"Yes, it's her all right - the seventh, and now she's abreast the sixth ship, and the Peacock's abreast the third."
"Leave him up there," Ramage told Southwick, who had quietly passed the order that sent the men running silently to the guns.
Southwick asked, "What do you make of it, sir?"
"Damned if I know," Ramage admitted frankly. "It's some monkey business, but exactly what, I can't think. That second ship's the one the Peacock went aboard last night - why, it's absurd!"
"At least we're up to windward," Southwick said.
This was Ramage's only advantage: he could wait until the last moment before doing anything; wait until there could be no mistake about what the Peacock and the second ship intended to do. What, exactly, did he intend to do? Strictly speaking he ought probably to drop down to the Peacock, close with her and ask her what she was up to. If there was trouble he would have to explain to a court martial why he had not done so.
But he didn't want to show his hand until the last moment. He was certain that the Peacock was up to something sinister and there was very little time left. His greatest ally would.be surprise, if he could avoid raising the alarm. If he was wrong, and there was an innocent explanation of the Peacock's manoeuvres, the damned ship could give the Admiral all the ammunition he wanted to fire the final broadside into the Ramage family.
And he knew that Southwick was thinking of that, too; aye, and Jackson as well, up aloft there. They were all on his side; and they could all be wrong...
The Peacock was closing fast: Ramage was startled when he looked over the Triton's quarter with the night glass: even though it showed the Peacock upside down, she nearly filled the eyepiece.
"Quickly, Mr Southwick; check over the larboard side guns; I wasn't listening as they reported."
"Aye aye, sir; I was, though, and all is well."
Southwick disappeared forward and again Ramage turned towards the Peacock, at the same time hailing Jackson to come down: the Peacock would soon be close enough to hear any shouting on board the Triton. If only there was some moonlight, so he could get a sight of the Peacock's decks. Were they empty of all but the watch?
The Master reported: "All loaded and the men hoping they won't have to draw shot and powder."
It was a childishly reassuring report: the only way of avoiding having the men drawing shot and powder from the bore of a gun was to fire it.
The Peacock was almost abreast the second ship: almost abreast the ship astern of the Topaz: in one minute's time he had to do something ... ye gods, do something! And he still hadn't given it any real thought. Suddenly he felt cold as he remembered Goddard's warning at the convoy conference about the valuable cargo. He knew now what the Peacock was doing and it was probably too late. He was so frightened he froze; the worst kind of fear, the fear for someone else.
"Mr Southwick!" His voice was high and he hoped the men would not notice. "Mr Southwick - I'm laying us aboard that rascal!"
He put the speaking trumpet to his mouth: "Man the weather braces - tend the lee ones ... Quartermaster, larboard four points ... Ease away and haul in; run away with it, lads ... right, tally aft those sheets ..."
Why hadn't he shaken the reefs out of the topsails? He had thought of it earlier and decided against it for fear the Peacock would see men out on his yards, but he'd been wrong: he needed every square inch of canvas now to catch up.
As the Triton's bow swung round towards the Topaz, the great yards overhead slowly moved, keeping the sails filled. Men, one behind the other on the ropes like one side of a tug of war, hauled and strained.
Within a minute the Triton was steering for the head of the convoy. He could just see the Peacock silhouetted, larger and closer. The convoy was moving slowly to starboard; he now needed to steer a converging course, slightly crabwise to starboard.
Hurriedly he shouted once again the orders to trim the sails. A few words to the quartermaster and the Triton's bowsprit swung slightly to starboard, heading towards where the Peacock should be in a few minutes. Should be - damn and blast, he'd never make it under just topsails, but it'd throw the ship – and himself, if he was honest - into confusion if he set the forecourse now, and then tried to get it clewed up as he turned alongside the Peacock.
Last-minute rush and stupidity was what lost battles, and he was proving it...
With the wind almost dead astern, the Triton was at last picking up a bit of speed: the seas, too, were now dead astern, instead of being on the quarter, and that small fact added its quota to her speed through the water.
"Puzzle to know whether to raise the alarm or not," Southwick said, and Ramage realized that the old Master was thinking aloud, not asking a question. He was holding something out to Ramage - a cutlass.
As Ramage took it he noticed that Southwick had buckled on his own huge sword, a real meat-cleaver.
"You stay on board, Mr Southwick," he said. "No dashing over with a boarding party. That will be Appleby's job. Hear that, Appleby?"
"Aye aye, sir," the Master's mate answered cheerfully, waving his cutlass. "My party's all ready."
Since Ramage had guessed what the Peacock probably intended he had done all he could to counter it. But there was still just a chance that he was completely wrong and the Peacock entirely innocent.
There would be nearly a minute, as the Triton turned on to a parallel course, in which he had to decide whether he shouted a cheerful warning to the Peacock, or fired a broadside into her, killing a dozen possibly innocent men.
He didn't want to be babbling sail and helm orders while he made up his mind so he turned to the Master: "Mr Southwick, take the conn, if you please. Steer to converge on the Peacock. We'll luff at the last moment if she's not up to mischief; otherwise put me alongside her."
The Master said: "It'll be a pleasure, sir; leave it to me."
Leave the ship to me, he might have been saying, but don't make any mistakes with the thinking part. Ramage felt deep affection for the man, and wondered if anyone else could give so much and such good advice without speaking a word.
Ramage stuck the cutlass in the deck beside him and watched the Peacock through his night glass, cursing the inverted image. There were no more than three or four men on deck but suddenly the main and forecourse changed shape, like curtains being lifted to the yards.
"They're clewing up their courses!"
Southwick had spotted it too and Ramage put down the glass. The Peacock was less than a hundred yards from the Topaz and yet none of Yorke's people had shouted or fired a warning musket. They might have spotted her, but since they knew nothing of last night's episode they might not be suspicious. He pictured the officer of the watch idly watching...
Should he fire a shot to warn the Topaz or hold on and hope to surprise the Peacock by slapping the Triton alongside her?
He was just going to order the forwardmost gun to fire a warning when he saw sails moving beyond the third ship in the column. It was the Peacock's next ahead and he'd forgotten all about her. He'd clean forgotten half the potential enemy force, but it didn't make much difference as it happened. There was nothing he could do about it: the Peacock would occupy all his energy.