"We'll get all the first column into position, Mr Southwick. Maybe the rest will take the hint."
"A hint's a shot fired across their bow," Southwick said miserably.
Chapter Six
It was dark before the merchantmen were finally cajoled, bluffed and threatened into position. The Lark and the two frigates had helped by chasing up the ones at the rear, a task they had taken on themselves without orders from the Lion, who could not see them. Ramage had the feeling the frigates helped because they thought the signal must have been made to them as well and they'd missed seeing it.
As they finally passed the last ships in the northernmost column, led by the Topaz, Southwick took off his hat and ran a hand through his flowing white hair.
"It's not quite what their lordships have in mind," he said admiringly, "but it's the best way of getting mules back into position I've seen."
"It could be expensive on jibbooms," Ramage said.
"Worth it, though. Still, we mustn't do it too often, or else the element of surprise will be lost."
Ramage felt embarrassed at Southwick's praise; he'd done the right thing for completely the wrong reason. Exasperated by one particularly stubborn captain who flatly refused to shake out reefs or stop his men furling topsails, though the ships astern of him were having to bear away to pass because he was down to little more than the steerage way he intended to maintain all night, Ramage had finally lost his temper. He too had ordered his men to clew up sails until the Triton, which had been almost alongside the merchantman - with Ramage standing on the quarterdeck, speaking trumpet in his hand, throat sore from shouting at the Master, almost trembling with rage and frustration - began dropping back.
Eventually the merchantman had drawn ahead, and Ramage had conned the brig into a position directly astern of her. Then he had given the order to let fall the maintopsail, and the Triton had begun to pick up speed again. Gradually the distance between the merchantman's transom and the Triton's jibboom end narrowed: fifty yards, thirty, twenty-five and twenty.
Jackson had been sent out on the bowsprit and passed the word back through a chain of seamen how many feet were left - Ramage did not want any shouting. The gunner's mate was ordered to fire one of the forward guns with a blank charge in it, and then Ramage had looked up at the clewed-up foretop-sail, crossed his fingers and given the orders to let fall and sheet it home.
He could see the merchantman clearly, and knew her captain could see the Triton - and the foretopsail, now beginning to belly out as the men tallied aft the sheets. And because the merchantman's taffrail was a good deal lower than the outer end of the brig's jibboom, he knew the warship would give the impression of being much bigger than she was, an impression that she was towering over the merchantman.
And with Southwick thoroughly enjoying himself and standing by the men at the wheel, an eye on the compass and on the luffs of the sail, and looking as if he was standing on tiptoe to make sure he did not miss a word of any order Ramage might give, Ramage watched the black shape ahead and listened to the message relayed back from Jackson.
"Forty feet, sir, Jackson says, and dead ahead."
"Very well. Watch your luff, Mr Southwick."
"Jackson says thirty feet, and four feet to larboard of the middle of his taffrail."
"Very well." Nice of Jackson to be so precise.
Southwick said nervously: "That spare jibboom of ours ain't much of a spar, sir."
"Too late to worry now. Maybe you won't need it."
"Didn't really mean it like that, sir."
"Twenty feet, sir, and right on course, so Jackson says."
"Very well."
And Ramage hoped the Triton would not suddenly pitch in a particularly heavy sea and catch the merchantman's mizen boom with her jibboom end.
The seaman muttered a stifled oath of surprise.
"Fifteen feet, Jackson says, sir! An' he's out on the end of the boom and says should he drop on board o' 'er and deliver a message."
"Tell him not to be impatient," Ramage snapped.
Jackson would know it was a joke but the rest of the crew wouldn't; it wouldn't do any harm to let them think their captain was a cool chap. Southwick nearly spoiled it by laughing.
Suddenly there was a bellowing from ahead. Ramage turned sideways, jamming the speaking trumpet to his ear. It was the merchantman's captain shouting plaintively.
"Are you trying to ram me?"
Ramage grabbed the seaman's arm. "Quick - get forward: Jackson's to tell - no, belay that."
Ramage couldn't resist it and didn't want to spoil the joke. Telling Southwick to take the conn, he ran forward, speaking trumpet in hand, until he was standing by the forebitts.
As he lifted the speaking trumpet to his lips he was appalled at the sight of the merchantman: in the darkness her transom seemed like the side of a house. But even before he could speak he heard an agitated hail.
"Triton! Triton! Watch out, you crazy fool! You'll be aboard us in a moment!"
"What ship's that?" Ramage asked, keeping his voice to a conversational tone.
"The William and Mary. Bear up for pity's sake, you'll sweep us clean in a moment."
"The William and Mary, you say? By jove, it can't be; her position's five cables or more ahead of where you are!"
"We're the William and Mary, for God's sake, let fall the foretopsail - no, not you sir, I mean - No! Let fall the main-topsail as well - Let fall, you bloody ape! Not you sir! My mate," the agitated voice tried to explain. "My mate seems to be paralysed - get for'ard, y'gibbering psalm-singer! Oh, not you, sir! The Devil's got into everything! Let fall! Let fall or we'll be skewered. Sheet home! Get them drawing, y'fool!"
A seaman tapped Ramage's arm respectfully: he had been whispering for several seconds without his captain hearing him.
"Jackson says 'Minus two feet', sir. I think he mean's he's hanging over her taffrail."
"He does, eh?" Ramage said shortly. "Very well."
There was a bang from ahead as the merchantman's foretopsail flopped down like a great blind and suddenly filled, and almost at once the merchantman began to increase speed. The maintopsail followed, and Ramage could see the gap between the ships opening up. When there was a good twenty yards between them, he called forward into the darkness.
"All right, Jackson; you can come home now."
Ramage walked back to the quarterdeck and a moment later Jackson joined him, proffering a bundle which Ramage took, saying: "Most unexpected, Jackson, and thank you. What is it?"
"A souvenir, sir, that ship's ensign. They didn't lower it at sunset and it kept flapping in my face, so I cut the halyard."
Southwick, who had heard the exchange, commented dryly: "Better stow it somewhere safe, sir; any trouble tomorrow night and we can use it as an excuse for another visit: send Jackson on board to return it with a rude message."
There were low cloud banks on the western horizon as they sailed along the northern edge of the convoy, heading back to the Triton's original position. The ships ahead were no longer silhouetted against the stars.
"It's like playing chess in the dark," Southwick grumbled as he took another bearing of the lights being shown by the Lion. "Wish the Admiral's lamp trimmers were up to the mark."