CHAPTER TWO
The kneeling seaman carefully removed his plaited straw hat and took a soggy, stringy piece of tobacco from the lining, but before he put it in his mouth and began chewing he commented: 'My jaws are getting tired of overhauling this piece: it's the second day, and there ain't much taste left You 'aven't got the lend of a piece, 'ave you, Jacko?' 'Since when have I ever chewed bacca?' 'I know, but you might've 'ad a bit tucked away.' 'Oh yes, as a charm against rheumatism and snake bites.' 'Oh, you're a Yankee misery. Now, 'old the doth still. Cor, the sun's bright You ready with those scissors, Rossi? Wait, let me flatten out that crease. Now, snip away!'
The three men were crouching down on deck, cutting out the pattern of a pair of trousers drawn on a piece of white duck. Alberto Rossi, the Italian seaman from Genoa, snipped carefully, the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips revealing his concentration.
The man in the straw hat Stafford, was a young Cockney for whom the trousers were intended, and who scorned 'slops', the clothing sold by the purser, all of it made to standard patterns. One of the more crushing judgements mat a self - respecting seaman could make of another man was: 'He's the sort o' feller who'd wear pusser's trousers.'
Rossi paused a moment with the scissors and inspected the doth. 'Staff, I think you draw the line too tight here - ' he gestured with the scissors - 'and you might damage yourself. Shall I leave extra cloth?'
Stafford looked at it doubtfully, certain that his pencilled line had been accurate, but Jackson nudged him. 'You pencilled round the outline of the trousers you're wearing but you forgot to allow for the seams.'
The Cockney's face fell. 'So I did; I was concentrating on holding the cloth still - in this wind. All right then; give us an extra 'alf an inch all round, Rosey.'
All three men stopped and looked round as another group of men kneeling nearby started a violent argument and one of them suddenly stood up, waving a ragged piece of doth.
'You bluddy idjit!' he screamed. 'Look wotcher dun I Yer've cut froo two ficknesses, not one, an' took off the other leg! I sedjer coodn't be trusted wiv them bluddy scissors. Ten bob's worth o' cloft, that's whatcher've ruined. Why'ncher go'n sit on the jibboom tossing guineas over the side, heh?'
'As long as they're your guineas it's all the same to me,' the other man answered calmly. 'But you marked it and you held it, and I just cut where you said.'
With another scream of rage the first man flung the piece of cloth down on the deck and jumped up and down on it, shaking his fist. 'You rusty cuttle - bung; oooh you milk - livered jakes-scourer, why—'
'Ere, 'old 'ard,' the man with the scissors interrupted mildly, 'if you go on like that, I shan't 'elp you no more.'
Stafford prodded Rossi. 'Come on, snip away; don't pay no attention to them or you'll be doing the same. Don't forget, arf an inch outside the line.'
Stafford watched carefully and then muttered: ' 'Ere, Jacko, ain't there someone around what'll lend me a chaw of bacca?'
'Pay attention to your trousers, otherwise you'll end up with four legs and no seat, like a broken chair.'
Finally the trousers were cut out and the front section was held up against Stafford, who looked down at it critically. 'Seems all right,' he said doubtfully. 'Wotcher fink, Rosey?'
'Is all right,' the Italian said. 'Sta attenti with the stitches. Not those great big ones you put in a sail.'
' Taint often the bosun catches me for sail mending,' Stafford boasted. 'I volunteered when the foretopsail split yesterday, but that was so's I could get my fingers on a sail needle.'
'I hope you picked a sharp one. Most of 'em are rusty,' Jackson said. They're the ones left on board by the French - poor quality they are. No guts in the metal; they won't hold a point'
'I did get a nice sharp one, but I can't find it now,' Stafford admitted. ' 'Aven't got one I could borrow, 'ave you, Jacko?'
'Bacca, needle - I suppose you've got a reel of thread?'
'Well, not reely; I know Rosey's got some good fred, and I was 'oping . . .'
The Italian glared at him. This cloth we just make the cut. Staff; you buy him from the purser? I wonder. The purser not sell any slops since we leave Antigua, and I don't remember . . .
'Well, I didn't steal it from any of me shipmates,' Stafford declared hotly, 'you know me well enough for that Why, I'm - '
'Accidente! Rossi said sharply. 'I was only going to ask why you didn't take the thread from the purser at the same time, and you need two buttons.'
'I got the buttons all right' Stafford admitted, 'but old Nipcheese didn't get the fred out'
'Old Nipcheese saw you coming,' Jackson commented. 'Not all pursers are daft!'
Homage paused at the forward end of the quarterdeck and looked across the ship. It was a scene being repeated on board every one of the King's ships at sea: Sunday afternoon and 'make and mend', with the men off watch doing just what they wanted. Some dozed in the sun, others mended clothes, while yet more were cutting cloth and stitching, making new trousers and shirts and repairing old ones.
It was curious how fussy the average seaman was about his clothes, Ramage reflected. Expect him to wear slop clothes and he would be outraged; unless he was lazy or particularly unskilled with needle and thread he did not want to wear a purser's shirt of the same cut and cloth as his shipmate; he wanted a wider or narrower collar, or he sewed the whole shirt with French seams so he could also wear it inside out His hat would be different; some preferred the natural straw colour of the Bennett while others tarred it Some liked a large hat almost resting on their ears with a wide brim which shaded their eyes and the back of their head; others wanted a narrow brim with a small bat worn high on the head and tilted rakishly forward.
Some captains tried to force the men to wear the same kind of clothes of the same colour and cut, a sort of ship's uniform, as though they were Marines or soldiers, but Ramage disagreed with them. His only rule was that his boat's crew should wear white shirts and trousers and black hats when they rowed him away from the ship on official business, but they were all volunteers and if they did not want to make themselves white trousers they could step down. In fact Aitken reported more than a hundred men clamouring for the dozen places . . . Eccentric captains (and he admitted there were a few of them) dressed their boats' crews in absurd rigs - Wilson had made a fool of himself when commanding the Harlequin and the story went that his admiral, taking one look at the men in the boat, asked him if he was commanding a ship or a circus. Wilson was such a fool that most people would have been unsure.
Ramage glanced at the dogvanes - corks strung on a line with feathers stuck in them-on top of the bulwark nettings, then up at the scattering of white clouds drifting westward in neat lines. The weather was holding and the wind had backed to the east. Sailing in the north-east Trade winds meant that one could be sure that they rarely if ever blew from the north-east. Today the wind had been mostly between east and south-east, so that he could short-tack along the Hispaniola coast and have something of a lee from the short, sharp seas rippling across the top of these larger swell waves which the Calypso did not like: they were just the wrong length, and each time she dug her bow into the bigger ones she came almost to a stop, the wind not strong enough to thrust her through.
Another few miles, though, and he would be able to turn south, direct for Curacao. Almost direct, anyway, a course which counteracted a knot of westgoing current. With this wind a knot seemed about right. A week or two of strong easterlies always increased the current, but crossing the Caribbean from the Greater Antilles to the Spanish Main reduced navigation (the setting of an exact course, anyway) to inspired guesswork. You hoped for luck and nodded your head knowingly if you made a good landfall.
The approach to Curacao from the north was clear of outlying reefs and rocks, and with luck and careful navigation the first the privateers knew that a British frigate and a schooner was after them would be when the island's lookouts sighted them coming over the horizon. Even then, there might be a few hours of uncertainty because both the Calypso and La Creole were French built and still used French - cut sails which were distinctive with their deep roaches, and with the ships too far off for their ensigns to be distinguished the worthy burgomasters of Curacao might be forgiven for thinking their French allies were sending reinforcements or calling in for water and provisions, for which no doubt they would have to pay cash in advance.
Southwick, who had just been supervising the casting of the log, came up to report the ship was making a little less than six knots. There was land along the north horizon which ended to the eastward as Hispaniola gave way to the Mona Passage, one of the Caribbean's main gateways into the Atlantic. Just off the south - eastern tip of Hispaniola was the island of Saona, and Ramage pointed to it. 'As soon as the eastern end of Saona is in line with the Punta Espada well bear away for Curacao.'
'Aye aye, sir. With this light wind it's going to be a long 330 miles.'
Ramage pointed at La Creole astern, her great fore and aft tails hardened in, spray flying up from her stem, the ship rising and falling on the swell waves with the easy grace of the flying fish which every now and then flashed up to skim the surface. 'Once she gets the wind on the beam you'll be hard put to hold her: she reaches like a bird, and these conditions suit her.'
'I know,' Southwick said ruefully, that's why I had the men overhauling the stunsails yesterday. Well look silly if die has to reduce sail for us to catch up.'
'If I was young Lacey I'd be making my plans,' Ramage said. 'I'd have my best quartermaster chosen, staysails overhauled, largest flying jib bent on ready - and then I'd wait for the Calypso's signal to alter course south, and I'd pass her before Captain Ramage had time to get another signal hoisted!'
Southwick was chuckling and rubbing his hands together.
'Reminds me of the time we were in the Kathleen cutter, sir. Pity we never had a schooner; then we'd know some o' the tricks.'
'If you haven't learned enough tricks in - what is it, forty years? - to beat young Lacey, who has been at sea perhaps eight years, and in command of the Creole for less than eight weeks, it's time you went back to England and cultivated cabbages. Forty rows of eight cabbages each.'
'She's French built, sir,' Southwick pointed out 'So is this ship,' Ramage teased.
'Let's have a trial of sailing to windward in a blow, or running with the wind free. That'd show the whippersnapper. But reaching - that's what schooners are built for.'
The trouble is the course is south, so the 'whippersnapper' will probably show us,' Ramage said. 'And most of the privateers we chase will be schooners, too.' He looked towards the land again. Saona and Punta Espada were almost in line as the Calypso sailed along to the north - east, close - hauled on the starboard tack, as though straggling to stay up to windward and sail through the Mona Passage and into the Atlantic beyond.
'Well cheat a bit,' Ramage said. 'Seniority must have its privileges. Well go about now. That's an hour earlier than Lacey expects.'
Southwick gave an off - key sniff; one which neither acknowledged that he would have an advantage nor admitted that he needed it.
