Jackson nodded. 'From what I understood, he and his father did all they could to persuade her not to leave England when the peace was signed because they knew it would not last.'
'And Mr Orsini? After all, she's his aunt.'
'He must know by now. He's not a kid any more. Just think of him when he first joined the ship. Just a young boy then. Now he's a young man. Almost, anyway, and as good a seaman as anyone in the ship, except Mr Ramage and Mr Southwick.'
'This Marchesa,' Gilbert asked. 'Was she beautiful?'
Jackson nodded. 'Yes. She was tiny-about five feet tall. Black hair. Very Italian, if you know what I mean. Very fiery. You could see she was used to ruling.'
'And Mr Ramage, he fell in love with her?'
'We thought so: after we rescued her in Italy, she went to live with Mr Ramage's parents, and we thought they'd get married.'
'But Mr Ramage went off and married Lady Sarah,' Gilbert said, 'and she is very English!'
'Very,' Jackson said. 'A real lady. Just about the opposite to the Marchesa in every way. Don't get me wrong,' Jackson added hastily, 'the Marchesa was a real lady too, but she - well, a lot of the time, she seemed to be in a passion about something or other. Lady Sarah always seems so calm - as you know, since you saw her in France.'
'Ah, what calm,' Gilbert said, and Auguste, Louis and Albert nodded their heads in agreement. 'Calm without being cold. A very passionate lady under that calm, and so brave.'
'It must be sad for Mr Ramage not knowing for sure about the Marchesa,' Rossi said. 'If he knew for certain she was dead, well, that would be that. And if he knew she was alive, then there is nothing to worry about. But never being sure . . . that must be hard, for him and his family, let alone Mr Orsini.'
'Well, worrying about it ain't going to sink that frigate,' Stafford said, beginning to collect up the plates. 'Since I'm the mess cook this week, let me get on with washing up these mess traps. Gawd, you're a messy eater, Rosey,' he said, using the side of his palm to sweep crumbs from the hard biscuit on to a plate.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ramage leaned with his elbows on the top of the binnacle box, looking at the chart spread out by Southwick and held down by paperweights. There was the island of Capraia on the chart, and there it was in fact almost dead ahead.
On this course and with this wind the Calypso should just pass the southern end of the island. If the wind backed a point or two, she would have to tack, which he wanted to avoid.
'You can lay the southern end of the island comfortably?' he asked the quartermaster.
'Aye, sir, with a point in hand,' the man answered.
The mountains and cliffs were sharp now: the island seemed to grow taller as they approached. I would not like to hit this coast on a dark night with a libeccio blowing, he thought to himself: nor, for that matter, would he want to have to land a boat on a calm day: there seemed to be no beaches: only rocks and cliffs.
How far was the southern end of the island? Perhaps two miles, and the Calypso was making about five knots against a head wind. Well, there was no need to leave everything to the last minute.
'Beat to quarters, Mr Hill,' he said. 'I want the guns loaded with grape.'
The look of surprise on Hill's face reminded Ramage of the chance he was taking. It was not much of a chance if his guess was correct, but there was no avoiding the fact that a guess was a guess. He was, quite simply, guessing that either a proportion of the French frigate's crew would be on shore, or that they would be working on deck or aloft on some repairs.
In either case they would not be at quarters: grapeshot should cut them down, without doing a lot of damage to the ship. Surprise should be fairly easy: the Calypso, being French built, would be taken as a French-owned ship at first glance, and the rules of war allowed you to fly enemy colours, as long as you hauled them down and hoisted your own before opening fire. Surprise should be complete.
'Haul down our colours and hoist a Tricolour,' he said. 'Use a separate halyard for the Tricolour and leave our colours bent on, so that we can switch them quickly.'
'Very well, sir,' Hill said with a grin: he immediately saw what Ramage intended doing. It was hardly a new trick, but given the Calypso's French sheer it was likely to succeed.
Ramage looked up again from the chart as the drum began thudding its urgent summons to quarters; a thudding reinforced by the shrilling of bosun's calls and the harsh and urgent cries of the bosun's mates.
Once again the whole process began: decks wetted and sanded; the magazine unlocked by the gunner and the second captains of each gun collecting locks, lanyards and prickers; boys hurrying down with their wooden cases to collect cartridges; the guns run in ready to be loaded; rammers, sponges and wormers put ready; slowmatches lit and hung over the edges of the tubs of water.
How many times have I given that order? Ramage reflected. Hundreds of times. How many times had it ended with action? He had lost count. Most times, of course, it was routine: every day the ship greeted the dawn at general quarters, when a sail could come out of the vanishing darkness and, in wartime, any sail could be the enemy. And in daylight, whenever a strange sail was sighted-unless it was obviously a fisherman or some other harmless vessel -the ship went to quarters. A minimum of three times a day; more likely ten or a dozen times. On top of gunnery exercises, which he ordered almost daily, there was plenty going on to keep that wretched gunner busy: he was always complaining that he never had an opportunity to black the guns, because the blacking took several hours to dry.
Looking forward over the quarterdeck rail he could see the men running to their stations. To an ignorant eye the men seemed to be running in all directions, like a disturbed anthill; to a trained eye the men were running with a purpose, the direction the result of months of training and experience.
Aitken came up the quarterdeck ladder to take over the conn from Hill, who had to go down to his division of guns, and now Southwick came up the ladder, adjusting the strap of the scabbard in which was housed a great double-bladed sword which he delighted to swing like a flail whenever he could get into action.
Soon Aitken was reporting to Ramage as each division of guns shouted that it was loaded and ready to be run out. If he was going to surprise the French, running out the guns would be one of the last orders he gave before opening fire.
Until he saw where the French frigate was lying, he would not know which broadside he would be using; but each stand of grapeshot comprised ten shot, each larger than a hen's egg and weighing a pound. So one broadside, not including the carronades, would see 160 grapeshot being hurled at the Frenchman by sixteen guns.
The idea, he thought grimly, is to kill Frenchmen without damaging the ship too much: he did not want to end up capturing a hulk which he would have to tow to Naples: he wanted a ship that a prize crew could sail in the Calypso's wake, British colours flying over the French. Of course, he thought, wryly, everything could go wrong and the Frenchman would end up towing the Calypso into Toulon, French colours over the British . . .
'I'm just going below for a moment,' he told Aitken, and went down to his cabin. He sat down at his desk and unlocked the top drawer. First he took out a canvas pouch which was rolled up and pushed to the back. The mouth of the pouch had brass eyelets through which a drawstring ran, and the pouch itself was heavy because there was a strip of lead in the bottom. From the drawer he took out the signal book, the little booklet containing the secret challenges and replies, and his journal. He stuffed them into the bag and pulled the drawstring tight. He put the bag back in the drawer, which he left unlocked so that in an emergency the canvas bag could be grabbed and then thrown over the side where it would sink rapidly, taking its secrets with it.
With the canvas bag taken care of he walked over to the forward bulkhead and took down his sword from its rack. He slipped the strap of the scabbard over his shoulder, adjusting the sword down his left side. Secret papers and sword: that was all he had to do. He went back up the companionway, acknowledging the salute of the sentry at his door.
Standing on the fore side of the quarterdeck again, looking over the bow, the island now seemed much nearer: he could make out the folds and fissures in the cliffs and see the waves breaking as a lacy fringe against the rocks lining the coast.
He looked across at Southwick, who grinned cheerfully and said: 'Another mile and we'll be able to see round the corner. We'll probably find that the frigate's not there: she left last night north-about round the island bound for Toulon.'
'I hope not: you haven't been in action for several weeks, and I don't want you to get out of the habit.'
'If she's there, let's lay alongside and board her,' Southwick said, slapping the scabbard of his sword. 'Let me lead one of the boarding parties: that'll save m'sword from getting rusty.'
Boarding parties! The ship's company was already organized into boarding parties in the quarters bill, which every man knew by heart. But it was necessary to give specific orders to the Marines.
'Pass the word for Mr Rennick,' he told Aitken.
The Marine lieutenant arrived, smart in his uniform, face redder than usual because of the tightness of his collar, and with his sword swinging by his side.
'Ah, Rennick. If we get the chance of boarding this fellow round the corner - and we don't even know yet if he's still there - I want you and your Marines to board aft and secure the quarterdeck, particularly the wheel. It'll be up to you, in other words, to seize control of the ship.'
'I understand perfectly, sir,' Rennick said cheerfully. 'Do you want us to cut the wheelropes?'
'No, certainly not,' Ramage said hastily. 'I want to get her under way again with the least delay.'
'Very well, sir,' Rennick said, saluting smartly and hurrying down the ladder, to where his men were drawn up in two files, the drummer boy on the right' and Sergeant Ferris standing in front of them. Ferris had previously inspected every man. He had found fault with the pipeclay on four crossbelts and the straps of three muskets. Two men's hair was not tidy enough and the polish on four pairs of boots did not measure up to his exacting standards. The names of all the offending men had been taken; after the action they would be called to account.
Rennick stood in front of the men while Ferris called them to attention. Briefly Rennick gave them their orders. Without saying so in as many words, Rennick managed to convey the idea that the Marines had been singled out to secure the quarterdeck; that it was a task that could not be left to the sailors. Rennick was a firm believer in healthy competition; in his imagination he could already see himself reporting to Mr Ramage that the Frenchman's quarterdeck had been secured. Most of the time the Marines had to do all the humdrum tasks in the ship-sentries at the watercask, the captain's cabin door, the magazine and so on. Very occasionally -all too
