'We'll leave him there', Ramage said to Jackson, gesturing towards the commandant. 'He'll probably go to sleep.'
He saw four of his seamen hurrying towards him, one coming from each of the huts. The first to arrive reported: 'Nine men in the hut, sir, all blind drunk. We'll never get 'em on their feet!'
The other three seamen reported the same thing. Ramage remembered the two men he had seen sleeping under the olive tree and sent a seaman to see if they were insensibly drunk. Then the sentry arrived, the only man in the garrison, as far as he could see, capable of controlled movement.
Jackson caught his eye. 'Knock him out and then put those handcuffs on his hands and legs', Ramage said. 'And bring a pair of handcuffs for the commandant; we'd better secure him in his bed so that he doesn't fall out!'
He turned to the four seamen. 'Very well, leave the drunks and meet me with your men at the tower; we'll do the job ourselves, since the wine has deprived us of French labour.'
Half an hour later, while the commandant snored in his bed, his wrists secured beneath it by handcuffs so that he could neither sit up nor turn over, and the sentry lay in the barracks, unconscious and also secured by handcuffs, the Calypsos hacked at the heavy beams supporting the semaphore tower. It was just as substantial as the one at Foix, but the seamen who had been carrying axes sent it toppling without being relieved. After that, hands blistered and muscles aching, they handed over to other groups who took it in turns to destroy the whole structure, so that none of the wood could be used again.
While the men hacked, Ramage watched the bay below with his glass. Apparently no one down there had noticed the tower toppling. Nor was that surprising; the noise would not carry that far, and from the village they could only see the tower end-on, so that it seemed more like a tree trunk, and it was unlikely anyone would see it at the moment it toppled.
Finally Jackson came up to report: 'There's not a piece of timber left that's more than two feet long, sir.'
'Very well', Ramage said, closing the telescope. 'We haven't disturbed anyone down there, so we'll march back in regular order to the boats. There's no need to spike that cannon over there', he added, remembering Jackson would not have understood the commandant. 'It's honeycombed and they daren't fire it.'
It was almost dark by the time the Calypso's topsails filled aback and she did a long sternboard out of Collioure, followed by the Passe Partout which could easily wear round and pass the frigate on her way to the open sea.
Southwick had thoroughly enjoyed Ramage's recounting of the assault on the Collioure semaphore tower, which he had watched by telescope, and had promptly named it the Battle of Banyuls.
'With a bit of luck no one at the other two stations is going to know about it until tomorrow at the earliest', he commented.
'And those men up there aren't going to sober up tonight', Ramage said. 'Even when the sentry recovers consciousness there's no one to hear his shouts. And by sunrise the commandant will have such a bad head that he'll be scared it'll fall off if he raises his voice. Anyway, a good job done with no casualties.'
'Will it save Aitken, I wonder?' Southwick speculated soberly.
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. 'It might. We've just done all we can; the rest is up to luck. Now, I want every bit of canvas set, and let's hope between here and Europa Point we sight the convoy.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The men in the six merchant ships watched the French frigate stretching along to cross ahead of them, spray slicing up from her cutwater like a rain shower. Few of them realized that to the frigate they were still friendly ships whose strange position warranted investigation; to them any ship flying a Tricolour, other than the Calypso, was an enemy, to be bluffed, evaded or, by some miracle, sunk.
Orsini studied her with his glass. She moved with the controlled power of a galloping stallion. Black hull unrelieved by a different-coloured sheer strake; sails patched but clearly serviceable. The lower part of the jibs dark from spray. Her portlids were down, so obviously the French were not anticipating action, otherwise the lids would be triced up and the guns run out. The courses were neatly furled on the yards and so were the royals, and the topsails were drawing well. No gilt work anywhere; not a glint of sun flickering on polished brasswork. The black hull had hints of purple in it, revealing aged paint exposed to too much hot sun and salt sea.
'Not such a nice sheer as the Calypso', Baxter commented to Rossi.
'Paint in a white or yellow strake and she'd look better', the Italian said.
'Yes ... white would best bring up the curve, I think', Baxter said judiciously. 'An' look at the rust marks down 'er side. And the rusty boom irons on them stunsail yards ... Cor, Mr Southwick would go mad!'
On board the Matilda, Rennick had completed his preparations. Grapnels were ready to hoist from the yardarms, two men at the wheel had been reinforced by two more, in case any were wounded, and Rennick found that, faced with what seemed certain death within the next fifteen minutes, he was curiously resigned; there was none of the feeling of panic that he had always anticipated in the many occasions he had thought about such a situation. It was rather more an acceptance that he had made his plans, given his orders, and there was nothing left now but wait with as much patience as possible. He was sorry not to be seeing his parents again; he regretted no farewell handshake with Mr Ramage. But his men were cheerful, and it was up to him to make sure they continued cheerful until the very last moment when the Matilda rammed the Frenchman. He was puzzled that the Caroline had gone up to the Sarazine and hoped all was well with young Orsini. He liked the lad; it was a pity he was getting caught like this, at the beginning of such a promising career.
At first Aitken had been delighted with Orsini's plan but the more he thought about it the more it seemed a three o'clock in the morning idea that emerged after the brandy bottle had tilted too often and was embarrassing when looked at in the cold light of dawn. Still, beggars could not be choosers, and even if the attempt failed some ships might have a better chance of escaping as they dispersed in different directions. Might. If he commanded that frigate, no one would; still, the Frenchman might be content securing one prize instead of going on to the rest. He then dismissed that possibility, remembering Mr Ramage's warning that in war the most dangerous habit was to underestimate the enemy's strength, cunning or ability.
Kenton looked across at the French frigate as she came up fast on his starboard quarter, obviously intending to pass close abeam and then cut across his bow to get into position ahead of the Golondrina and Sarazine. He too found himself resigned to it; there was not a chance of these slow, tubby merchantmen doing anything except trying to bolt like hobbled cows when Aitken gave the order to disperse. The loss of this convoy, he suddenly realized, would wipe out all the Calypso's officers except Wagstaffe, who was away in Gibraltar, and Southwick. The first, acting second, and acting third lieutenants, lieutenant of Marines, midshipman and bosun. And he knew Mr Ramage would feel the loss even worse because he would not be there when it happened. Orsini was the Marchesa's nephew; he would have to tell the woman he loved that her nephew and heir ...
Paolo Orsini found he now had a tendency to tremble. Well, not tremble, but there was a shaky sensation in his knees and his hands, and his stomach was knotted as though he had eaten a sour apple too quickly. Yet he knew it was not fear: he was just nervous about the timing, which had to be preciso.