CHAPTER TWENTY

The two surveyors came to his cabin next morning with the draft of the new chart of Trinidade and its waters. With Southwick's help they had determined the exact latitude, and the longitude as close as the Calypso's chronometer would allow. Their task, though, was simple enough. White unrolled the parchment and pointed to the numbers representing heights on land and depths in the water.

'We have to name the hills, bays and headlands . . . We'd like you to choose the first ones, sir! At least, one or two bays have been named already, but...'

Ramage glanced up. 'Who named them?'

'Well, sir, the Marquis and his family - and, well, sir, the passengers in the Earl of Dodsworth!'

Ramage pulled the chart round and stared at the writing. The bay in which they were anchored had, pencilled in, 'Ramage Bay', while the headland forming the southern corner had been called Ramage Head. The next bay to the west, where the only accessible stream for fresh water ran into the sea, had been called 'Calypso Bay'. The beach which the survey teams had used was now 'Potence Beach' - a grisly mixture of French and English, since potence was French for a gallows.

'What will Lord St Vincent think of me if he sees my name written all over the chart?' he demanded.

'The Marquis, sir,' White said hurriedly, 'we mentioned that to him, and it seems he knows the First Lord very well, and had already drafted a letter to him about what you did. Now he's going to say that he insists . . .'

Ramage sighed. 'Well, Mr Dalrymple at the Hydrographic Office can always change them later. Now, let's name the rest. This next bay to the west, we'll call that Rockley Bay, in honour of the Marquis. This first bay on the north side could well be named after the First Lord. Write them in, White: Rockley and St Vincent. We'll leave the next two - some of the Lords Commissioners may have ideas. But this little bay here, at the southern end; I want that named "Aitken Bay". He saved the Amethyst and Friesland.'

He looked at the chart carefully. Renwick had worked hard at building the batteries and was in the attack on the Lynx. The biggest battery, which covered the watering place in what was now to be Calypso Bay, was at the top of a hill which was 1,430 feet high.

'That will be Renwick Battery,' he said, tapping the place with his finger. 'Here, where you have the maize and potato fields marked, just call it "Garret's". The old West Indies hands will think it is the name of a sugar plantation!

'Now, we have three batteries left. This one covering the landing beach - Potence Beach, rather - we'll name for Wagstaffe; that one for Bowen; and this one here, covering the northeastern side of the island, for Southwick.'

He paused a minute or two and White coughed. 'Orsini, sir: might we suggest the reef just on our larboard side? It is the nearest to where he helped you...'

'Excellent: pencil it in. He'll be so proud.' Probably more proud of that, Ramage thought, than of all of Volterra, if he inherits it. 'And this big shoal in Calypso Bay - that's Martin's. Poor Kenton has been left out a good deal, so we'll give him this big shoal of rocks in Rockley Bay.'

White swallowed hard. 'I seem to be interfering a lot, but everyone in the gunroom was most anxious that I should ask you if - well. . .' He stopped, overcome by nervousness.

'Who are they suggesting?'

'Mr Wilkins, sir. He's such a good shipmate, and that painting. . .'

'I agree entirely,' Ramage said. 'Have you any suggestions, or should we change some of these round?'

'No, sir, we know which is his favourite hill: it's this one overlooking this bay; you've seen several of the paintings he's done from there.'

'Wilkins Peak, eh? Good, write it in.'

Aitken followed the surveyors and reported that the last of the casks of fresh water were being hoisted on board. 'We've loaded thirty-five tuns, sir, and Kenton tells me that if he'd had the boats and casks, he could have loaded five times as fast.'

'So a large squadron could water here in a matter of hours?'

Aitken made an expansive gesture. 'A small fleet in a couple of days. And digging potatoes and harvesting maize at the same time!'

'Very well, then you can start hoisting the boats in. The Earl of Dodsworth is weighing tomorrow at nine o'clock. We can start to weigh about ten o'clock. We'll be spending the next six weeks or so in her company, so we can afford to let her get ahead for an hour or two!'

'It'll mean a slow passage for us,' Aitken commented.

'Only if there are light winds. She's a lot bigger than us and can carry more canvas in a blow.'

'Can, sir, but will she?'

'She'll have to if she wants to keep up with us! Don't forget she wants to sail in company with us. We are not under orders to escort her - after all, we are at peace, despite a privateer or two. We're doing Captain Hungerford and John Company a favour . . .'

'So we could lose her in the night after a week or two,' Aitken murmured.

'We could, but we won't,' Ramage said, and knew that if he was honest he would admit that if he had his way he would bring the Rockleys on board the Calypso, just for their peace of mind, and leave the Earl of Dodsworth to follow.

Aitken was just leaving the cabin when he turned round. 'By the way, sir, Orsini wanted to see you. May I send him down?'

Ramage nodded, puzzled by the formality; normally if Orsini had anything to say he approached on the quarterdeck with a smart salute.

A few minutes later Paolo came into the cabin and stood to attention. The boy was growing quickly, Ramage realized; he had to stand with his head bent to avoid bumping the beams.

'Sit down,' Ramage said, gesturing to the armchair, but Paolo shook his head nervously. He was holding a small canvas wallet, a flat bag suitable for carrying documents. 'I'd prefer to stand, sir: this will only take a minute or two.'

Ramage looked up from the chair at his desk. 'You sound very serious, Paolo!'

He rarely called the boy by his first name, and then only when they were alone. But at this moment something was obviously troubling him.

'It's the date, sir.'

Ramage frowned and glanced down at his journal, which he had been filling in when Aitken arrived. There seemed nothing unusual about the date: it was not the King's birthday, the anniversary of the Restoration of Charles II, the King's accession or the Queen's birthday, or any of the other dozen or so days when the King's ships fired salutes. Paolo's birthday was some time in August.

'What about the date?'

'It is six months to the day since we sailed from Chatham, sir.'

'Allora!' Ramage exclaimed, surprised that it was so long, but still puzzled that it had any significance. 'E poi... ?'

Paolo began to undo the two brass buttons holding the wallet closed. 'I have a letter for you, sir.'

'Aletter?'

Obviously Paolo was not going to be rushed. He now had the flap of the wallet open, and he looked up as though this was only another stage in whatever duty he was performing.

'I had to deliver it to you exactly six months after we sailed from England, sir. And that's today, if you would be pleased to refer back in your journal.'

'I'll accept your word for it. Is it so important?'

'I gave my word, sir.'

'Very well,' Ramage said hurriedly, determined not to show any impatience or offend Paolo's prickly sense of honour.

'May I have the letter, then?'

'Yes, sir,' Paolo said, making no move to hand it over. 'I have to explain... My aunt gave it to me when I visited her in London at your father's house. She made me promise to give it to you on the exact day.'

'Which you are now doing,' Ramage said encouragingly. Whatever it was, Gianna had clearly threatened Paolo with the mal occhio if he failed, and no matter how intelligent, Godfearing and sophisticated an Italian, he was always wary of the evil eye.