CHAPTER EIGHT

The distant outline of the Alpes de Provence was just appearing to the eastward, shaped by the first hint of dawn beyond, when Ramage jumped on to the beach from his gig and answered the respectful greetings of Martin and Rennick with a cheerfulness that startled them and made Paolo glance quickly at Jackson.

The acting signalmen, with nothing to do until daylight showed the towers at Aspet and Le Chesne, had come down to the beach to help hold the gig, anticipating heavy swells from the previous days' storm, but the sea had calmed.

'Somefing's up!' Stafford whispered to Jackson. 'Whenever 'e's so cheerful this time o' the morning it means trouble.'

'Action, not trouble', Rossi corrected.

''S what I mean. I'm getting fed up wiv pulling them bloody 'alyards, I don't mind telling you. Black an' white squares', he exclaimed scornfully. 'Beats me 'ow people can stay awake playin' chess!'

'They're usually yellow, not white', Jackson said.

'Even worse. Wearin' a yellow dress can make you miscarry, so my sister says.'

'Yes', Jackson said briskly, 'that's why I never wear one. Now the captain's on shore we might as well get ready to go up the tower.'

'We got hours yet', Stafford protested.

'All right, you stay here and let the mosquitoes eat you. But that tower is just high enough that the lazy ones don't bother to fly that high, and they'll be swarming in another ten minutes.'

'Is right, I come with you', Rossi said, slapping at early-risers who were already biting his bare arm. 'The higher you go the not so many zanzari.'

Inside the signalmen's hut, appropriated by Martin as the officers' quarters and serving as his combined headquarters and gunroom, the lantern light seemed very yellow, an even stronger hint that dawn was breaking. Again Ramage indicated the trio should sit down, and from his jacket he took a slip of paper. 'This signal must be sent westwards at first light. I don't want the Le Chesne station to see it, so we must try to send it off before they man their tower.'

He unfolded it and gave it to Paolo. 'Read it aloud in French', he said, and when the midshipman had done so, he said: 'Now translate it for Mr Martin and Mr Rennick.'

Paolo paused a few moments, obviously changing the French construction into English, but equally obvious to Martin and Rennick was that reading the French version had brought first puzzlement and then excitement to the midshipman's eyes.

Paolo began reading aloud: '"Figures 34, Convoy to sail immediately for Baie de Foix where escort will join. Figures 1." That's the signal and', he added for Rennick's benefit, 'it's to the station at Barcelona, which is thirty-four, from Toulon, which is number one.'

Martin gestured impatiently for the paper but Ramage realized that the movement was a delaying action as much as anything: young 'Blower' Martin, confronted with an entirely unexpected situation, was giving himself time to think. And then, as he realized the consequences, he gave a cheerful grin.

'Shall we have enough men to make up prize crews, sir?'

'Don't count your prize money before the prizes are caught', Ramage said. 'There are just two or three possible snags, aren't there, Rennick?'

He knew the Marine had spotted them - more perhaps by instinct than logical thought, because Martin was twice as clever as the burly Marine.

'Yes, sir: if the French authorities somewhere between here and Barcelona get suspicious and send two or three frigates to see what's going on in the Baie de Foix, or the real escort arrive in time or meet the convoy on the way and sail with it to here. Or, a third alternative, they meet the convoy, hear of the signal from Toulon about going to Foix, reckon it no longer applies because the convoy now has an escort, and sails direct to its original destinations.'

Ramage nodded. 'The first two are risks; the third will be the disappointment.'

Martin said: 'But, sir, supposing the merchantmen refuse to risk sailing without an escort? If they're anything like our own shipmasters, they can be a damned independent crowd.'

'It could happen, but Barcelona would report to Toulon. We would intercept the signal and after a suitable interval send back a reply threatening the shipmasters. I doubt if they dare play the games the British ones do: they have no Committee of West India merchants or Lloyd's Coffee House to back them up ...'

He glanced up as there was a knock at the door, and at a word from Martin, a Marine came in with two jugs, which he put on the table, went to a cupboard and came back with four mugs.

'Tea, sir?' he asked Ramage politely, and when Ramage nodded and watched a mug being neatly filled from one jug was surprised to hear the Marine ask: 'And milk, sir?'

Then he remembered the three cows in the meadow behind the guardhouse. 'A little, please', he said.

Ramage had stood on the tower platform with Paolo and Jackson while Rossi and Stafford hauled on the halyards, watched by an anxious Martin. Before daylight they had hoisted the yellow flag, warning Aspet there was a signal for them, so that the first signalman at Aspet to look at Foix would see it. Ramage had watched the tower at Le Chesne for signs of movement, particularly when Paolo exclaimed that Aspet had answered and the signal could be sent. A shout down to Stafford and Rossi started the shutters rising and falling, Jackson watching Aspet for any request for a repetition while Ramage kept an eye on Le Chesne for any indication that they had noticed that Foix's shutters were working.

Finally, after Paolo had shouted down the last letter of the signal and the shutters had risen and then crashed down again, so the tower was once more without window-like openings, Jackson took the halyard, raised and lowered the yellow flag twice, and said to Ramage: 'Now the signal's on its way, sir. As the postchaise coachman says: "Next stop Barcelona".'

And, Ramage thought to himself, it will probably take all day to reach Barcelona, allowing for a noon delay for the meal and siesta at about station twenty ... so the convoy could sail about noon tomorrow. The distance from Barcelona to Foix was almost exactly 150 miles, and the course followed the coast because the ships had to round the cape just north of Palamós. They needed plenty of south in the wind to bring them north without too much delay.

Without an escort to crack a whip behind them, they would make perhaps four knots with a fair wind, so at the earliest there would be no sign of them until thirty-six hours after they sailed. Thirty-six hours from noon tomorrow. It was a long time. And he had to spend the rest of the day on shore, just in case a signal came back unexpectedly before sunset. In the meantime he looked across at the Calypso swinging at anchor in the bay, a glorious sight washed by the pinkish-orange of a good sunrise following the gale.

Ramage climbed down the ladder, telling Paolo to hail the moment a signal started to come through from either Aspet or Le Chesne - he was more curious about the method than what the message might say. His first task for the morning was to inspect the Marines.

This was set for eight o'clock, and Ramage knew Rennick would be happy for the rest of the day - even if, by some miracle, the captain spotted a dulled button or a speck of sand on a musket barrel. Flints - ah yes, just to tease Rennick (without the men realizing it) he would insist on all muskets being 'snapped' - cocked and fired, without being loaded - to check the strength of the spark in the flintlock. And he would play merry hell if even one failed to spark, because in action a misfire could cost the man's life.

At eight o'clock, on the only flat area between the huts not dug for a garden - but certainly not used as a parade ground by the French - Rennick had his men drawn up, and when Ramage strode out with all the nonchalance expected of the captain of one of the King's ships, Rennick gave a smart salute and bellowed: 'One sergeant, one corporal and twenty-eight men, all present and correct, sir! One corporal and six men on detached guard duty!'