Aitken admitted it was a damned nuisance at times, particularly if the ship was in a busy sea lane, where one might sight a dozen strange sail in an afternoon, but out here in the Western Ocean, where sighting a strange sail might happen only once a week, it did not matter. Unless, as now, one was replete with quite the most splendid dinner he had ever eaten.
"Deck there! Foretopmast here!"
Aitken snatched up the speaking trumpet and answered the hail.
"The frigate's hoisted a couple of signals, sir."
As Orsini hastily reported: "I can see them, sir!" Aitken told the man aloft to continue to keep a sharp lookout.
Orsini put down his telescope and flipped through the pages of the signal book.
"She's the Jason, sir," he reported to Ramage and added, a puzzled note in his voice: "But she's not making the right challenge."
"Is it last month's?" Ramage inquired.
That was a not infrequent mistake, or sometimes the ship concerned had been at sea so long she did not have the latest list. But it left the question of what reply did one make? A challenge was a challenge . . .
"You've got our pendant number and the correct challenge bent on?" Ramage asked.
"Yes, sir. And the correct reply bent on another halyard."
"Hoist our numbers and the challenge," Ramage ordered.
As Wagstaffe had already reported, the approaching ship was obviously a British frigate: her sheer and the cut of her sails were borne out by her using the Royal Navy's signal book (quite apart from the fact that one was most unlikely to meet an enemy ship so close to Barbados). Nevertheless, she had hoisted the wrong challenge, and it was now important to see what reply she made to the correct one.
Ramage watched the large flags flog and flap as seamen hauled down briskly on the other end of the halyard until the top of the uppermost flag reached the block.
Orsini was watching the frigate, balancing himself on the balls of his feet to compensate for the Calypso's roll, and the telescope seemed a part of his body.
"She's lowering her challenge, sir," he reported just as the lookout aloft reported the same thing. A few moments later Aitken reported to Ramage that the Calypso's guns were now loaded with roundshot, carronades with grape, "pistols, pikes and cutlasses issued".
"Very well, Mr Aitken."
The advantages of the "Captain's Standing Orders" were only too obvious at a time like this: the guns and carronades had been loaded with the correct type of shot; the small arms routinely issued without orders (which wasted time); and people like Bowen had made their own preparations. Bowen's surgical instruments would be ready, with bandages and dressings to hand, tarpaulins spread for wounded to lie on. Some captains liked to rig boarding nets, but Ramage considered they were for defence: they stopped (hindered, rather) an enemy trying to board, because like thick fish nets it took a minute or two for a cutlass to slash through it. More important, a net designed to stop the enemy from getting on board also prevented one's own men from swarming over the bulwarks and boarding the enemy.
Ramage looked across at the approaching frigate but knew that the sharp eyes of Orsini, Aitken and the masthead lookouts would keep him informed, so contented himself with an inspection of the Calypso. She was ready for battle, or for lining the bulwarks and giving a friendly ship a cheer.
All the guns were run out; half a dozen men were gathered round each breech, their different shirts making splashes of colour. Most of them had narrow bands of cloth tied round their heads, across their foreheads, to prevent salty perspiration running into their eyes. Cutlasses were stowed along the inside of the bulwarks where they could be snatched up in an emergency; pikes and pistols were all placed near at hand. The muskets were still in the arms lockers, thanks to Ramage's long-held view that a musket was a clumsy and bulky weapon in an open boat or a frigate, and useless (except as a heavy object to hurl at the enemy) after firing one shot.
The 12-pounder guns were shiny black cylinders: the last job for the ship's company before the Calypso left Carlisle Bay was to give all the guns another coat of blacking. Curious how every ship's gunner kept secret his particular recipe, but they were all much the same, depending on soot, although he recalled one gunner who swore by rust which was pounded into a fine dust and bound together by lacquer. Anyway, most of the shot the Calypso would need if she went into action had just been scaled of rust by men tapping away with chipping hammers. It was hard to prevent them hammering too hard and pitting the roundshot with tiny dents. Almost more important, each shot had been passed several times through a shot gauge, a brass ring with an inside diameter precisely the correct size for a 12-pounder shot, just under four and a half inches. If there were any tiny hummocks of rust, or flakes of scale, the shot would stick in the gauge and the gunner would reject it, returning it to the men for more chipping.
Now those shot were ready for use, sitting in the racks round the hatch coamings in scooped-out recesses, so that they looked like large black oranges. More shot were close to the guns held in small pyramids by shot garlands, small rings of thick rope put flat on the deck and preventing the shot in the lower tier from rolling away as more tiers were added to form a pyramid. This time they would not be needed and would have to be stowed away again as soon as the Calypso stood down from general quarters, but Ramage noted that each garland was full; each pyramid was finished off with a single shot at the top, so the men were not saving themselves work.
From up here on the quarterdeck the flintlocks, carefully oiled small rectangular blocks of steel which could be fitted to the breech of each gun by wing nuts in a matter of seconds, glinted in the sunlight. The lock was the most important part of each gun, holding the flint in what looked like a cockerel's head and beak. At the breech end the firing lanyard was secured to a ring so that a steady pull by the gun captain (standing behind the gun and beyond the recoil) released the powerful spring and, in effect, made the flint peck against steel, showering sparks which ignited the powder in the pan and sent a flash down the vent into the breech of the gun, firing the charge. Until the flintlock was brought into use fifty years ago, Ramage reflected, guns were fired by slowmatch (in effect a burning cord) wound round a linstock, a method little better than jabbing with a red-hot poker.
Yet flintlocks did not always work - heavy rain or a shower of spray as a ship punched to windward could put them out of action until they were carefully wiped dry, and in action there was usually no time for that. As an insurance, a couple of feet of slowmatch for each gun was kept alight, fitted into notches round a tub of water so that the glowing end hung over the inside, ensuring that sparks should not ignite any stray grains of gunpowder.
Sparks were not the only risk: the trucks, the wide wooden wheels on which the gun carriages recoiled, caused a good deal of friction. The metal-shod handspikes, the heavy wooden levers like massive broom handles and used to shift over the breech end of the carriage to traverse the gun, could make a spark. So the deck, drying fast although the sun was getting low on the horizon, was sluiced down with buckets of water, with sand scattered on top so that the bare-footed gunners should not slip.