A brisk easterly wind that probably started life off the African coast, three thousand miles away across the Atlantic, brought the Juno surging through the channel between the south end of Martinique and the north end of St Lucia, her bow wave creaming away and soon losing itself among the white caps. Flying spray sparkling in the bright sun left salt drying like white dust over the decks and guns. The men were thankful for their sennet hats to keep the sun's direct glare out of their eyes.
From several miles out Ramage had identified Martinique with the three high peaks jutting up from the mountain chain running from one end of the island to the other. At the northern end and four thousand feet high, the volcano of Mont Pelée had its peak hidden in cloud, as though cooling off; Les Pitons du Carbet, a series of peaks, the highest of which was only five hundred feet lower than Pelée, had thin cloud streaming away to leeward like lancers' pennons. Only Vauclin, nine miles short of Pointe des Salines at the southern end of the island and 1650 feet high, was clear of cloud.
Southwick lowered his telescope. 'That's Cabrit Island, the big rock off Pointe des Salines. The big hill in the distance almost in line with it, sir: that's Diamond Hill, and you'll see Diamond Rock in a moment.'
Ramage looked through his telescope to the north-west. ‘There!' Southwick said. 'Like a big tooth sticking up out of the sea. More than five hundred feet high, and deep water nearly all round it!'
For a few minutes, before its outline was lost against the high land beyond it, Ramage stared at the magnified picture in the lens. A tooth, yes; the tooth of an old horse, vertical sided and slightly rounded on top, sticking up out of the sea as though Nature had accidentally dropped it, for there were no other islands anywhere near. It was going to be very useful as a navigational mark: as useful for the Juno as Mr Eddystone's remarkable lighthouse was for ships approaching Plymouth. Southwick's chart, admittedly copied from some other master, showed a five fathom patch on the north side where it might be possible to anchor. Otherwise the rock was surrounded by depths of fifty fathoms or more.
He put down the telescope. His immediate task was to find the Welcome brig, hand over her orders from the Admiral and send her on her way. He squared his shoulders and began striding up and down the starboard side of the quarterdeck, hardly noticing that everyone else moved away, for traditionally that was where the Captain of a ship could walk alone with his thoughts, be they of battle or nagging wives, duty or doxies.
Yes, there were many advantages in being a post captain, even though at the bottom of a list, and a frigate was a nice command. He ran a hand along his jaw and felt the skin smooth. The Captain's steward provided hot shaving water, while poor lieutenants had only cold in which to work up a lather. A clean shirt every day and he could change his stock as often as he wanted, knowing that the steward had several more ready, laundered and ironed. If the whim took him he could call for his steward, even though it wanted a couple of hours to noon, and demand his supper. He could insist that the officers wore their hats back to front. At a snap of his fingers he could have every alternate man flogged - or allow them to laze in their hammocks for the rest of the day.
He was king of all he surveyed, as far as the Juno was concerned, and he enjoyed it. Not because of the power he wielded, for that was only comparative (Rear-Admiral Davis had taken only seconds to decide that Captain Ramage should spend the next few weeks watching for rabbits off Martinique), but because it gave him the chance of handling a much larger ship and moulding the men. The Jocasta business seemed to have worried the Admiral, and if he had asked the question about the loyalty of the ship's company off the Lizard, Ramage would have had to give a different answer. Now the Junos were cheerful; many an evening the fiddler was in demand on the foredeck so the men could dance and skylark.
Being made post mattered in small things and in large. The large of running your own ship in your own way, the small of having hot shaving water. When they met the Welcome, the brig would have to heave-to and the lieutenant commanding her would have to report to Captain Ramage on board the Juno. A small thing, but he was damned glad that for once it was someone else who had to scramble down into a boat and get soaked with spray . . . The Welcome brig's lieutenant would not know he was the first commanding officer that Captain Ramage had ordered to report on board. And he was going to be lucky in one respect: Ramage had suffered from overbearing, condescending or pompous captains when he had been a lieutenant and had vowed he would never be guilty of those particular attitudes, unless provoked ... He found himself humming as he reached the taffrail and turned to begin his walk forward again. The deck was confoundedly hot; the warmth seeped through his shoes and both his brow and cheek muscles ached from squinting against the glare off the sea. With luck all the mosquitoes that had swarmed on board in Carlisle Bay had been blown away now they were at sea again.
One thing to be said for the Admiral packing them off after the rabbits was that they had escaped the perils of Bridgetown's social life. A sheaf of invitations had arrived on board from hostesses who obviously relished the idea of hearing London's latest gossip retailed by an earl's son, but he had been spared the worst of it. He had accepted dinner with the Admiral and his wife (it had been surprisingly enjoyable: the Admiral had a lively sense of humour) and pleaded urgent work to avoid the rest. Still, the lieutenants had enjoyed themselves, finding Southwick only too willing to stand an anchor watch. They would have been startled if they knew that on one of the two evenings, while they were wined and dined on shore, the Captain had relieved the Master for a couple of hours so that Bowen could have his game of chess.
All the weeks of training the ship's company, the days of having the ship reek of fresh paint, the days of thrashing to windward out of the Channel and across Biscay, were worth it for a morning like this. Tomorrow, when they went after the rabbits, it might be a different story, but now he was happy and satisfied.
‘Two miles off Cabrit Island, sir,' Southwick reported.
'Can we bear up for the Diamond?'
'Yes, sir, and I'd like to stream the log and then get some idea of the current at the moment. At a guess we have a couple of knots o' west-going current under us.'
'It'll begin to trend north-west and follow the coast now we're rounding the Point,' Ramage said, for Aitken's benefit.
As Southwick gave orders for the log to be streamed and men fetched out the reel and half-minute glass, Ramage pictured the chart of the southern end of Martinique, still fascinated by its similarity to the foot of Italy. They were just rounding the heel and were going to bear away to sail across the inward-curving instep, heading for Diamond Rock, which showed on the chart like a tiny pebble on which the ball of the foot was about to tread.
Suddenly there was a hail from the foremast-head: 'Sail ho!'
'Where away?' Aitken bellowed through the speaking trumpet.
'On the starboard beam close under the land, just coming clear of the headland, sir.'
Ramage snatched up his telescope. The heel of the island, where a stirrup would fit, formed a deep, narrow bay; the headland was Pointe Dunkerque and the bay went inland for a couple of miles. He could see a sail - no, two sails, square-sails, but the rest of the ship was hidden below the curvature of the earth.
'What do you make of her?' Aitken shouted.
'Too far off, sir. Two masts, steering south-east, but that's all.'
Ramage looked round for Jackson, handed him the telescope and gestured aloft. The American ran to the main-chains and a moment later was going up the ratlines like a monkey.
The First Lieutenant looked questioningly and Ramage nodded. 'Beat to quarters, Mr Aitken. Pendant numbers ready, and I'll let you know the challenge and reply in a moment. And bear up for the Point; don't lose anything to leeward.'
With that he went down to his cabin and unlocked a drawer in the desk, taking out a heavy canvas bag. It contained the ship's secret papers, and he pulled the lines that kept it closed through the brass grommets. He took out the lead weight that would make sure the bag sank quickly if it had to be thrown over the side to avoid capture, and removed the papers. On top was a white card on which three tables were drawn. These were the challenge and reply, which changed daily for the next three months. He ran his finger down one column, noted the challenge for the day of the month, then moved his finger sideways and read off the reply. Two three-figure numbers. He never trusted his own memory and scribbled them down on a sheet of paper before restowing the documents and the weight and returning the bag to the drawer.
As he went up the companionway he heard the bustle of men going to general quarters: the gunner would be down in the magazine, gun captains would be collecting the locks and prickers for each gun, already the decks would be wetted and men sprinkling sand. The boys would be waiting at the magazine scuttle with their wooden cartridge boxes, and the Marine Lieutenant would be stationing his men round the bulwarks.
He reached the top of the companionway and glanced aloft. The Juno was now stretching northwards, rolling with the beam sea. He looked forward to see a strong west-going current setting the Juno crabwise away from the headland. Why didn't Aitken brace the yards sharp up? They would end up well to leeward of the brig at this rate.
Southwick hurried up and, guessing what Ramage was about to say, explained apologetically: 'There are reefs up to a mile off the Point, sir, and Jackson says she's a brig, and from the cut of her topsails she's British.*
'He should know,' Ramage said, and the Master grinned. The Triton, in which all three of them had served for nearly two years, had been a brig, built at the same yard as the Welcome.
Ramage watched the brig for a couple of minutes and then ordered: 'Rig side-ropes and have a boat-rope ready in the forechains. We'll be heaving-to on the starboard tack and her captain will come on board, Mr Aitken.’
He looked round for the midshipmen. 'Mr Benson, prepare the signal for the Captain of the Welcome to come on board. Make sure you look in the right section of the signal book.'
The boy thumbed through the pages as he was joined by Orsini. 'Signals from private ships,' he muttered, half to himself. 'Ah - here we are, For the captain of a particular ship to come on board. Union Flag at the mizen topmasthead.'
Ramage remembered that entry in the signal book. 'Benson!' he growled, 'what particular ship are you signalling to?'
The boy hurriedly looked back at the page and Ramage could visualize his grubby finger running across to the columns. 'Sorry, sir, Union at the mizen topmasthead, and ship's signal.'
'Well,' Ramage said sternly, 'make sure you get her numbers right. Now, get the signal bent on, and I'll masthead the pair of you if the halyards are twisted!'
As the two midshipmen scurried aft to the flag locker Ramage handed the piece of paper he was holding to the First Lieutenant. 'The challenge and reply. Hoist the challenge as soon as she's close enough to read it, and the moment she replies I want to see that signal' - he gestured to the boys — 'run up like a rocket!'
There was a hail from aloft, and Jackson reported that the strange sail was definitely a British brig.
'I wonder if she's gone to general quarters,' SouthwicK muttered to himself.
'I doubt it,' Ramage said. 'She's expecting a frigate to relieve her and she sees one ...'
'No ship's a friend until she's made or answered the challenge correctly,' Southwick said stubbornly. ‘There was none o' that slackness in the Triton!'
'Steady on,' Ramage said mildly, 'we don't know she hasn't gone to quarters yet!'
'Ah, but I know how slack these youngsters get in the West Indies.'
'The only brig in which you served in the West Indies was the Triton,' Ramage said sarcastically.
'Sorry, sir,' Southwick said apologetically, "fraid my liver hasn't recovered from Bridgetown. Those planters do spice their food so. And all those foreign kickshaws they serve.'
By now Pointe des Salines was drawing abaft the beam, with Pointe Dunkerque broad on the starboard bow and two miles off. The brig was still partly in the lee of the hills and Ramage said to the First Lieutenant: 'Mr Aitken, we'll let her come down to us; there's no point in us getting in on the lee over there. Back the foretapsail.'
There are distinct advantages in being the senior officer; Ramage thought to himself, and resumed walking up and down the starboard side of the quarterdeck as orders were shouted and bos'n's pipes twittered, and men ran up to brace round the yard as the helm was put up. The Juno came up into the wind a few degrees until the wind was blowing on the forward side of the topsail, pressing it back against the mast and trying to push the frigate's bow round to leeward, a push which was counter-acted by the rudder and the after sails, which were trying to push her bow up into the wind. Careful sail trimming balanced both forces until the Juno was lying almost stopped in the water.
Ramage watched the Welcome approaching, slowly at first, almost wallowing in the wind shadow thrown by the high ridge of land running down to Pointe Dunkerque but then heeling slightly as the first few puffs caught her coming out of the lee. Through the glass Ramage saw her yards being trimmed, then she heeled more and the sails billowed and the canvas tautened as she caught a fresh breeze and came alive.
'Make the challenge, Mr Aitken,' he said. 'Stand by with your glass, Mr Benson!'
The three flags soared upwards. Ramage counted to himself - ten seconds, twenty, forty, a minute, two minutes . . . Then three flags were hoisted aboard the brig, and even before an excited Benson called them out Ramage read the numbers: the correct reply. And the Welcome's pendant numbers.
Hearing a hurried curse from the First Lieutenant, Ramage turned to see Orsini standing helpless, flags flapping round his legs.
'Jump, boy!' Aitken shouted angrily, 'but don't let go of that halyard! Here, quartermaster, give him a hand. Benson, put that telescope down and bear a hand. It's a mastheading for the pair of you!'
Orsini, near to tears with embarrassment, jumped up but caught a foot in the cloth of the Union Flag and fell flat on his face. The burly coxswain lifted him up, shook him until his foot was clear and pushed him unceremoniously to one side, taking the halyard from his hands. He hauled as Benson cleared the flags and they rose upwards.
'The first time, too,' Ramage heard Southwick mutter at Ramage's elbow, and he knew the same thought was in the Master's mind: Ramage's first signal, his first order as a captain to the commanding officer of another ship.
'Don't tell the Marchesa,' Ramage murmured, 'she'd kill the poor lad!'
'I'd gladly do it for her at the moment,' Southwick said sourly. 'All wrapped up with coloured bunting like a bumboat laundry woman.'
Ramage turned forward so that Aitken and the midshipmen should not see him laughing. The best-laid plans of mice and post captains brought to nought by Gianna's nervous nephew. He wondered how many times in the past when, as a lieutenant, he had been ordered on board a ship and had had an ill-tempered reception from her captain, some similar episode had taken place a few minutes earlier. For that matter, he remembered, the Invincible'scaptain had been unduly taciturn when he went on board to report to Admiral Davis. Had the Admiral just squared his yard for not reporting the Juno's arrival earlier? Had the watchtower along the coast not spotted them, or not passed the word, or had the word been passed but not reached the flagship? He suddenly realized that he was getting a new insight into command, or rather command where you were the senior officer.
The commanding officer of the Welcome was handling her well: Ramage watched with a critical eye and guessed that the lieutenant was hurriedly deciding whether he should heave-to the brig to windward or leeward of the frigate, and the bos'n would be preparing to hoist out a boat.
An hour later Ramage watched the Welcome's boat being hoisted in and stowed on the booms; then the foretopsail yard was braced round and as the sails began to draw the brig slowly gathered way, headed round towards the Diamond. Two hours later her hull was hidden by the curve of the earth. The young lieutenant commanding her had been jubilant when Ramage had handed him the various packets from Admiral Davis: after a brief call at Antigua he would be bound for England.
Ramage also guessed that the lieutenant was thankful to be going to Antigua direct, and not by way of Barbados because his three-week patrol off Fort Royal had met with little success. He had sighted a small island schooner leaving Fort Royal at dusk and chased her northwards, losing her in the darkness. In daylight a week later he had sighted a drogher in the Passe du Fours between the Diamond and the mainland but before he could reach her she had run up on the beach and the crew had fled ashore, leaving the drogher in flames. From the way she burned the lieutenant thought she had been carrying spirits, and was probably a smuggler bringing in rum from one of the southern islands.
He had looked blank when Ramage asked about boat operations at night in Fort Royal Bay. Captain Eames had responded in the same way to the same question. Most of the time the Welcome had found the current north-going, except at the southern end of the island, where it was usually west-going. Only once, after three days of light breezes and with the moon in the first quarter had he failed to find any current. No, he had never tried to anchor off the Diamond; yes, there were several French batteries along the coast between Pointe des Salines and Cap Salomon, but he had not landed seamen and marines at night to attack them and did not have their exact positions. The guns had never bothered him, he said, and as far as he knew Captain Eames had left them alone for the same reason.
He had been down to St Lucia once for water: half the casks filled in Barbados had been undrinkable. To Ramage's most important question his answer had been vague: as far as he knew there were two French frigates in Fort Royal, both stripped of their yards, and five merchantmen, none of them ready for sea. Half a dozen local schooners, perhaps more, were reported to be anchored inside the Bay, in the mouth of the Salée River, but he had not been far enough into the Bay to see them for himself. They could be privateers but he did not know for sure. A dozen droghers were also reported to be in the Salée River, but none of them ever went to sea, or if they did he had seen none, apart from the one that beached herself, and she was heading for Fort Royal. Captain Eames had only caught one vessel, which he had used as a tender.
Obviously the lieutenant lacked 'interest" with Admiral Davis and was anxious to get back to England with a whole skin and an undamaged ship after a year in the Caribbean. His heart had not been in his terrier-at-the-rabbit-hole task, and Ramage found it hard to blame him. Captain Eames's inactivity was another kettle of fish: it was up to Eames to interpret the Admiral's orders, but it was galling that a man who had spent three months off Martinique tacking back and forth without doing anything to discomfort the French had been chosen by the Admiral to carry out the special operation ordered by the First Lord . . . Eames must be one of the Admiral's favourites.
Ramage walked aft, hands clasped behind his back, and stared over the taffrail at the Juno's wake. What the devil was that special operation? The only enemy-held islands within Admiral Davis's command were Martinique and Guadeloupe. Obviously it did not concern Martinique, and the other island was of little importance: the First Lord would not concern himself with French privateers based there. That left the coast of South America. The eastern end of the north coast was Admiral Davis's responsibility - the Spanish Main was divided, so that the western part came under the Commander-in-Chief at Jamaica. Trinidad and Tobago and the Spanish province of Caracas . . . what was happening along there - apart from cruising to intercept Spanish ships, which was routine anyway - what could suddenly have aroused the interest of the First Lord? Some operation that could be carried out by a frigate? Ramage turned away, admitting that he was jealous of Eames and angry with himself for being childish enough to think that just because he brought out the orders he ought to be allowed to carry them out.
By now the Juno, jogging along under topsails, was approaching the Diamond Rock, and Ramage searched the coast from the headland at the foot of Diamond Hill round to the eastward, to half-way along the instep. He was irritated that the Welcome's commanding officer had not been able to tell him the precise position of the shore batteries, and he knew that at this very moment Frenchmen would be watching the Juno with telescopes, noting and reporting to Fort Royal that the brig had gone off to the north and a frigate had taken her place.
Having criticized Captain Eames and the poor fellow commanding the Welcome, who had obviously been thankful to have lasted a year in the West Indies without dying of yellow fever or running the Welcome on a coral reef, Ramage had to decide what they should have done, and do it himself. The Admiral's orders were simple enough: blockade Fort Royal. The French Army is desperate for supplies, and so is the Navy. Paris probably knows about it and various ministers may be trying to do something to help.
He put his telescope away in the binnacle box drawer and resumed walking the deck oblivious to the fact that the officers had noted his furrowed brow and were alarmed at the way he was glaring at a spot a few feet ahead. Paris must be well aware of the position, but what would the ministers do? They could dispatch a single merchantman, hoping that they could sneak past the British blockade. In that way supplies could be sent out as soon as they became available. He knew well enough that the dockyards and arsenals of France were short of almost every item needed to keep a ship at sea and an army on its feet. The alternative was to send out a convoy escorted by two or three frigates or even a ship of the line. A convoy with three frigates might well be able to find its way through the blockade - especially if Paris knew that there was usually only a single British frigate on patrol. That was the one thing about which Paris could never be sure: Admiral Davis had said that he appeared occasionally with the Invincible and two or three frigates off Fort Royal Bay...
A convoy seemed more likely than single ships. If the convoy had an escort of two frigates, then the Juno had a chance of picking off a merchantman or two and of surviving. If there was a ship of the line he had the choice of making a fight of it or bolting for Barbados to warn the Admiral. Unless the convoy was spotted far out in the Atlantic and a warning passed to Barbados, the first he would know of it would be when he saw it rounding Pointe des Salines and bearing up for Diamond Rock.
That raised another problem: he could not be in two places at once. If he was watching off Fort Royal Bay, then the whole French fleet, let alone a small convoy, could round the Pointe and get half-way up to Cap Salomon without him seeing it until it had only fifteen miles to sail to get right under the guns of Fort Royal itself.
All that was obvious enough, he told himself crossly, and until the convoy appeared it was useless making any plans: what he did depended on the size of the convoy and escort, whether it was sighted by day or night, and its position. And the wind's strength and direction. And a dozen things.
Very well, that deferred the problem of a convoy until the Juno's lookouts sighted it, which could be tomorrow or in two months' time. What could he do in the meantime to rattle the bars and annoy the French? The only bars worth rattling were those at Fort Royal. What about those two frigates that the Welcome reported in the bay? They were stripped of their yards, but that could be of no significance.
Damn, the sun was bright. He pulled his hat down to shield his eyes. What was the possibility of one of those frigates crossing her yards, bending on sails and suddenly appearing off Cap Salomon or the Diamond, loaded with troops and with half a dozen privateers in company? He rubbed the scars over his brow: the more he thought about it, the more ths possibility became a probability. It was a good twenty miles from Fort Royal Bay down to Pointe des Salines. From the time she looked into Fort Royal, went south to look round Pointe des Salines and returned to Fort Royal, the Juno would have to cover forty miles. In a light breeze that could take eight hours.
Eight hours - yards up, sails bent on, and the ship under way: yes, it would need careful preparation but the French could do it. But in fact unless he looked into Fort Royal at dawn every day the French could have the whole night as well, with special lookouts along the coast warning them as the Juno made her way back north again ...
Those two frigates which had caused both Eames and the Welcome's lieutenant so little concern could break the blockade. If they knew when a convoy was due they could sail out and either capture the Juno or drive her off, and then help escort the convoy in. It was all very well for Admiral Davis to shrug off the little harbours of La Trinité and Robert on the Atlantic coast of Martinique. Certainly they were too small for landing supplies which would then have to be carried right over the mountain ridges to Fort Royal; but either harbour was ideally placed for a small French ship to sail in from the Atlantic and warn of a convoy's approach. Suddenly the blockade of Fort Royal took on a different appearance. Captain Eames and the Welcome brig had been lucky ...
Ramage found himself standing on the fo'c'sle by the belfry with no memory of having left the quarterdeck, but he was at last fairly clear in his mind what the blockade of Fort Royal entailed. He was startled to see Diamond Rock only a couple of miles ahead, fine on the starboard bow, and it was a fantastic sight: a rocky, stark islet jutting up out of the sea like an enormous tooth, nearly 600 feet high and each side about 400 yards long. Greyish rock mottled with patches of green and brown, like a great cheese attacked by mildew. With an effort he switched his thoughts back to the main problem.
First, he had to find out about the French frigates, and that meant going in close to Fort Royal to have a good look. Then he needed to know exactly what other ships and vessels the French had available in Fort Royal Bay, and that included the schooners and droghers anchored in the Salée River, on the south side. That was going to be a more difficult task because almost the entire Salée River anchorage was hidden behind Pointe de la Rose, with a fearsome number of shoals protecting it: even the French did not attempt to pass through them without local knowledge.
How well Fort Royal itself was protected was another question. The city itself did not matter, but the anchorage where the frigates were was vital. The batteries would be somewhere in the lee of Fort St Louis, which was built on a spit of land poking out southwards like a thumb. There would be other batteries, but the guns of Fort St Louis would be the most dangerous. Again Captain Eames and the Welcome's lieutenant were vague ...
He strode aft and told Wagstaffe, who was the officer of the deck, to pass the word for Mr Southwick to come to his cabin with the chart of Fort Royal Bay. At the top of the companionway he stared once again at the Diamond Rock. It seemed less menacing now because there was a scattering of green over the grey rock, like shreds of baize, and shrubs clung precariously to the almost sheer slopes. Beyond the Rock, across the Fours Channel, he could see a long silvery band of beach on the mainland: that must be the Grande Anse du Diamant, where the Welcome ran the drogher ashore, and which ended at the cliffs of Diamond Hill.
He acknowledged the Marine sentry's salute, went through to the great cabin and sprawled on the settee, feeling a sudden weariness which was mental rather than physical. He was asking too many questions and not finding enough answers. Southwick knocked on the door and came through into the cabin, a cheerful smile on his face. His expression did not change when he saw Ramage's furrowed brow,
‘That Diamond Rock is quite remarkable, isn't it, sir? I've been sketching it in the log. I estimate it is more than 550 feet high. And so parched I wonder how those goats manage to survive.'
'Goats?' Ramage exclaimed.
'Aye, I saw fifty or more through the glass, and that was only on the south-west side. Must be hundreds altogether. Means we can hunt for fresh meat when things are quiet - nice haunch of goat would make a pleasant change.'
Ramage snorted in disgust. 'You'd need to file your teeth first: the meat of those goats would serve as boot leather. They must live off the bushes; there's almost no grass except perhaps a little on the lower slopes.'
'It'd give the hunters plenty of exercise,' Southwick said happily, obviously not concerned about the toughness of the meat.
'Anyone needing exercise can arrange races up and down the rigging,' Ramage said crossly. 'Now, you have the chart of Fort Royal Bay?'
The Master unrolled it.
'Where would you expect the frigates to be anchored?’
'Carénage Bay,' Southwick said promptly, 'it's the deep cut just on the eastern side of Fort St Louis,' He turned the chart round and held it out for Ramage to see. 'If not there, then in front of the city - where it's marked "Anchorage des Flamands”.’
Ramage stared at the chart. 'Hmm, if we went close enough in - up here to the north-eastern corner of the Bay - we'd be able to look into the Salée River anchorage.'
'That's our best chance: I wouldn't feel confident taking the ship closer to the Salée,' Southwick admitted. 'Looks bad enough on the chart, and that doesn't show a tenth of the shoals. Coral grows there like weed in a garden. I'd say it was impossible to get into the anchorage itself without a local pilot. That's why the privateers like to use it. They know they're safe.'
'Safe from a frigate,' Ramage said thoughtfully, 'but sitting ducks for a boat attack.’
Southwick shrugged his shoulders. 'I must admit I'd sooner see those frigates out o' the way first, sir.'
'We've plenty of time,' Ramage said, beginning to cheer up. 'The frigates, the schooners, the droghers, the short batteries and then the goats if there's time to spare.'
'It'd be good exercise for the Marines,' said Southwick sardonically. 'Turn 'em loose on the Diamond with enough water for a week and tell 'em they have to live off the goats. Plenty of caves for them to sleep in - I saw three or four as we came by, some of them quite large.'
Ramage eyed Southwick with mock suspicion. 'I think you'd like to retire to the Diamond when the war is over.'
'We'll see.' Southwick was noncommittal. 'What are the orders for tonight, sir?'
Having discussed the navigation with the Master, Ramage passed the word for the First Lieutenant to join them. When Aitken arrived he told them briefly of the information passed on by the commanding officer of the Welcome. The First Lieutenant and Southwick both gave contemptuous sniffs, which Ramage found encouraging. The Master was always eager to seek out action, but up to this moment Ramage had had no chance to gauge Aitken.
'Do we have to leave those frigates in there, sir?' the First Lieutenant asked plaintively.
'Mr Southwick and I have just been going over the chart of Fort Royal Bay,' Ramage said. 'Have a look at it,' He gave Aitken a couple of minutes to absorb the general situation and then pointed to the two places where the frigates could be at anchor.
Aitken measured off distances from the latitude scale. ?Close enough to the Fort. Point-blank range . . .' he said mournfully.
Ramage felt disappointed: so the First Lieutenant was no fire-eater.
Aitken looked closely at the few soundings shown on the chart, and then dumbfounded Ramage by commenting: 'We'll have to sink one, since we can't tow 'em both out. Not unless they're rigged, in which case we could sail 'em.'
Ramage nodded as he thought the commanding officer of His Majesty's frigate Juno should nod when his First Lieutenant reached a conclusion he had himself reached a couple of hours earlier.
Aitken took out his watch and said eagerly. 'You plan to attack tonight, sir?'
Southwick shuddered and Ramage shook his head. 'We need to know a little more precisely where they are, and I don't think Mr Southwick would fancy piloting us into a harbour in the dark when he hasn't seen it for a few years. Not that I would ask him to, either!'
Aitken realized that his enthusiasm had run away with him. 'Of course, sir - but I’ll take a boat in tonight, if you wish. That way the French won't know the Juno is nearby.'
Ramage caught Southwick's eye and knew there was no need to worry about Aitken's aggressiveness; indeed it might be necessary to curb it. 'Don't worry about that: I'm sure the Governor at Fort Royal or St Pierre already knows we've relieved the brig. He's used to a British frigate tacking up and down the coast - this place has been under blockade for months.'
'That's what I find so puzzling about those frigates, sir,' Aitken said. 'Why haven't the French rigged 'em and used 'em to capture or drive off our ships?'
'The obvious reason may be the right one,' Ramage said quietly. 'Spars rotted or broken, short of cordage or sails . . . Probably waiting for supplies to arrive from France to commission them.'
Aitken looked at him admiringly, and Ramage felt embarrassed: it had been obvious enough to him, but not apparently to the First Lieutenant, nor, he saw from the look on Southwick's face, to the Master either.
'Give us a little more time,' Southwick commented.
'I hope so,' Ramage said, 'but I hope your thoughts aren't dwelling on those goats!'
'I'll let them take their turn,' Southwick said and began explaining the joke to Aitken, who looked excited and said enthusiastically: ‘I did a lot of deer hunting when I was a boy in Scotland, if that'd be any help.'
'Frigates,' Ramage said sternly, 'I'd be much obliged if you gentlemen would confine your thoughts to frigates, privateers and droghers.'
'Of course, sir,' said a chastened Aitken. 'Your night orders, sir?’
'Boat exercises,' Ramage said promptly. 'As soon as it is dark, we hoist out the boats and send away boarding parties. Issue them with muskets and pistols. Now's the time for them to make mistakes, out of earshot of the French. They'll row twice round the ship and then exercise at boarding us. We recover boats, hoist them out again, and do it once more. There won't be much sleep for anyone, but we'll have an easy day tomorrow.'
Southwick and Aitken glanced at each other at his last words, but Ramage decided against explaining his plan. The ship's company was in good spirits because it was confident. Now the men had to develop another kind of confidence - that they could deal with anything unexpected while in the boats. Most important of all, how to scramble up a ship's side while armed with a pistol, musket, cutlass or pike, and with a determined enemy firing down at them. There would be no shooting while they exercised boarding the Juno in the darkness, but it would teach them that the side of a prison wall and the side of a frigate could be just as difficult to scale.