Ramage's Diamond (39 page)

The French merchant ships were presumably still in the same formation, probably three columns with three ships forming the middle one and two the outer, but the four frigates would no longer be surrounding them. The land covered the eastern side of the convoy from attack, and would continue to do so all the way up to Fort Royal, so one frigate would probably be ahead, one abreast the leading merchantmen, another abreast the last one, and the fourth astern. This meant that the
Juno,
beating through the Fours Channel to attack the convoy from ahead, would have to dodge two frigates to get at the merchantmen, and the
Surcouf,
going on to round the Diamond itself before tacking up to cut off the convoy's retreat, would have to deal with the other two.

Ramage looked round at Orsini. “You have signal number thirteen bent on ready?”

“Aye, aye, sir,” he said, and added: “
Prepare for battle,
sir.” Ramage nodded. “And the Diamond Rock's pendant and number 123?”

“Aye, aye, sir. To the Juno and Ramage batteries, special signal,
Attack the enemy's convoy of merchant ships or transports.
”

“Don't get them mixed up, then,” Ramage warned, “so that you hoist the wrong one.”

The boy pointed to two different halyards. “No chance, sir.”

“And don't mislay the signal book, in case I need to make a signal in a hurry.”

“No, sir,” the boy said patiently, and then grinned. “I doubt if you'll need to use number sixteen, though,
Engage the enemy more closely.
”

Ramage smiled, glad of the boy's confidence. “No, the lads need no encouraging.”

He watched the steep cliffs, the shadows almost vertical. They were approaching the end of the headland rapidly now. In a few minutes the land would turn away sharply to the eastward and then curve in again like a huge sickle, the point being Diamond Hill headland, the blade the long beach of the Grande Anse du Diamant and the handle the two headlands at the far end. A mile off the tip of the sickle, like a clump of wheat that it was about to reap, was the Diamond Rock.

Southwick came up the quarterdeck ladder, his great sword at his waist, bushy hair poking out from beneath his hat like a half-squeezed mop and his nose bright red from sunburn. “No sign of the Admiral then, sir?” He rubbed his hands. “That means we certainly don't share the prize-money—apart from his usual eighth!”

“We might be glad to see him before the day is out,” Ramage said with unintended harshness.

“We'll go through that convoy like a knife through butter!” Southwick declared cheerfully. “You'll see, sir.”

“They'll be dead to windward of us,” Ramage reminded him. “And as you mentioned last evening, sir, they'll never expect us to dare to beat up through them. They'll be like a flock of hens waking up to find a fox in the coop!”

As both men talked, they watched the headland of Diamond Hill drawing abeam and Ramage was reminded of watching a theatre stage as a curtain was drawn back, slowly exposing the scenery and the players.

Wagstaffe by now had
La Créole
about two miles south-east of the Diamond Rock; from there he could reach up right into the middle of the convoy. Because
La Créole
was still flying the Tricolour, the moment the French saw the
Juno
and the
Surcouf
they would assume she was fleeing from them and seeking protection.

The men at the Juno and Ramage batteries on the Diamond could see both the British frigates coming down to the headland from the north-west and the French convoy creeping along the coast. “Like a crossroads,” Ramage said to himself and only realized he had spoken aloud when Southwick swung round questioningly. “I was thinking of the French coming up to this headland from the east while we're approaching from the northwest. Like two coaches approaching along sunken lanes and not seeing each other until they're almost at the crossroads.”

“Just one coach,” Southwick corrected with a broad grin. “We're the highwaymen!”

Now they could see clear across the great bight to Pointe des Salines at the southern end of the island that reminded Ramage of a boot. They were rounding the toe cap and could just see the heel with the instep still hidden.

“They must be sticking tight to the coast,” Southwick growled. “I'd have thought we'd have seen the first of 'em by now.”

Ramage gestured to the end of the headland which was drawing aft at what seemed an alarming speed, but he knew it was only anxiety playing tricks with time.

“Deck there!” came a hail from aloft, “a frigate on the larboard bow, sir, three miles or more, in line with the headland.”

And there she was, ringed in the telescope lens. He saw a second one beyond her just as the lookout hailed again. The first must be on the convoy's bow, the second on the quarter. Then he saw the third frigate, which was obviously leading the convoy and well ahead of it. The convoy was just at the beginning of the Fours Channel and the timing was perfect.

“Hoist our colours,” Ramage snapped at Orsini. That was the prearranged signal to Aitken that the
Juno
had sighted the French ships and could herself be sighted and identified.

Ramage watched the three frigates closely. At any moment there should be a flurry of flag signals, warning that enemy ships were in sight. With any luck, while the French escort prepared to deal with the enemy
La Créole
would be getting in among them, apparently a welcome reinforcement but actually positioning herself to act as a Trojan horse.

“I can see a merchantman now,” Ramage told Southwick, trying to keep his voice even. “And another beyond her—the ships in the outer column. And another, and two beyond the centre column …”

With the wind coming free as they passed clear of the headland, Ramage watched the dog-vanes. A glance down at the compass showed it trying to make up its mind between northeast and east-north-east.

“Close-hauled, if you please, Mr Southwick; we should be able to lay south-east comfortably!”

Southwick began bellowing into a speaking-trumpet and as Jackson gave orders to the men at the wheel, carefully watching the luffs of the sails, seamen hauled at the sheets and braces, flattening in the sails. Astern the
Surcouf
was bearing away slightly on to a direct course for the Diamond Rock and Ramage realized that the French ship was faster than the
Juno.
Aitken would fetch the Diamond with the wind a point free, perhaps more. So much the better; she had farther to sail and the sooner she reached the Rock and rounded it to close off the eastern entrance of the Fours Channel the better.

By the time he looked back over the larboard beam the Fours Channel was in sight and there was the whole French convoy sailing towards him. There were three columns of merchant ships, as he had expected, with one frigate ahead, two out to seaward, and one astern. They were relying on the coast to protect the whole inshore side of the convoy. He must let them go on thinking that the land shielded them.

“If we could only get between them and the beach …” Southwick murmured wistfully. “Still, Wagstaffe timed it well. They're all just about in the Channel.”

“Not yet,” Ramage said. “Another half a mile to go. They're just outside the range of the Juno and Ramage batteries. Give 'em ten or fifteen minutes.”

“But they might turn and bolt!” Southwick exclaimed anxiously.

“Come now, Mr Southwick,” Ramage chided, “you don't really expect seven merchantmen to try to beat back to Pointe des Salines, do you?” He glanced astern and saw that the
Surcouf
would now be in sight of the French. “Why should they be frightened of a couple of frigates when they're so near home and have a schooner coming along to help them!”

“Sorry, sir,” said Southwick with mock contrition. “I just can't stand the thought of those beggars getting away after all our preparations.” With that he picked up his telescope and looked at the Diamond. “No sign of the Juno battery—just bushes.” He trained the telescope lower. “I can just see the cave at the back of the Ramage battery but no sign of guns or men.” He swung the telescope round to the east. “Wagstaffe's tacked. He'll just be able to lay the tail of the convoy.”

Ramage, still watching the French frigates, saw a string of flags hoisted from the leading one. He cursed his lack of a French signal book: they had searched
La Créole
and
La Mutine
the moment they were captured, but there were no papers on board, not even a muster table. More flags were hoisted and all the frigates repeated them. A few moments later he realized that the second signal must have been to the convoy because the merchantmen were now beginning to bunch up, the outside ships closing in on the centre column. Instead of three columns of ships there was soon just a group, like seven sheep crowding together as a sheep-dog circled them. More important, though, they stayed on the same course. They were coming through the Fours Channel …

The
Juno,
stretching south-east and sailing fast, was now halfway between the headland and the Diamond itself. The
Surcouf
had almost reached the Diamond and would soon be hauling her wind to round it and then tack north to get at the rear of the convoy. She might need a couple of extra tacks, but it would not matter; it would all serve to confuse the French.

The head of the convoy was at most a mile and a half from the
Juno
and, as best he could judge, just coming into the extreme range of the Diamond batteries. And the wind was strengthening: the
Juno
was beginning to slice up spray over her larboard bow and it was drifting aft in dancing rainbow patterns. The gun captains were putting aprons over the locks, small canvas bonnets that would keep them dry until the last moment.

What the devil were the French escorts going to do? At the moment the convoy and escorts were still sailing the same course, coming down into the Fours Channel and heading straight for the
Juno.
The only sign that they had seen the two British frigates was the two signals and the merchantmen bunching up.

A third signal was hoisted on board the leading frigate and he watched carefully. There were answering signals from the frigates only. Very well, they had received orders—but what were they going to do? He looked back at the merchant ships and stifled an oath of surprise. “Just look!” he exclaimed unbelievingly to Southwick. “Some of them are clewing up their courses! They're going to jog along under their topsails alone!”

“Just like all merchantmen,” the Master said cheerfully. “If they were making five knots before, they'll make three now, if they're lucky. Our lads at the Diamond batteries must be rubbing their hands!”

“Are they acting under orders?” Ramage wondered aloud, and at the same moment saw more signals hoisted by the leading frigate. He watched carefully but none of the other frigates answered, so the signal must have been for the merchantmen.

The merchant ship leading the centre column let fall her courses again, as if in response to the signal, and was followed by her next astern, but the other merchant ships were still busy furling, obviously ignoring the order. A minute later the two centre-column ships clewed up their courses again, clearly anxious not to find themselves ahead of the rest.

By now the
Surcouf
had rounded the Diamond and tacked to the northwards and
La Créole
had tacked, too, as though trying to keep well up to windward of her pursuer and reach the safety of the convoy. Ramage pointed them out. “I think we'll match the
Surcouf
tack for tack for the time being.”

As the Master snatched up his speaking-trumpet, Ramage saw that the leading frigate was altering course slightly, as though intending to sail the convoy through the precise centre of the Fours Channel. Obviously the French Captain had decided on the change to keep both British frigates on his larboard bow. It was a good move from his point of view because it left the convoy still covered by the coast to the north.

“Belay that!” Ramage called to Southwick, “we'll stay on this tack!” He wanted to be sure that all the ships in the convoy followed the leading frigate, and the
Juno
tacking might scare them off. Their new course would take them half-way between the headland and the Diamond and would reduce the range for the Diamond batteries to half a mile. It would also leave a wider gap between the convoy and the coast.

Southwick rejoined him and saw what was happening. “The Rock's a magnet for them,” he said.

Ramage shook his head. “I think he knows about the current and is afraid the merchantmen under topsails alone will get swept too close to the headland.”

“What's he going to do with those other two frigates, sir?”

“I'm damned if I know. He made them a signal which they answered, but they're still keeping station.”

Southwick gestured towards the
Surcouf.
“Just look at her, sir, she's beating up to windward. She's at least a knot faster than us.”

“A point which hasn't escaped Aitken,” Ramage said wryly, and began to recast his plans slightly. Two unexpected things had happened. First the French merchantmen had obligingly reduced sail and cut the convoy's speed, and second the
Surcouf
was not only proving faster to windward than he had expected, but she was pointing higher. On this tack, unless the convoy altered course, Aitken could actually intercept the convoy, sailing into the middle of it, instead of arriving astern of it to cut off its retreat.

Ramage began rubbing the scars over his brow and the moment Southwick noticed it he made a mental note not to interrupt the Captain's thoughts. Rubbing the scar meant concentration and perhaps a sudden change of plan. From past experience it resulted in something even more desperate than originally intended but usually more effective. He tried to guess what it would be.