Then the wind died again and the gentle curve in the Juno's sails flattened and the canvas hung like drab curtains. 'Bear away!' Ramage snapped at the quartermaster, anxious to turn the ship before she lost way altogether so that she would get the full benefit of any fitful puffs. It was hopeless trying to sail her close-hauled in a wind as light as this; better bear away two or three points and give the sails a chance.
'We could try wetting the sails, sir,' Soutbwick suggested.
Ramage glared at him. 'That's an old fish-wife's tale,' he snapped. 'It just makes them heavier.'
'The water fills the weave and stops the wind passing through, sir,' the Master said defensively.
'Damnation take it,' Ramage exploded, 'this wind is so weak it can't crawl down the side of a cliff, let alone get through the weave of stiff canvas.'
'Aye, aye, sir,' Southwick said mildly, knowing he had had twice as much sleep as the Captain who, the quartermaster had reported, had his light on for much of the night writing reports.
Ramage looked seaward with his telescope. 'Just look at that wind shadow over there. It's a mile away. It'll be noon before we get another puff here and in the meantime the whole damned French fleet could have arrived off the Diamond.'
'They would be becalmed too,' Southwick offered sympathetically.
'Not a chance! There'll be a nice breeze round Pointe des Salines and right up to the Fours Channel. It's just in the lee of these damned mountains -' he pointed to the half a dozen peaks between Morne la Plaine to the north and Morne du Diamant to the south ‘- that we lose the wind.'
At that moment his steward appeared on deck to report that his breakfast was ready and Ramage, who had already put it off twice, decided that his empty stomach was neither improving his temper nor extending his patience. He went below with muttered instructions to Southwick to call him the moment the wind piped up.
He washed and shaved, changed into clean clothes, ate his breakfast, reread the draft of his report to the Admiral and his orders for Wagstaffe, filled in his journal and wrote several more paragraphs of his diary-like letter to Gianna, and still no word came. The sun rose and the sunlight coming through the skylight made circles on the painted canvas covering the deck of his cabin as the Juno slowly turned in the current, like a duck feather floating on a village pond.
The clerk brought the dispatch and orders for him to sign and Ramage growled at him to sharpen his quill. Were the order and letter books up to date? he demanded. The clerk said they were. Were any more reports, inventories, surveys and the like outstanding? No, the clerk said, everything was up to date, including the weekly accounts. Ramage dismissed him, irritated that the man had nothing for him to do. At the same time he was amused. The clerk usually had great difficulty in getting him to deal with any paperwork.
The fact was that he was trying to avoid going on deck. The sight of the cliffs and beaches gradually drawing south as the current took the Juno north was almost more than he could stand. If only the current had taken the frigate out to the west, where they would get a sight of the Diamond . . .
On deck the ship's company went about the day's work. Hammocks had long ago been lashed up and stowed, decks scrubbed and washed down, awnings spread, brasswork polished and the brickdust carefully swept up afterwards. The gunner's mate had appeared with a request that he be allowed to start the men blacking the guns and shot and complained that much had been chipped off the previous day. Ramage, appalled at the thought of men painting coal tar on to the barrels of guns that might be needed within a few hours, refused and told him that if he was making work for the other gunner's mates they could sew up some more canvas aprons for the gun locks. Usually several were lost when the ship went into action. The gunner's mate had agreed in his doleful voice that indeed it did happen, owing to the carelessness of the men, but all the necessary new ones and a dozen to spare had been completed an hour ago. 'Report to Mr Southwick,' Ramage said in desperation, but the gunner's mate said he had already done so, and Mr Southwick had sent him to report to the Captain.
'Grommets,' Ramage said firmly. 'We need a lot more grommets.'
The gunner's mate's eyes lit up. 'Ropework is for the bos'n's mates, really sir, but my men will do their best.'
By ten o'clock Ramage and Southwick were pacing the deck together. The Surcouf was almost at the southern side of Fort Royal Bay, and the Juno less than a mile short of Cap Salomon, but there was not a breath of wind and the sea had flattened into a glassy calm. A dozen times Ramage had thought of hoisting out a cutter and having himself rowed down to the Diamond. It was only the realization that there was nothing he could do when he arrived there that made him finally dismiss it. If enemy ships arrived the only guns that could open fire at them were the Diamond batteries, and they could be relied on to do that anyway.
The very air seemed hot and almost solid and the slightest effort soaked a man in perspiration. Noon came and the men were piped to dinner. With the sun almost overhead, Shadows were nearly vertical and the pitch soft in the deck seams. Southwick commented gloomily that they could be in the Doldrums for all the chance they had of getting a wind.
Five minutes later, as the men finished dinner, the wind came. A fitful puff from the north at first which caught every sail aback and started Ramage bellowing orders, and which died a moment later. A longer puff from the east lasted less than five minutes, and then a steady wind set in from the north-east.
Soon the Juno was making seven knots with every stitch of canvas set - courses, topsails, topgallants, royals and staysails. Ramage had set every able-bodied man to work: Bowen hauled on a rope next to the Captain's clerk; the cook's mate found himself hauling a halyard and being encouraged by the Captain's steward, who complained that his hands were too soft for that sort of work.
The wind reached the Surcouf ten minutes after the Juno was under way and Ramage watched as Aitken let fall sail after sail. At last the bays, beaches and headlands were beginning to slide past: Grande Anse d'Arlet and Pointe Bourgos; Petite Anse d'Arlet and then the headland separating it from Petite Anse du Diamant. Jackson was aloft with a telescope, while Orsini waited by the binnacle with the signal book in his hand and a telescope under his arm.
Diamond Rock suddenly came in sight beyond the headland and a moment later Jackson hailed that no flags were flying from the Juno battery mast. Ramage realized he had been standing rigid waiting for that hail, and as he relaxed he turned to Southwick and grinned. 'The nest is safe!'
'Deck there!' Jackson's voice was urgent. 'They're hoisting a signal now . . . three flags . . . three . . . five . , . nine!'
Ramage snatched the signal book from Orsini and read: The strange ships are of the line; when answered, the signal is to be hauled down once for every ship discovered . . .
'Acknowledge it,' he snapped at the boy, and shouted up at Jackson: 'The moment we answer they'll haul the signal down, but they may hoist and lower it several times. Count the number of times they lower it!'
He trained his telescope on the top of the Rock. He could just make out the signal, and it was lowered once. There was a long pause. One ship of the line. Then three flags were hoisted again and for a moment Ramage thought it was the signal being hoisted again before being lowered a second time, but Jackson shouted down: 'Deck there! A second hoist... three ... six ... nought!'
Ramage hurriedly opened the signal book again. Against the figure 360 was printed: The strange ships are frigates; when answered, the number of frigates to be shewn, as in the preceding signal.
'Acknowledge,' he told Orsini and again shouted a warning to Jackson. The signal was lowered and hoisted, then again, and then a third time.