CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Silkin gave a sniff which, registering disapproval, would have outdone anything Southwick could have produced. Ramage was standing naked in the middle of his cabin, trying to arrange an old stock as a loincloth. 'It's no good, the damned thing keeps slipping!' he grumbled.
'Breeches, sir, or even these trousers I bought from the purser: they will answer the purpose admirably.'
'Silkin, I have a good half a mile to swim, and I'm not going to be weighed down by heavy clothes.'
'These trousers, sir, they're not really heavy. Just nankeen, they are. Just enough for the purposes of modesty.'
'The devil take modesty,' Ramage snapped, 'I'm not anticipating parading in front of the women passengers. I'd go naked but for the fact that it would remind an enemy that the quickest way of disabling a man is to kick him in the groin.'
'What are the seamen wearing, sir?'
'I don't know, but they don't have such vivid imaginations as I do. Here, this stock is fine now. Give me a big pin. Ah, that's it. Now, that belt. Slide the frog round, so that it's in the small of my back.'
The sailmaker had been busy adapting cutlass belts which were normally worn slung over one shoulder; the swimmers had demanded a way of keeping the cutlass from getting between their legs as they swam, and the best he could do was devise a waistbelt stitched to the shoulderbelt which kept the cutlass to one side. Ramage had not liked it; instead he was just using a waistbelt but fitting it much higher, under his armpits, so that as he swam horizontally the cutlass blade lay along his back, the point on his buttocks. He preferred this method to the other because, with the blade to a man's left, it could cause trouble if he swam to the left or the right.
'What's the time?'
Silkin picked up Ramage's breeches and took the watch from the fob pocket. 'Just ten minutes past two o'clock, sir.'
'Good, time I was off. Quickly, that knife and sheath. Now, strap it round my right shin.' Ramage put his foot up on a chair. 'Tighter . . . that's fine. Now take the line at the bottom of the sheath - yes, it goes round my ankle.'
With the sheath knife secured on the side of his right shin, the cutlass slapping against his back, and dressed only in the stock round his hips, Ramage felt more than faintly ridiculous, but no one was going to see him for some time . . .
He met Aitken and Southwick at the top of the companionway. Aitken was naked to the waist and wearing seaman's trousers, a cutlass belt across his shoulder.
'You look like an Indian, sir,' Southwick said cheerfully, 'I half expected you to try to sell us mangoes.'
'I'm off to demonstrate the Indian rope trick,' Ramage said. 'Well, Aitken, do you still feel as confident?'
'No, sir,' the Scotsman said bluntly, 'I didn't feel confident when you first mentioned it, but as I don't feel any less so now, we needn't worry.'
Ramage took his hand in the darkness and shook it. 'I'll give you a wave when we take our exercise in the morning!' With that he went to the entryport, acknowledged the murmured good wishes of the small groups of men waiting there, and reached out for one of the two manropes hanging down into the water.
As soon as he grasped them, two seamen held them away from the hull, and two more scrambled down the side battens to hold them out farther down, where they would otherwise touch because the hull curved outwards in the almost exaggerated tumblehome.
Slowly Ramage let himself go hand over hand down the rope, acknowledging the good wishes of the sidemen as he passed them. Then the lapping of water against the hull became louder, and the curious mixture of seaweed and fishmarket smell peculiar to the waterline of a ship in the Tropics warned him he was almost in the water.
He felt chilled. A slow descent into the water or a sudden plunge? He let go and a moment later gave an agonized gasp: for a moment the water seemed icy cold, and he held his breath until he surfaced again.
Then, kicking away from the side of the ship, he checked first the cutlass and the knife and then, as an afterthought, the stock. Then, swimming on his back, he identified the particular stars he needed. A cloudless night: the one thing that would have postponed tonight's attempt would have been cloud, because it was impossible to see the Earl of Dodsworth or the Amethyst from the sea on a dark night.
The water was not as cold as he had expected and as he began swimming away on his back the Calypso seemed huge, her rigging and spars making a complex pattern against the stars, a vast net made by a crazy fisherman.
The cutlass was hanging down vertically, now he was swimming on his back, and the hilt was digging painfully into his shoulder blades. Aitken would be in the water by now and beginning his swim to the Amethyst. Because she was lying more to the south the first lieutenant had no further to swim: the Calypso was the centre of a radius whose circumference went through the Earl of Dodsworth and the Amethyst.
Ramage turned over and began swimming on his stomach. All the men had practised keeping their feet well below the surface, to avoid making any noise, and he was sure he was silent. He hitched the cutlass into the middle of his back and suddenly thought about sharks. No one had seen any sign of one all the time the Calypso had been anchored at Trinidade, but now, with only the stock round his hips, he suddenly felt vulnerable. It must be the darkness, he told himself, because he had never given it a thought while swimming naked with the men in daylight. Not only shark but barracuda, of which they had seen many. He found himself swimming faster, then realized that his strokes were making a noise.
He turned over on his back and saw from the stars that he had been swimming round in a half circle. He looked back and was surprised to see that the Calypso was now some distance away. He checked the position of Orion's Belt, which was acting as his compass, and after a few strokes decided to tread water and look for some sign of the Earl of Dodsworth. When he could see her masts clearly against the stars he began swimming again in a powerful overarm stroke. There was little or no phosphorescence, and at this distance if the guards heard a splash they would assume it was a fish leaping to escape a predator. A predator like a shark or a barracuda. . .
The sea now seemed warm and the air cooler on his face while he was treading water. In the Tropics at night the sea usually stayed at more or less its daytime temperature while the air temperature dropped below that of the water.
Where was Gianna now? Thinking of her took his mind off the thought of sharks and barracuda possibly circling below him, but as he congratulated himself on not feeling tired so far, he thought of the two dozen men who would be swimming in his wake from the Calypso in half an hour or so, and the twenty who would follow Aitken to the Amethyst. Was it possible that all of them would escape cramp, shark or barracuda? Was it possible that the whole operation would be achieved without someone screaming with pain as a shark's teeth took off a leg or the backward-pointing teeth of a barracuda ripped out a great piece of flesh? He shivered and wanted to clutch himself protectively, but to do so would miss a stroke and armour him about as effectively as a shrivelled fig leaf.
He began counting the strokes and stopped at a hundred for a rest, not because he was tired but to avoid arriving at the Earl of Dodsworth out of breath. There was no hurry; once on board and his first task accomplished, he would have to wait for the boarding party to arrive. Wet feet. Suddenly he realized that once he was on board he would have to be careful that his wet footmarks did not give him away. Even in the moonlight they would show up on the dry decks like blobs of black paint. He should have brought a towel, or a length of dry cloth, in a sealed glass jar. A thin roll of nankeen slid into a bottle which was then tightly corked would have done the job. Well, he had not thought of it and now it was about a quarter of a mile too late.
What else had he forgotten? He coughed as a wavelet slopped at the moment that he opened his mouth to take a breath. The salt water seared his throat and he immediately trod water and turned his face away from the ship. The sound of a racking cough like this would carry for miles; it seemed that he was coughing up his lungs as well as his throat. Finally the spasm ended and he thought of the two dozen swimmers who would soon be following him. If only one man in four accidentally swallowed water, as he had just done, that would mean six of them rasping away in the darkness . . .
He resumed swimming once his breathing returned to normal. This swim was taking longer than he anticipated, although he had cured himself of the tendency to swim in a half circle. It was hard on the neck trying to keep an eye on a star constellation which was almost overhead: he should have thought of that and chosen one nearer the horizon - except none in the right direction were as obvious as Orion's Belt, which could be identified at a glance.
All of a sudden - or so it seemed - the Earl of Dodsworth was in front of him, like a huge castle wall in the moonlight. For the last few minutes he had been swimming and distracting himself by having a furious argument with Gianna in his imagination as he tried to persuade her to get into a carriage he had waiting outside the Herveys' Paris residence.
The bow was to his left and he swam cautiously towards it, propelling himself by slow strokes with his feet as he checked the cutlass, the stock and the sheath knife strapped to his shin. There was little or no wind and the Earl of Dodsworth had her bow to the northeast, riding to the current which, weak at the moment, ran continually to the southwest and meant that her anchor cable would probably be hanging down almost vertically.
The mainyard seemed to show up strangely, as though it was emitting a faint orange glow. Then he caught sight of a glow in several gunports and realized that a lantern on deck amidships was lighting up part of the deck, rigging and mainmast. How would he get aft from the fo'c'sle without being seen if the guards were amidships with a lantern?
He turned towards the stern. Unless an odd rope or an extra rope ladder was hanging over, there was scant chance that he would be able to board there, but it was a chance he could not afford to neglect.
Now he was swimming as carefully as if he was walking across a frozen pool in hobnailed boots: the Earl of Dodsworth's sides rose almost sheer out of the water and he could make out the gunports - East Indiamen were always heavily armed; from a distance an unskilled eye often took them for warships. Now the outward curve of the stern and the sternlights, the big windows which lit the main cabin. Again there was the glow of a lantern, but no rope or ladder hung down.
He had arrived - just the length of the ship to cover, to reach the anchor cable - and he was feeling cold, but he was not puffing. All that would change soon: he would be hot and puffing by the time he reached the hawsehole after climbing the cable.
He stopped from time to time, keeping himself afloat by holding the tips of his fingers against the edges of copper sheathing, and listened for voices, but he heard nothing. The eight guards in the Earl of Dodsworth - did they stand a two-on-and-six-off watch at night?
Here was the cable: eight inches in diameter, perhaps ten, as thick as a man's leg at the knee. He checked the cutlass and knife again, paused for a few minutes while he breathed deeply, and then clasped his legs round the rope and pushed up while grasping it and hauling with his arms. The cordage was new and the thick strands of the cable-laid rope made it much easier to hold. Quickly he found the rhythm: clasp tight with the ankles, straighten up the body and then hold with the thighs; reach up with the hands, haul higher by making the body jackknife while sliding the legs higher.. .Ten feet above water, fifteen, twenty . . . Supposing a guard's
