Ramage climbed down the ladder, telling Paolo to hail the moment a signal started to come through from either Aspet or Le Chesne - he was more curious about the method than what the message might say. His first task for the morning was to inspect the Marines.
This was set for eight o'clock, and Ramage knew Rennick would be happy for the rest of the day - even if, by some miracle, the captain spotted a dulled button or a speck of sand on a musket barrel. Flints - ah yes, just to tease Rennick (without the men realizing it) he would insist on all muskets being 'snapped' - cocked and fired, without being loaded - to check the strength of the spark in the flintlock. And he would play merry hell if even one failed to spark, because in action a misfire could cost the man's life.
At eight o'clock, on the only flat area between the huts not dug for a garden - but certainly not used as a parade ground by the French - Rennick had his men drawn up, and when Ramage strode out with all the nonchalance expected of the captain of one of the King's ships, Rennick gave a smart salute and bellowed: 'One sergeant, one corporal and twenty-eight men, all present and correct, sir! One corporal and six men on detached guard duty!'
'Very well, lieutenant; I will inspect the men.'
Escorted by Rennick and followed by the sergeant, Ramage began to walk along the first of the four ranks of men. The corporal was the first he reached.
'Have him make sure his musket isn't loaded; then I want to see him snap the lock.'
Rennick barked out the order with his usual confidence; the corporal flipped up the pan cover and blew into the vent while the sergeant blocked the barrel with his thumb over the muzzle and then took it away suddenly so that a 'whoosh' of the corporal's breath showed the gun was unloaded.
'Cock the piece and squeeze the trigger', Rennick ordered. Ramage watched the flint strike the steel. There was no spark.
'Cock the piece and squeeze the trigger', Rennick repeated.
Again there was no spark.
'Take this man's name, sergeant', Rennick said as Ramage walked on to the first Marine in the front rank. The locks of twenty-eight muskets sparked satisfactorily and Ramage, already feeling sorry for the wretched corporal, decided not to check the sergeant's musket.
After Rennick dismissed the men, he led the way to the guardhouse where the second corporal and six men were drawn up outside the hut. Knowing their muskets would be loaded, Ramage confined himself to inspecting the French uniforms the men were wearing.
'They were never as smart with Frenchmen inside 'em', he commented to Rennick. 'Even if the Frenchmen were shorter.'
'Yes. I've been trying to persuade the sergeant that although a couple of inches of ankle showing at the trouser leg would cause a sensation at Portsmouth, it doesn't matter here. He now agrees. He issued the uniforms', he added, 'so it's hardly surprising his own is the only perfect fit.'
Suddenly Ramage heard Jackson hailing from the top of the tower. 'Captain, sir! Captain, sir!'
Ramage, knowing the limitations of his own voice, nodded to Rennick, who bellowed: 'The captain is here, at the guardhouse.'
'Signal coming from Aspet, sir.'
'Very well.'
Ramage looked towards the corporal. 'Your men are a credit. Don't forget though, if anyone arrives, no talking, and blow the whistle for Mr Orsini.'
With that Ramage hurried over to the tower, noting that Rennick and the sergeant were heading for one of the huts, presumably to deal with the unfortunate corporal whose flint refused to spark.
By now the sun was well above the horizon, bringing warmth with it and putting new vigour into the insects which were beginning to buzz about the yellow flecks of flower among the gorse bushes. Feeling he needed the exercise, Ramage climbed the ladder, although he did it at a speed which made it clear to any onlooker that the captain was simply climbing the ladder to get to the top of the platform, not to demonstrate how topmen should go up the ratlines wearing breeches.
Paolo, eye glued to the telescope on its stand, and aimed at Aspet, was calling out letters of the alphabet which Jackson was writing down on a slate. Ramage looked over the American's shoulder and saw it was a signal from Barcelona to Toulon.
'That's all', Paolo said briskly, 'now dip the flag twice and then they can go to sleep again over there, happy in the knowledge we have the signal.'
'I wonder where that signal spent the night', Ramage reflected. 'It started off from Barcelona in broad daylight yesterday, for certain, but it was benighted before it travelled very far. It can have travelled through only two or three stations today.'
'Probably delayed by rain, sir', Jackson offered, 'especially when you remember how the thunderstorms roll down the side of the Pyrenees. Cuts visibility to a few yards.'
Paolo took the slate from Jackson and held it out for Ramage to finish reading. Then he asked: 'Do we pass it on, sir?'
Ramage shook his head. 'No, put it in the log and add a translation.'
'The fools may have trumped your ace, sir', he said sympathetically. 'One can never trust the Spanish.'
The signal when translated said quite simply: 'Convoy now fifteen ships refuses await escort and sails tomorrow.' Obviously 'tomorrow' meant today, because it was now only half past eight in the morning.
Ramage knew that only one question needed an answer now: would the Spanish (and probably French) merchantmen have left Barcelona before his faked order arrived telling them to make for Foix?
Most British convoys Ramage had ever seen - admittedly large West Indian ones, often comprising more than one hundred ships - took all day to get out of the harbour and sometimes all the next day to form up properly.
With Aitken, Southwick and Kenton on board the Calypso Ramage could spend the day at the semaphore station, although apart from giving an immediate answer to any questions concerning signals there seemed little else for him to do, and he enjoyed the atmosphere of the maquis.
Thirty-six hours from noon: that was about the earliest he could hope to sight the convoy, providing his signal arrived in time - and providing the real escort had not reached Barcelona. It was a sequence of events, he reflected gloomily, in which the word 'providing' appeared too frequently.
Idly he watched the Calypso and saw the red-and-green cutters being hoisted out. As soon as they were in the water they would be filled with water casks - Aitken's men were to spend the rest of the day 'wooding and watering': parties would be collecting firewood for the Calypso's coppers within the limits of the camp while others were filling casks with fresh water from the well. With luck the Calypso by the end of the day would again have thirty tons on board, the amount with which she had left Gibraltar to begin the present cruise. The cook was not going to be pleased with the wood, though; most of the trees were stunted and would yield logs more suitable for brightening the hearth of a cottage than heating a frigate's big coppers.
'Le Chesne, sir', Jackson reported to Orsini. 'They've got their flag up.'
'Answer and stand by', Orsini said, swinging the telescope round to the eastward and focusing it on the Le Chesne tower. Jackson hoisted and lowered the red flag and then picked up the slate. The signal was from Toulon and directed to station sixteen, which Ramage guessed was Séte. As Orsini called out the letters and Jackson wrote them down, Ramage realized the signal was a routine one about a discrepancy between stores reported used and the amount actually found in a recent inventory, and the commanding officer was required ...
As he climbed down the ladder and recalled the contents of the original French signal log, he decided that pilfering, selling government stores and taking inventories were the main occupations of the commanding officers of the various semaphore stations.