absurd. Admittedly it could be wrecked by sharp-eyed and suspicious signalmen at the Le Chesne station, but would men who had already spent a year on this job be sharp-eyed or suspicious? It took Paolo long enough to rouse them this morning.
Yes, the idea might well work. Paolo's French was quite good enough. With bad weather coming up, the Calypso was going to have to sail for a while, but who could he leave in command at Foix? Aitken was competent enough, but it was taking an unnecessary risk to leave there the man who would command the Calypso should anything happen to her captain.
Kenton? The acting second lieutenant was reliable enough, but did he have that - well, the sudden capacity to spot an unexpected opportunity and exploit it? He was brave and loyal but, Ramage finally decided, not the man to deal with something that was just as likely to gallop up the track from the village, as appear on the Aspet or Le Chesne semaphore towers.
Martin - the fourth, now acting third lieutenant. He had made good use of Paolo in the affair of the bomb ketches. Whomever Ramage chose had to work well with Paolo because, in an emergency, it might well be Paolo's fluent French and ill-fitting French uniform that kept up a deception that would pull them through. Well, that settled it; young 'Blower' Martin would have the job.
Aitken was walking back towards him with three seamen, one of whom was coming from the direction of the kitchen holding a pail in each hand. Although Ramage had never noticed it on board, all three had the walk of men used to uneven ground; they walked looking ahead while Aitken, for instance, kept his eyes down, knowing an anthill could twist his ankle.
'What should they do with the milk, sir?'
'Share it out among the men - use it for cooking if any of them has the skill. They could make a fine omelette if they found out where the hens are laying.'
The three men grinned and one went over to the milking post, where there was a halter. 'We'll manage somehow, sir', he said with a broad grin. 'This is like home to me.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
Southwick was apologetic when he met Ramage at the entryport. 'I had the two cutters hoisted in, sir, because they'd finished taking over provisions and those bundles of French uniforms, and I don't like the look of this sky.'
'Neither do I', Ramage said briskly. 'Send Martin down to my cabin. I want ten minutes with him, and then the gig can run him on shore and come straight back. Then hoist it in and prepare to weigh.'
'Aye aye, sir', Southwick said. And, Ramage thought, that brief conversation told a bystander more about Southwick than a full-length portrait in oils by Lemuel Abbott and two columns of biographical notes in the Naval Chronicle - or even three pages, which they had recently devoted to an utterly undeserving, time-serving but very senior admiral just returned home with a pocket full of prize money after a couple of years as the commander-in-chief of a very lucrative station abroad. Southwick was a fine seaman, ready to act as he thought fit if his commanding officer was not on board and, for that matter, far from nervous about disagreeing (as discreetly as a shire horse attempting a quadrille) if he thought his captain wrong.
Martin came into Ramage's cabin like a guilty schoolboy expecting a birching from his headmaster.
'What have you been up to?' Ramage asked.
'Why, nothing, sir', a flustered Martin answered.
'Don't look so guilty, then. Now, yes or no, and be honest: with this mistral coming up, the Calypso has to sail and may be away three or four days. Can you go on shore and take command of the seamen manning the semaphore station and run it?'
'And Marines, sir?'
'Rennick will carry out your orders, but he will handle his Marines in the normal way. Otherwise', Ramage added coldly, not wanting to influence the youth's judgement, 'you'll be responsible for every man, seaman or Marine.'
'Can I have Orsini, sir?'
'Yes, of course, you'll need his French. And Jackson, Stafford and Rossi, because they're the only ones who know how to work the semaphore, though I suggest you train a spare crew.'
'What happens if French troops arrive, sir?'
'If Orsini can't tell them a good tale and they are not impressed by your French uniforms, I should think you'll all be shot as spies.'
'Yes', Martin said reflectively. 'Well, thank you, sir.'
'For what?' Ramage asked cautiously.
'Giving me the command, sir.'
'Very well. Now listen carefully.'
For the next five minutes, William Martin, twenty-three years old, who had been serving as a lieutenant in one of the King's ships for a matter of weeks, could hardly believe his ears.
By the time the gig had been hoisted on board and secured, clouds looking like strips of sheep's wool caught on a thorny bramble were beginning to race across the sky from the northwest and the wind was fluking round the big hill towards the end of the Baie de Foix. First a gust would come round the east side and hit the Calypso's starboard side, making her heel with its violence; then as she began to right herself another circled the western slope to hit the frigate's larboard side.
Ramage nodded to Aitken. 'When you have the awning stowed below, you'd better get down the awning ridge ropes.'
'Aye aye, sir', Aitken said patiently, knowing that the captain would notice in a few moments that two seamen were already undoing them.
The wind was beginning to sweep across the bay itself, whipping up lines of white caps as though it was a giant flail. Ramage, knowing it could be blowing half a gale in half an hour, again nodded to the first lieutenant: 'Get under way, please, Mr Aitken.'
The first lieutenant reached out for the speaking trumpet. The men were already alert and waiting for the first in the long sequence of orders that would have the Calypso sailing.
'Man the capstan!' he shouted.
The bars were already shipped, sticking out chest-high from slots in the barrel of the capstan like the spokes of a wheel, and within moments two men were standing at each of the nine spokes while another hurriedly secured the outer end of each bar to the next one with a line, a routine known as 'passing a swifter' and ensuring that the strain of the eighteen men pushing was equal on all the bars and none could slip out.
'Bring to ... heave taut... unbit... heave round ...'
Aitken's orders had the capstan turning and the thick anchor cable began to come home, water streaming out as the strain squeezed the strands of the rope, and ready to be 'nipped' to the messenger. This endless rope went round the capstan, through a block forward and back to the capstan and brought the cable farther aft, where it was dropped down into the smelly depths of the cable tier and stowed by the day's delinquents.
It was a busy time for the ship's boys: seamen used short lines to take a quick turn at intervals seizing, or nipping, the anchor cable to the moving messenger, and then each boy took a line and ran along keeping a strain so that it did not come undone. When they reached the hatchway to the cable tier they quickly undid the nipper, the line which gave them their nickname, letting the anchor cable down into the tier, and ran forward again to repeat the process, each boy handing his nipper to a waiting seaman to be used again as the capstan rumbled and the cable came in.
Ramage's manoeuvre for sailing the Calypso out of the Baie de Foix was simple but, like so many examples of seamanship, the simplicity was the result of having a well-trained crew. The frigate was lying head to wind, pointing by coincidence directly at the land at the centre of the crescent made by the bay.
He intended, when the anchor was off the bottom, to let the wind blow the Calypso stern first out to sea. Once he had plenty of room the helm would be put over. Going astern - having sternway in other words - meant that the effect on the rudder was the opposite of going ahead; the blade of the rudder had to point in the direction the stern was to go.
The Calypso, sails still furled on the yards, moving only because of the windage on her hull, masts and spars, would come round in a half circle until her bow was heading out to sea. Then sails would be let fall in the regular sequence and reefed at once, and the helm put over again. Ramage wanted to stay as close to Foix and Aspet as possible, although if the mistral blew for any length of time and became a full Gulf of Lions gale - which was likely - he might have to worry about raising French curiosity as to why one of their ships should want to stay close to land in that weather.
John Smith the Second was standing on top of the capstan barrel, turning as the head turned - girasole, Ramage suddenly thought, remembering the big Italian sunflower - scratching away at his fiddle, the wind just carrying back to the quarterdeck the sound of a favourite 'forebitter', a tune which kept the men at the capstan heaving on the bars in unison and had those with spare breath joining in.
Soon Southwick was signalling the cable was 'At long stay', meaning that its angle was the same as the mainstay, and then 'At short stay', the same as the forestay. That was followed by 'Up and down', so the anchor was now off the bottom and the cable hanging perpendicular. At once the Calypso's bow began to pay off and the men at the capstan, spurred on by Smith's fiddle and with the weight lessened because they were no longer hauling the Calypso through the water towards the anchor, soon had the anchor up to the hawse.
Ramage gave brief helm orders as Southwick dealt with catting and fishing the anchor - getting the hook from a tackle on to the anchor and hauling it up horizontally to deck level, where it could be lashed securely in its chocks, safe against seas which might well, within the next few hours, be breaking green over the fo'c'sle.
With Aitken standing beside him, Ramage passed on his orders and the Scotsman now had to bellow loudly through the speaking trumpet as the wind piped up to make his voice heard forward.
'Away aloft ... trice up ... lay out ...'
Ramage saw the topmen first go up the ratlines hand over hand as if they were weightless, then, after a pause for the next order, swarm out along the topsail yards as the stunsail booms, lying along the top of the yards, were cocked up out of the men's way.
'Man the topsail sheets!' That was an order for the men down on the deck. Then the speaking trumpet pointed aloft for 'Let fall!' and down again for 'Sheet home!' as the topmen let go the gaskets and the canvas tumbled down, and the men at the long ropes sweeping down from the lower corners of the sail to the deck
