The captain of La Perle was going to have to scramble on board as best he could: the Calypso was making only a couple of knots or, rather, La Creole was, and could not be expected to stop for him. Scrambling (and the prospect of it as his boat approached) would help keep the French captain's mind occupied, Ramage thought; he must be wondering why the Calypso had no canvas set to help La Creole. The frigate could of course be under tow for several reasons, not the least was damage to her steering, but some canvas set would make the schooner's task much easier.
Now La Perle was heaving - to; her foretopsail was being hauled aback and a boat was being hoisted out with the stay tackle.
Orsini and his seamen had hauled down the flags and were bundling them up again. The boy was bright enough, the way he had learned the French signal code in a few hours. It was a pity he had such difficulty with mathematics, but Ramage always felt hypocritical at punishing the lad when an exasperated Southwick insisted. Ramage's own mathematics were poor; they had been sufficient to let him pass the examination for lieutenant and be thankful that no one would ever test him again for the rest of his naval career, once past lieutenant promotion did not depend on the mysteries of mathematical figures.
The boat was being held alongside La Perle; now the men were settled in it. And the last man going on board must be the captain. A squat, powerful - looking man with a fighting sword slung over his shoulder: no dress sword for him. They let the sternfast go, then the painter, and then the men at the oars were pulling briskly and clumsily for the Calypso. 'Look at them, sir,' Jackson muttered disgustedly. As the captain's coxswain he always commanded the boat carrying Ramage, and he was offended by the way the French boat was being rowed. 'Ill bet they'll lose an oar before they get alongside.'
Ramage laughed - louder than he intended, but it was a relief to/have La Perle's captain on his way, even if his boat's crew rowed like drunken smugglers dodging a Revenue cutter.
'Mr Aitken, I want four men ready to take that boat's stern - fast and painter, but warn them not to speak a word while they're doing it; I don't want those Frenchmen to get any warning.'
Five minutes later Ramage was waiting a few feet back from the entry port Jackson, Stafford and Rossi were standing nearby, looking like undisciplined seamen, but each had a pistol tucked into the top of his trousers and wore a cutlass. To La Perle's captain they were obviously some of the guards who were having a breath of fresh air, relaxing from the task of guarding the English prisoners held below.
Aitken stood beside Ramage, a telescope under his arm and clearly the second in command. As Ramage waited, finding himself rubbing the scar over his eyebrow and cursing the sun's glare - he could not wear his hat - he knew the deception need last only two or three minutes, perhaps less; just the time it took to get the captain on board and the French boat astern, where it would tow with its crew still on board, a perfectly normal procedure.
Suddenly a plump, wine - mottled face topped by a narrow - brimmed straw hat appeared at the entry port, rising as its owner climbed up the last of the battens. The man was the same height as Ramage with broader shoulders and a stomach long ago run to fat. His arms were long and he walked two or three paces without swinging them. Creased, unbleached canvas trousers, a dark - red shirt, blue eyes, a face unshaven for a couple of days, greasy skin that had not been washed for the same length of time . . . But, Ramage realized, La Perle's captain had the look of a reliable man and was probably a good seaman. A boatswain promoted by the Revolution?
'Citoyen Duroc,' the man said, holding out his hand to Ramage, a huge hand whose fingers seemed as large as bananas. 'Pierre Duroc.' His eyes nickered over the Calypso's decks and seemed satisfied with what they saw.
Ramage did not move and Duroc, his hand still proffered, looked surprised, and then Ramage said: 'Do you speak English, Captain Duroc?'
The Frenchman stepped back a pace and instinctively looked towards La Creole and then over at La Perle, obviously intending to run back to the entry port.
Three metallic clicks stopped him in his trades: he recognized the noise and looked round slowly, careful now not to make any sudden movement. Jackson, Rossi and Stafford had cocked pistols aimed at him, and Ramage and Aitken had each taken a pace sideways, out of the line of fire.
Duroc was still puzzled and obviously not frightened. 'I have no English,' he said in French, his heavy accent showing he came from the Bordeaux area. He pointed up at the Tricolour. "What is happening? Were you prisoners? Have you escaped?'
Ramage shook his head and said in French, gesturing at the Tricolour and blue ensign, 'A ruse de guerre. Captain Duroc, to secure your capture!'
Duroc's face, already purple from years of heavy drinking, looked swollen: his eyes narrowed, his hands clenched: he was about to step towards Ramage, remembered the three pistols, and contented himself with sneering: 'You fight under false colours, eh?'
Tight?' Ramage enquired innocently. There's been no fighting, and you know the rules as well as I: one hoists one's proper colours before opening fire.'
That schooner, then!' Duroc burst out "She's French. I recognize her. From Fort de France.'
'She was French and you probably did see her in Fort Royal - ' Ramage deliberately used the old name - 'but we captured her, along with this ship.'
Duroc shook his head, like a trapped bull. 'What are you going to do now?' he demanded.
Take possession of La Perle.' The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and waved at the Calypso's decks. 'I have three hundred men on board - you have a couple of dozen.'
Ramage bowed. Thank you; I was expecting you to have fewer.'
Duroc, unaware what he had revealed, held out both hands, palm upwards. 'You'll never take her. Let me go back on board my boat and let us continue our respective voyages.'
Ramage watched the man's eyes. It was a curious offer, curious and not in keeping with the man's character. Duroc was a fighter; it would have been more in character if he had sworn at Ramage and told him to do his damnedest to capture La Perle. Duroc had a reason for avoiding a fight, and the reason, Ramage guessed, was because he had a particular purpose in wanting to get to Amsterdam. An important passenger? Special supplies? Reinforcements? No, not reinforcements because he had boasted of his three hundred men, which was the number of men the French like to have in a frigate of that size. Whatever it was, Duroc had a reason for wanting to get to Amsterdam. And while the ship was lying hove - to over there, Ramage knew Duroc would never reveal it. Afterwards, he might.
Ramage looked again at the eyes - they were bloodshot now, from rage - and the hands, which were clenched, looked like shoulders of mutton. He turned to Aitken. 'Pass the word for Mr Rennick - we'll keep this fellow in irons for the time being.'
La Perle was soon a mile astern and still hove - to as La Creole continued to tow the Calypso eastward. Orsini, whose French was fluent, had been sent aft to order the French boat crew to climb on board up a rope ladder slung from the taffrail. The nine men had climbed over the taffrail to find themselves staring into the muzzles of pistols and were only too glad to be led below as prisoners.