'That's a fine imagination you've got,' Southwick said. 'They'll be so damned cautious it'll take 'em all day to get under way. You'll see, we'll have another night out here dodging the El Diamante shoal.'
At that moment the starboard forward lookout gave the time-honoured cry of 'See a grey goose at a mile' and two of the lookouts who had been stationed round the ship were sent aloft.
Almost at once they were hailing: at least five of the enemy ships of the line were weighing anchor in Cadiz Roads. Ramage sent Orsini aloft with a telescope and orders to describe in detail how many ships had weighed and how many if any were actually under sail. 'The flagships,' Ramage emphasized. 'What they're doing gives the clue to what the two fleets will do.'
Very soon Orsini was hailing the quarterdeck. He had identified Villeneuve's flagship, the Bucentaure, and she had hoisted various flag signals. Seven ships of the line were actually weighing, two already at short stay, although the Bucentaure was lying to a single anchor. A brig was sailing through the anchored fleet - 'Acting as whipper-in, I don't doubt,' Orsini shouted in a hail which brought a smile to Ramage's face.
Several ships had let fall topsails, Orsini added, but none was under way. 'The mole, sir!' he called. 'You should be able to see it from down there: thousands of people all along it, watching the fleet sail.'
'Aye, weeping wives and sobbing strumpets,' Aitken said unsympathetically.
'Listen,' Ramage said.
Across the water came the tolling of church bells. The nearest were those of the Iglesia del Carmen, at the northern tip of the Cadiz peninsula and barely half a mile from the end of the mole. Marked 'Conspicuous' on Southwick's chart, it was the sailors' church. This morning, Ramage thought grimly, the sailors are out in the ships, weighing and catting the anchors, but their families are crowding the church and, judging from the deeper boom of its bells, the cathedral too.
Aitken said quietly: 'They make the fleet's sailing a religious event, don't they. I can imagine dozens of candles burning, incense, monks chanting, priests droning away ... Bit different from Portsmouth Point when our ships sail!'
'Aye, the Dons have bishops and mitres at the end of the mole; we have bailiffs and mistresses!' Southwick said.
Orsini hailed from the masthead. 'First of the ships of the line has let fall her courses.'
'We'll go about, Mr Aitken,' Ramage said. 'Back to our original position a mile north of the Castillo de San Sebastián, only this time we won't anchor. And as soon as we're clear of the land and can get a sight of her, we'll make a signal to the Euryalus, telling Captain Blackwood that the Combined Fleet is at last sailing.'
But. . . again Ramage decided he was thankful he was neither the French Admiral Villeneuve nor Lord Nelson. As far as the French admiral was concerned, yes, the south wind let him sail out of Cadiz, but supposing his orders were (as Señor Perez reported) to go to the Mediterranean and intercept General Craig's convoy . . . although the wind was fair for getting out of Cadiz, it was foul for the Strait . . . Lord Nelson would fall on him as he tried to get his Combined Fleet those fifty miles down to the Strait, the British ships savaging it (Ramage hoped) like wolves after so many spring lambs.
But . . . supposing you were Lord Nelson. Perez's report that Villeneuve might be sailing south after General Craig's convoy in the Mediterranean was (as Perez had been the first to emphasize) only a rumour. Villeneuve was just as likely to come out of Cadiz and, with this fair wind, head north-west for the English Channel . . .
Well, as soon as the Combined Fleet got out (and were joined by the seven ships which came out yesterday and were now lying up there to the north, hove-to off Rota if not actually at anchor) the line of British frigates and 74s could shadow the enemy, passing the signals to His Lordship, which would give him an early hint. Unless, of course, the French admiral sailed north and then cut south in the darkness - or headed south and changed to the north as soon as night fell.
The Calypso, sailing in a calm sea in the lee of Cadiz and with a clean bottom, reached fast across the end of the peninsula and as soon as she was north-west of the castle, with the Euryalus in sight further along the coast (obviously Blackwood was watching the enemy across the sandspit), Ramage gave Aitken the order to heave-to.
With the frigate heading south, the foretopsail backed, Ramage told Orsini, now down from the masthead, to get the slate and take down a signal for the Euryalus.
The signal was barely made before the first of the enemy 74s sailed out, followed five minutes later by a second and, close astern of her, a third.
'That's a total of ten of 'em out,' Southwick said.
Orsini began reading off the names - the Scipion, San Francisco de Asis and the Fougueux. Then they came out almost as fast as he could make out the names. The Montañes, the Spanish Admiral Gravina's flagship the Principe de Asturias, Pluton, Aigle, Villeneuve's flagship the Bucentaure, the San Justo . . . and then, preceded by an excited shout from Orsini, they saw the Santissima Trinidad coming out under topsails and forecourse.
'Just look at her!' murmured Aitken. 'Twice as big as a cathedral!'
'I wonder how she handles,' Southwick said. 'Probably needs a gale of wind to tack her ...'
'Just think of her broadside,' Orsini muttered. 'Sixty-five guns a side . . . Mamma mia!'
How long would the French admiral allow a British frigate to sail back and forth in the lee of the Castillo de San Sebastián? But a moment later a hail from the masthead was drowned by a shout from Orsini: 'One of them is turning towards us!'
Ramage looked across to the entrance to Cadiz and saw that a 74-gun ship was turning to larboard and either heading for the Calypso or making a bolt for the open sea. Which? Anyway it did not matter: she was a mile and a half away now and even if heading for the open sea (why? none of the others was) would pass within half a mile of the Calypso, which would be trapped against the land if she too did not make a bolt seaward.
'We'll get under way, go about and then steer west, if you please Mr Aitken,' Ramage snapped. 'Mr Orsini - go to the guns and make sure all the crews are ready; wet and sand the decks; make sure they're all loaded with roundshot.'
He watched Aitken bellowing orders using the speaking trumpet and slowly, sails flapping, the thick rope of the sheets flogging like snakes held by the tail, the frigate turned, the yards were braced sharp up and the sails were sheeted home.
Ramage looked astern at the 74. French. Plum-coloured hull with two black strakes in way of the gunports. And in addition to topsails and courses she was now letting fall her topgallants . . . she was after the Calypso, not making a bolt for it: there was no one to stop her going off into the Atlantic; reaching out there, courses and topsails would be enough. But topgallants if you were in a hurry . . .
A 74 - and Villeneuve probably gave the order to a fast one. Eighteen- and 24-pounders. Thirty-seven of them on a broadside, quite apart from carronades, which were not counted. Against them, sixteen 12-pounders. Might as well pelt her with oranges, Ramage thought.
'She's moving fast,' Southwick commented. 'Just her wind, from the look of it, sir.' He gave one of his gigantic sniffs. 'She'll overhaul us.'
Ramage turned to Aitken. 'We'll have topgallants and royals, Mr Aitken. Then go below and change into silk stockings: those woollen ones are no good for going into action: more work for the surgeon with wool fluff if you get a leg wound.'
He turned to Southwick, his eyes flickering to the Calypso'swake. Already the frigate was heeling as she came clear of the lee formed by the headland on which stood the castillo.
'We can't outrun him, that's for sure, so we've got to outmanoeuvre him, Mr Southwick.'
'We could turn north and try stunsails,' Southwick offered.
'And so could the Frenchman,' Ramage said. 'We have only one advantage over him, and we'd better make the best of it.'
Southwick took off his hat and scratched his head. 'Blessed if I can see what it is,' the master admitted.
'Tacking,' Ramage said cryptically and since Aitken had hurried below he picked up the speaking trumpet and shouted: 'I'll have another swig on those topsail sheets, and stand by headsail sheets: once we're abreast this headland we'll be hard on the wind.'
Southwick sniffed again. 'Once he's finished with us he'll go after the Euryalus and then the Sirius,'Southwick said gloomily. 'This damned French admiral wants to stop Lord Nelson finding out what's going on.'
'He's left it too late,' Ramage commented. 'His Lordship already knows the Combined Fleet is putting to sea, and that's what really matters.'
By now the Calypso was rolling and pitching her way round the headland, seeming excited at the idea of a hard flog to windward after days spent hove-to or just jogging along while officers and lookouts eyed the Combined Fleet at anchor. 'Don't forget that isolated rock off this headland, sir,' Southwick cautioned.
'Laja del Norte, you mean? It's a couple of hundred yards south-west of the end of the headland, isn't it?'
Southwick nodded. 'Couple of fathoms of water over it. Enough to hole us but too deep for the sea to break on it.'
Again Ramage looked astern: he could just see the trucks of the French ship's masts as she reached along the other side of the headland. She would be tacking in two or three minutes, just as the Calypso came into sight tacking southwards along the coast.
The idea was bold enough - maybe even stupid enough. He had thought of it several days ago while shaving, anticipating that the French admiral would try to drive the frigates off. The only mistake so far was that Villeneuve should have done it several days ago, before the Combined Fleet started to sail.
He had taken Southwick's chart (the one passed on by the Victory's master) and carefully taken off the bearings of the Fuerte de La Cortadura, and then measured the distances. There was a ten-foot rise of water at the top of the springs, so if the French admiral sent out a couple of frigates and the wind was south and it was the top of the tide and they were Spanish and knew this coast well, then the plan would fail. But a French ship of the line at low water (which it was now) and the wind south and her captain not knowing this stretch of the coast . . . well, it was all a gamble and he always reckoned he was not a gambling man. Not standing or sitting round a table watching the roll of a dice or turn of a card, anyway. But losing at dice or cards did not lead to the risk of a roundshot lopping off your head, which was what this particular gamble had as a stake . . .
'We're clear of the Laja del Norte now,' he said to Southwick and then, seeing Aitken hurry back on deck, said to him: 'I want you to get us due south of the point: I want to pass a point exactly two miles west of the fort at the end of the city.'
He pointed to the slate. 'Write down this bearing and distance. I want you to tack exactly there.'
Southwick was frowning and shaking his head, puzzled by Ramage's instructions.
'Bajos de León,' Ramage said cryptically, and turned to look astern.
'Here she comes,' he said, taking a telescope from the binnacle box drawer. 'Pitching just nicely. Yes, fairly clean bottom. She's one of the ships that joined Villeneuve from Brest; that copper sheathing hasn't spent weeks in the Mediterranean and then crossed the Atlantic twice. Going to be a race, gentlemen.'
'If she catches us, she'll slap our 'and,' Stafford declared. He had been leaning out of the port, looking at the 74 astern. 'Clean bottom - almost got a shine on the copper, she 'as. Everything set to the royals, and fairly 'urtling along.'
'Well, we've got everything set to the royals and we're hurtling along, too,' Jackson said.
Stafford spat through the port. 'I ain't never,' he said portentously, ''eard of a frigate escaping a 74 with this wind and sea.'
