Below, 'fearnought' screens, thick material like heavy blankets, would have been unrolled and now hung down to make the entrance to the magazine almost a maze. Where men had now to jink about to get in, it was sure no flash from an accidental explosion would penetrate. The gunner was down inside the magazine, wearing felt shoes so that there could be no sparks inside the tiny cabin which was lined first with lathes and then plaster thickened with horsehair, and that covered with copper sheeting. The only tools allowed inside were bronze measurers, like drinking mugs on wooden handles, and bronze mallets for knocking the copper hoops from barrels of powder.
Close to each gun, stuck in spaces in the ship's side where they could be quickly snatched up, were cutlasses, pistols and tomahawks - each man knew which he was to have, because against his name in the General Quarter, Watch and Station Bill would be a single letter, C, P or T.
In less than a minute, Ramage knew, just the time it would take to load and run out the guns, cock the locks and fire, nearly two hundred pounds of roundshot could be hurling themselves invisibly at an enemy, each shot the size of a large orange and able to penetrate two feet of solid oak. Yet to a casual onlooker the Calypso was at this very moment simply a frigate ploughing her way majestically across the Western Ocean, stunsails set and all canvas to the royals rap full with a brisk Trade wind, the only men visible a couple of men at the wheel, three officers at the quarterdeck rail, and a couple of lookouts aloft.
Yet all this was routine: in the Chops of the Channel a frigate might be sending her ship's company to quarters every hour or so, as an unidentified and possibly hostile vessel came in sight. In wartime every strange sail could be an enemy. Admittedly, one saw a great many more ships in the approaches to the Channel and few would prove to be enemy, although so-called neutral ships trying to run the blockade were numerous. For a surprising number of people, Ramage noted, profit knew no loyalty - or perhaps it would be truer to say that whichever nation provided the profit had the trader's loyalty as a bonus.
'Deck there - mainmasthead!'
That was Jackson, and Ramage let Aitken reply. The American's report was brief.
'Reckon she's a frigate steering north, sir. Too far off to identify but you'll see her in a few minutes, two points on our larboard bow.'
Aitken acknowledged and turned to Ramage, who nodded and said: 'Take in the stunsails, Mr Aitken.'
As soon as Aitken gave the order, there seemed to be chaos as men ran from the guns, some going to ropes round the mast, to the ship's side where stubby booms held out the foot of the sails, and others went up the ratlines.
Bosun's mates' pipes shrilled and they repeated the order: 'Watch, take in starboard studding sails!'
After that it was a bellowed litany, making as much sense as a Catholic service in Latin to a Protestant but curiously orderly and impressive.
Main and foretopmen were standing by waiting for the order to go aloft, along with men named boomtricers in the station bill for this manoeuvre. Then the orders came in a stream - 'Away aloft... Settle the halyards ... Haul out the downhauls... Haul taut... Lower away ... Haul down ...' As the tall and narrow rectangles of sail came down and were quickly stifled on deck before the wind took control, more orders followed to deal with the booms, still protruding from the ends of the yards and the ship's side like thin fingers.
'Stand by to rig in the booms ... Rig in!... Aft lower boom ... Top up ... Ease away fore guy, haul aft...'
Then, to the men stifling the sails on deck: 'Watch, make up stunsails.' Aitken raised the speaking trumpet: 'Stand by aloft...'
The quartermaster was already giving orders to the men at the wheeclass="underline" with the starboard stunsails down and no longer helping to drive the ship along, the larboard stunsails, yet to be taken in, were trying to slew her round to starboard and needed a turn on the wheel to counteract them.
Then came the same ritual for the larboard stunsails, until with the canvas rolled, the booms taken in and the topmen and tricers down from aloft, Aitken gave the final order: 'Watch carry on at general quarters.'
At last Ramage let his brain function again. He had tried to shut it off when the sail ahead was first sighted: he wanted to store the sound of that first hail until, perhaps half an hour later, Jackson would report that the vessel was a French frigate similar in appearance to the Calypso and steering the same course: evidence enough that they had finally caught L'Espoir - although quite what he did then, he did not know.
Now, however, his lack of ideas did not matter: the ship was unlikely to be L'Espoir because she was going in a different direction. A frigate, yes, but following the sea roads imposed by the wind directions, probably bound for Europe but first having to go north nearly to Newfoundland before turning eastward, unless she wanted to try the slower Azores route.
Probably Royal Navy, possibly returning from the Far East or South America, but more likely the Cape of Good Hope. Anyway, she would not know the war had started again, and if she was British he was obliged to give her captain the news. Nor could he begrudge the time because L'Espoir could be ahead or astern, to the north or the south, so any delay or diversion could lead to her discovery. Patience, Ramage thought, as he glanced aloft at the tiny figure of Jackson perched in the maintop. It was the one thing needed by the captain of a ship of war, it was one of the virtues he had always lacked.
'Look,' Stafford said, pointing at the shiny metal rectangle of the flintlock, 'you see the flint there, just like wiv a pistol or musket.'
He waited for Gilbert to translate to Auguste, Albert and Louis and then continued: 'Only you don't have no trigger like a hand-gun. Instead the lanyard - well, translate that.'
He paused because he really meant that the flintlock of a great gun did not have the kind of trigger that you put your finger round, and he was rapidly realizing that a good instructor was a man who could explain complicated mechanisms and thoughts in a simple way. Jackson was good at it. The captain was fantastic.
'Yers, well, this lower bit is the trigger: when yer put a steady strain on the lanyard (yer don't jerk it),' he emphasized, 'it pulls the trigger part up towards the ring the lanyard threads through down from - translate that!' he exclaimed, having lost both the lanyard and the thread of his explanation.
Gilbert looked up politely and said gently: 'Stafford, we can see very well how it works. Your very clear explanation - it is not really necessary.'
'Ah, good,' sighed a mollified Stafford, with a triumphant glance at Rossi, who had earlier been jeering at the Cockney's attempts to explain the loading and firing of the Calypso's 12-pounders. 'Now, here is the pricker.' He held up a foot-long thin rod, pointed at one end and with a round eye at the other, and for which he as second captain of this particular gun was responsible.
He passed the pricker, which was like a large skewer, to Gilbert to inspect and waited while the others looked. 'Ze prickair,' Auguste repeated. 'Alors.'
'No, just "pricker",' Stafford corrected amiably. 'Now, you saw the flannel what the cartridge is made of and what 'olds the powder. Well, now, forget that for a minute and we'll go back to the lock. That's got to make a spark what fires the gun ...'