"A signal to the fleet . . . hmm, I wonder what that is?" Southwick said.
"Well, it can't be ordering them to form line of battle," Ramage said. "Perhaps an alteration of course, though they're already on the right tack and they can't steer any closer to the wind."
He walked over to the binnacle box and took out his telescope. "I wonder . . ." he mused. "There's really only one other signal it could be ..."
Even as he watched, the masts of the last ship in the line slowly diverged and then lined up again as she wore round and began steering back along her wake. Then the next followed, and the next.
"Cadiz!" Southwick bellowed excitedly. "Villeneuve's going back to Cadiz!"
Ramage ordered Orsini to hoist the signal to warn the Euryalus, although it was only a formality, since Blackwood could see what was happening. Within minutes the Sirius would be repeating the signal to the Naiad, and she to the Phoebe, and from her to the Defence, and so on until Lord Nelson was warned that his prey was making a bolt back to its lair.
By now the sun had come over the horizon, weak and watery, but the wind was falling away and through his glass Ramage could see that several of the Combined Fleet were having trouble wearing round, their ships hard to handle in a heavy swell and light breeze.
So now the Combined Fleet's line of battle was being led by what had been the last ship. Ah, there was the massive Santissima Trinidad: she was wearing round slowly, and she would be the ninth or tenth ship in the line. And her next astern would be the French flagship, the Bucentaure.
Ramage could see several masts beyond the line: eight or more big ships were well away to leeward, though he was not sure if they had been out of position when Villeneuve gave the order to wear or had sagged off while trying to obey. From their ensigns (most of the ships had now hoisted their colours, having waited for sunrise) Ramage could see that half the ships out of position were French, so it was not all poor Spanish seamanship.
"They're making about five knots, and it's twenty-five miles to Cadiz eh?" he said to Southwick. "Well, with Lord Nelson up to windward, are you taking any wagers on this race?"
"Signal from the Euryalus, sir," Orsini said.
Blackwood was telling Ramage that he himself had been ordered to report on board the Victory and that the Calypso, along with the other frigates, should fall back on the fleet.
"I was hoping we'd be told to do that," Southwick said. "We're not doing any good out here now, and frigates caught between two fleets could get their toes stamped on! I see the French frigates are well to leeward of their line."
Ramage took one long look at the Combined Fleet before giving Aitken the order to tack to the westwards. He would never again see so many enemy ships drawn up in line of battle - at least, he hoped not. It was an awe-inspiring sight, although it was hard to believe so many ships could be so badly handled by a commander-in-chief. Indecision, nervousness, lack of experience, lack of faith in the ability of his captains . . . One could sympathize with Villeneuve. No, it was rather that one could understand his position; sympathy had to be withheld when one realized he commanded some 2,500 guns . . .
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
With the Calypso close to Nelson's column, Ramage stared at the scene, trying to fix it in his memory. If only he was an artist with an easel, canvas and paints set out in front of him. A pale, washed-out sky with wisps of high cloud had a weak and watery sun which seemed shy of lighting up such a dreadful, warlike scene.
Ahead of the Calypso (and the other four frigates, Pickle schooner and Entreprenante cutter) was the Combined Fleet of France and Spain: thirty-three big ships (and five frigates and a couple of brigs) sailing in line of battle from right to left, a line of ships stretching along half the eastern horizon, steering back to Cadiz.
Gaps in the line showed where ships were dropping astern and other spaces revealed ships sagging to leeward out of the line, forming another abbreviated and ragged line of battle, eight or so ships which mingled with the frigates. The ships had all their sails set - courses, topsails, topgallants and royals. They were stretching along on a reach but sailing just too high for studding sails to draw. Yet, Ramage thought, if anyone needs studding sails to hurry them along . . .
And Nelson's fleet: the two columns over on the starboard hand were steering to meet the centre of the Combined Fleet's line of battle like the points of two sabres intending to hack a section from the middle of a long snake.
Yet the grace: the French and Spanish ships were rolling heavily with the swell waves catching them on the beam, but they were big and all of them had fine sweeping sheers, masts buff-coloured with the mastbands picked out in black. Their ensigns drooped: the red and gold of Spain looked like twisted curtains; the French Tricolour hung so that the last colour, the red stripe in the fly, obscured the rest.
The Victory led the nearest British column: Nelson's proper place as commander-in-chief was somewhere in the middle of the windward column but, Ramage noticed, the Victory was just where one would expect her to be, leading the column - having a race with the Téméraire, which was rigging out studding sails. And as he watched, Ramage saw the booms also being slid out at the end of the Victory's yards, as though Nelson was determined not to be overtaken.
Then came the Neptune - and Ramage remembered Nelson giving her captain, Thomas Fremantle, the letter which told him that his wife Betsy had just given him another daughter.
Then came the Leviathan and following her the Conqueror which (since she was commanded by Captain Israel Pellew) would be manned by Cornishmen. Astern of her was the Britannia, carrying Nelson's third-in-command, the Earl of Northesk.
Altogether there were twelve ships of the line in Nelson's column, but the last four, dull sailers, were beginning to straggle astern. Ramage could imagine the frustration of their captains as they tried every trick they knew to keep up.
And Admiral Collingwood's column: he too was leading it in the Royal Sovereign, followed by the Belleisle and then came Captain Duffs Mars: no doubt the Duff family were as excited as the Scot on board the Calypso, Aitken, who showed his excitement by not saying a word.
"What a sight! What a sight!" Southwick exclaimed for the tenth time.
"Let's hope the wind holds," Ramage said. "It might die any minute."
"Yes, His Lordship must be cursing this breeze," Southwick said, shaking his head. "His column isn't making more than a walking pace ..."
"At least they're running before the wind and not spilling it as badly as the enemy," Aitken pointed out. "They're just pitching; Villeneuve's ships are rolling heavily."
The breeze was growing fitfuclass="underline" the Calypso's sails were going flat and then filling again with a bang which shook the ship. And Ramage saw with his glass that the same was happening to both the enemy ships and Nelson's.
As the enemy's line (forming, Ramage now realized, more of a gentle crescent round the edge of the eastern horizon than a straight line) slowed down, so did Nelson's two columns. And if this was in fact a dying breeze, every yard that Nelson sailed took him into greater danger.
When one ship attacked another on the beam the attacked ship's whole broadside could fire at the attacker, which was unable to reply because its guns could not be trained round. Nelson's plan for attacking the Combined Fleet's line was unique because every one of his ships would be attacking the enemy from the unfavourable bows-on position. It was, Nelson reckoned, the only way of smashing the enemy's line: it was the only way, he considered, that he could cut off the leeward ships from those to windward. But a ship's bow and stern were the weak spots: raking fire could send roundshot scything from one end of the ship to the other.