find which 'ole in the 'edge she strayed through.'
By now Kenton was sure the ship was sailing faster. She was forging ahead of the Brutus, and from the way the other bomb's sails were filled it was not just a lucky fluke of the wind. He swung his leg back over the bulwark and picked up his telescope to examine the Brutus.
Wagstaffe's men were just reeling in the line after taking a cast of the log. There was the first pair of men carrying a shell, with four others - six or eight, in fact - waiting impatiently for more to be handed up from the shot locker. The Fructidor had put on perhaps a knot by just doing as Mr Ramage said.
'A pity, sir,' Paolo said, shaking his head with a sadness more befitting a priest talking to his errant flock, 'a pity we didn't think of it ourselves, then we would have gone ahead of the Brutus without Mr Wagstaffe realizing what was happening. Now he does it and he'll catch up.'
'Well, we didn't think of it, and we are going faster,' Kenton said crossly, annoyed with himself. 'And you can practise your navigation. Get out your quadrant and put our position on the chart. You can fix it in two different ways - vertical sextant angles and bearings on the highest peak of Monte Argentario, and the mountain of Elba - you can just see it, but don't place too much reliance on it because of the distance - and the one on Giglio. Then horizontal angles of each end of Giglio and the westernmost edge of Argentario.'
Paolo groaned and then brightened up. 'I haven't the heights of the peaks, sir.'
'I've written them in on the chart,' Kenton said coldly, remembering his own ingenuity with excuses when he had been a midshipman not so long ago. 'Argentario's 2,000 feet, Giglio's 1,600 and the highest peak on Elba is 3,300. All nice round numbers. You didn't leave your quadrant on board the Calypso, did you?' he asked suspiciously.
'No, sir,' Paolo said miserably.
Kenton stopped, wondering if the boy was depressed at the thought that Volterra was only fifty miles away to the north of them, halfway between Siena and the sea. It must be strange for a boy to think that so close was not only his home but the kingdom he might eventually rule if the Marchesa never had a son and if Paolo survived, though this seemed unlikely the way the lad pitched into action. Still, Volterra might be only fifty miles from the Fructidor but, Kenton began to suspect, the only thing making the boy unhappy at the moment was the prospect of working out some vertical sextant angles. They would be passing Argentario and preparing to round up for Porto Ercole before he had finished . . . Hmm, at last he was coming up on deck with his quadrant, slate and piece of chalk.
As Stafford held the twelfth shell and Jackson slipped the line through the handles he said: 'Wiv a bit o' luck we'll use these termorrer, so we'd 'ave 'ad ter carry 'em up anyway.'
'We haven't carried them at all, and we'll probably use the forward mortar anyway if we do open fire,' Jackson said, 'so you may get landed with carrying them forward.'
'That'll be the day,' Stafford muttered. 'I didn't get landed with it this time, no more did you.'
Stafford suddenly nudged Jackson and whispered: 'Just watch Mr Orsini. 'E's gettin' in such a muddle 'e'll soon be trying to take a sight wiv the slate and chewing the chalk ...'
'He's covered the slate with figures. He'll soon have to start using the other side.'
The two men then saw that the third lieutenant was watching the Brutus with his telescope and the other bomb was no longer falling astern. Stafford nudged Jackson again and murmured: 'I think Mr Wagstaffe's now got 'is dozen shells stowed aft...'
At that moment the lookout aloft hailed excitedly: 'Deck there!' and when Kenton answered he called down: 'There's a sail just coming clear of Giggley-oh, sir. Looks like a frigate. Ooh! There's another . . . and another!'
Kenton waited but the lookout finally concluded: 'That's the lot, sir: three frigates.'
Kenton could just make out three specks on the horizon, but the hulls of the ships were still hidden below the curvature of the earth, although just visible to the lookout aloft. He lifted his speaking trumpet.
'What course? Report the course, blast you, without me having to ask!'
'Sorry, sir: I think they're steering for the south end of this Mount Argent place.'
Kenton called to Paolo. 'Here's the French signal book. Find the signals for sighting three strange sail, and steering south, and then make both to the Calypso, using the French flags, since we don't have a set of British.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
On board the Calypso, Ramage was already listening to a slightly breathless report from Aitken, who when the lookout hailed had run aloft with a telescope, examined the ships and then come down again to give Ramage a fuller report.
'They're frigates all right, sir, and they look a similar design to us. And they're steering for the south end of Argentario with a quartering wind.'
'They look like us, eh? You're sure of that?'
'Built from the same draught, I'm sure,' Aitken said confidently. 'Sister ships.'
'Three of them, though,' Southwick grumbled. 'There's only supposed to be two.'
'Don't complain,' Ramage said, 'because it means that some French admiral has changed his mind.'
'I don't see how that helps us, sir.'
Ramage shook his head sadly. There were times when Southwick was remarkably obtuse. 'The senior officer of those three French frigates knows the two bombs are expecting to meet only two frigates in Porto Ercole, so he knows that the bomb captains - Renouf anyway - will be surprised to see three. Very well, when he sights the two bombs in company with yet another French frigate - and don't forget we are French built and rigged - he's going to assume the admiral has changed his mind yet again or, more likely, forgotten to tell him an extra frigate has already joined the bombs. Or,' he shrugged his shoulders, 'we could just be passing them at this very moment . . .'
The explanation seemed to satisfy both Aitken and Southwick, and Ramage listened as the lookout at the mainmasthead shouted down that the Fructidor had hoisted a signal.
Ramage reached for the French signal book, looked up the signal for sighting a strange sail, with the additions indicating the bearing and how many ships there were. Taking the speaking trumpet from Southwick, he called up to the lookout, asking him to describe the flags.
The signals were correct and Ramage ordered the French answering pendant to be hoisted.
'Remind me to tell Kenton to commend that lookout, because the Fructidor's masthead is so low,' Ramage told Aitken. 'The Brutus should have seen them.'
He turned away and began pacing the windward side of the quarterdeck. Aitken, Southwick, the quartermaster and the two seamen moved to leeward to leave him a clear space between the breeches of the guns and the skylight and companionway.
If the three frigates continued making for the south end of Argentario and rounded it, then they could only be making for Porto Ercole to pick up the troops, cavalry and artillery. They would have seen the bomb ketches coming down from the north and noted that they were well ahead of schedule, which was probably a fairly unusual situation for the French to meet. Would they go in to port and pick up the troops and artillery, or anchor and wait for the bombs to provision and water first, as originally ordered?
Three frigates instead of two ... that probably meant that the French were sending more troops and artillery to wherever it was with the bomb ketches than they had first intended. Porto Ercole was small, so would all three frigates try to berth in the harbour together? It should not be impossible if they used their boats to tow.
He pictured the chart with the harbour showing very small. Three frigates with anchors out ahead could lie with sterns to the quay. Their bows would be to the east, which meant that with the wind from the north, west or south they could get out again just by making sail: they would not have to be towed out. If the wind was east, from ahead, it would depend on the strength. If it was light, their boats could tow out the frigates one at a time just far enough so that as they let fall their sails, each would clear the headland forming the southern entrance and then the tiny island just south of it - little more than a huge rock called Isolotto - as they tacked. If the wind had any strength, then the frigates would be trapped in Porto Ercole until it changed, and it would have to be a change of several points.
Was there any chance that this present northerly breeze would freshen and veer to, say, east-north-east, even if it would not veer the whole eight points and set in from the east? Forecasting the weather in the Mediterranean was only slightly easier than in the West Indies, and less certain than throwing dice. There was a chance - but no more than that.
At the present rate of progress the galliots, bomb ketches, call 'em what you will, would not get to Argentario until after nightfall, and then only abreast the northern end. They would have to go almost three quarters of the way round the coast before arriving at Porto Ercole - by then it would be almost dawn. The French in the frigates would have had a good night's sleep; the men in the bombs and the Calypso would have spent a restless night trying to catch every whiffle and back eddy of wind to get round Argentario. Spaccabellezze, Spadino, Vongher, Bocca d'Inferno, Argentario itself - the names of the peaks came back to him without any effort, and each of them would affect the wind. If the wind was light north or east, those peaks cast a windless shadow well offshore. With luck there would be an offshore wind for the night, enough to let them creep round. Apart from hitting the cliffs themselves, at least there was nothing to run into: just the rock of Argentarola sticking up like a tooth beyond Cala Grande, but they would not be that close inshore.
Three fully-manned French frigates versus two tiny bomb ketches and a single frigate, her ship's company depleted by two prize crews and the Marines needed to guard forty prisoners. Their Lordships at the Admiralty would regard the odds as about even . . . Given surprise as an ally, this was probably true. Surprise. You suddenly leapt out of the hedge and said 'Boh!' Or you surfaced from the deep like a whale and blew a great fountain of water.
He did not turn at the next walk forward; instead he went to the quarterdeck rail and looked ahead at the two bomb ketches rolling along like plump wives on their way to the market, and at Argentario beyond, a mountainous, sprawling island with rounded peaks and laced with narrow valleys still in shadow, although it was nearly noon. In the West Indies one could stand upright and throw no shadow because the sun was directly overhead, but Italy was too far north for that, and the shadows of trees and valleys gave more emphasis to the landscape. He broke his own rule and leaned his elbows on the rail, but resting your head on your hands really did not help concentration - at least it seemed silly to think it did.
It was all a gamble, a double gamble rather, or it would be if he tried it. He had to gamble everything, first on the wind not dropping away any more, and then on it not turning south - a head wind would stop everything. He did not have to gamble that the wind would turn east, although it would help if it did. Surprise, he also had
