Being made post mattered in small things and in large. The large of running your own ship in your own way, the small of having hot shaving water. When they met the Welcome, the brig would have to heave-to and the lieutenant commanding her would have to report to Captain Ramage on board the Juno. A small thing, but he was damned glad that for once it was someone else who had to scramble down into a boat and get soaked with spray . . . The Welcome brig's lieutenant would not know he was the first commanding officer that Captain Ramage had ordered to report on board. And he was going to be lucky in one respect: Ramage had suffered from overbearing, condescending or pompous captains when he had been a lieutenant and had vowed he would never be guilty of those particular attitudes, unless provoked ... He found himself humming as he reached the taffrail and turned to begin his walk forward again. The deck was confoundedly hot; the warmth seeped through his shoes and both his brow and cheek muscles ached from squinting against the glare off the sea. With luck all the mosquitoes that had swarmed on board in Carlisle Bay had been blown away now they were at sea again.
One thing to be said for the Admiral packing them off after the rabbits was that they had escaped the perils of Bridgetown's social life. A sheaf of invitations had arrived on board from hostesses who obviously relished the idea of hearing London's latest gossip retailed by an earl's son, but he had been spared the worst of it. He had accepted dinner with the Admiral and his wife (it had been surprisingly enjoyable: the Admiral had a lively sense of humour) and pleaded urgent work to avoid the rest. Still, the lieutenants had enjoyed themselves, finding Southwick only too willing to stand an anchor watch. They would have been startled if they knew that on one of the two evenings, while they were wined and dined on shore, the Captain had relieved the Master for a couple of hours so that Bowen could have his game of chess.
All the weeks of training the ship's company, the days of having the ship reek of fresh paint, the days of thrashing to windward out of the Channel and across Biscay, were worth it for a morning like this. Tomorrow, when they went after the rabbits, it might be a different story, but now he was happy and satisfied.
‘Two miles off Cabrit Island, sir,' Southwick reported.
'Can we bear up for the Diamond?'
'Yes, sir, and I'd like to stream the log and then get some idea of the current at the moment. At a guess we have a couple of knots o' west-going current under us.'
'It'll begin to trend north-west and follow the coast now we're rounding the Point,' Ramage said, for Aitken's benefit.
As Southwick gave orders for the log to be streamed and men fetched out the reel and half-minute glass, Ramage pictured the chart of the southern end of Martinique, still fascinated by its similarity to the foot of Italy. They were just rounding the heel and were going to bear away to sail across the inward-curving instep, heading for Diamond Rock, which showed on the chart like a tiny pebble on which the ball of the foot was about to tread.
Suddenly there was a hail from the foremast-head: 'Sail ho!'
'Where away?' Aitken bellowed through the speaking trumpet.
'On the starboard beam close under the land, just coming clear of the headland, sir.'
Ramage snatched up his telescope. The heel of the island, where a stirrup would fit, formed a deep, narrow bay; the headland was Pointe Dunkerque and the bay went inland for a couple of miles. He could see a sail - no, two sails, square-sails, but the rest of the ship was hidden below the curvature of the earth.
'What do you make of her?' Aitken shouted.
'Too far off, sir. Two masts, steering south-east, but that's all.'
Ramage looked round for Jackson, handed him the telescope and gestured aloft. The American ran to the main-chains and a moment later was going up the ratlines like a monkey.
The First Lieutenant looked questioningly and Ramage nodded. 'Beat to quarters, Mr Aitken. Pendant numbers ready, and I'll let you know the challenge and reply in a moment. And bear up for the Point; don't lose anything to leeward.'
With that he went down to his cabin and unlocked a drawer in the desk, taking out a heavy canvas bag. It contained the ship's secret papers, and he pulled the lines that kept it closed through the brass grommets. He took out the lead weight that would make sure the bag sank quickly if it had to be thrown over the side to avoid capture, and removed the papers. On top was a white card on which three tables were drawn. These were the challenge and reply, which changed daily for the next three months. He ran his finger down one column, noted the challenge for the day of the month, then moved his finger sideways and read off the reply. Two three-figure numbers. He never trusted his own memory and scribbled them down on a sheet of paper before restowing the documents and the weight and returning the bag to the drawer.
As he went up the companionway he heard the bustle of men going to general quarters: the gunner would be down in the magazine, gun captains would be collecting the locks and prickers for each gun, already the decks would be wetted and men sprinkling sand. The boys would be waiting at the magazine scuttle with their wooden cartridge boxes, and the Marine Lieutenant would be stationing his men round the bulwarks.
He reached the top of the companionway and glanced aloft. The Juno was now stretching northwards, rolling with the beam sea. He looked forward to see a strong west-going current setting the Juno crabwise away from the headland. Why didn't Aitken brace the yards sharp up? They would end up well to leeward of the brig at this rate.
Southwick hurried up and, guessing what Ramage was about to say, explained apologetically: 'There are reefs up to a mile off the Point, sir, and Jackson says she's a brig, and from the cut of her topsails she's British.*
'He should know,' Ramage said, and the Master grinned. The Triton, in which all three of them had served for nearly two years, had been a brig, built at the same yard as the Welcome.
Ramage watched the brig for a couple of minutes and then ordered: 'Rig side-ropes and have a boat-rope ready in the forechains. We'll be heaving-to on the starboard tack and her captain will come on board, Mr Aitken.’
He looked round for the midshipmen. 'Mr Benson, prepare the signal for the Captain of the Welcome to come on board. Make sure you look in the right section of the signal book.'
The boy thumbed through the pages as he was joined by Orsini. 'Signals from private ships,' he muttered, half to himself. 'Ah - here we are, For the captain of a particular ship to come on board. Union Flag at the mizen topmasthead.'
Ramage remembered that entry in the signal book. 'Benson!' he growled, 'what particular ship are you signalling to?'
The boy hurriedly looked back at the page and Ramage could visualize his grubby finger running across to the columns. 'Sorry, sir, Union at the mizen topmasthead, and ship's signal.'
'Well,' Ramage said sternly, 'make sure you get her numbers right. Now, get the signal bent on, and I'll masthead the pair of you if the halyards are twisted!'
As the two midshipmen scurried aft to the flag locker Ramage handed the piece of paper he was holding to the First Lieutenant. 'The challenge and reply. Hoist the challenge as soon as she's close enough to read it, and the moment she replies I want to see that signal' - he gestured to the boys — 'run up like a rocket!'
There was a hail from aloft, and Jackson reported that the strange sail was definitely a British brig.
'I wonder if she's gone to general quarters,' SouthwicK muttered to himself.
'I doubt it,' Ramage said. 'She's expecting a frigate to relieve her and she sees one ...'
'No ship's a friend until she's made or answered the challenge correctly,' Southwick said stubbornly. ‘There was none o' that slackness in the Triton!'