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."
As the Triton passed the last ship in the windward column led by the Topaz, Ramage automatically began counting and inspecting them with his night glass which, with its inverted image, showed them as if they were sailing upside down.
Soon the count of ships they had passed reached eight, and they were abreast their original position; back where they should be in the convoy screen. The lights on the flagship seemed brighter against the darker western horizon and were just forward of the larboard beam.
Ramage swung the glass the length of the column before going below, leaving the conn to Southwick, and unconcernedly counted the ships again. Seven?
Puzzled, he began again at the head of the column and counted carefully. Still only seven. Since the Peacock had joined the convoy that column should have held eight. And anyway he had counted eight as the Triton sailed past to get back into position. It must be the angle ... He counted a third time but there were still only seven.
He called to Southwick, who picked up the other night glass.
"I can make out only seven, sir. That's odd - we passed eight just now because I counted 'em. That's the Topaz just abaft the beam - yes, I can see right across the front of the convoy: the leading ships of all the columns are just open now. Aye, and that's the Topaz there, all right. But why only seven?"
Ramage rubbed the scar over his brow and leaned against the breech of the nearest carronade. This was absurd; there must be a logical explanation.
"We passed eight - you're sure of that?"
"Counted 'em off on my fingers."
"I counted them too, and had a good look at each one as we went by. But now I can see only seven with the glass. So one has vanished."
"But it can't just vanish!" exclaimed Southwick. "Not in a matter of minutes!"
"It can't," Ramage said dryly, "but it has. Check with the lookouts: one of them may have kept a tally."
Muttering to himself, the Master began walking down the larboard side, pausing beside each of the three lookouts.
A ship missing ... it was absurd. The Lark had been out there since long before darkness fell and she would not have missed a laggard. He swung the glass up to windward - yes, the Greyhound was in position. It didn't really matter all that much if a ship was missing - there would be plenty more out of position by dawn - it was just absurd that they'd sailed past eight ships in a column and a few minutes later he could only see seven. In that few minutes no ship afloat could have sailed out of sight...
"Eight, sir," Southwick said. "All three of the lookouts on the larboard side confirm eight, and the starboard for'ard lookout, too. He could see quite well. Apparently he was helping the man on the larboard side."