'I think Île du Diable, or Devil's Island, and the blasted pilot simply says it is forbidden to land on any of the islands without the written permission of the préfet at Cayenne because St Joseph and Royale are "convict settlements" while Diable is a settlement for "détenus", which I'm sure means "prisoners" but not people who have actually been convicted, although I'll check it with Gilbert because he knows better than I the finer shades of meaning in Revolutionary France.'
'What about anchorages?' Aitken asked. Captains concerned themselves with tactics, first lieutenants worried about anchorages.
'The pilot makes a great song and dance that the lee of the islands provides the only sheltered anchorage along the coast - otherwise you have to go up one of the big rivers. Yes, here we are - five cables southwest of the western end of Royale, soft mud, five fathoms, well sheltered from easterly winds. Ah, Royale seems to be the headquarters - it has a fort guarding it to seaward, a church on the hill, and a jetty on the south side. Diable - well, that has only "a fortified enclosure" for the détenus. St Joseph: a poor anchorage a cable to the south in hard mud - that is all it has to offer the world...'
'Are there any rocks and shoals?'
'Plenty,' Ramage said, 'and too many to mention. The positions this pilot gives are too vague to be of much use. Hmm ... "generally, a vessel coming in sight of the fort on Île Royale will result one hour later in a canoe with a local pilot waiting close under the northwest corner of Île du Diable ..." He'll guide you to the recommended anchorage I've just mentioned southwest of Île Royale.'
Ramage closed the book. 'That's all it says about the Îles du Salut. More important, though, is that L'Espoir will presumably have a copy ...'
'... and so will wait for a pilot and anchor there?'
'I hope so,' Ramage said, 'but I hope it doesn't mean we have to try to capture three rocky islands.'
Wagstaffe walked the starboard side of La Robuste's quarterdeck and reflected that commanding a ship was a satisfying experience, even if the ship was a prize frigate and all he had to do for the next few hundred miles was stay in the wake of the Calypso. This was easy enough in daylight but at night it was difficult to follow the triangle of three poop lanterns. In fact, in the last couple of nights he had gone to his cot and fallen asleep to waken almost at once, certain that the three lights had gone out of sight, and the officer of the deck (Kenton the first time and Martin the second) had been startled to find the commanding officer suddenly flapping round the deck in a boat cloak, staring forward, grunting and going below again, all without a word of explanation.
Well, Wagstaffe told himself, how on earth did one explain all that to junior lieutenants? Now he thought about it, both Kenton and Martin were sensible enough to report the moment they lost sight of the lights - indeed, there'd be enough yelling in the darkness, with the officer of the deck shouting questions at the lookouts and making a noise which would come down the skylight like a butt full of cold water.
It is easy enough to be brave and confident when the sun shines bright, he thought defensively, but hard on a dull cloudy day when it is raining. Harder still at nightfall, and dam' nearly impossible at three o'clock in the morning. Three o'clock courage, that's what he lacked. It's what distinguished Captain Ramage from most other men: he had it in abundance. It was also, Wagstaffe admitted, what kept Captain Ramage's officers poised on the balls of their feet all the time. Not because he yelled and screamed when things went wrong: perhaps it would be easier if he did. No, it was that chilly, quizzical and questioning look from those dark eyes set under thick eyebrows that was far more reproachful than words. They seemed to say: 'I trained you and trusted you: now look what you've done . . .'
Wagstaffe lifted his 'distance staff' and held it up. He was proud of it because it was so easy to make and to use. He had been told to keep one cable astern of the Calypso and in her wake. One cable was 200 yards precisely, not 150 or 250. It was a distance which anyone in the Calypso could check with a quadrant or sextant in a few moments because of the two simple facts: if you knew the height of an object (in this case a mainmast) and the angle it made from you, it was easy enough to work out how far away it was: the mast made the vertical side of a right-angled triangle and the angle was opposite, between the base and hypotenuse. And of course the base was the distance, in this case two hundred yards.
However, to avoid having to get a quadrant or sextant out of its box to measure the angle, it was easy enough to cut two notches in a short stick at appropriate distances apart so that when you held the stick vertically at arm's length, the lower notch was level with the Calypso's after waterline, and her mainmasthead touched the upper notch. If the mast appeared shorter than the distance between the notches, La Robuste wasmore than 200 yards astern: if taller, they were too close.
In fact it was not too difficult to keep station because both frigates were almost the same size and of course French-designed and built, with the sails cut by French sailmakers. Providing La Robuste set the same sails, and providing the men at the wheel, the quartermaster and the officers of the deck stayed alert in this sun (which was really getting some heat in it as the latitude decreased) it was easy.
What had Captain Ramage in mind? The series of rendezvous he had given to Wagstaffe, a latitude and longitude for each day, in case they lost each other during the night and were not in sight at dawn, ended up at five degrees North and fifty-two West, which was the South American coast at Cayenne... The French kit of charts on board La Robuste did not include French Guiana, except as a half-inch square on the chart of the south part of the North Atlantic. Cayenne, Devil's Island... Wagstaffe shivered. It was probably no healthier than it sounded. Devil's Island was said to be the place Bonaparte sent his enemies. Well, it must be a big island because the Frenchman had a lot of enemies. And friends, too, judging from England's lack of allies.
Sergeant Ferris, the second-in-command of the Marines on board the Calypso, undid his pipeclayed crossbelts and unbuttoned his tunic. Sitting on the breech of one of the guns was not exactly resting in an armchair but the breech was in the shade and the breeze blowing the length of the maindeck was cool, even if La Robuste's bilges stank so that the last foot that the pump would not suck out swirled back and forth with the frigate's pitch and roll and occasionally made the maindeck smell like a Paris sewer.
Jackson walked up and sat on the truck on the after side of the gun and leaned back against the breech. 'Coolest spot in the ship,' he said.
'Aye,' Ferris said, 'count yourself lucky you're not a Marine and wearing this damned uniform.'
'Trouble with the French prisoners?'
'No, not yet. A couple of them started quarrelling with each other and some of my lads had to stop them, so we've put them all in irons, each man one leg, so they're sitting in rows facing each other and staring at the sole of the other fellow's foot. Still, forty-six prisoners is not too bad since I've got half the Calypso's Marines, and we've got that 12-pounder trained on 'em.'
'Yes, but that's just a bluff,' Jackson said. 'If we have to fire it down the hatch the recoil will turn the gun upside-down!'
'The Frogs don't know that,' Ferris said philosophically, 'and if only half the canister catches them it won't leave many alive.'
'More likely put a hole in the hull,' Jackson said.
'Don't worry. Just go down in the hold and sit down with one ankle held by the irons, and I can tell you that inside ten minutes the muzzle of that 12-pounder will seem to measure two feet in diameter and be winking at you like death himself.'