Jackson stood up at the gun of which he was captain: the deck on which he had been lying seemed to be getting harder.
"My back," he grumbled to the rest of the gun's crew. "More than twelve hours at general quarters . . . and we'll be here the whole of tonight."
"And all tomorrow too," Stafford said. "Seven got out today, but there's thirty-four or so ships of the line. At this rate it'll take 'em five days to get out!"
"That's supposing they want to get out," Louis said. "If the Spanish have any sense they'll stay in port."
"One Spaniard did sail," Gilbert pointed out.
"Probably dragging his anchors!" Louis commented.
"Against a foul current?" Stafford asked. "Well," he announced, "I'm looking forward to seeing the Santy Trinidaddy."
Jackson groaned at the Cockney's pronunciation. "You mean the Santissima Trinidad. Means the Holy Trinity."
"Does it?" Stafford said. "Well, they say she's the biggest ship in the world. Carries 130 guns, I heard Mr Ramage telling Mr Orsini."
"Too big for us to attack," Louis said jokingly.
"She could hoist us on board without strain," Jackson said.
"Just let her try!" Stafford said.
Jackson walked over to the low tub of water standing between his gun and the next and inspected the short lengths of burning slowmatch, fitted into notches round the lip of the tub, their glowing ends over the water.
"Have to change this match soon," he said. "May be needed for the rockets and portfires."
" 'Ere, Jacko, why're they called 'portfires'? - we never set 'em orf in port."
Jackson shrugged his shoulders. "Why call them 'fires'? All that matters is that they make a big glow when we light 'em! They last so much longer than rockets, so there's more chance of seeing them. A rocket's up, over and down in a minute: you could easily miss it. But a portfire - well, from a distance it looks just a glow but it lasts so much longer."
"They won't come out, anyway," Gilbert said.
The Italian seaman, Rossi, growled: "If you keep saying that, you give them the idea!"
"There are many admirals and captains in there -" Gilbert pointed at Cadiz, now over the starboard bow, "- only too content to stay at anchor. They're beaten already!"
"Beaten already?" exclaimed Stafford. "Wotcher mean, they ain't even gone to sea yet!"
"Nelson," Gilbert said. "Just the name. If they're Spanish they know what Commodore Nelson did at Cap St Vincent: if they're French they know what happened at the Nile. And whether they're Spanish or French they've heard all about Copenhagen. He's never been beaten in a big battle. Not only never been beaten, but he wins by destroying the enemy. How many ships of the line escaped at the Nile or Copenhagen?"
"Not many," a voice said out of the darkness, and the men sprang up as they recognized Captain Ramage's voice.
"Make yourselves comfortable," Ramage said. "Nothing so soft as a well scrubbed deck or a gun carriage."
"Yus, sir," Stafford said cheerfully. "Trouble is I'm afraid I'll get so used to it I'll have trouble sleepin' in me 'ammick when all this is over!"
"If it's a problem," Ramage said with mock sympathy, "I'll tell the carpenter to give you half a dozen short planks to use in your hammock as a mattress."
"Do you think they'll come out tomorrow, sir?" Jackson asked.
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "Depends on the wind. If the wind had held up today I'm sure most of them would have come out."
"What makes you sure they'll come out, sir?"
"Bonaparte," Ramage said grimly. "He's ordered them out. I think they might be more scared of him than Lord Nelson ..."
"Silly fellows," Jackson commented.
"They've not much choice. Madame Guillotine or Lord Nelson's roundshot."
"Serves them right for siding with the Revolution," Gilbert commented bitterly.
"The Spanish haven't much choice either," Rossi pointed out.
"Bonaparte scared the Spanish government," Ramage said. "Eventually government decisions come down to seamen waiting in harbour."
With that Ramage moved on to talk to the next gun's crew, who were just as full of comments and questions. For everybody in the Calypso it was going to be a long and dreary wait for the dawn, but at ten o'clock Ramage intended to let the crews of alternate guns stand down. By doing watch and watch about they would all get some sleep before "see a grey goose at a mile".
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dawn on Sunday morning found Ramage pacing the quarterdeck in his boatcloak: during the night cloud had gradually hidden the stars, and the breeze, while freshening, had gradually veered to the south: now it was blowing straight out of Cadiz harbour, so that the Calypso had to beat (in an almost flat sea and a wind so light that the ship seemed reluctant to come round) to keep near the end of the mole.
"All they've got to do now," Southwick said sourly, "is get their anchors on board: then they can't help drifting out to sea."
"Don't underestimate them," Aitken said. "Just imagine the Santissima Trinidad going ahead as they haul on their capstan and fouling the French flagship, the Bucentaure. Picture the shouting and cursing and running about. Jibbooms snapping like carrots, yards locked ..."
"That's a fine imagination you've got," Southwick said. "They'll be so damned cautious it'll take 'em all day to get under way. You'll see, we'll have another night out here dodging the El Diamante shoal."
At that moment the starboard forward lookout gave the time-honoured cry of "See a grey goose at a mile" and two of the lookouts who had been stationed round the ship were sent aloft.
Almost at once they were hailing: at least five of the enemy ships of the line were weighing anchor in Cadiz Roads. Ramage sent Orsini aloft with a telescope and orders to describe in detail how many ships had weighed and how many if any were actually under sail. "The flagships," Ramage emphasized. "What they're doing gives the clue to what the two fleets will do."
Very soon Orsini was hailing the quarterdeck. He had identified Villeneuve's flagship, the Bucentaure, and she had hoisted various flag signals. Seven ships of the line were actually weighing, two already at short stay, although the Bucentaure was lying to a single anchor. A brig was sailing through the anchored fleet - "Acting as whipper-in, I don't doubt," Orsini shouted in a hail which brought a smile to Ramage's face.
Several ships had let fall topsails, Orsini added, but none was under way. "The mole, sir!" he called. "You should be able to see it from down there: thousands of people all along it, watching the fleet sail."
"Aye, weeping wives and sobbing strumpets," Aitken said unsympathetically.
"Listen," Ramage said.
Across the water came the tolling of church bells. The nearest were those of the Iglesia del Carmen, at the northern tip of the Cadiz peninsula and barely half a mile from the end of the mole. Marked "Conspicuous" on Southwick's chart, it was the sailors' church. This morning, Ramage thought grimly, the sailors are out in the ships, weighing and catting the anchors, but their families are crowding the church and, judging from the deeper boom of its bells, the cathedral too.
Aitken said quietly: "They make the fleet's sailing a religious event, don't they. I can imagine dozens of candles burning, incense, monks chanting, priests droning away ... Bit different from Portsmouth Point when our ships sail!"
"Aye, the Dons have bishops and mitres at the end of the mole; we have bailiffs and mistresses!" Southwick said.