And then Jackson was hailing from the masthead: 'She's three - masted, sir, everything set to the royals. Hull below the horizon, but she's a frigate and from the cut of her sails looks French to me.'
Southwick caught Ramage's eye and winked cheerfully. That's her, sir; Jackson's never mistaken.'
Ramage nodded. 'Make the special signal to La Creole,' be told Wagstaffe, 'and as soon as she hauls dear of our wake, back the foretopsail and heave - to on the larboard tack.'
'Beat to quarters, sir?' Southwick asked.
'No, not yet; we've plenty of time and a lot to do.'
He glanced round and saw Gianna's nephew scurrying up the quarterdeck ladder. He was off watch, but obviously had heard the hailing.
'Orsini!' Ramage barked, holding out a small key. Top right - hand drawer of my desk - fetch me the French signal book. And lock the drawer again.' Then, just as the boy turned away, Ramage remembered, 'It's in the weighted canvas bag, along with the other papers. Make sure you secure the neck of the bag again before you lock the drawer.'
That small canvas bag, containing the secret daily challenge and reply for the next three months, along with the extra copy of the British signal book and his orders, and weighted with a six - pound bar of lead, was the most valuable object in the Calypso: if she was about to be captured by the enemy, that bag had to be thrown in the sea. If it fell into enemy hands and Ramage survived, he would be court - martialled as soon as the Admiralty could get their hands on him, and ruined. No excuses were ever accepted for that, and every captain knew it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Captains, Paolo thought to himself as he scurried down the companionway; they always treat everyone else as a fool. All Uncle Nicholas need have said was: 'Get the French signal book from the top drawer - - .' If it was not on lop, he'd have guessed it was in the canvas bag, and he'd have unlaced it, taken the book out, and laced the bag again. All without having to be told.
Nod to the Marine sentry and a quick explanation: 'On the captain's business.' The sudden darkness of the cabin, the key in the lock, and there's the bag. The canvas coarse, the brass eyelets for the roping going green with corrosion caused by the salty sea air. And that's it, the signal book - funny how he thought in English now, and saw the French language on the cover quite differently than when he lived in Italy and French was always the second language.
A wonderfully precise language, English: you could be so exact But, he thought ruefully, remembering Mr Southwick's stern questioning during navigation and mathematics lessons, that was one of the language's drawbacks: Italian and French allowed you to give a more evasive, even imaginative, answer, there was more scope for disguising the fact you didn't know something; for dissembling. But Mr Southwick taught mathematics and navigation in English; good down - to - earth and unambiguous English.
Lock the drawer again, don't lose the key. What is Uncle Nicholas planning? All that amount of anchor cable ranged on the foredeck. 'Ranged' - a good word, that. Surely he's not intending to anchor close inshore? It is the lightest of all the cables, and there's no anchor bent on. Nor, for that matter, would the cable be ranged on the fo'c'sle if he was going to anchor.
If only he'd been on deck sooner he would probably have been sent to the masthead with Jackson. Paolo loved it aloft, the ship small and narrow - beamed below him, the men tiny, like lizards scurrying on a marble floor. Ah well, he was too late to go with Jacko, so belay the grumbling.
An odd man, Jackson. The men said that he and Uncle Nicholas had saved Aunt Gianna's life; had literally snatched her from under the hooves of the French cavalry. And, only a few weeks ago, Jackson had saved his own life. Aunt and nephew. But the American had said nothing about it at the time, nor had Uncle Nicholas: Rossi had finally told him, and then only to say that Uncle Nicholas had been angry with him for joining the boarding party when they cut the Jocasta out of Santa Cruz.
Such a glare on deck, and with a French frigate coming over the horizon they won't be stretching the awning, so the sun will be scorching, and where is Uncle Nicholas?
Paolo saw him standing at the taffrail watching La Creole working her way round to windward of the Calypso, which seemed curiously dead in the water. Dead in the water! Accidents, the foretopsail is backed and she's hove-to! What are they doing?
The French signal book, sir.'
Thank you, Orsini. Stand by me in case there are more errands.'
This was how Aunt Gianna said it would be. An hour at sea with Uncle Nicholas comprised forty minutes of waiting, nineteen minutes of wondering, and one minute of sheer excitement Well, now he was fourteen years old he could make allowances for the way a woman saw things, but he could understand what she meant Uncle Nicholas (the captain, he corrected himself, because be wasn't really an uncle, yet anyway, and good discipline meant that the relationship wait never referred to) was rather like a cat. He sat patiently for hours outside the mouse hole, but once the mouse came out it was all over in a moment The trouble was, of course, that the prey was rarely a mouse; usually it was something like a leopard, not that he'd ever seen a leopard, except in those paintings on the walls of Etruscan tombs. All spotted. And, accidente, what breasts those Etruscan women had, too, and lately he seemed to be thinking more and more about women's breasts. Men did, he knew.
Anyway, Aunt Gianna had said the captain would show him no favour; that this was the English system, and he'd probably be harder on Paolo than on anyone else, but it was all part of the training. Well, if that was the case then Midshipman Orsini would be the best trained in the Navy and would pass for lieutenant the first time he took the examination, and the examiners at the Navy Board would be amazed . . . except, if Mr Southwick was to be believed, for his mathematics and navigation. This spherical trigonometry - Mama mia! Galileo, Archimedes, Pythagoras, Copernicus, Leonardo - they were all Italians (or were some of them Greek > Leonardo was Italian, anyway, because he had visited the village of Vinci, where he had been born), and if they could do it, well, Paolo Orsini should be able to. But could Leonardo?
'Orsini!'
'Sir!'
'That signal from La Creole!' "Yes, sir, I . . . er . . .' Where the devil was the ordinary signal book? And the telescope? Accidente, that stronzo Leonardo, and Vinci was not in Tuscany anyway; it was though, just north of Empoli, but it wasn't in the Kingdom of Volterra, so he didn't really count 'It's all right, Orsini; it's a special signal. But you'd gone to sleep.'
'No, sir, I - '
He saw Aunt Gianna's face and heard her words: 'And, Paolo, you'll be blamed for things you didn't do and it'll seem unjust, but never make excuses.'
She really did understand the Navy - of course, she had made two or three passages in the King's ships. Or, he suddenly realized, perhaps she understood Uncle Nicholas - the captain, rather. She knew his moods, because he could be very moody, and his sense of humour, which was dry. Very dry, at times; like this island. Did she know how thoughtful he was, though? How he was always concerned for his men, doing something for them, and no one - except perhaps Mr Southwick or Mr Aitken, or perhaps Jackson - ever knew? Several times in places like English Harbour and Port Royal, bumboats had come alongside and put many sacks of fresh fruit and vegetables on board for the men, and most people thought it was Navy Board issue, but Jackson had told him the captain paid for it out of his own pocket, and it was to prevent the men getting scurvy.