Anyway, the signals made no sense. Was the captain going pazzo? What was the point in this French frigate La Perle taking the Calypso in tow instead of La Creole! Did he have some other task for the schooner? And why tow the Calypso anyway? Why didn't the Calypso cast off the tow and get alongside La Perle, then pour in a few broadsides and board her in the smoke? That's what he would do if he was the captain. Captain Orsini. Dunque, three broadsides and allora, it would be all over.
And this tacking. Just look now: La Creole is towing them straight towards the shore! Mama mia, if she gets into stays on the next tack offshore well all end up on the beach. And you can be sure the Calypso will bilge herself on the only rocks along a mile of sand and spring some planks, so all we'll hear for the next couple of days will be the clanking of the chain pump and the creak of our own muscles. Every man will have to take his turn - in this heat too, when it is too hot to think, let alone pump. And the Dutch cavalry will come galloping along and start sniping at us. Then they'll bring up artillery and the Calypso will not be able to fire back because shell be heeled to seaward and all her guns on the landward side will be pointing up in the air. Accidente, what a mess, and all because Uncle Nicholas didn't - then, to his surprise, he saw they were still a mile from the beach, the Creole towing steadily, and the French frigate still hove - to. The way his imagination ran away with him ... if Uncle Nicholas had the slightest idea, he'd send him back to Aunt Gianna!
Ramage looked at his watch. Five minutes to go. There were nearly two hundred men waiting on the Calypso's lower - deck, which must be like an oven.
'Carry on, Mr Aitken!' he said, 'I'm just going below for a few minutes.'
He clattered down the companionway, noting yet again the comfort of the trousers: going up or down steps in breeches always caused an uncomfortable tightness across the knees. He made his way forward to the messdecks, where the men waited. Not only was it appallingly hot but it was smelly. There was the sickly stench of bilgewater, the last gallons that no pumps could ever clear, and the smell of which was usually cleared away by the downdraught of the sails. At anchor the water settled, but now, with the ship rolling under tow and no sails set, the effect was like stirring up a stagnant pond on a hot, windless day.
The men were grouped round the ladders with their officers. Wagstaffe, the cheery Londoner, was obviously keeping his men amused; he had a good fund of stories and could mimic Stafford's Cockney accent. Baker, the burly young third lieutenant from Bungay, in Suffolk, was quiet; the chance of him telling a funny story to amuse his men was remote, but they all seemed to like him. And finally, of the sea officers, the fourth lieutenant, young Peter Kenton. His shortness and red hair made him conspicuous, and because his heavily freckled face was usually peeling from sunburn, he seemed younger than his twenty - one years. His men looked contented, while Rennick and his Marines were a compact mass of pipeclay.
All of them fell silent as soon as they saw Ramage, a silence not caused by awe but because they were obviously expecting him to say something. He had not intended to do more than show himself, but rows of expectant faces made him climb a couple of rungs of a ladder up to the main hatch so that he could be seen by all the men.
'While you fellows are resting down here,' he said, and they all gave murmurs of mock protest, 'we have been busy on deck. We have the captain of the French frigate on board as a guest - of the Marines, who I hope have him in irons in the gunroom - and the Calypso is being towed by La Creole, as you know, to save you all the effort of sail handling on a hot day.'
The laughter showed that the men liked this teasing, simple as it was, but time was passing and he was anxious to get back on deck. 'At the moment the French frigate is hove - to astern. Within an hour I hope we shall have captured her. You'll get your orders. Speed is what will matter. Speed will mean success. It'll also be your best protection. In the meantime La Perle- that's the name of the French frigate - is quite convinced we are La Creole's prize. Well, well see. We know how much Their Lordships reckon French frigates are worth in prize money and we know the deductions for damage, so we'll be gentle with La Perle.' With that the men cheered him and he swung up the ladder into the bright sunlight. In the past few months each of the men had earned a considerable amount of prize money - from ships including the Calypso and La Creole- and they obviously liked the idea. Each of them was now entitled to more prize money than he could earn in wages in twenty years at sea. Curiously enough it did not seem to affect their attitude to life - or death, rather. A man with several score guineas due to him, enough to go home and set up a little business which would keep him comfortably into a prosperous old age, might well be more anxious than usual to stay alive; he might show some reluctance when going into action. Wasn't it Frederick the Great who berated his tardy Prussian guards with: 'Dogs, would you live for ever?' A sensible man's answer, Ramage reflected, would be an uncompromising yes, but fortunately the Navy (and the Army too!) comprised men born without an excessively strong sense of self - preservation.
On deck once again the sun's glare was harsh and it took him a moment or two to adjust his eyes. Curacao seemed startlingly near but automatically he checked: he could see the beach clearly so it was less than three miles; he could see a shrub the height of a man growing at the back of the beach but not quite distinguish the colours of the flowers growing on it - so it was between two miles (colours indistinguishable) and one (colours distinguishable). Call it a mile and a half. On this course, making an angle to the coast, La Creole had two miles to sail before she ran up on the beach, followed by the Calypso nearly one hundred fathoms, or two hundred yards, astern. La Perle was still hove - to and he could make out her main rigging, so she was a mile away: the Calypso and La Creole by tacking, were in effect sailing along the tangent of a circle of which La Perle was the centre.
As he walked to the quarterdeck Ramage began rubbing the scar over his eyebrow. He knew he had gone below to see the men because the tension of remaining on deck was getting too much: he hated the split - second timing on which the next part of his plan depended, the split - second timing which depended not on the hands of a watch but on his own judgement And through making that speech - the mouthings of bravado - he bad probably wrecked everything by starting the second part of the plan two or three minutes late. But stay calm, he told himself: if you try to rush people they just make silly mistakes.
'Orsini - hoist La Perle's pendant number!'
His voice was so calm that he surprised himself, but he could afford it because earlier he had made the boy check the flags. Now the midshipman and his two seamen hoisted them smartly.
number fifty - six of the French code."
'Aye aye, sir.' As the boy and the seamen hoisted Paolo repeated: '"Ship indicated shall take disabled vessel in tow, the course to be steered to be made known in the next signal."' 'Very well,' Ramage said. 'Let me know when she acknowledges.'
But even before he finished speaking three telescopes were trained on La Perle: Aitken was standing with his back to the quarterdeck rail, balancing himself on the balls of his feet against the Calypso's gentle roll, Southwick was watching with the complacency of a prosperous farmer inspecting a ripe field of corn, half of which had already fallen before the reapers' scythes and with the weather set fair, and Paolo had snatched up a telescope with the speed of a conjurer producing an out - of - season apple from the rector's hat.