It was dark when he got back on deck and the lookouts had been brought down from aloft. There were now six of them stationed round the ship: one on either bow, at the main chains both sides, and on each quarter.
The sky was clear and starlit except for a big bank of cloud to the south-west. It was hard for Ramage to pick out the ships on the far side of the convoy since they were against the cloud bank, instead of against the stars. The Lion stood out clearly, quite apart from her lights, and so did the Topaz. The Greyhound, too, and what was probably the Lark. Ramage moved the night glass slightly, hoping to make sure, and saw a movement.
The glass was swinging, and he had to move it back slowly to spot what had attracted him. It was the Peacock, the last ship in that column. He looked more carefully and, as he watched, there was another movement - the fore course was let fall, the canvas of the big sail came tumbling lazily down in the light wind. He could see it gradually taking up a billowing shape as the seamen braced the yard round and hauled home the sheets. Her main course was already set - that must have been what had first caught his eye. The Peacock was already turning slightly towards him, to starboard and out of the convoy.
"Mr Southwick, get your glass on the Peacock. Quartermaster - pass the word for my coxswain!"
"My oath!" exclaimed Southwick. "What's she up to now?"
Jackson reported and was told to get aloft with a night glass.
"Report anything unusual. Watch that last ship, the Peacock. She's leaving the line with her courses set. And see if the Lark lugger and the Greyhound spot her."
Ramage could see the Greyhound and she seemed to be continuing on the same course. Her masts were in line, she had reefed topsails and no other sails were being let fall. Apparently she hadn't noticed anything suspicious. But the cloud to the south-west now covered more of the sky and from the Greyhound's position the Peacock's silhouette probably blended in with the blackness.
"Could be in trouble, sir," Southwick said in a voice flat enough to show he had little enthusiasm for the idea. "Might be hauling her wind to close with the Greyhound. Sprung a leak ... needs a surgeon ... hard to say."
Jackson was hailing from aloft: "She hauled out of the line to windward, but now she's back on the convoy course and maybe fifty yards to windward. They'll never notice anything from the Greyhound," he added.
"No, the angle's wrong," Southwick muttered. "The Lark might notice."
"I doubt it," Ramage said. "She's pretty far over."
Jackson called: "She's overhauling her next ahead. Both courses and topsails set. I think she's shaking out the reefs in her topsails."
"Not leaking," Southwick said. "Not on that course. So help me, why is it always us?"
Ramage was thinking the same thing.The Greyhound, whose captain was not out of favour with Admiral Goddard, and who was a post captain already on his way up the list, could afford to make a mistake. The Greyhound was nearer the Peacock, too. Why had the responsibility fallen on the Triton?
"Shall I turn up the hands?" Southwick asked.
"Yes, but quietly: don't let the bosun's mates pipe it, and no shouting. Noise carries on a night like this."
"Aye, we don't want to look foolish."
"Or warn anyone," Ramage said grimly.
"Deck there." Jackson called. "She's abreast her next ahead."
"With all that canvas set she'll come through like a surf-boat,"
Southwick grumbled.
She's coming to the head of the convoy - that is obviously her intention, Ramage thought to himself, because she's set a lot more canvas and she's hauled clear of the line.
"Maybe she's leaving," Southwick said. "Decided to sail independently. She was a runner anyway, before she joined."
"I don't think so," Ramage said. "She's for Jamaica. If she was leaving the convoy why not reduce sail for a few minutes, let the convoy draw ahead and then bear away to the westward? Why steer north? She'd be crazy to pass the convoy on the outside - which is what she's trying to do now - and then have to cut right across in front of the Lion."
"Maybe she's decided to make for Antigua," Southwick said doggedly. "She's a runner, so her master can make up his own mind."
"True - but what could have changed his mind in the last twenty-four hours? There'd be nothing for him in Antigua except transhipment cargoes which wouldn't interest a runner. The good freights are in Jamaica and he knew it when he asked to join the convoy."
"It's a puzzle," Southwick admitted. "But he's certainly going a long way round for Jamaica."
Again Jackson hailed. "Abreast her second ahead, sir."
Now the Peacock must be just about abreast the Greyhound.
"That frigate's lookouts," Southwick suddenly snarled. "They ought to be flogged."
Ramage decided to reserve judgment until he saw how well the Peacock showed up against the cloud when she came abreast of the Triton. But, he told himself quickly, if she gets as far as that, I'd better be doing something about it! For the moment I can risk leaving her, but not for long.
Yet why the devil were he and Southwick getting so worked up over a ship out of position? In a convoy this size it'd be usual for at least ten ships to be out of position by now, and half the convoy would be spread all the way to the horizon by dawn. Why were they so obsessed by this miserable runner? He could imagine the Admiral's scornful sneers to Croucher, his flag lieutenant and anyone else who cared to listen about young Ramage deciding to declare war on a merchantman that displeased him ... Was he getting obsessed?
All captains risked getting obsessions - it was part of the lonely life of command. The Navy understood the problem and was patient with such men. One he knew of had an obsession about flags - couldn't bear the idea of any flag having a speck of dirt on it or the slightest worn patch. Another couldn't bear brick-dust on board and the men had to use fine sand for polishing brasswork. Where does Lieutenant Ramage fit into all that? Oh, he turns a merchantman into a fleet of enemy ships ...
"Deck there! - abreast the fifth ship!" Jackson called, and a few minutes later: "Deck there! - abreast the fourth ship."
Merchantmen out of position always dropped astern. But both times when the Peacock had been out of position she had forged ahead ... He turned to Southwick.
"Fetch Jackson down, and send the men to quarters."
Dammit, he'd left it late now; minutes wasted with a lot of daft thoughts. He put his speaking trumpet to his lips: "Marines stand by on the larboard side with muskets loaded; boarders muster at the main chains with pikes and pistols, but keep clear of the guns!"
"Deck there!" Jackson hailed. "There's another ship moving up the inside of the column!"
"The devil there is!" exclaimed Southwick.
"Tell us ship and position, blast you!" Ramage snarled.
"I'm just trying to make sure, sir," said Jackson's chastened voice from above them in the darkness. "I think it's the one that was ahead of the Peacock - I'm just trying to give an idea," he added hastily, knowing how Ramage hated indecisive answers that included the phrases "I think" or "about".