The top tier of barrels was only three feet below the level of the hatch coaming, and Ramage looked round for Stafford.
'You have those lengths of fuse?'
'Aye aye, sir.' Stafford held up a canvas bag.
The sight of the bag made Ramage angry again. He had asked the gunner for lengths of slowmatch that would burn ten minutes, with a foot left over at one end. The damned man had backed and filled, saying he could not be certain of the burning time of a length of slowmatch between five minutes and thirty. Finally Ramage had decided to use the much less rugged fuse, and fortunately the Calypso's magazine contained two types made from mealed powder, the finest available. But again the gunner had avoided specifying the speeds at which they burned, and an enraged and frustrated Ramage had made the man bring up his notebooks and found that they recorded that fuse made from good mealed powder burned at the rate of three inches in seven seconds and the other twelve inches in one minute. Ramage chose the slower and had then given the whole coil to Jackson and Stafford. After doing a quick sum, he told them to cut ten eleven-foot lengths. That would give each one ten minutes' burning time, plus a foot.
Five lengths had been handed over to Southwick for the Muscade, and now Stafford had five lengths for the Merle. Fuse burned fast, so for this sort of work long lengths were needed; on the other hand, with the longer fuse, as Jackson had pointed out, there was the advantage that when the fuse was first lit the flame was farther from the powder.
Already two seamen were calling from the outboard end of the starboard maintopsail yardarm to a third standing below. Ramage heard a thud as a rope dropped, then the rattle of chain. They were fitting the first of the grapnels which would hang from all the yards at varying heights, ready to catch in the French 74's rigging or any hull projection so that the Merle stuck to her like a burr on a woollen sock.
The topmen, without awaiting orders, were already aloft, checking over the gaskets holding the sails furled and slackening them, and making sure of the lead of halyards. As soon as they finished their work, the grapnel men would trace the leads of braces, sheets and tacks.
After glancing at his watch by the light of the lantern that Jackson was carrying (Ramage and Southwick had decided that apart from the 74 being too far away to see any lights, it would be quite natural for lanterns to be in use on board merchant ships at anchor) he found they were several minutes ahead of the rough schedule.
Ramage went back to the opened hatch and found Stafford and another seaman, Wells, inside and grunting as they gently tapped out the bung of a powder barrel using a small copper-headed maul.
Stafford glanced up and saw Ramage standing in the moonlight looking down at him. 'Yer know, sir, gives yer a funny feelin' sittin' on top o' a hunerd an' fifty tons o' powder!'
'I'm sure it does. Try standing', Ramage said unsympathetically. 'And even though I'm up here, I doubt if the extra inch of deck planking gives me much of an advantage.'
'S'pose not, sir, but this bluddy bung ... ah! Here she comes.'
The moonlight was bright enough for Ramage to spot the small hole in the top of the barrel and see how carefully Stafford wiped the bung clean of powder and put it down beside the maul. Then he pushed a finger into the hole, obviously testing how far it was to the powder, which always shook down like flour in a jar.
'Four inches', he said to himself. 'That means the fuse goes in eight inches. So a foot to spare were just right.'
He moved so that he was astride another barrel.
'Let's 'ave the maul, Arry.'
Again he began tapping to lift the bung of the new barrel, at the same time blowing gently to disperse any grains that came out with the copper-sheathed bung. Quickly he pulled it out, wiped off any traces of powder, and passed it and the maul to Wells.
Three inches', he announced after putting his finger into the bunghole. He saw Ramage still watching him. The French contractors seem 'onest enough, sir: they don't sell short measure.'
'There are no contractors', Ramage said. 'Like our Boardof Ordnance, they make their own.'
'Supposed to be poor stuff though, ain't it, sir?'
'Yes - but don't get careless! It burns all right, but not as evenly as ours. That means if you fire five rounds from the same gun at the same elevation you'll get first grazes at fivedifferent places.'
'Well, we won't have to bother here', Stafford grunted ashe slid carefully across to the third barrel and called for themaul.
Ramage walked aft to find Jackson turning the wheel one way and then the other. 'Just testing the wheel ropes, sir. Six turns from hard over to hard over.'
'You might look at the rudderhead and tiller, in case of rot...'
'Done that already, sir', Jackson said. 'By the way, the three axes are ready on the foredeck beside the cable.'
Slight movements in the rigging caught Ramage's eye, and he saw four grapnels spinning slightly in the breeze like dead carrion crows suspended outside a gamekeeper's lodge. The three men were now working out on the end of the foreyard, rigging the remaining grapnels.
Ramage walked forward to where the second anchor was stowed in its chocks. It was well lashed in its place so that a heavy sea should not dislodge it. Yet if the brig and the 74 collided, one of the flukes might well embed itself in the planking of the Frenchman's hull, a stroke of luck one could not rely on but might encourage. He told a seaman to collect an axe from the foredeck and cut some of the anchor lashings.
He waited until the man returned and described which to cut, not wanting to see the anchor suddenly drop over the side, because its cable was stowed below.
He walked aft to the lantern, looked at his watch again and saw they should soon get under way.
'Six minutes to go!' he bellowed so that all the men could hear.
At the hatchway he saw that Stafford and Wells had removed five bungs, and that one thin black line, a fuse, already led from the deck outside the coaming, over the top and down into the hold to the bunghole of a barrel, where it disappeared like an escaping snake. Stafford would have pushed the fuse well down into the powder, using precisely the extra foot of length, and it was held in place by an encircling collar of cloth pushed down round it, holding it steady in the centre of the bunghole.
A Marine was now standing by the coaming: his job was to make sure no one accidentally touched a fuse so that its other end was pulled out of a barrel.
Yet it was all too obvious!
As Ramage stood there looking at the hatch he put himself in the place of a French officer jumping down on to the Merle's deck from the 74 and seeing five sparkling and sizzling fuses leading down into a partly-open hold. In that moment he would know the Merle was not a fireship about to burst into flames and that he risked nothing if he snatched out those burning fuses and tossed them over the side.
He waited as Wells, under Stafford's direction, draped one more length of fuse over the edge of the coaming, then a third, fourth and finally the fifth. After a few moments, Stafford and Wells climbed out of the hold. Stafford, mopping his face, saw Ramage and said: 'It's remarkable 'ot down there, sir.'