if to clear his thoughts. 'It seems there are a lot of Frenchmen around these parts. He was reporting the two ships of the line but what really worries him is that there's a French frigate at anchor just outside the harbour at Capraia.'
'Have they landed any troops?' Aitken asked.
'No, they marched some seamen through the streets - probably just to impress the local people - but that was all.'
'And the frigate, she's still there, sir?'
'She was still there when that fellow sailed last night.'
'So they're not interfering with the fishermen?'
'No, the fishermen are free to come and go. He couldn't think of any reason why the Frenchman is there.'
'Just waiting for us to come and do him in,' Southwick growled. 'Two ships of the line and a frigate will make a good score.'
Ramage nodded and rubbed a scar on his forehead. It was a gesture Southwick recognized at once, and knew there was no need for any more talk.
As soon as Jackson returned with the boat it was hoisted in. They watched the fisherman hoisting its lateen sail and draw clear, and then Ramage said: 'Very well, Mr Hill: let's get under way again. Steer direct for the island - you can just about lay it with this wind.''
Hill bellowed a string of orders through the speaking trumpet and the watch on deck hauled on the brace which swung round the foretopmast yard while other men hauled on the sheet, so that the sail filled and then curved into shape as wind filled it. From being dead in the water, stopped by the backed foretopsail's weight pressing against the thrust of the other sails, the Calypso slowly got way on: the water began chuckling under her stem, the men at the wheel had to brace themselves against the rudder's kick, and the ship came alive.
The frigate began to pitch as she beat up towards the island and Southwick spread a chart across the top of the binnacle and began to comment on what he saw.
'It's a mountainous island, steep-to on this western side and sloping down on the eastern side. A chain of mountains runs roughly north and south the length of the island, with a very high peak at the north end and at the south end. Nothing on the west side of the island except cliffs and rocks; the only place is Porto Vecchio, which is simply a wide bight, with the small harbour of Capraia in the south-west corner. A couple of old forts . . . that's all there is. I can't see anything to interest the Frenchman.'
Ramage thought for a moment. Why assume the French frigate had called at the island for any reason concerning the island? Clearly Capraia had nothing to offer except shelter - and olives, fish and goat meat if you were hungry.
'Perhaps the Frenchman is doing some repairs,' Ramage said. 'Repairs that need a quiet anchorage for a few hours . . .'
Southwick slapped his knee and said enthusiastically: 'That's it! Sprung his bowsprit, most likely. Or shifting yards. Probably sailing in company with those two 74s, and then bore up for the lee of Capraia when something went wrong. Not that Capraia gives I
much of a lee with this wind, but it looks as though it'll haul round to the west, and the French captain may think the same.'
The old master seemed relieved. 'It was worrying me,' he admitted. 'I couldn't for the life of me see why a French frigate would call there. But to do some repairs - yes, that's a good enough reason.'
Through his telescope Ramage could make out the largest peaks on the island: there were four, one at the northern end of the island and another at the southern, as if to balance it, with two in between. It was so mountainous - on the western side anyway -that the inhabitants must live a hard life. Southwick had said that it sloped down on the eastern side, but it would give little land suitable for crops since the whole island could not be five miles long.
He considered a nagging thought. Those two French 74s. Should he have made more of an effort to destroy them? He took off his hat, wiped the inside of the band and jammed it back on his head, perplexed. The only thing he could have done was sail back and forth across their sterns, raking them. They would have brought up a couple of sternchase guns each, so four would have been firing at him as the Calypso raked them with sixteen 12-pounders. It would have done as much good as a mouse gnawing at a thick oak door. He knew that; but would their Lordships take the same view, or the admiral at Naples when he reported to him?
He shrugged his shoulders: it was all over now; there was no question of going back. Now he had to concentrate his attention on this frigate anchored off Capraia. The frigate presented the same problem - how to achieve surprise. He had done it against the two 74s by unexpectedly steering straight for the Artois's bow, obviously intending to carry away her jibboom and bowsprit, and as a result the captain of the Artois had panicked and collided with the other 74. Now to surprise the frigate. At least the Frenchman could not see him coming: even at this moment he would be lying at anchor off the little harbour, unaware that the Calypso was approaching from the other side of the island - unless he had posted lookouts at the top of one of the mountains, which would be very unlikely.
He looked at his watch and then told Hill: 'Send the men to dinner; we may not get another opportunity for several hours.'
Men fought better with full stomachs, even though for some it might be their last meal. A sobering thought, he reflected; but it was a foolish optimist that thought an enemy frigate could be captured or destroyed without casualties.
Seven men sat round the table at mess number eight, eating salt beef from wooden plates.
'Give the bread barge a fair wind,' Stafford said to Rossi, who was sitting at the inboard end of the table. The Italian pushed across the wooden box, known as a 'barge' and which contained hard biscuit, which went by the name of 'bread'. This bread had reached the stage where it was beginning to soften; no matter what anyone did, weevils would start to inhabit it and the wise seaman would give the biscuit a brisk tap on the table before starting to chew. The tap was intended to stun the weevils; it stopped them wriggling in the mouth, reminding a hungry man of their presence.
'What did that fellow really tell the captain, Jacko?' Rossi asked as he helped himself to biscuit, one of the few things that were not rationed.
'I didn't hear; I was in the boat,' the American said. 'All I heard was them talking to each other, the Italian skipper and his mate.'
'Well, what were they saying?'
'They had such thick accents it was hard to understand them,' said Jackson, who had learned his Italian in Tuscany, where the accent was comparatively pure. Although Capraia was one of the islands which made up the Tuscan Archipelago, each island had its own accent which bore little relation to what was generally known as 'the Tuscan accent'. 'But they were talking about a French frigate, and I think that's what they wanted to talk to us about.'
'Where were they from?'
'This island ahead of us, I think.'
'Aha,' Stafford said delightedly. 'Stands to reason, they were warning us that there's a French frigate there!'
Jackson shrugged his shoulders. 'They might have been reporting that they saw a French frigate three days ago - they haven't much idea about time.'
' 'Ere, this beef died of old age,' Stafford grumbled. 'Just look at the colour of it. Boiled mahogany, that's what it is, and it's as tough as wood.
'Needs to spend another day boiling in the coppers. Another week,' he amended, 'not another day.'
'So if there is a French frigate at this island,' said the Frenchman, Gilbert, whose English was almost fluent, 'what do you think we are going to do?'
Jackson waited until he had finished chewing a piece of the beef. 'We were piped to dinner half an hour early, and knowing Mr Ramage that was to make sure we had eaten by the time we go into action. So if you ask me, he reckons we'll find this Frenchman in the next hour or two.'
'And then what do we do?' asked another Frenchman, Auguste.
'We capture it,' Jackson said simply.
'Just like that, eh?' said Gilbert, gesturing towards the bread barge, which Stafford pushed towards him.
'Why not?' asked Jackson.
'What's a French frigate doing at this island, then?' asked Stafford.
'Damned if I know,' Jackson said. 'I've never even heard of the place before. Either the Frenchies are capturing the place, in which case half their ship's company will be on shore, or else they're repairing damage, in which case they might not be able to get under way.'
Rossi soaked a biscuit in the juice left on his plate. 'After this morning, we deserve something easy. I thought we would be deaded.'
'Killed,' Jackson corrected. 'So did I. It's nice to feel alive.'
'To tell the truth, I'm surprised there are so many Frenchies at sea. I thought we got most of 'em at Trafalgar.'' Stafford sat back as though he had spoken his share of wisdom for the day.
'I did, too,' Jackson admitted. 'But when you come to think of it, there must have been ships at sea in other places, and now I suppose they are making for home.'
'They're a bit late,' Stafford said.
'Takes time for the French to get out orders to all the ships: they were probably short of frigates in Toulon to pass the word.'
'I don't know about French frigates,' Rossi said crossly, 'but that beef is the worst we've had for a year or two.'
' Yus, I reckon the contractor or the Navy Board are getting rid of some old stock. Just our luck to get it.'
'Having fresh meat every three days while we were in Plymouth has spoiled you,' Jackson said unsympathetically.
'Well, that was one good thing that came out of the Great Mutiny,' Stafford said defensively. 'Getting fresh meat from the shore every two or three days made me feel I was living like a lord.'
'Lords get fresh meat every day,' Jackson said drily. 'That's one of the advantages of being a lord.'
'Mr Ramage is a lord but he don't get fresh meat every day.'
'Don't be daft, how could he?'
'Beats me,' Stafford said with something approaching a sigh, 'why someone like Mr Ramage, the son of an earl and a title of his own, should join the Navy in the first place. T'isn't as though he was pressed.'
'Runs in the family,' Jackson said. 'You know as well as I do his father's an admiral. If Mr Ramage has a son, I expect he'll go into the Navy as well. It's a sort of tradition.'
'Yus,' Stafford said sagely, 'it's time he had a family. He made a good choice marrying Lady Sarah. Never could see him marrying the Marcheeza.'
'Marchesa,' Jackson corrected without thinking. 'No, well, she was a bit wild, on account of her being Italian. And she could never settle down in England on account of her being the ruler of Volterra. She got pulled two ways.'
'You think she's still alive?' Rossi asked.
Jackson shook his head. 'I can't see Boney letting her go back to Volterra: she'd rouse up the people to throw out the French within a week of unpacking her bags.'
'You reckon Mr Ramage thinks that?'
