'Aye aye, sir. Chart, tables, signal books - French and English - and a list of the convoy. Orsini has my sextant, and Jackson the set of French flags we've just sewn up.'
Ramage glanced astern and was startled to see how fast the Passe Partout was approaching. Martin and his men looked a fine party of French seamen: white trousers (grubby) and blue shirts (torn) were not the French naval uniform because at this time there was not one for seamen, but it was just the rig that a smart captain would insist his men wore, because sewing their own clothes (or paying a shipmate to do it) made it as easy to use white-and-blue cloth as any other.
'Deck there - foremast here!'
Damn! The last thing Ramage wanted with that tartane so close was a lot of bellowing in English, and Aitken snatched up the speaking trumpet, which would at least funnel his voice upwards.
'Deck here!'
'There's another ship coming up well astern of the convoy, sir. Enemy, I reckon, because they're all keeping away from her!'
'Very well, I'll send a man up with a glass.'
Southwick lumbered over to Ramage, sniffing as he walked, like a disgruntled bloodhound. 'Can only be one of two things, sir', he said.
Ramage nodded. 'I know.'
'Either', Southwick said, drawing out the word and carrying on as if he had not heard his captain's reply, 'Algerine pirates up from the coast, or a British privateer.'
'Yes. Which are you putting your money on?'
'Algerine. We can sink an Algerine and all the Frogs will cheer us, but a British privateer...'
'Yes', Ramage answered shortly, his mind working fast. Fifteen French merchant ships would be waiting - were at this moment waiting - for him to beat back to them and driveoff or sink whatever it was, Algerine or British. He looked aloft impatiently and saw that the man sent up with the telescope was just settling himself and opening the lens tubes.
But the Passe Partout was now very close - and, damn and blast it, was obviously intending to come close alongside to larboard in plain view of the convoy.
'Deck there - French ship's -'
'Shut up!' Aitken's brief shout was deliberately slurred.
Ramage swung his glass across the convoy and saw that several of the ships were now hoisting flag signals with a speed that contrasted with their earlier leisurely response to his. As he watched he saw a string run up on the Sarazine, to be followed by a flash, a spurt of smoke and a muffled bang as she fired a gun to draw attention to it.
Aitken looked with his glass and then opened the French signal book. 'On the first hoist is 'Enemy vessel', the second signifies 'hearing' and the third is 'northwest'.'
'Ignore them. I didn't know you spoke French', Ramage said.
'A little. I read it better.'
'The book gives only 'Enemy', doesn't it? Not more explicit - ah, here comes the man with the glass. What did you see, Kelso?'
The man was almost breathless from his climb up and down the mast, and he gave the glass back to Aitken, handling it carefully as though it would explode.
Do not rush him, Ramage told himself, just be calm and nonchalant; do not scream at the poor fellow a question like: 'Well, what did you see, you damned fool?' After all Kelso did have the sense not to shout down what he had seen, a shout which would almost certainly be heard by the Passe Partout, which was being waved - thank goodness for that! - to the starboard side by Orsini, who was standing on the taffrail, holding on to one of the poop lanterns and using the speaking trumpet to shout his shrill French.
'I had a good look at 'im, sor', Kelso said, unsure whetherhe should report to Southwick, Aitken or Ramage, who were now gathered round him in a group.
'You did, eh?' Ramage said to get the man's attention before the poor fellow's head swivelled off. 'And what did you make of her?'
'Scunner rigged, goes to windward like a roundshot, an' got every stitch o' canvas set, even ringtails on the main, I reckon.'
'A schooner, eh?' Ramage said unhurriedly. 'You didn't get a sight of her flag, of course.'
'Oh noo, sir, she's too far away for thaat!'
No more Devonians, Ramage swore to himself; I'll never ship another Devonian, however fast he says he can talk.
Southwick jabbed the man in the ribs with his forefinger. 'British or Algerine?'
'Oh, British, sir', Kelso said at once. 'I reckon I recognize her, too, unless someone's copying her style o' paintwork.'
'Well?' Southwick demanded.
'She's the old Magpie, used to sail out o' Brixham. I was a privateersman afore the press took me up, an' she was m' first ship after the war begun. Her hull, y'carn't mistake it: alternate strakes o' black and white, carried well up under the run.'
'M'sieu! M'sieu!'
It was Orsini, shouting to draw his attention and gesticulating over the starboard side. And there Ramage could see over the bulwarks the upper part of the Passe Partout's lateen sail only a few feet away, a great bird's wing of canvas.
He had only a moment to make up his mind as he absorbed the situation. The Magpie might already be attacking the convoy, but whatever she was doing she must be sent off - preferably happy at saying goodbye to the piek of fifteen enemy ships. But in this wind a frigate so obviously French as the Calypso could not get within five miles of a fore-and-aft rigged vessel like a schooner, and what would the convoy think of a French frigate talking to a British privateer instead of trying to sink her? The Passe Partout was close alongside,racing along as only a tartane or a xebec could in this breeze.
Ramage snapped at Aitken: 'Take command of the Calypso!'
With that he grabbed the Scot's arm and pulled him to the ship's starboard side, where they could look down on the tartane, whose captain was obviously showing off to the Navy how close he could sail his ship to the frigate.
Ramage pointed down at her. 'Lay us alongside her for twominutes', he told Aitken, 'but don't do her any damage. Watch for that lateen yard!'
Ramage looked round for Martin. 'Are your crowd ready? Come on then, lads, let's go!'
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ramage jumped down on to the Passe Partout's deck, realizing as he dropped that it was farther than he'd thought, and landing with a thud that brought him to his knees. As he stood up he caught a foot in a ringbolt and sprawled across the deck. A moment later a French seaman helped him up in a cloud of garlic and he saw, eight or nine feet farther forward, another seaman helping Baxter.
Hurriedly thanking the seaman in French and noting he was not armed, and dodging more men dropping from the Calypso's deck, Ramage hurried aft to the big ornate tiller where the man who was obviously the master stood looking up at the Calypso's quarterdeck towering over him.
'Bear away gently, we're all on board!' Ramage called, anxious that the upper end of the lateen yard should not catch in the Calypso's rigging.
'As you say!' the master replied cheerfully, patting his enormous stomach and leaning against the tiller. 'Fed up with the Navy's food, are you?'
'Urgent work', Ramage said, noticing there were still only four men on deck - the portly master, the helmsman who until a few minutes ago had been at the tiller, the man amidships who had lifted him to his feet, and the one who helped Baxter.
And now, as the Passe Partout curved away from the Calypso, Ramage saw his heavily armed boarding party was standing along the tartane's side deck looking very sheepish. Martin was beside Orsini, who by now was having an amiable conversation with the two French seamen amidships. They obviously believed that the eight men who had just jumped down from the frigate were, like themselves, true upholders of the Republic, 'One and Indivisible'.
As the turn showed the frigate's transom and her name painted on the scroll, Ramage realized for the first time exactly what he had done on the spur of the moment: he had quit the King's ship that he commanded and on a whim was now a supernumerary on board a French tartane. A French tartane which was about to become a British prize under the command of Lt William Martin, Royal Navy, known to his intimates as 'Blower' and who had, without a doubt, hidden his flute somewhere among the prize crew's gear.
Well, neither Martin nor Orsini seemed to want to strain the good relations they were establishing with the two enemy seamen, but the Passe Partout had an urgent appointment with the Magpie on the far side of the convoy, so Ramage turned aft again, walked up the rising deck to the plump master and said, unable to keep the apologetic note out of his voice, as though he was a well-dressed bandit forced to reveal his true identity and rob the host who had just given him a fine dinner: 'M'sieu - consider yourself and your men my prisoners; this ship is now a prize to His Britannic Majesty's frigate the Calypso.'
The fat man looked startled, then began roaring with laughter. Keeping one eye on the Calypso as the tartane caught a good puff of wind and heeled as she increased speed, he slapped the helmsman on the back and said: 'Well, that's one way of asking for a bottle of wine! Take the tiller and keep her on that course, Alfonse, while I get some up. And then m'sieu can tell me what he wants of us.'
Ramage, realizing he was unarmed and dressed like a Frenchman, knew that only a flourished pistol would convince this jolly fellow that his ship was now captured. He turned and shouted forward in English: 'Martin! Come aft with Jackson and send Orsini below to secure the other prisoners!'
Looking back at the master again Ramage saw he had gone white; his face was sagging and his brow speckling with perspiration. The welcoming grin had vanished; in its place was raw fear.
Ramage held up a reassuring hand. 'There need be no bloodshed; we are British. I am a British officer.'
The French master gestured helplessly at the convoy and then at the Calypso. 'She has the French flag', he protested weakly. 'This is a French convoy.'
The flag: that was a mistake. A genuine one, but if the Admiralty heard about it they would not like it. It was a legitimate ruse de guerre to fly the enemy's flag providing that before opening fire you dropped it and hoisted your own. Well, on the other hand the Calypso had not opened fire and had not threatened to - and, Ramage thought angrily, becoming furious with himself for bothering, this fellow General Bonaparte had not been fussy about protocol when he suddenly attacked half the countries in Europe, the Kingdom of Volterra included, without reason, pretext or warning.
'I am sorry', Ramage said. 'We will take over your ship peacefully and providing you do not try to resist, no one will be hurt.'
