Ramage saw him almost immediately, waved as if congratulating him, and then pointed aloft. For a moment Martin was puzzled. Then he remembered.
'Bosun's mate, hoist the signal.'
He now had his command. Yes, he had commanded the Passe Partout for a few hours but, much as he enjoyed having Orsini with him, it was not quite the same. Now he commanded a brig of three hundred tons, worth hundreds of pounds in prize money.
Rennick was still circling with the pinnace, waiting for the Matilda to anchor while the bosun with the jolly boat edged over towards the Rosette schooner, which had anchored and whose crew would, in a few minutes, be busy furling the sails and unlikely to take much notice of a frigate's boat coming alongside.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
By six o'clock in the evening fifteen ships and the Calypso frigate were at anchor in the Golfo di Palmas, and unknown to eight of them, the masters, mates and ships' companies of the other seven, with the Foix garrison, were tramping over the Sardinian hills in the dry, dusty heat, looking in vain for a town or village which could understand their French and Spanish, give them drink, food and shelter, and help them raise the alarm. Instead, the people assumed they were bandits and opened fire with fowling pieces, unleashed their dogs and bawled threats in Italian.
The Sarazine, the largest of the merchant ships, was providing comfortable quarters for Aitken: her master's cabin was bigger than the coach on board the Calypso - the captain's day cabin, bed place and dining cabin - and the Scotsman, whose own quarters in the frigate comprised a box eight feet long and seven wide, felt almost guilty at the luxuriousness of it.
Kenton was counting himself equally lucky in the Golondrina, except for the smell of garlic. He refused to believe that the heavy smell was simply the residue over the years of masters eating garlic-treated food and breathing out garlic-laden breath: he was convinced that somewhere, having rolled under something, must be a clove which had been trodden on and squashed. He had a seaman search the cabin but without success, although the man at the end of an hour's crouching, peering and sniffing, did comment to an exasperated Kenton that: 'I'm partial to a bit of garlic meself, sir, an' Watkins, what's going to be the cook, has found a great string of 'em. If you like, sir, I can get you a fresh clove.'
In the Bergère, Martin was inspecting sails and rigging with the bosun's mate, making his topmen let fall one sail and check it for tears or chafe, before furling it and letting fall the next. As soon as that was finished he went to the wheel and had the bosun's mate turn it slowly while he made sure there was no wear where the ropes to the tiller went round the drum. Then together they inspected the rudderhead, tiller, wheel ropes and the relieving tackle. When they climbed back on deck the bosun's mate, Maxwell, gave a contented sigh. 'Everything seems to be all right, sir, an' that's just as well, because whatever Mr Ramage has got in mind, this old brig is going to have to sail faster than she's done for years!'
Martin looked at his watch. An hour to go. He could now tell the men exactly what Mr Ramage intended.
'Muster the men aft, Maxwell', he said, 'then you'll all know what Mr Ramage has in mind.'
While he waited, he saw the gig go alongside the Passe Partout, take off three or four men, and then row towards the other brig in the gulf, the Caroline, smaller than the Bergère but French built.
Jackson took the gig alongside the Passe Partout and, while the bowman held on, scrambled up the side of the tartane to hand over sealed, written orders to Orsini.
For a few moments the midshipman thought they must mean he had lost command of the tartane, and rather than let Jackson, Rossi and Stafford and the rest of the men see his disappointment - he knew he was not far from tears - he went aft to his cabin with the unopened orders stuck carelessly in a pocket.
The moment he was in the cabin he shut the door, pulled out the folded paper, broke the seal and began reading. The orders comprised only a few lines - were similar in fact to those for the Passe Partout - but he read them again carefully, and then a third time. Then he sat down, angry that his hands were trembling. There was no disguising the trembling, and he knew two things were causing it. Three rather. First, the shock because he thought he was losing the tartane because the captain was dissatisfied with him; second, excitement at his new command; and third, fear, or to call it by a less harsh name, apprehension.
Who, he wondered, would not feel apprehension in his position when ordered to take possession and then command of the Caroline brig? She must be all of three hundred tons. She bore the same relationship to the tartane as a ship of the line to a frigate ...
He folded the orders and put them in his pocket, slipped the cutlass belt over his shoulder and hooked two pistols into his belt. Then he held out his right hand, palm downwards, and examined it. It was no longer trembling, and he went out on deck to find Jackson talking to Rossi and Stafford.
Jackson stepped forward and handed him another letter. 'The captain said to give you this, sir, after you'd read the other one.'
Paolo grinned because there was no hiding anything from Jackson: like the captain he seemed to be able to see through a thick plank.
He broke the seal and read the letter. He was to take Rossi with him as second-in-command. To capture the Caroline hewould use Stafford and Jackson's boarding party in the gig. All the ships captured so far had been taken by just boarding as though paying a friendly visit ...
'You've been busy', he said to Jackson. 'We missed the fun.'
The American shook his head. 'No fun, really, sir; it's been like picking ripe apples. But they tell me you ran out of wind.'
'Three hours and not a breath', Paolo said angrily. 'We've been slamming and banging a couple of miles beyond this island. Very well, now', he pushed down on his pistols to make sure the hooks were holding, 'we'll go over and take possession of our next ship.'
It was, he thought, a splendidly offhand remark; it was the kind of thing that Mr Ramage said so well.
'Aye aye, sir', Jackson said, but hesitated a moment as Rossi and Stafford led the way down to the gig.
What was Jackson waiting for? Oh yes, the Passe Partout could not be left without someone in command of her, and the captain had left the choice of a man to him.
He turned forward. 'Reynolds!' As soon as the red-haired seaman was standing to attention in front of him, he said: 'I am leaving you in command of the Passe Partout until you receive further orders from Captain Ramage. Keep a good anchor watch, and pump the bilge every hour.'
'Aye aye, sir', Reynolds said, almost numbly, and Orsini knew just how he felt. 'You goin' somewhere, then, sir?'
Orsini pointed to the brig. 'Yes, I've been given command of the Caroline.'
The news braced Reynolds, who grinned cheerfully. 'Well, sir, if you've got to command 'er, I s'pose it's up to me to do me best with this old girl!'
Impulsively Orsini shook him by the hand. 'Thanks - and the best of luck.'
As the gig approached the Caroline, Orsini could see a man on deck. Finally, when the gig was forty or fifty yards away, an unshaven man, shirtless and covered in rolls of fat, came to the entryport and emptied a bucket of rubbish over the side, spat and disappeared.
'I could just see that happening in the Calypso, sir', Jackson murmured. 'Mr Southwick would shoot him with a blunt bullet.'