Ramage looked at Aitken. The Scot was pale under his tan, but holding the speaking trumpet as casually as though he was going to give a routine order: a tweak on a sheet, maybe. And Southwick? The master was gripping his quadrant as though it was a charm that would protect him from the 74's roundshot.
Once again Ramage looked down at the compass, and then back at the Cortadura Fort. One and a half or two miles. Split the difference and that made it one and three quarters. And on course. Now he turned and looked astern. Feet apart to balance against the roll; hands clasped behind his back; a confident look on his face. So that the ship's company thought he was going to wave at the 74 as it came up alongside, each gun captain sighting, trigger line taut in his right hand, kneeling on the right knee, with the left leg flung out to one side to maintain balance ... At least Ramage could not hear the bellow of Ça Ira against the moan of the wind!
A hundred yards? Less, perhaps. No, he had timed this wrong; there was no confused flurry of sea now, no rolling of the water, no darker patches, just that damned 74 slicing along. She did look rather splendid: he was prepared to admit that. And deadly and menacing, too; there was no denying that.
'If we tacked ... ?' Aitken said, as though talking to himself.
Ramage shook his head: he had started them off on this dance and they had to complete all the steps: tacking now would mean the 74 would tack as well - and, if she was quick enough, get in a raking broadside, and just one raking broadside might be enough for the Calypso.
He watched as a spurt of smoke was quickly carried away by the wind from one of the enemy's bowchase guns. There was no thud of the shot hitting the Calypso. The 74 caught a strong puff of wind that missed the frigate and surged ahead, sails straining.
Fifty yards. Another lucky puff like that and she will be alongside and the Calypso's decks will be swept by roundshot and grape; masts will collapse over the side as rigging parts; the wheel and binnacle will be smashed; there will not be a man left alive on deck. All because I underestimated a French 74, Ramage thought bitterly. He found he was not afraid. Deathly cold, but not actually afraid. Sarah would never know how it happened, and suddenly he wanted her to understand, understand that he had made a genuine mistake. Just one mistake that would leave Sarah a widow in - well, about a minute, and Aldington without a master. Still, Sarah would live there and she would -
He blinked: the 74 had suddenly stopped and slowly, as though they were tired, one mast after another toppled forward across the bow with yards and sails. She began to slew round as the heavy canvas fell over the side, acting as an anchor. Two guns went off, smoke spurting through the ports, as gun captains were sent sprawling by the shock. An anchor came adrift and fell into the sea with a splash, and the ship settled in the water like a broody hen on her nest.
'What happened?' Southwick gasped. 'What caused all that?'
Ramage fought off a desire to giggle with relief. 'The Bajos de León,' he said. 'Three scattered shoals. At this state of the tide they have just enough water for a frigate to get across, but not enough for a 74.'
Jackson, the only man to spot a slight darkening of the water indicating one of the three shoals, heaved a sigh of relief. So the 'steer small, blast you,' had been important after all.
'Congratulations, sir,' Aitken said lamely, his Scots accent broad. 'No wonder you were so interested in the Cortadura Fort. South-west by west, one and three quarter miles! Do we go back and try to pick up any of those Frenchmen?'
Ramage looked astern at the wreck. She was perched on the shoal. More than perched: she was on there for good. Her gunports were out of the water - she was now just a hulk with her masts over the fo'c'sle; they had gone by the board as they always did when a fast-moving ship hit a shoal. And the sea was not too bad and the shore was - yes, one and three quarter miles away.
'No, they won't have lost all their boats and anyway they can make rafts. And the Cortadura Fort will be sending a horseman into town to tell them the glad news, so there'll soon be help. Wish we knew the name. Go about, Mr Aitken and cross her stern: we'll look silly reporting to His Lordship that we've polished off a ship of the line but don't know her name!'
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The ship was Le Brave and Ramage was still looking at the hulk perched on the shoal (he reckoned it was the easternmost of the three) when Aitken reported that the Euryalus was closing from the south-west. A minute later, Orsini called that she was flying the Calypso's pendant numbers.
Ramage realized that Blackwood had been too far away to see what had happened: even now he would see through his bring-'em-near only the Calypso circling what would look at that distance like a large, flat rock roughly in the position of the shoals.
What, Blackwood asked using Popham's Code, had happened?
It was the time for a witty signal, but Ramage could think of nothing. Southwick had a chart spread over the top of the binnacle box, obviously checking up the Bajos de León and trying to recover from his embarrassment at firstly forgetting them and second not guessing that Ramage intended to lure the Frenchman on to them, and that was why he had wanted the Frenchman to chase as closely as possible . . .
Bajos de León ... the Lion Shoals . . . something witty like 'Lured enemy into lion's den . . .' Yes, but the nearest Popham's Code had to 'lure' was 'lurks-ed- ing', and the nearest to 'lion' was 'Lizard', the headland rather than the animal. To be witty a signal had to be crisp. He took the slate and the old Signal Book, and after he had finished writing he gave the slate to Orsini and told him to make the signal to the Euryalus.
The foremast lookout hailed and after listening with the speaking trumpet Aitken pointed northwards to the headland on which the Castillo de San Sebastián stood, four-square and menacing in the grey day. Coming round the headland and heading out to sea was a 74, followed almost immediately by a second and then a third. Ramage took up a telescope. A fourth . . . now a three-decker . . . now a frigate . . . another 74 ... Villeneuve was (at last) taking the Combined Fleet to sea instead of letting them crowd in Cadiz Bay.
Orsini had finished making the signal to the Euryalus reporting Le Brave's situation. 'Is Captain Blackwood making any signal to the Sirius?' Ramage asked.
'A moment, sir.' Orsini braced himself with his telescope. 'Yes, sir, there go the Sirius's pendants.' The young Italian read off the signal flags: yes, Blackwood was making a signal to Captain Prowse to repeat to the next frigate in sight: within twenty minutes, Lord Nelson would know that the Combined Fleet was actually sailing from Cadiz . . .
'Steer west,' Ramage told Aitken. 'We need to be seaward and to the north of the Combined Fleet before the French admiral gets it formed up.'
As soon as he had spoken Ramage began to wonder. He had told Aitken to get the Calypso to the north of the Combined Fleet but, if the French admiral was making his way to the English Channel, then the Calypso would stand in his way - with more than a couple of dozen French and Spanish 74s to chase him, and no Bajos de León . . .
He had, without thinking, assumed that Admiral Villeneuve would steer south for the Strait of Gibraltar and the Mediterranean, going after General Craig's convoy. Which meant that he accepted Perez's rumour. But supposing Blackwood (who was commanding this little inshore squadron of frigates, a schooner and cutter) gave him orders to stay to the south?
Blackwood, he suddenly realized, knew nothing of Perez's rumour; he knew nothing of the chance that Villeneuve might be making for the Gut. There was no mention of it in the 'memorandum' from Nelson delivered by the Pickle. That dealt only with His Lordship's intention of cutting the enemy's line in two places . . .
Blackwood had controlled his Inshore Squadron with a loose rein. The best thing for the Calypso to do, to avoid being run down by a swarm of 74s, was to get up to the northward without waiting for orders and hope that Villeneuve would steer southwest immediately he was clear of San Sebastián headland, so that Blackwood (while he might not guess that the French were heading for the Gut and the Mediterranean) would at least keep the frigates to the northwards.
Already the Calypso was turning north-westwards, sheets eased and yards trimmed to a wind on the larboard quarter. Le Brave was quickly being left on the starboard quarter, and through his glass Ramage could see French seamen (looking in the distance like a swarm of ants) cutting away the rigging and sails, obviously to get at the boats stowed on the booms. Well, Le Brave was sitting firmly on the shoal and there was no urgency because the ship could not sink.
The only urgency, Ramage thought grimly, concerns the Calypso herself: she has to pass ahead of the Combined Fleet which is at last getting out to sea: she has to pass ahead and get a safe distance to the north of them.
Orsini reported: 'The Euryalus is making a signal to the Phoebe to move westwards to repeat signals to the Defence.' A couple of minutes later he was reporting another of Blackwood's signals, this time to Captain Peter Parker in the Weazle cutter, telling him to sail south immediately to warn Rear-Admiral Louis that the Combined Fleet had sailed.
Southwick shook his head sadly. 'Poor Admiral Louis. He's a fine man. He must have been upset when Admiral Nelson sent him off with those other ships to water at Gibraltar and get bullocks from Tetuan. There's no chance that the Weazle can warn him in time to get here for the battle.'
'When is the battle?' Aitken inquired sarcastically. 'Do you have the programme? If you have, you might give me a sight of it!'
'Tomorrow or the next day,' Southwick said flatly. 'Admiral Nelson will give 'em time enough to get well clear of Cadiz (he won't want to risk frightening them back in again or give them a bolt-hole once the fighting starts), so you can work it out yourself. '
He took off his hat and scratched his head in a familiar gesture. 'They don't get up very early, these French and Spaniards. So they'll spend most of the rest of the day manoeuvring. With a mixed fleet he's never taken to sea before, this Admiral Villeneuve will (if he's got any sense) spend a few hours making 'em back and fill and get into position. I can't see 'em doing much else than jogging along like sheep during the night - plenty of flares and a few collisions, I expect. Tomorrow - well, by then he'll be clear of here with them steering in the right direction, and I can't see Lord Nelson being far away.'
Aitken slapped Southwick on the back. 'Like to put a guinea on it being one day or the other, the 21st or the 22nd? I'll take whichever day you don't.'
'No,' Southwick said stubbornly. 'Why should I bet against myself? I've already told you it'll be tomorrow or the next day, and that's all there is to it.'
'That's the trouble with prize money,' Aitken said, knowing that Southwick, like most of the men on board the Calypso, had grown rich from the money won under Captain Ramage's command, 'it takes away the gambling instinct.'
'Bet on the number of French and Spanish ships of the line captured or destroyed and you have a wager,' Southwick growled.
'Very well. Twenty-one, and the 21st - tomorrow - will be the day of the battle.'
'We're betting on the number of ships, not the date,' Southwick said. 'All right, my guinea says it'll be twenty-five. At least two more than twenty-one, anyway. How does that suit you?'
Aitken nodded, but added soberly: 'Try and stay alive so you can pay up.'
By now the Calypso was sailing fast to the north-west, passing three miles ahead of the leading enemy ships. More to the point, Ramage thought to himself, the Euryalus had not hoisted the Calypso's pendant numbers and ordered him to patrol to the south. The Euryalus herself, he noticed, was working her way out to the
