Ramage laughed - louder than he intended, but it was a relief to/have La Perle's captain on his way, even if his boat's crew rowed like drunken smugglers dodging a Revenue cutter.
'Mr Aitken, I want four men ready to take that boat's stern - fast and painter, but warn them not to speak a word while they're doing it; I don't want those Frenchmen to get any warning.'
Five minutes later Ramage was waiting a few feet back from the entry port Jackson, Stafford and Rossi were standing nearby, looking like undisciplined seamen, but each had a pistol tucked into the top of his trousers and wore a cutlass. To La Perle's captain they were obviously some of the guards who were having a breath of fresh air, relaxing from the task of guarding the English prisoners held below.
Aitken stood beside Ramage, a telescope under his arm and clearly the second in command. As Ramage waited, finding himself rubbing the scar over his eyebrow and cursing the sun's glare - he could not wear his hat - he knew the deception need last only two or three minutes, perhaps less; just the time it took to get the captain on board and the French boat astern, where it would tow with its crew still on board, a perfectly normal procedure.
Suddenly a plump, wine - mottled face topped by a narrow - brimmed straw hat appeared at the entry port, rising as its owner climbed up the last of the battens. The man was the same height as Ramage with broader shoulders and a stomach long ago run to fat. His arms were long and he walked two or three paces without swinging them. Creased, unbleached canvas trousers, a dark - red shirt, blue eyes, a face unshaven for a couple of days, greasy skin that had not been washed for the same length of time . . . But, Ramage realized, La Perle's captain had the look of a reliable man and was probably a good seaman. A boatswain promoted by the Revolution?
'Citoyen Duroc,' the man said, holding out his hand to Ramage, a huge hand whose fingers seemed as large as bananas. 'Pierre Duroc.' His eyes nickered over the Calypso's decks and seemed satisfied with what they saw.
Ramage did not move and Duroc, his hand still proffered, looked surprised, and then Ramage said: 'Do you speak English, Captain Duroc?'
The Frenchman stepped back a pace and instinctively looked towards La Creole and then over at La Perle, obviously intending to run back to the entry port.
Three metallic clicks stopped him in his trades: he recognized the noise and looked round slowly, careful now not to make any sudden movement. Jackson, Rossi and Stafford had cocked pistols aimed at him, and Ramage and Aitken had each taken a pace sideways, out of the line of fire.
Duroc was still puzzled and obviously not frightened. 'I have no English,' he said in French, his heavy accent showing he came from the Bordeaux area. He pointed up at the Tricolour. "What is happening? Were you prisoners? Have you escaped?'
Ramage shook his head and said in French, gesturing at the Tricolour and blue ensign, 'A ruse de guerre. Captain Duroc, to secure your capture!'
Duroc's face, already purple from years of heavy drinking, looked swollen: his eyes narrowed, his hands clenched: he was about to step towards Ramage, remembered the three pistols, and contented himself with sneering: 'You fight under false colours, eh?'
Tight?' Ramage enquired innocently. There's been no fighting, and you know the rules as well as I: one hoists one's proper colours before opening fire.'
That schooner, then!' Duroc burst out "She's French. I recognize her. From Fort de France.'
'She was French and you probably did see her in Fort Royal - ' Ramage deliberately used the old name - 'but we captured her, along with this ship.'
Duroc shook his head, like a trapped bull. 'What are you going to do now?' he demanded.
Take possession of La Perle.' The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and waved at the Calypso's decks. 'I have three hundred men on board - you have a couple of dozen.'
Ramage bowed. Thank you; I was expecting you to have fewer.'
Duroc, unaware what he had revealed, held out both hands, palm upwards. 'You'll never take her. Let me go back on board my boat and let us continue our respective voyages.'
Ramage watched the man's eyes. It was a curious offer, curious and not in keeping with the man's character. Duroc was a fighter; it would have been more in character if he had sworn at Ramage and told him to do his damnedest to capture La Perle. Duroc had a reason for avoiding a fight, and the reason, Ramage guessed, was because he had a particular purpose in wanting to get to Amsterdam. An important passenger? Special supplies? Reinforcements? No, not reinforcements because he had boasted of his three hundred men, which was the number of men the French like to have in a frigate of that size. Whatever it was, Duroc had a reason for wanting to get to Amsterdam. And while the ship was lying hove - to over there, Ramage knew Duroc would never reveal it. Afterwards, he might.
Ramage looked again at the eyes - they were bloodshot now, from rage - and the hands, which were clenched, looked like shoulders of mutton. He turned to Aitken. 'Pass the word for Mr Rennick - we'll keep this fellow in irons for the time being.'
La Perle was soon a mile astern and still hove - to as La Creole continued to tow the Calypso eastward. Orsini, whose French was fluent, had been sent aft to order the French boat crew to climb on board up a rope ladder slung from the taffrail. The nine men had climbed over the taffrail to find themselves staring into the muzzles of pistols and were only too glad to be led below as prisoners.
Ramage wished the Royal Navy would abandon breeches for its officers - in the Tropics, anyway: cotton duck trousers were loose and so much cooler and more comfortable than breeches and stockings. And there was much to be said for a loose - fitting shirt. The French egalite had sartorial advantages.
Very well, he told himself, the first part of the plan has worked: La Perle now has no captain, but whether or not she is also a snake with her head chopped off depends on the French first lieutenant. If he's like Aitken, there is hard and bloody fighting ahead. If he's a fool - well . . .
'Mr Orsini - let me have the French signal book, please.'
He knew the wording of the signals almost by heart, but he dare not risk a mistake in the numbers. It was such a thin volume, it contained so few signals, especially - especially, he made himself say under his breath, when you are going to try to use it to capture a ship. The only ally he had at the moment was the fact that the officers in La Perle would assume that any orders signalled to her from the Calypso would have the approval of Duroc, and would promptly obey them.
La Creole and the Calypso were now a couple of miles from the coast of Curacao and steering diagonally away from it to the south - east. That was no good; he was going to have to crowd La Perle; crowd her just at the time her first lieutenant was getting into a panic.
'Mr Aitken, make a signal to La Creole to tack. But don't hoist it: I want the flags hung over the bow where La Perle can't see them and have Lacey's attention drawn to them by a musket shot. If the Frenchmen see flags being hoisted that they don't recognize . . .'
'Aye aye, sir,' the first lieutenant said briskly.
'And I hope he has plenty of way on that schooner when he puts the helm over.'
'I warned him about that,' Aitken said dryly. 'I didn't want our dead weight pulling his stern bade again and putting him in irons.'
Ramage nodded and looked over towards the island. Once they were on the other tack they would be steering almost directly for the shore. It would take them half an hour to reach the beach, and although half an hour sounded a long time it would seem a matter of moments if anything went wrong. Particularly, Ramage thought grimly, if the person involved was a French lieutenant upon whose shoulders the fate of two frigates and a schooner was suddenly and unexpectedly thrust.