Ramage's Signal

By contrast, Johnson was so small that the top of his head barely reached Baxter's shoulder. His voice was shrill and when provoked - which was rarely - he sounded like a nagging shrew, but his was the only voice that Baxter really listened to, apart from petty officers and officers giving orders.

Both men were superb pistol shots. No one knew how it happened because, as Johnson once admitted, the only guns they used as boys were shotguns, and then only for poaching. As if to partner the ability with pistols, both men were excellent with cutlasses. Baxter could use his height and strength to chop his way through a crowd: Johnson was as nimble as a Morris dancer and could swerve, duck and parry to the utter confusion of enemy seamen trained to use a cutlass as a slashing weapon with the same finesse as theship's cook using a cleaver to cut twenty-pound blocks of salt beef.

Ramage spoke once more to Martin: 'The canvas bag - ah, I see you have it. You've checked it holds all you need?'

'Aye aye, sir. Chart, tables, signal books - French and English - and a list of the convoy. Orsini has my sextant, and Jackson the set of French flags we've just sewn up.'

Ramage glanced astern and was startled to see how fast the Passe Partout was approaching. Martin and his men looked a fine party of French seamen: white trousers (grubby) and blue shirts (torn) were not the French naval uniform because at this time there was not one for seamen, but it was just the rig that a smart captain would insist his men wore, because sewing their own clothes (or paying a shipmate to do it) made it as easy to use white-and-blue cloth as any other.

'Deck there - foremast here!'

Damn! The last thing Ramage wanted with that tartane so close was a lot of bellowing in English, and Aitken snatched up the speaking trumpet, which would at least funnel his voice upwards.

'Deck here!'

'There's another ship coming up well astern of the convoy, sir. Enemy, I reckon, because they're all keeping away from her!'

'Very well, I'll send a man up with a glass.'

Southwick lumbered over to Ramage, sniffing as he walked, like a disgruntled bloodhound. 'Can only be one of two things, sir', he said.

Ramage nodded. 'I know.'

'Either', Southwick said, drawing out the word and carrying on as if he had not heard his captain's reply, 'Algerine pirates up from the coast, or a British privateer.'

'Yes. Which are you putting your money on?'

'Algerine. We can sink an Algerine and all the Frogs will cheer us, but a British privateer...'

'Yes', Ramage answered shortly, his mind working fast. Fifteen French merchant ships would be waiting - were at this moment waiting - for him to beat back to them and driveoff or sink whatever it was, Algerine or British. He looked aloft impatiently and saw that the man sent up with the telescope was just settling himself and opening the lens tubes.

But the Passe Partout was now very close - and, damn and blast it, was obviously intending to come close alongside to larboard in plain view of the convoy.

'Deck there - French ship's -'

'Shut up!' Aitken's brief shout was deliberately slurred.

Ramage swung his glass across the convoy and saw that several of the ships were now hoisting flag signals with a speed that contrasted with their earlier leisurely response to his. As he watched he saw a string run up on the Sarazine, to be followed by a flash, a spurt of smoke and a muffled bang as she fired a gun to draw attention to it.

Aitken looked with his glass and then opened the French signal book. 'On the first hoist is "Enemy vessel", the second signifies "hearing" and the third is "northwest".'

'Ignore them. I didn't know you spoke French', Ramage said.

'A little. I read it better.'

'The book gives only "Enemy", doesn't it? Not more explicit - ah, here comes the man with the glass. What did you see, Kelso?'

The man was almost breathless from his climb up and down the mast, and he gave the glass back to Aitken, handling it carefully as though it would explode.

Do not rush him, Ramage told himself, just be calm and nonchalant; do not scream at the poor fellow a question like: 'Well, what did you see, you damned fool?' After all Kelso did have the sense not to shout down what he had seen, a shout which would almost certainly be heard by the Passe Partout, which was being waved - thank goodness for that! - to the starboard side by Orsini, who was standing on the taffrail, holding on to one of the poop lanterns and using the speaking trumpet to shout his shrill French.

'I had a good look at 'im, sor', Kelso said, unsure whetherhe should report to Southwick, Aitken or Ramage, who were now gathered round him in a group.

'You did, eh?' Ramage said to get the man's attention before the poor fellow's head swivelled off. 'And what did you make of her?'

'Scunner rigged, goes to windward like a roundshot, an' got every stitch o' canvas set, even ringtails on the main, I reckon.'

'A schooner, eh?' Ramage said unhurriedly. 'You didn't get a sight of her flag, of course.'

'Oh noo, sir, she's too far away for thaat!'

No more Devonians, Ramage swore to himself; I'll never ship another Devonian, however fast he says he can talk.

Southwick jabbed the man in the ribs with his forefinger. 'British or Algerine?'

'Oh, British, sir', Kelso said at once. 'I reckon I recognize her, too, unless someone's copying her style o' paintwork.'

'Well?' Southwick demanded.

'She's the old Magpie, used to sail out o' Brixham. I was a privateersman afore the press took me up, an' she was m' first ship after the war begun. Her hull, y'carn't mistake it: alternate strakes o' black and white, carried well up under the run.'

'M'sieu! M'sieu!'

It was Orsini, shouting to draw his attention and gesticulating over the starboard side. And there Ramage could see over the bulwarks the upper part of the Passe Partout's lateen sail only a few feet away, a great bird's wing of canvas.

He had only a moment to make up his mind as he absorbed the situation. The Magpie might already be attacking the convoy, but whatever she was doing she must be sent off - preferably happy at saying goodbye to the piek of fifteen enemy ships. But in this wind a frigate so obviously French as the Calypso could not get within five miles of a fore-and-aft rigged vessel like a schooner, and what would the convoy think of a French frigate talking to a British privateer instead of trying to sink her? The Passe Partout was close alongside,racing along as only a tartane or a xebec could in this breeze.

Ramage snapped at Aitken: 'Take command of the Calypso!'

With that he grabbed the Scot's arm and pulled him to the ship's starboard side, where they could look down on the tartane, whose captain was obviously showing off to the Navy how close he could sail his ship to the frigate.

Ramage pointed down at her. 'Lay us alongside her for twominutes', he told Aitken, 'but don't do her any damage. Watch for that lateen yard!'

Ramage looked round for Martin. 'Are your crowd ready? Come on then, lads, let's go!'

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ramage jumped down on to the Passe Partout's deck, realizing as he dropped that it was farther than he'd thought, and landing with a thud that brought him to his knees. As he stood up he caught a foot in a ringbolt and sprawled across the deck. A moment later a French seaman helped him up in a cloud of garlic and he saw, eight or nine feet farther forward, another seaman helping Baxter.

Hurriedly thanking the seaman in French and noting he was not armed, and dodging more men dropping from the Calypso's deck, Ramage hurried aft to the big ornate tiller where the man who was obviously the master stood looking up at the Calypso's quarterdeck towering over him.