If Goddard turned the whole convoy boldly on to a course of say - Ramage walked over and glanced at the compass - south-south-west, all the merchantmen would have the wind on their starboard quarters, and they would probably be able to keep it there even under storm canvas...
Every time a signal hoist was reported from the flagship, he looked expectantly at Jackson, and each time the American reported a course change of one point to larboard. One point! Eleven degrees fifteen minutes, or one thirty-second part of the circumference of a circle ... It was like giving a starving man a single slice of bread: instead of saving his life, it merely emphasized how hungry he was and postponed the inevitable end. Altering course one point to larboard stressed the need for an immediate eight-point alteration.
"The wind will eventually do it for him," Southwick said bitterly, echoing Ramage's thoughts. "But we lose that much time - and mileage. And maybe our necks."
"Since we can't do anything about it, let's make the best of it."
He was startled by the harshness of his voice, and Southwick stared fixedly at the convoy. Ramage knew he was feeling the strain, but taking it out on Southwick was contemptible.
"It'll be dark in an hour," Ramage said.
"Aye, there's just about enough time to execute it if he makes a signal now."
Half an hour later the signals came in a series. Perhaps Goddard had been stirred into action as the sun sank below the western horizon - though it had been hidden before this by the ever-lowering cloud streaming in from the north, each layer a darker and more menacing grey.
Jackson called out the signals as they were made on board the Lion while Stafford and Rossi bent the flags on to the halyards and hoisted them, both in acknowledgement and also repeating them.
"Convoy flag and frigates' flag: Strike yards and topmasts ... Observe the Admiral's motions carefully during the night as he will probably alter course or tack without signal ... Frigates' flag: Shorten sail and carry as little as possible without breaking the order of the fleet... Every ship to carry a light and repeat the signals made by the Admiral during the ensuing night..."
Ramage picked up the speaking trumpet and, as Jackson called out the first signal, bellowed the order that sent the topmen running up the ratlines, not pausing until they were in the tops, where they scrambled into position to begin clearing away and lowering gear.
Ramage glanced at his watch, noted the time, and swore to himself he wouldn't look at it again until he heard Southwick give the order "Sway away."
He looked round the ship knowing that all the work to be done was going to take two or three times as long because of the darkness. The lateness of the signal made it obvious that the men were going to meet the coming dawn with precious little sleep.
"Mr Southwick - the hands will eat in two shifts, perhaps three, and pass the word that the tot will be issued late and may be poured with a heavy hand."
"Good idea, sir," the Master said. He lowered his voice, "The way things look, we may not have to account for any 'spillage and seepage'."
Ramage nodded and turned to Jackson. "Have you logged those signals, and the times?"
"Aye aye, sir. Specially the times."
Jackson's voice was expressionless; Ramage was probably the only man in the ship who could detect the judgment of the Admiral contained in the American's last three words.
Picking up the telescope and balancing himself, Ramage looked round at the convoy. The merchantmen appeared to be taking very little notice of the flurry of signals: each one had a cluster of men working aloft. Four had topsail yards upended and being lowered to the deck; a dozen would be lowering them any moment.
"They look odd now, don't they," Southwick said. "Like men with their heads shaved."
"They work fast enough at a time like this," Ramage commented. "Surprising how slow they can be with routine things like keeping their position."
"Yes, I'll be damned if I can understand it. After all, we're protecting 'em. We don't like escorting 'em any more than they like having us chase 'em up."
"Surely that's it," Ramage said. "Sending down masts and yards because bad weather's coming on - well, that's a natural piece of seamanship: they'd be doing that pretty smartly even sailing alone in peacetime. But cramming on sail to obey an order from an escort - that's not seamanship: that's being chased about by the Navy."
"Hadn't thought of that. Excuse me a moment, sir," he said hurriedly and lifted the speaking trumpet. "Aloft there, mainmast: Jenkins, unreeve that signal halyard. You'll have it a'foul o' everything in a moment!"
The fact is, Ramage told himself, the Master will make a better job of all this if I'm not on deck. As Southwick turned back, Ramage said: "I've some work to do below. Call me if..."
Chapter Nine
The night was the worst either Ramage or Southwick could remember. By midnight the wind had increased from a fresh gale to near storm force and the Triton, down to the storm canvas that Jackson and the men had been reinforcing, was labouring and plunging like a bull trying to get out of deep thick mud. Up to now the seas were not as big as either man had expected, but they would build up within a few hours and the wind would probably increase.
Throughout the night Ramage or Southwick had stood by the men at the wheel; down below more stood by at relieving tackles which had been clapped on the tiller. Up to now they had not been needed, but they could have the ship under control in a matter of minutes if anything happened to the wheel steering.
Until the rain started, the convoy - judging from the pinpoints of light displayed by each ship - was holding together better than either Ramage or Southwick had dared dream. Ramage flipped up the peak of his sou'wester and looked to leeward as he spoke to the Master.
"At least the water isn't too cold."
" 'Bout all that can be said for it, sir," Southwick bellowed. "Just as dam' wet as the North Sea. And twice as salty - my eyes are as sore as if I had sand in 'em."
"Mine too. Well, we haven't seen any rockets."
"Not for want o' looking. That's why I've got so much salt in my eyes. Can hardly believe it: all those mules so close to each other - in this weather."
"Well, they were until the rain started. Might be a different story now. Doubt if we'd see rockets with this visibility."
"An hour or so until dawn," Southwick shouted, and then added: "Listen to that!"
A prolonged gust seemed to pick up the Triton and shove her through the water like a goose landing clumsily.
Ramage tapped Southwick's arm. "We'll have to hand the main trysail, otherwise we'll never find the convoy at daybreak."
"At the speed we're making in the gusts it can only be astern!" Southwick yelled with a grim laugh, and strode off in the rain to call the watch.
A few minutes later, with the main trysail furled and only the fore trysail pulling - just a few square feet - the brig had not slowed down appreciably, and Ramage sensed that the wind had increased considerably even in that short time.
Southwick rejoined him, wiping the spray from his eyes, and said: "Gained nothing out of that. We'd have had to hand it anyway. If the wind pipes up any more, I reckon we'll be going too fast even under bare poles."
"Don't forget your mules will be doing the same," Ramage reminded him. "Probably been doing it for the past couple of hours."
"It's one way of making sure you don't get taken aback!"
Leaving Southwick beside the men at the wheel, Ramage walked aft to the taffrail, carefully timing his movements with the violent pitch and roll. Then he looked aft. The Triton's wake in the darkness was a broad band of turbulent and phosphorescent water stretching out astern over the waves like a bumpy cart track rising and falling over rolling hills. The seas were getting big. Certainly the darkness exaggerated them, but they looked like enormous watery avalanches rushing down on the ship from astern. Yet each time it seemed she must be overwhelmed, the stern began to lift and the wave crest slipped under the brig like a hand moving beneath a sheet.