union Flag and fell flat on his face. The burly coxswain lifted him up, shook him until his foot was clear and pushed him unceremoniously to one side, taking the halyard from his hands. He hauled as Benson cleared the flags and they rose upwards.
'The first time, too,' Ramage heard Southwick mutter at Ramage's elbow, and he knew the same thought was in the Master's mind: Ramage's first signal, his first order as a captain to the commanding officer of another ship.
'Don't tell the Marchesa,' Ramage murmured, 'she'd kill the poor lad!'
'I'd gladly do it for her at the moment,' Southwick said sourly. 'All wrapped up with coloured bunting like a bumboat laundry woman.'
Ramage turned forward so that Aitken and the midshipmen should not see him laughing. The best-laid plans of mice and post captains brought to nought by Gianna's nervous nephew. He wondered how many times in the past when, as a lieutenant, he had been ordered on board a ship and had had an ill-tempered reception from her captain, some similar episode had taken place a few minutes earlier. For that matter, he remembered, the Invincible'scaptain had been unduly taciturn when he went on board to report to Admiral Davis. Had the Admiral just squared his yard for not reporting the Juno's arrival earlier? Had the watchtower along the coast not spotted them, or not passed the word, or had the word been passed but not reached the flagship? He suddenly realized that he was getting a new insight into command, or rather command where you were the senior officer.
The commanding officer of the Welcome was handling her well: Ramage watched with a critical eye and guessed that the lieutenant was hurriedly deciding whether he should heave-to the brig to windward or leeward of the frigate, and the bos'n would be preparing to hoist out a boat.