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".
"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.