CHAPTER SEVEN

Men were wetting the decks again with the head pumps: the heat was drying the planking - an indication that they were nearly in the Tropics. More men were going round sprinkling sand. Others would be doing the same thing on the gun deck.

As Ramage reached for the signal book he heard Orsini's voice on the deck above giving some orders.

He flicked through the pages. Yes, number twenty-nine would do: there would not be a signal which said precisely what he intended, but twenty-nine should cover it: 'The ships of the fleet are, independently of each other, to steer for and engage their respective opponents in the enemy's line.'

'Respective opponents' should make it clear to the Heron that she was expected to engage the frigates, not the seventy-four.

'Mr Aitken, have signal number twenty-nine bent on ready for hoisting.'

There I go again, he thought crossly: there was no need to mention 'ready for hoisting'; if the flags were bent on obviously they would be hoisted in time.

His telescope showed him that the Heron's sails were almost new: obviously she had only recently left England. Most probably she had been bound for the West Indies, like the Dido, when she ran into the French force. But for sighting the Dido, she would have been battered into hauling down her flag. And do not forget, Ramage told himself ruefully, that even now the Heron and the Dido are outnumbered by one frigate which, in this strange contest just coming up, could be significant.

Had that Frenchman's raking broadside had much effect on the Heron?Ramage wondered. It certainly had not brought down any masts or yards, though the French usually aimed at the rigging and sails, firing on the upward roll, while the British always went for the hull, firing on the downward roll, making sure that a shot fired a little late would be likely to hit 'twixt wind and water.

The Heron was fast approaching at the combined speeds of the two ships, and she was sailing as close to the wind as possible, trying to outpoint the French. But these French frigates were close winded, usually able to point higher than their British opposite numbers.

He was watching the Heron through his telescope when suddenly she turned to larboard across the bow of the first French frigate. Ramage realized at once that she was raking the enemy and was making an attack because the nearness of the Dido meant that her attempt to escape from her pursuers was not so desperate.

The frigate was covered in smoke from her broadside and immediately she hauled her wind and turned north again, towards the Dido. Ramage could not see the effect on the enemy, but it was an impudent attack which might have been lucky in bringing down a mast.

'That might teach the Frenchman not to get too close,' commented Aitken.

'The Frenchman will be slowing down very soon,' Ramage said. 'They won't want to get tangled up with us. They'll wait until their own seventy-four has caught up.'

The Heron was now a mile away and Ramage told Aitken: 'Hoist number twenty-nine.'

He wanted enough time for the Heron to see the signal - in the excitement of having just raked her pursuer they might not be watching the Dido - and for her captain to understand what was expected of him.

Now was the time to plan his own move. It was - to begin with - fairly simple: he would run down between the Heron and the Frenchman, firing his starboard broadside into the enemy - providing the Frenchman did not do the sensible thing, which would be to turn and run back to the protection of the seventy-four. Then the Dido would run on and give the second frigate a broadside, and then leaving both frigates to the Heron, he would go on to attack the seventy-four. She was, he knew, the main threat - both to the Heron and any ships on their way to the West Indies. If she got loose in a convoy, for instance - most outward-bound convoys had small escorts - the effect would be devastating.

The north-east wind was still little more than a fresh breeze; not enough to stir up whitecaps. The sky was still mottled with thunder clouds but the waterspouts seemed to have gone elsewhere. It was rather close, as though a thunderstorm was imminent. Today he had seen his first shoal of flying fish, and he had felt the usual excitement of returning to the Tropics. He freely admitted he hated the northern climate: it always seemed to be damp and cold, with usually a depressing drizzle. If he was free to live where he wanted he would buy a plantation somewhere like the island of Nevis. Not Barbados, which was too crowded and anyway too flat, nor Antigua, because he did not like the people who had settled there. Grenada, perhaps: it was a beautiful island.

But what the devil was he thinking about, considering the islands, when he had two enemy frigates ahead of him and a seventy-four? At least he had the weather gauge. Being to windward of them all gave him a considerable tactical advantage because he could run down to attack them while they had to beat to windward to get up to him.

That went a part of the way to making up for the fact that he and the Heron were outnumbered by a frigate. And he was pleased to see that the captain of the Heron was a man with spirit, as shown by his attempt to rake his pursuer.

Now they were about to go into action for the first time. Jackson was the quartermaster - he always liked to have the American there when they were in a battle. Southwick and Aitken were with him on the quarterdeck, Aitken ready to take command if a random shot knocked his head off.

What would Sarah be doing now? Perhaps on her way down to Aldington. He was pleased that she so liked the estate he had inherited from his uncle. Given that he could not retire to the Tropics, Aldington was the next best place, sitting among the hills overlooking Romney Marsh, giving him a view extending to Dungeness.

'A point to starboard,' he called to Jackson, who relayed the order to the four men at the wheel. It did not take four men to handle the wheel in this weather, but at general quarters two extra men joined the normal two, just in case any of them were killed. The two on the windward side were the ones that did the work.

That alteration of course would put the Heron fine on his larboard bow and kept the Frenchman to starboard. It should be clear to the Heron what he intended to do.

The Dido had barely turned when Southwick gave another of his prodigious sniffs as they saw the French frigate suddenly turn out to starboard and tack, turning south towards the seventy-four.

'Shows he's got some sense,' Southwick commented. 'I was wondering how he'd stand up to our broadside!'

But Ramage now had a decision to make. The Dido was sailing along with her great courses furled: under reduced canvas she would never catch up with the frigate, and presumably the second one would turn away too. The question was, would the seventy-four stay and fight, or would she too make a bolt for it with the frigates?

There was no reason why she should bolt, since the French had the advantage; but, Ramage thought, there was also no reason why the French should stay and fight. There was a considerable difference between snapping up a single frigate and finding yourself unexpectedly in action with a British seventy-four as well.

He made up his mind and said to Aitken: 'Let fall the courses.'

The sails had hardly tumbled down and been sheeted home before the Dido had reached the Heron, and as she swept down past her the frigate turned out to starboard and tacked, so that she came round on to the same course as the Dido.

'He's understood what you meant by number twenty-nine,' Southwick commented.

It took two or three minutes for the courses to start drawing properly, then as they added their thrust to the other sails the 2,800 tons of the Dido began to surge in pursuit of the French frigates.