Very well, he could not see any men on board the Jason. What did that mean? Was it intended to make him think the ship was short of men and lure him into boarding her? No, that was too crude a trick; a ploy intended to puzzle the Calypso, perhaps, but otherwise of no significance. And the slow progress? Probably nothing more than the Jason's wish to bring the Calypso into action before there was any chance of the other two frigates now escorting the convoy joining in the action.
There is only one decision to make, Ramage told himself sternly; all the rest is idle speculation. How are you going to attack the Jason? Are you going to get a hundred yards away on her starboard or larboard side, and pound her with broadsides. Or slap the Calypso alongside and try to take her by boarding?
He looked across at the Jason as she rolled her way to leeward, now almost directly under the sun and dazzling the eye. Five hundred yards away? The Calypso was overtaking her, all right, but the wind was dropping with the sun, and the swell waves, with the wind waves rippling over the top of them like muscles, were flattening.
The decision seemed to make itself, and he turned to Aitken.
"I want grapnels rigged from the starboard yardarms, and a dozen more ready on deck in the hands of men who can throw them accurately." Already, before Ramage had finished giving his orders, the Scotsman was grinning, his worry that the captain had at last run out of ideas, or not yet recovered from the trick just played on him, now dispelled. "All men except the afterguard to have pikes, half-pikes, pistols, cutlasses or tomahawks; whatever they choose. And pass the word for Rennick, there'll be work for his Marines."
Southwick was still standing close and he nodded approvingly as Aitken started giving a string of orders.
"Only thing is, sir," he said quietly, "do we want those Frenchies to see us rigging grapnels? It might give the game away."
Ramage nodded and called down to Aitken: "Tell the topmen to rig those lines as though they're working on the sails. Don't hoist a grapnel high enough for the Jason to see. It's to be a happy surprise for them," he added.
"Glad you're going to board, sir," Southwick commented, his voice low.
Ramage was curious why the old master had reached that conclusion - one that Southwick seemed to have had in mind for several minutes. "Why board? Their shooting was lamentable."
"By keeping the men hidden, seems to me, sir, that French captain is trying to make us think he wants us to board. But he's not such a fool as to think we'd fall for it, so I reckon he doesn't want us to board. He just wants us to think he wants us to, so that we'll do something else.
"That makes me think - what with his poor shooting just now, which was so poor it must have been deliberate - that what he really wants is to have us a hundred yards away on his beam where his guns can either smash our hull to matchwood or tear our sails to shreds. I reckon you're going to do just what he's scared of and what he's trying to lead us away from - like a lapwing running lame to lead you away from her nest."
"I hope you're right," Ramage said. "I don't fancy that frigate running around loose in the convoy, with us lying out here dismasted and those new captains on board L'Espoir and La Robuste -"
"- running around like moulting hens," Southwick finished the sentence. "You've just got time for a word to the men, sir - if you wanted to say anything."
Southwick knew quite well that Ramage hated these eve-of-a-fight harangues which many captains liked - those who made time for long speeches full of rounded phrases and stirring thoughts designed to make the men fight better. Ramage knew the Calypsos would fight well if no one spoke another word, but Southwick always disagreed, not because he thought the men would not fight so well, just that he reckoned they liked to hear a few words from their captain.
Very well, there was nothing worse than having Southwick walking round with a disapproving look on his face. Where was the speaking trumpet? He would just have time to include the topmen before they went aloft to reeve the lines for the grapnels. He gave a bellow which had every man turning to look up at him.
"Calypsos, I think the King would like to have that frigate (she's the Jason, by the way) back again before the reek of garlic stinks out the bilges. So we'd better retake her. It'll also mean we have a stronger escort for the convoy too, and yet more prize money. Not that any of you need it!"
Every man in sight seemed to be waving his arms and cheering and slapping each other on the back, so perhaps Southwick was right, though why fifty words, a sneer at the French and a joke about prize money should make any difference was beyond him. "So we'll board her," he concluded, "and I want the boarders away in a flash when the order is given. Once you are on board her, don't stand around gossiping; I want those prisoners secured quickly, otherwise it'll take all night to beat back to the convoy."
He tapped Southwick on the arm and nodded towards the quartermaster, who was continuing to watch the set of the sails and the compass and the four men at the double wheel. "Let's make sure we all know exactly what we're going to do," he said. "I don't want to have to be shouting orders at the last moment."
Southwick looked at him suspiciously. "You're not planning on leaving me behind again, are you sir?"
"Being left in command of a frigate is hardly 'being left behind'," Ramage said mildly.
"You know what I mean, sir, and you've used that argument at least a couple of dozen times. It's my turn now. Leave one of these youngsters behind - they all had a chance with those two," he added, nodding at the convoy where by now it was easy to see La Robuste and L'Espoir.
Southwick, old enough to be the grandfather of each of the officers and most of the petty officers and seamen, liked (indeed, craved) a good fight on the decks of an enemy ship as a drunkard craved a pull at a bottle except, Ramage thought ruefully, that he knew of a few drunkards who had been cured of their craving whereas Southwick's seemed to grow with each passing birthday.
"Very well, just this time. Martin or Kenton?"
Southwick shook his head. "I'd sooner see Wagstaffe left here, sir. The Jason's a well-found ship and looks to me as though she's commanded by a shrewd devil. Whoever stays on board here might . . . well -"
"- might have to take the convoy back to England, eh?"
Southwick grinned, but because that was what he had in mind he nodded. "We're all mortal, sir, and we've had a good run for our money."
"Very well, just listen to what I have to say to the quartermaster, then go down and find Wagstaffe. Tell him what I'm going to do and tell him he'll be left in command. And don't forget to collect that dam' meat cleaver!"
Southwick's enormous two-handed sword was famous. Most of the men in the Calypso carried a picture of Southwick, in some action or other, sweeping down the deck of an enemy ship, white hair flowing in the breeze, bellowing like an enraged bull and whirling the great sword over his head, scything his way through a crowd of the enemy as powerless to defend themselves against this apparent monster as a rabbit to evade a ferret.
Quickly Ramage explained to Southwick and the quartermaster what he planned to do, and both men nodded. There was nothing particularly subtle about it; both men understood that, given the circumstances, it was the only plan that stood a chance of success without a heavy loss of life.