'All you men - quickly, get up in the rigging and stand by to cheer. You on the fo'c'sle, get muskets and pistols and stand by to fire into the air when I give the word! '
In a minute the shrouds of all three masts were thick with men.
'Now - wave like madmen. Stand by to cheer. Hip, hip . . .'
'Hurrah! ' two hundred voices shouted and the roar echoed down the channel, the sound bouncing from the hills.
'Hip, hip . . .'
'Hurrah! '
'Hip, hip .
'Hurrah! '
By now startled birds were wheeling and more faces appeared along the walls of the forts.
'Stand by with those muskets and pistols. Ready? Fire! '
A ragged volley echoed along the hills. More faces appeared at the walls.
'Now, just cheer like madmen! You're mutineers getting your freedom! '
The men shouted, screamed and waved, and for a moment Ramage wondered if the Jocasta's men had behaved like that when they arrived off La Guaira. Someone waved back from the walls of San Antonio and was followed by another man. Soon twenty or thirty Spaniards were waving, and more joined in from the walls of El Pilar.
'That should convince 'em, ' Southwick grunted. 'It's nearly convinced me! '
The wind in the channel was not as strong as Ramage had expected; the four boats were towing the Calypso at a good speed, two knots or more, because the forts had now drawn aft until they were on each quarter.
'We've got through the gate, ' Southwick commented. 'I hope we don't find it closed when we want to get out! How do you reckon we're doing for time, sir - brother, rather. Sorry, sir, I can't get used to it.'
Ramage looked at his watch. 'We're doing well enough. It'll be dark in about forty-five minutes.'
'Supposing the captain of the Jocasta - or whatever they call her now - supposing he hasn't received the word that we're coming in?'
Ramage walked to the ship's side and peered out through a gun port, then returned to the rail. 'He'll have his orders by now, but even if he hasn't the musket shots will rouse him enough to find out what's going on.'
The steep hills on either side of the channel were now beginning to slope down; a hundred yards ahead the land was flat. Then Ramage saw the hills to larboard stop abruptly and the eastern half of the lagoon came in sight - with the Jocasta lying there, her bow to the north, seeming placid and content, like a cow in a meadow.
Southwick, telescope to his eye, began describing what he saw, as though reading from a list: 'All her sails bent on - courses, topsails and t'gallants. Sheets and braces are rove - that's a relief. Headsails are bent on and the sheets leading to larboard; she's ready to get under way on the starboard tack. Gun ports closed. Hey, what the devil is going on?'
Ramage was looking by now, watching a score or more men swarming along the Jocasta's larboard side. They were dragging large white cylinders . . . putting fenders in place; the big sausage-shaped cylinders made of old rope and used to protect the side of the ship when she went alongside in the dockyard, or secured next to another ship.
'That answers a question, ' Southwick commented cheerfully. 'They're expecting us! '
Ramage went down the quarterdeck ladder and walked forward to join Aitken on the fo's'cle. It was a curious sensation - the ship gliding along in a silence broken only by the creaking of the boats' oars and the rustling of the water at the stem. The light was going quickly now, and with the last of the colour fading from the hills the water turned silvery-grey. Although the land was flat on each side and a track ran parallel with the water, presumably leading up to each fort, there was a lot of undergrowth: bushes and stunted trees stretched into the distance, finally climbing up the side of the hills to reach the foundations of the forts.
For a moment, as he glanced aft and saw the two forts, squat and walls black in the shadows, Ramage felt sick as he thought of the orders he had given Rennick. When he had drawn up the plan he had tried to assume the worst, that the countryside would be rocky and covered with bushes. It was no worse than he had anticipated, but there seemed little chance that even one of the Marines would survive the night's work. Forty Marines, yet the Admiral would consider their lives a small price to pay for the Jocasta.
'We'll go alongside the Jocasta just as we planned, ' he told Aitken. 'They're expecting us. I want us towed round so that our bow is to seaward, too. You give the orders to the boats; I want to come alongside as though an admiral was watching.'
'But, sir - but, brother Ramage: would they expect a gang of mutineers to do it perfectly ?'
'The Spanish captain of the Jocasta is very proud of his new ship. He's ready to sail. All the paintwork is new. We want him coming on board us with a welcoming smile, not screaming with rage because we've just ripped out channels and rigging or scored his paint! '
Aitken grinned sheepishly. 'I don't have your knack o' imagining myself in the enemy's boots, sir! '
Ramage walked aft, giving orders as he went. Baker came hurrying up to supervise men preparing lines along the starboard side, ready for securing to the Jocasta; other seamen were placing loaded muskets out of sight under the carriages of the guns. All now had pistols stuck in their trousertops and cutlass belts over their shoulders, though the cutlasses were still scattered round the deck, apparently in random piles.
As soon as he reached the quarterdeck Ramage told Southwick: 'Have the yards braced sharp up so we don't hook up in the Jocasta; then make sure the topmen don't move five yards from the ratlines.'
'Brother Ramage, ' Jackson called from abaft the wheel. 'I've a pair of pistols here ready for you, sir.'
'I'll get them in a minute or two.'
Hell fire, it was getting dark quickly now. He looked aft along the channel and was thankful to see that the Santa Barbara was just coming into the entrance, her two boats out ahead like water beetles, the brig little more than a black blob. There was no disturbance along the walls of San Antonio, no flashes of guns or muskets, so whatever that three-flag signal had meant, it obviously did not matter. The commandants of the forts must be relieved - the horse was in the stable and the door was bolted. What were they doing up there now? Toasting each other, no doubt; slapping themselves on the back and jeering at the English Navy and its mutinous men.
He could smell the plants and shrubs growing on shore: the faint hint of spices. They were only a few hundred yards from the mangroves and he thought he smelled charcoal - a charcoal-burner at work, or someone preparing to cook his supper? And the curious high-pitched rattling of frogs, blurred by distance. And above him the creak of the great yards as they were braced round so that the outboard ends should not foul those of the Jocasta. Let's hope the Jocasta's captain remembers, too . . .
Looking forward again he was startled to find that the Calypso had finally reached the end of the channel and was now gliding into the lagoon. And over to the west, at the far end of the lagoon, were the dim lights of Santa Cruz itself. It would be hot in the houses; the small windows kept the sun out but the rooms trapped the heat of candles. Little pinpoints of light dancing on the water showed that fishermen were busy near the town, fishing with lanterns, and there were four dark shapes, merchant ships at anchor off the quay. Three were laden, one was high in the water. A peaceful scene, Ramage noted; over there, almost a mile away, people were going about their evening business. Wives would be preparing meals, old men would be supping wine. Some of them might notice a frigate being towed into the lagoon but few would be interested; curiosity counted for very little in the Spanish character.
Now the Calypso was beginning the slow turn across the eastern end of the lagoon, a long curve that would end, if Aitken directed the boats properly, with the frigate coming alongside the Jocasta perhaps ten minutes before it was dark. With the yards braced sharp up and the lines led ready to be passed to the Jocasta, there was nothing more to be done on board, and men stood silent, each alone with his thoughts. Aitken, on the fo'c'sle and now standing on the knightheads with a speaking trumpet so he could shout down to the boats when necessary, was reminded of the lochs on the west coast of Scotland: long stretches of water, some surrounded by steep hills, others with hills in the distance. But of an evening they had the same tranquillity, the same atmosphere of time passed, of witnessing events that left no mark. When the Captain had described it all in the cabin earlier, Aitken had pictured Santa Cruz rather like a cave; he had expected to feel an overwhelming sense of being trapped - as indeed they were - but instead he was reminded of a peaceful evening's walk beside a loch.
Jackson, walking from one side of the ship to the other to keep an eye on the edges of the channel, now mercifully disappearing astern as the ship came out into the lagoon, was reminded of Italy, not by the water but by the hills. They were smoothly rounded and rose higher and higher as they moved inland. This was, he thought, like southern Tuscany: that big peak could be Monte Amiata. The land on either side of the channel was covered with the same tough scrub of the macchia, like the countryside where they had found the Marchesa. He wondered if it had jogged the Captain's memory. At times like this he always seemed busy, working out angles and distances, ranges and trajectories, or what the enemy might be planning, but afterwards - perhaps long afterwards - he'd make some comment that showed he had missed nothing.
Stafford, squatting on the breech of one of the aftermost of the quarterdeck guns with Rossi, felt uncomfortable. The long channel back to the sea, with the fort on each side, reminded him of a heavy door. He had never been in the Bridewell, but he knew plenty of men who had, and they all commented on the jail doors slamming behind them as they entered, then the long walk to the cells. The long walk was what they remembered, down a corridor that seemed to go on for miles.
'Be glad to get out o' here, ' he commented to Rossi.
The Italian turned to look at him. 'Oh? Is not so bad, you know; the French build a good ship.'
'I don't mean the Calypso' he said impatiently. 'I mean this place, Santa Cruz.'
'Is quiet enough now, Staff, ' Rossi said complacently. 'Just like the Captain said.'
'He didn't say it'd be quiet going out, though. I'll take my oath on that! '
'We'll soon know. Remember when we were in Cartagena?'
'Aye, that's what I'm saying. Trapped. Same sort of place - Spanish, mountains, narrow entrance . . .'
'We sailed out of Cartagena all right! '
'But he'll chance 'is arm once too orfen, mark my words.'
Rossi spread both arms, palms upwards. 'Always you get like this, Staff. For ten minutes you think of ways we can all get killed. Then you forget all about it.'
