Kenton's eyes swept the coastline: he could just make out the black line of the land. Then he glanced up at the sails, which seemed almost luminous in the last of the moonlight. In fifteen minutes the new moon would have set, leaving the stars bright and the Milky Way a thick swathe across the sky.
There were many stars that could not be seen from more northern latitudes. The Southern Cross would not be rising yet, and he had to admit that his first sight of the Southern Cross had been one of the disappointments of his life. He had expected stars which were very bright in the sky, stars that one would know at once, as bright as Mars or Sirius. Instead, the Southern Cross had to be pointed out, a diamond shape of four stars - well, five, but it was hard to see the fifth in this latitude - low on the southern horizon. Perhaps they became more startling if one sailed into the southern hemisphere, but from the latitude of the West Indies they were a sad disappointment.
His thoughts were interrupted by the thudding of feet, and a moment later a breathless sailor stood in front of him. 'Brewer, sir: lookout on the larboard quarter. Me and Jarvis - he's on the starboard side - can see a ship just rounded the island, and there may be more: hard to see at the moment.'
'Very well, go back to your post and keep a sharp lookout.' Kenton looked round for a midshipman and told him: 'Quickly, go down to the captain and report a ship in sight near Cabrit.'
He looked for another midshipman and ordered him: 'Find the drummer of the watch and tell him to beat to quarters.'
What else? Kenton could think of nothing: helm orders would await the captain's arrival on deck. With only the topsails set they were already down to fighting canvas; the guns were already loaded and run out, and any moment the drummer would be striking up. Why did he feel more excited when the Dido went to quarters than he ever did in the Calypso! Perhaps the sheer vastness of the ship. Perhaps the knowledge that there were so many more guns - thirty-seven on a broadside.
He picked up the nightglass and went to the ship's side to peer astern. The nightglass was a mixed blessing because it gave an upside-down picture. He could see the land of Martinique running down to the south but it was inverted, looking like dark clouds. And yes, floating upside down, there was the vague blur of a ship. Damnation, those lookouts had sharp eyes. He moved the glass a fraction and thought he could distinguish other vague blurs astern of it, but he could not be certain.
The captain arrived on the quarterdeck just as the drum started chattering out its urgent order, and Kenton made his report, handing over the nightglass. Ramage snatched it up and went to the ship's side for a clear look astern. It took only a few moments for him to distinguish the ship and be almost certain that others were following her.
'Wear ship and head for her, if you please, Mr Kenton,' he snapped. The outline was familiar enough: the ship was a frigate, and as he had expected, she was leading the convoy round to Fort Royal. She would be burning two or three sternlights and the convoy would be following like ducklings after their mother. Where were the other frigates? Was there a ship of the line? How many merchantmen were there? What did the French make of the non-arrival of the Achille and the Alerte?It obviously had not affected their plans.
Slowly, with sails flogging until they were sheeted in and the yards braced, the Dido turned, with Kenton calling helm orders to the quartermaster. By now Ramage had been joined by Aitken and Southwick, both buckling on swords.
Ramage asked Aitken: 'Are you sure that plan for boarders is going to work?'
'Rennick was confident, sir, and our seamen seemed to understand.'
Ramage was worried about the prize crews they had selected during the afternoon. In anticipation of capturing several merchant ships, Ramage had selected a midshipman, five Marines and ten seamen for each of ten prizes he hoped they would capture: the midshipmen had orders to make for Barbados, and all the parties were numbered. Although in theory the cry of a particular boarding party should bring the men running, in the excitement and the darkness Ramage had his doubts, but he knew speed was important.
Southwick, who had the nightglass, said: 'That's a frigate all right, and I can make out four ships astern of her, but there may be more rounding the island.'
A midshipman came up and reported something to Aitken, who turned to Ramage and said: 'The ship's at general quarters, sir: all the guns are manned, the gunner's at the magazine, and the fire engine is manned.'
The fire engine was the result of Ramage's last orders of the afternoon: he was determined to set fire to any merchantmen he could not take as prizes, and he did not want the risk of flying sparks causing a fire on board the Dido. Seamen feared fire more than leaks, which was hardly surprising when one realized how much gunpowder was stowed in the magazine - more than twenty tons of it, enough to blow half a dozen Didos to pieces.
'Five ships,' Southwick said suddenly. 'I can see five ships as well as the frigate. Can't make out what they are, though.'
Well, Ramage thought to himself, there's no doubt that this is the convoy, the only question mark is how big is the escort. They would most likely be following astern, which suited him very well. But how long would it be before the frigate spotted him against the dark outline of the land to the north? More to the point, the frigate would probably assume the Dido was the Achille. She was expecting the Achille, and what more likely than to find her coming down from the north, admittedly late but arriving at last. Very well, that would all help the Dido achieve surprise. In the darkness both ships would look similar. The Frenchmen would be very relieved to see the Achille and, no doubt, only too willing to hand over the job of piloting the merchantmen to her, since she would know these waters well.
The wind was freshening, and a few small clouds were coming off the land. The Dido was rolling slightly and occasionally a startled gull flew by, screaming as though protesting at being disturbed. By now the moon had set and they had to rely on the starlight.
Now he could just distinguish the frigate with the naked eye: not a ship but a small dark blob on the southern horizon, dead ahead, and only visible to one side of the jibboom and bowsprit when the Dido yawed. Ramage waited for the group of lights hoisted in the frigate which would be the challenge - probably a pattern of three lights, lanterns hoisted on a triangular frame. But for the moment there was nothing; the two ships were approaching each other darkly and anonymously. Every minute, Ramage knew, was to his advantage: it increased the margin of surprise.
But time was passing quickly. The Dido was making five to six knots in this light breeze, so the two ships were approaching each other at a combined speed of ten to twelve knots. The frigate's bottom was probably foul - not probably but certainly - after the Atlantic crossing, encumbered with goose barnacles and weed, but no more than the Dido's, so the fouling just about evened out. Weed and barnacles wait for no man, he thought grimly, slowing up the best of ships, despite the copper sheathing on the bottom.
Southwick was still searching the southern horizon with the nightglass. 'The frigate and six ships so far,' he announced. 'I reckon all seven are merchantmen, but I can't be sure yet. It's a pity we haven't got a moon.'
Ramage looked again at the frigate and found he could now distinguish her outline. Still no challenge, still no sign - since she must have spotted them by now - that the frigate suspected she was anything but the Achille sailing down to help shepherd them all in to Fort Royal.
'They seem to be playing follow-my-leader,' Southwick reported. 'One following the frigate - she'll be burning a stern lantern - and the rest strung out astern. Like fruit on a bough, ready for plucking. The only trouble is they'll disperse the moment we start firing at the frigate.'
'They won't get very far,' Aitken said. 'The wind is too light to move these mules very far. And they're probably reefed down, too; you know what merchantmen are like at night.'
'We'll soon see,' Ramage said. 'We're approaching the frigate quite fast now. This breeze is slowly strengthening.'
'What I'd give for a bit o' moonlight,' repeated an exasperated Southwick. 'Trying to judge with the upside-down image in this glass makes my eyes go funny.'
'We'll attack the frigate to starboard, so we don't get blinded by our own smoke. Warn the guns, Mr Aitken.'
The first lieutenant sent one of the midshipmen below while he shouted up to Orsini on the poop.
Ramage saw the frigate dead ahead again as the Dido yawed slightly. By now Jackson had taken over as quartermaster, and Ramage gave him a helm order which brought the frigate round to fine on the starboard bow: on this new course they would pass her about fifty yards off. Just the right range for the gunners, Ramage thought, but far enough not to alarm the frigate if she was in fact still under the impression that the Achille was approaching.
He could imagine the clicking as the second captains cocked the locks on the guns: the captains would be standing behind them, firing lanyards held in their right hands, ready to drop on one knee as the frigate loomed up close. Well, they had some experience of a night action; he only hoped that what they had learned attacking the Achille was going to stand them in good stead tonight.
The range was closing fast now and, after another look at the frigate, Ramage told Aitken: 'Tell the gunners they'll be opening fire in about three minutes.'
Still no challenge from the frigate: well, that bit of carelessness on their part was going to cost them dearly: had they challenged, the lack of a correct reply would at least have warned them.
'Another merchantman rounding the island,' said Southwick. 'But maybe she's a frigate.'
'Eight ships,' mused Ramage. 'Quite a good-sized convoy, and there may be more escorts.'
Ramage gave another helm order to Jackson and the men at the wheel turned it a couple of spokes. The frigate was barely two hundred yards away and Ramage could see that she had everything set to the topgallants. Her rigging now stood out spidery against the stars; there was just a hint of phosphorescence at her stem as she butted her way through the water.
It seemed almost unsporting, Ramage told himself, to come out of the darkness and fire a broadside into the unsuspecting frigate; but this was war, and if one was careless the price was usually heavy.
Ramage moved a few steps on the quarterdeck so that he could see the frigate clear of the Dido's jibboom and bowsprit. A hundred yards. Fifty yards. Still the frigate ploughed on, obviously thinking that the seventy-four approaching on her starboard bow was the Achille. Twenty-five yards. A ship's length. Ramage imagined the Dido's gunners taking the strain on their trigger lines.
The crash of the first guns of the broadside came as a shock even though he was expecting it: a series of blinding flashes and muffled explosions and the rumble of the guns flinging back in recoil. Finally the last guns in the broadside thundered out as Orsini's carronades swept the frigate's decks, spraying them with a deadly hail of caseshot. Ramage thought of the unsuspecting Frenchmen standing about on the frigate's deck; then he reminded himself that if the position had been reversed the French would have shown no mercy.
There had been plenty of hits on the frigate: it was almost impossible to miss at this range, and he had imagined he had heard the shot crashing into the hull. Now, in response to his hurried order to Aitken, the Dido wore under the frigate's stern and prepared to come alongside, firing another broadside. The sails slatted and cracked, the yards creaked as they were braced round and the sheets trimmed. Ramage could hear Orsini's gunners shouting with excitement as they crossed the poop to man the larboard carronades.
For once Ramage felt remote from the action. Perhaps it was a bit too cold-blooded, perhaps there had been little excitement before opening fire, but there was something lacking. He found himself thinking of the frigate now about to receive another broadside when she had just had one smash into her. Well, he thought grimly, if it was a French seventy-four attacking the Calypso the French would not be feeling squeamish.
