Aitken was just shouting the order to back the foretopsail, to bring the Calypso to a stop within a hundred yards or so of the Indiaman, so that when the frigate settled back on the full scope of her cable she would be exactly where Ramage wanted, when Jackson hailed again.
'Foretop - four men in that boat, sir, apart from the oarsmen, and one of 'em is holding up something like a boardingpike.'
'How do you mean - threatening us?' Ramage lifted his telescope but could not for a moment sight the boat.
'No, sir - he's sitting on a thwart with it vertically between his knees. May be just a long stick.'
'Very well. Keep an eye on it - and watch for other boats: they'll be flocking over soon.'
'No one's moved yet, sir. Just a few people on the deck of each ship.'
Kenton, who had been standing to one side, waiting for orders, laughed to himself and then said: 'We surprised everyone and the ladies have rushed below to change into their best dresses and attend to their hair.'
'And you're hoping that some of the nabobs have eligible daughters, eh?'
'They'd have been snapped up by now, sir: Trinidade isn't famous as a place where impoverished lieutenants find rich young ladies to marry!'
Not famous yet,' Ramage said. 'You might start a fashion.'
There was a creak from the foretopsail yard, and then a dull thump as the wind caught the sail on its forward side, pressing the canvas back against the mast, slowing and then stopping the ship.
Southwick was standing on the fo'c'sle, watching Aitken. The first lieutenant's left arm shot up vertically and at once Southwick turned and barked out an order. The heavy anchor dropped into the water with a splash and the cable ran out the hawse with a noise like a hundred galloping cattle. A few moments later the familiar smell of scorched rope and wood drifted aft.
By now the bosun was standing beside the larboard quarterboat, waiting for it to be lowered so that he could be rowed round the ship to give the appropriate signals for squaring the yards, while aloft seamen were furling the courses. The moment the foretopsail had finished its present task of giving the Calypso sternway, putting a strain on the cable and ensuring that the anchor dug itself in, it and the maintopsail would be furled and the jibs neatly stowed at the foot of their stays.
Ramage was pleased that there were ships here for another reason. Aitken had kept the ship's company busy, except during the hottest part of the Doldrums, smartening up the Calypso. Long days without rain and with the sails furled meant that masts and yards could be painted, leather fire buckets polished, capstan painted in blue and white with some of the patterns and the crown on top picked out in gold. He was thankful now that he had bought a few books of gold leaf: they were expensive, but gilt work was always an economy because gold paint did not last and always turned into the colour of grey mud under the twin assault of sea and sun. The Calypso's boats looked new: the hulls were a little darker than sky blue, the top strake white, and the metalwork black. The rowlocks had been picked out with gilt, and the oars were white. It seemed a pity to put the boats in the water: within a few weeks green weed and limpets would be growing thick and fast on their bottoms.
With guests coming on board, and the Calypso's captain and officers paying social calls on other ships, Aitken's work would be seen and admired, and Ramage knew that an ounce of praise from the master of a John Company ship was worth the same from the captain of a 74-gun two-decker.
The lookout on the fo'c'sle shouted: 'Quarterdeck there - boat approaching, sir: a hundred yards on the starboard bow.'
Aitken acknowledged the hail and looked round for Renwick. A glance over the quarterdeck rail showed a Marine sergeant already marching a couple of Marines to take up their posts at the entryports on the starboard and larboard sides once the Calypso was at anchor. The sentry's task was to hail any approaching boat and, from the reply, find out who was in it.
The Marine sergeant, Ferris, had heard the fo'c'sle lookout's hail and marched the two Marines to the starboard side first: officers boarded on the starboard side, and the visitors were almost certainly officers. He halted the two men, detached one amid a volley of orders and a cloud of pipeclay, and then marched the second Marine over to the larboard side.
Aitken looked at the boat with the telescope in the few remaining moments before it was hidden by the frigate's bow. After his inspection he looked grim, shut the telescope and put it away in the binnacle box drawer. He walked over to Ramage. 'I'll meet our visitors, sir; I don't think you'll need to see them.'
Ramage nodded, because no one in the Navy had much time for privateers; in fact he assumed these privateersmen had been cruising well down in the South Atlantic and had only just learned of the new Treaty that put them out of business. Their licence, or letter of marque, to give it the proper name, gave them permission to wage war on the King's enemies (the Republic's enemies if French, of course) providing there was a war on. A hostile act against any ship in peacetime was piracy, and the penalty for piracy was hanging.
As he walked down the ladder from the quarterdeck towards the entryport, Aitken heard the sentry's challenge, and, from beyond the ship, a reply that sounded like a single word, the name of a ship. So the captain of the privateer - the former privateer, he corrected himself - was paying a visit. Probably, he realized, to get news of the Treaty: they would have heard only gossip and hearsay from the merchant ships, and were now seizing the opportunity of having it - officially, as far as they were concerned - from one of the King's ships. After all, hearing that a profitable way of life was now illegal - well, even privateersmen could not be blamed for wanting to have the news confirmed by a reliable source.
'Sir,' the sentry said, obviously puzzled, 'the boat's alongside and they've got a white flag flying - lashed to a boarding pike. They've only just lashed it this moment because I saw a fellow sitting there with a pole, and there weren't no flag...'
Aitken went to the port and looked down at the boat. The bowman had hooked on; a man at the stern was waiting for one of the Calypso's seamen to throw down a sternfast while the bowman waited for a painter.
In the meantime the four men sat in the sternsheets, one of them, a big Negro, holding between his knees the boarding pike with a square of grubby white cloth secured to it.
Aitken noticed that the four men had pistols in their belts,and there were cutlasses in the bottom of the boat, but that was reasonable enough: the Calypso herself had flown false colours in the late war to get herself into a position to attack the enemy - after hoisting her true colours. And privateersmen, he had to admit, would be among the most cautious and distrustful men afloat.
Nevertheless, Aitken wanted an explanation of the flag of truce before anyone stepped on board.
'Why are you waving that truce flag?' he demanded.
'Not waving it,' one of the men answered. 'Holdin' it still.'
'Answer my question.'
'S'bluddy obvious. We want to come on board under a flag of truce.'
'A truce for what? The war's over.'
'Oh - it's true what they tell us, then?'
'I don't know who's been telling you what,' Aitken said, his tone more friendly, 'but Bonaparte signed a treaty of peace with Britain on the first day of last October.'
'That's good news. Can we come on board, then?'
'Of course. What's your ship?'
'The Lynx of Bristol, letter of marque.'
'Former letter of marque,' Aitken said.
'Well, yes, give us time to get used to the idea of peace!'