Ramage's Devil (34 page)

Well, Wagstaffe told himself, how on earth did one explain all that to junior lieutenants? Now he thought about it, both Kenton and Martin were sensible enough to report the moment they lost sight of the lights—indeed, there'd be enough yelling in the darkness, with the officer of the deck shouting questions at the lookouts and making a noise which would come down the skylight like a butt full of cold water.

It is easy enough to be brave and confident when the sun shines bright, he thought defensively, but hard on a dull cloudy day when it is raining. Harder still at nightfall, and dam' nearly impossible at three o'clock in the morning. Three o'clock courage, that's what he lacked. It's what distinguished Captain Ramage from most other men: he had it in abundance. It was also, Wagstaffe admitted, what kept Captain Ramage's officers poised on the balls of their feet all the time. Not because he yelled and screamed when things went wrong: perhaps it would be easier if he did. No, it was that chilly, quizzical and questioning look from those dark eyes set under thick eyebrows that was far more reproachful than words. They seemed to say: “I trained you and trusted you: now look what you've done …”

Wagstaffe lifted his “distance staff” and held it up. He was proud of it because it was so easy to make and to use. He had been told to keep one cable astern of the
Calypso
and in her wake. One cable was two hundred yards precisely, not one hundred and fifty or two hundred and fifty. It was a distance which anyone in the
Calypso
could check with a quadrant or sextant in a few moments because of the two simple facts: if you knew the height of an object (in this case a mainmast) and the angle it made from you, it was easy enough to work out how far away it was: the mast made the vertical side of a right-angled triangle and the angle was opposite, between the base and hypotenuse. And of course the base was the distance, in this case two hundred yards.

However, to avoid having to get a quadrant or sextant out of its box to measure the angle, it was easy enough to cut two notches in a short stick at appropriate distances apart so that when you held the stick vertically at arm's length, the lower notch was level with the
Calypso
's after waterline, and her main-masthead touched the upper notch. If the mast appeared shorter than the distance between the notches,
La Robuste
was more than 200 yards astern: if taller, they were too close.

In fact it was not too difficult to keep station because both frigates were almost the same size and of course French-designed and built, with the sails cut by French sailmakers. Providing
La Robuste
set the same sails, and providing the men at the wheel, the quartermaster and the officers of the deck stayed alert in this sun (which was really getting some heat in it as the latitude decreased), it was easy.

What had Captain Ramage in mind? The series of rendezvous he had given to Wagstaffe, a latitude and longitude for each day, in case they lost each other during the night and were not in sight at dawn, ended up at 5° North and 52° West, which was the South American coast at Cayenne … The French kit of charts on board
La Robuste
did not include French Guiana, except as a half-inch square on the chart of the south part of the North Atlantic. Cayenne, Devil's Island … Wagstaffe shivered. It was probably no healthier than it sounded. Devil's Island was said to be the place Bonaparte sent his enemies. Well, it must be a big island because the Frenchman had a lot of enemies. And friends, too, judging from England's lack of allies.

Sergeant Ferris, the second-in-command of the Marines on board the
Calypso,
undid his pipeclayed crossbelts and unbuttoned his tunic. Sitting on the breech of one of the guns was not exactly resting in an armchair but the breech was in the shade and the breeze blowing the length of the main deck was cool, even if
La Robuste
's bilges stank so that the last foot that the pump would not suck out swirled back and forth with the frigate's pitch and roll and occasionally made the main deck smell like a Paris sewer.

Jackson walked up and sat on the truck on the after side of the gun and leaned back against the breech. “Coolest spot in the ship,” he said.

“Aye,” Ferris said, “count yourself lucky you're not a Marine and wearing this damned uniform.”

“Trouble with the French prisoners?”

“No, not yet. A couple of them started quarrelling with each other and some of my lads had to stop them, so we've put them all in irons, each man one leg, so they're sitting in rows facing each other and staring at the sole of the other fellow's foot. Still, 46 prisoners is not too bad since I've got half the
Calypso
's Marines, and we've got that twelve-pounder trained on ‘em.”

“Yes, but that's just a bluff,” Jackson said. “If we have to fire it down the hatch the recoil will turn the gun upside-down!”

“The Frogs don't know that,” Ferris said philosophically, “and if only half the canister catches them it won't leave many alive.”

“More likely put a hole in the hull,” Jackson said.

“Don't worry. Just go down in the hold and sit down with one ankle held by the irons, and I can tell you that inside ten minutes the muzzle of that twelve-pounder will seem to measure two feet in diameter and be winking at you like death himself.”

Jackson's laugh was mirthless. He had fought the French for too long to have much sympathy for them. “What about Gilbert?”

Ferris puffed out his lips and then opened his mouth as if blowing out a plum stone. “Don't make a mistake about that fellow! He may be small and he may be a Frog—it's easy to forget that because he speaks such good English—but you should see him when he gets worked up!

“Before we took half the prisoners over to
Calypso
he talked to all of them below decks (this was while you was ferrying across our seamen) and gave ‘em a warning. All French to me, of course, but I understood everything he said just by watching the faces of the prisoners! I think a lot of it was religion—Diable, that means the Devil, doesn't it? Well he went on a lot about him, and they shuffled about a lot, as though they were scared of the Devil. There was another chap they were scared of, too, someone called More. What with him threatening ‘em with the Devil and More, and us Marines, too, we had them French twittering like frightened starlings.”

“Until the two started fighting.”

“Yus, but I think they are so scared that they very easily get on each other's nerves. Anyway, a day or two in irons won't hurt ‘em. Given half a chance, Gilbert and his chaps would have beaten the two of them. Yet they're French too—why do they hate the fellows in this ship so much, Jacko?”

“It's not just this ship: they hate all Frenchmen who support Bonaparte. I don't know much about it myself but of course Gilbert and Louis worked for the Count of Rennes, who Bonaparte is shipping to Cayenne in the frigate we're trying to catch.”

“Cayenne? That's a sort of pepper, isn't it?”

“Yes, it comes from French Guiana, which is near Brazil. It's a deadly sort of place—makes islands of the West Indies like Antigua seem as healthy as Bath. Die like flies there, according to the captain.”

Ferris nodded and flapped the front of his tunic back and forth like a fan. “I can believe it. But what does the captain want with this frigate,
La Robuste?
Halves our strength in men, even if it doubles the number of ships. But doubling the number of guns and halving the number of men to fire them,” his voice assumed the monotonous drone of a drill sergeant, “is militarily unsound, Jacko.”

“Tell the captain,” the American said. “He may not have considered that. Or,” he added sarcastically, “he might be considering it only from a naval point of view, not a military one.”

Sergeant Ferris patted his stomach. “Yes, that could be so,” he agreed judicially, completely missing the tone of Jackson's voice. “Yes, I agree, he might have some particular naval plan in mind.”

Wagstaffe looked at his makeshift journal. There was something very satisfying about the book, which had been made up by young Orsini stitching together the left-hand side of a dozen sheets of paper. How satisfying to write boldly across the top (normally it was only a matter of fitting names in the blank spaces of a printed form) “Journal of the Proceedings of—” he paused a moment: this was an unusual situation. He then continued, “—the former French national frigate
La Robuste,
presently prize to one of His Majesty's ships, Lieutenant Wagstaffe, commander.” He had added the date and then carefully ruled in nine columns, and today, as he glanced down them, the ship's progress was becoming more obvious.

The date occupied the first two columns, the third recorded the winds (which had stayed between south-east and north-east the whole time), then came the courses (which were unchanged) and the miles covered from noon to noon, which were usually around 175. The latitude and longitude occupied the next two columns and showed to a navigator's eye the progress they were making to the south-west.

The next column, bearing and distances at noon, had been left blank, and there was only one entry under “Remarkable Observations and Accidents,” which recorded putting all the prisoners in irons for 24 hours after two of them had started fighting.

Across in the
Calypso,
Ramage had just worked out the noon sight and compared his position with those of Aitken and Southwick. They tallied within three or four miles, and with the ship rolling and pitching with following wind and sea, so that taking a sight was like trying to shoot a hare from the back of a runaway horse, that was close enough.

He opened his journal and under the “Latitude” column wrote 6° 45' North; next to it was recorded the longitude, 52° 14' West. The Îles du Salut, according to the French pilot book, were 5° 17' North and 52° 36' West, so … they were … yes, ninety miles on a course of south by west a quarter west. Which meant no change in the course, but because they were making eight knots and he wanted to bring the mountains in sight soon after dawn, both the
Calypso
and
La Robuste
were going to have to reduce canvas: a little under five knots would bring the mountains in sight at daybreak so that the ships' companies would be breakfasted by the time the three islands were sighted. Providing of course the visibility was reasonable. Often there was a haze along a lee shore, presumably caused by the sea air meeting the land air, and the mistiness thrown up by the waves breaking on rocks and sandy beaches.

He wiped the pen, put the top on the ink bottle, and replaced everything in the drawer. He found Southwick and Aitken on deck.

“If the chronometer is not playing games with us, and if there's not a radical change in the speed of the current as we close the coast …” Ramage said.

“Ninety miles, I make it,” Southwick said.

“Which means we might run up on the beach in the night,” Ramage commented. “Mr Aitken, we'll try her under topsails, and then a cast of the log, if you please. Five knots will be quite enough, so we can furl the courses and get in the t'gallants and royals.”

Aitken picked up the speaking-trumpet while Ramage went aft to the taffrail and looked astern at the
Calypso
's wake. Despite the speed she was making and the wild rolling, the wake was no more than the first wrinkles on a beautiful woman's face: the French designer had produced a fast and sea-kindly hull which slipped through the water without fuss.

La Robuste
was a fine sight. He could imagine how often over the past days Wagstaffe, Kenton and Martin had been measuring the angle to the
Calypso
's mainmasthead, to maintain that magic distance of a cable. He smiled to himself because while Wagstaffe might not realize it, the next few minutes were something of a test. Wagstaffe was a fine seaman and steady, a good navigator and popular with the men. He had shown himself, in other words, to be an excellent lieutenant. He could and did carry out orders with precision. And, as Bowen had pointed out to Admiral Clinton, this is what Bullivant could do. Bullivant had only failed when he made the enormous jump from taking orders as a lieutenant to making decisions and giving orders as a captain.

How about Wagstaffe?

The
Calypso
's bosun's mates finished the shrill notes of their calls and bellowed orders: now came the thud of bare feet as the men ran to their stations. Sails would not be furled as fast as usual, since half the
Calypso
's men were now over in
La Robuste,
but—he took out his watch—with similar ships and similar sails set it would be interesting to compare times.

The squeal of ropes rendering through blocks, the shouts of bosun's mates, the grunts of men straining as they heaved on ropes … And the great rectangle of the main course, which for days had been billowing in a graceful curve, suddenly crumpled and distorted as the wind spilled when the lower corner of each side began to be pulled diagonally towards the middle.

And damnation,
La Robuste
was beginning to clew up her main course, too! Wagstaffe had plotted his noon position against the latitude and longitude of the Îles du Salut: he must have realized that the two ships would have to slow down to avoid arriving in the night, and he had his men waiting out of sight, waiting for the first wrinkles to appear in the
Calypso
's main course … Yes, Wagstaffe passed the test …

Looking forward again and upward Ramage could see the men on the
Calypso
's main yard furling the sail neatly and securing it with gaskets, the long strips of canvas keeping it in place. He glanced at his watch and then looked at
La Robuste
and waited for the last gasket to be passed. The
Calypso
won by under half a minute, and that victory could no doubt be explained by defects in
La Robuste
's running rigging and the poor state of her gaskets—he had seen two tear in half, weakened by the heat and damp of a year in Far Eastern waters.