A new moon cast a watery light, and it was setting fast. The sky was clear and Ramage knew he could look for some starlight. The wind was still light - the Dido was making a bare five knots off the wind - and there was very little sea, the earlier swell having subsided. It was, he thought bitterly, a night more suited to lovers than war.
As the Dido headed north-west, the wind on her starboard quarter, there was a downdraught from her mainsail which made the night almost chilly as Ramage stood on the quarterdeck. The sails gave an occasional desultory flap as the wind faltered and then picked up again. The masts occasionally creaked as the ship gave a lazy roll, and the beams groaned in sympathy. Apart from the downdraught, the air was warm and damp and several of the men on watch were not wearing shirts.
Kenton was the officer of the deck and every fifteen minutes he called to the lookouts to make sure they were still wide awake. As a midshipman he had learned to doze off standing up, and he knew it was a skill that most seamen possessed. Thinking of dozing reminded him of the seaman's slang for having a sleep, 'taking a caulk'. Sleeping on the bare deck in a warm climate, when the caulking in the seams between the planks was soft, usually meant that the sleeper woke with lines of pitch marking his shirt and trousers - a sure sign that he had been 'taking a caulk'. Indeed, the expression for 'Do you want to talk or sleep' was 'Yarn or caulk?' On a night like this the pitch was warm enough to mark a man's shirt; indeed it was warm enough to settle in the seams and make sure they did not leak if there was a sudden downpour. And downpour was the right word, Kenton thought. Frequently the tropical rain was so heavy that it was impossible to see the fo'c'sle from the quarterdeck, and it would stop as suddenly as it started, and in a few minutes the sun would be shining, hot enough to send the water back up again as steam. Men out on deck during the rain did not bother to change their clothes: the sun and breeze dried them in minutes.
How unlike the Channel, he thought. Such a downpour usually came after hours of heavy cloud and cold winds: men soaked to the skin would be shivering uncontrollably - and the officer of the deck would give them permission to go below and change into dry clothes, if they had any left. Usually they had not, and they just shivered for the rest of their watch.
Yes, the Tropics had many advantages, including - in some ships - quick promotion, as officers died off from yellow fever, or some other vile disease. Mr Ramage's ships stayed healthy, so there was no promotion - and, Kenton thought, no risk of getting the black vomit, which killed as surely as a roundshot knocking your head off. Kenton knew of frigates that had been hit so badly by the black vomit that there were barely enough men left alive to bring the ship back to port.
What caused it? When a ship was first hit it was usual, if possible, to saiclass="underline" there was some talk that the fresh sea air helped stop the disease spreading. What truth there was in that Kenton did not know; about the only advantage that he could see was that the mosquitoes would not bite as hard.
That, as well as the disease, was another thing he did not like about the Tropics: in port - especially in unhealthy and swampy spots like English Harbour, Antigua - the mosquitoes swarmed on board and bit, turning one's wrists and ankles into itching masses. And at night it was hard to sleep as they buzzed round one's head, ready to swoop and bite.
Mosquitoes, and the things the local people called sandflies, which were hard to see and which bit like red-hot needles at dusk and dawn, were the curse of the Caribbean. There were no poisonous snakes, except in St Lucia, and only a few scorpions and centipedes, which would give a nasty bite if you were not careful. But they usually lived under rocks or in dark places; they were not (like mosquitoes and sandflies) a problem in a ship.
Kenton's eyes swept the coastline: he could just make out the black line of the land. Then he glanced up at the sails, which seemed almost luminous in the last of the moonlight. In fifteen minutes the new moon would have set, leaving the stars bright and the Milky Way a thick swathe across the sky.
There were many stars that could not be seen from more northern latitudes. The Southern Cross would not be rising yet, and he had to admit that his first sight of the Southern Cross had been one of the disappointments of his life. He had expected stars which were very bright in the sky, stars that one would know at once, as bright as Mars or Sirius. Instead, the Southern Cross had to be pointed out, a diamond shape of four stars - well, five, but it was hard to see the fifth in this latitude - low on the southern horizon. Perhaps they became more startling if one sailed into the southern hemisphere, but from the latitude of the West Indies they were a sad disappointment.
His thoughts were interrupted by the thudding of feet, and a moment later a breathless sailor stood in front of him. 'Brewer, sir: lookout on the larboard quarter. Me and Jarvis - he's on the starboard side - can see a ship just rounded the island, and there may be more: hard to see at the moment.'
'Very well, go back to your post and keep a sharp lookout.' Kenton looked round for a midshipman and told him: 'Quickly, go down to the captain and report a ship in sight near Cabrit.'
He looked for another midshipman and ordered him: 'Find the drummer of the watch and tell him to beat to quarters.'
What else? Kenton could think of nothing: helm orders would await the captain's arrival on deck. With only the topsails set they were already down to fighting canvas; the guns were already loaded and run out, and any moment the drummer would be striking up. Why did he feel more excited when the Dido went to quarters than he ever did in the Calypso! Perhaps the sheer vastness of the ship. Perhaps the knowledge that there were so many more guns - thirty-seven on a broadside.
He picked up the nightglass and went to the ship's side to peer astern. The nightglass was a mixed blessing because it gave an upside-down picture. He could see the land of Martinique running down to the south but it was inverted, looking like dark clouds. And yes, floating upside down, there was the vague blur of a ship. Damnation, those lookouts had sharp eyes. He moved the glass a fraction and thought he could distinguish other vague blurs astern of it, but he could not be certain.
The captain arrived on the quarterdeck just as the drum started chattering out its urgent order, and Kenton made his report, handing over the nightglass. Ramage snatched it up and went to the ship's side for a clear look astern. It took only a few moments for him to distinguish the ship and be almost certain that others were following her.
'Wear ship and head for her, if you please, Mr Kenton,' he snapped. The outline was familiar enough: the ship was a frigate, and as he had expected, she was leading the convoy round to Fort Royal. She would be burning two or three sternlights and the convoy would be following like ducklings after their mother. Where were the other frigates? Was there a ship of the line? How many merchantmen were there? What did the French make of the non-arrival of the Achille and the Alerte?It obviously had not affected their plans.
Slowly, with sails flogging until they were sheeted in and the yards braced, the Dido turned, with Kenton calling helm orders to the quartermaster. By now Ramage had been joined by Aitken and Southwick, both buckling on swords.