Then he prepared to look round at the Invincible. Southwick, Aitken, and all the others in the ship not busy with heaving-to the frigate were already staring at her, and Ramage knew he had probably failed: first he had tacked the Calypso too quickly, giving the ship of the line plenty of time to bring her other broadside to bear; then he had taken too long to heave-to the frigate on the other tack: instead of stopping the Calypso a few ship's lengths in front of the Invincible, forcing the great ship into some violent manoeuvre to avoid ramming the frigate and probably sending at least her foremast by the board, it seemed he had left her just room to dodge and fire a raking broadside as she passed.
The distant rolling like thunder finally spurred Ramage to look: he was sure it was the rumble of broadsides but he could not believe that the Invincible could be so far away.
Not guns, he realized, but flogging canvas: faced with the Calypso suddenly heaving-to, the only way the Invincible could avoid a collision was to put her helm hard over and now, as she swung round, not fifty yards from the Calypso's bow, every sail in the ship was flogging, the foretopsail ripping from head to foot.
And the muzzle of every gun in the Invincible's starboard broadside was pointing right at the Calypso. The Invincible was swinging fast and Ramage saw a group of officers on her quarterdeck staring across at the frigate. Then he saw they were in fact staring at Orsini, who was standing on the hammock nettings slowly waving a white sheet.
Suddenly and quite unaccountably angry at the group of men, Ramage ran to the bulwark and climbed up on to the nettings to windward of Orsini. He put the speaking trumpet to his mouth and screamed: 'British ship! The war's over, you numskulls!'
He swung the speaking-trumpet forward. 'Come on, men, sing! "Black-eyed Susan!"'
A moment later he was leading two hundred men as they bellowed the words which echoed across the sea to the Invincible, gradually bearing away now as she cleared the Calypso and slowly trimmed her sails.
'You can stow that sheet now,' he said to Paolo. 'Where on earth did you manage to find it so quickly?'
Paolo grinned as he folded it. 'Your cabin was nearest, sir; it's from your cot! I'm afraid I tore it as I climbed up on the nettings.'
'Did you, by Jove,' Ramage said, for the moment finding his knees weak. Knowing that the strain was easing he wanted to giggle, and Paolo's apology, coming moments after the boy's signals had probably done more than anything to save the ship, could be enough to start him off.
CHAPTER NINE
'Look here, Ramage, I distinctly heard you call me a "numskull",' Captain William Hamilton protested querulously in a broad Scots voice. ' "Numskull", you shouted, and every one of my officers heard you, too.'
'Yes, sir, and I apologize: I was in a hurry when I spoke.'
'I should think you were,' Hamilton said, slightly mollified, and subsided into a chair, his lips drawn back to expose his teeth, reminding Ramage of a hissing snake. His complexion was purplish, his face narrow and the flesh sunken.
'I am twenty-eighth on the post list but you, Ramage, who aren't even named in my copy of the List, regard me as a "numskull".'
'I've already apologized, sir: it was said in the heat of the moment. Now, sir, I must inform you that the war is over; we have signed a Treaty with Bonaparte and -'
'Silence!' roared Hamilton, half rising from his chair. 'I won't listen to such nonsense! Here I have a man claiming to be a post captain, but whose name is not in my Navy List, coming on board from a French-built frigate and telling me that Mr Pitt has signed a Treaty with the enemy! Why -'
'I've been posted a year, sir; you have been in Indian waters a long time.'
'And we all know captains serving in Indian waters for any length of time go off their heads, don't we, eh Ramage?'
The man's voice took on a slightly hysterical note, rising at the end of each sentence and emphasizing his Scots accent. Lowland Scots, Aitken would pronounce with all the contempt of a Highlander.
'I didn't say that, sir: I'm trying to describe to you the terms of the new Treaty. If you wish to reassure yourself about me, you'll find me among the lieutenants in the Navy List you have.'
'Ah, but how do I know you really are Ramage?' Hamilton's thin face now had the cunning look of a horsecoper, and then suddenly he grinned. 'Very well, I believe you. Do you speak French?'
Ramage saw the trap. 'Very little, sir; a few words.'
'When was the Treaty signed?'
'The early part of October, sir.'
'You tore my foretopsail,' Hamilton said solemnly. 'You must go and inspect it. They'll have sent it down by now.'
'But sir -'
'Don't argue. Seeing a torn foretopsail is part of your training.' He called to the sentry to pass the word for the first lieutenant, motioning Ramage to remain where he stood.
When the first lieutenant came into the cabin, Hamilton smiled amiably. 'Ah, Todd, Mr Ramage was expressing interest in our torn foretopsail. Is it sent down yet? Ah, good: please take Mr Ramage to inspect it.'
Ramage followed the obviously bewildered lieutenant out of the cabin and along the maindeck. The lieutenant was perhaps thirty years old, obviously once a burly man but now thin, the skin of his face seeming grey beneath the inevitable tan. He walked slightly bent, as though he had a painful stomach ulcer, and so far had not spoken a word.
As they reached the foremast, where one group of seamen were preparing to send-up a new topsail while others began stretching out the torn one on the deck, ready to repair it, Ramage realized that the lieutenant had not been present during the first conversation with Captain Hamilton.
'What is your name?' Ramage inquired.
'Todd, sir.'
'Ah yes, I remember Captain Hamilton mentioning it. You'll be glad to get to Plymouth, I imagine.'
'Yes, sir,' Todd said tonelessly.
'You know the war is over, I suppose?'
'War? Finished, sir?'
The man looked at him like a starving man promised a meal.
'Yes, it's all finished: the one we've been fighting against the French - and the Spanish and the Dutch!'
'My God! So that was why -' Todd stopped abruptly and looked round, as though frightened someone could overhear.
'Bend down and inspect the tear with me,' Ramage murmured. 'Now listen carefully. You've another two or three days at sea before you reach Plymouth, perhaps more. Ships are coming out of the Chops of the Channel like sheep through a hole in the hedge. Ships of all nations...
'I understand, sir,' Todd murmured.
'You don't,' Ramage said. 'Captain Hamilton won't believe me when I tell him peace has been signed.'
'I do understand, sir,' Todd said quietly. 'I began to suspect peace had been signed because we saw two British merchant vessels sailing alone. The captain would not question them, but that was why you didn't get a broadside. I was certain you were British, so when we had to bear up to avoid hitting you, I pretended to mishear him when he gave the order to fire. I'm still under open arrest. . .'
Ramage bent down and hauled at a piece of canvas, inspecting the heavy cringle, is he mad?'
'Most of the time. Yet he'll go a couple of days with no trouble: laughing and joking, teasing his steward, an Irishman who stutters.'
'Do you think you'll get to Plymouth without attacking another ship?'
'Not much chance,' Todd said gloomily. 'I'll warn the lookouts not to see too much: that might save us. Do you think he believed you about the Treaty?'