Southwick shrugged, borrowed the speaking trumpet from Aitken, and bellowed forward the order for the lamptrimmer to lay aft at once.
Ramage beckoned to Aitken. "Keep a lookout aloft when it gets dark, and we'll have the regular half dozen night lookouts on deck - one on each bow, at the mainchains, and on each quarter. Warn them particularly to watch for land - along the coast north from Talamone: they've seen it before."
Aitken nodded as Ramage said: "I'm going down to the great cabin for five minutes: call me if there's any change up here. Watch our friend, in case he claps on more sail."
With that Ramage went down to his cabin and, after pulling a chart from the rack, sat down at his desk. He unrolled the chart and weighted down the ends. It covered the area from Giglio to Argentario, then over to the mainland by Orbetello, northwards to Talamone, the mouth of the river Ombrone, and on far enough to show Castiglione della Pescaia, Rocchette and finally Punta Ala.
And there, almost in the centre of the chart, just about midway between the island of Giglio and the mouth of the Ombrone, were the three rocks and attached shoals that were neatly marked "Formiche di Grosseto". He took the parallel rulers, dividers and a pencil from the drawer and spent the next three minutes measuring off courses and distances, noting them on a small piece of paper which he tucked in his pocket before rolling up the chart and returning the navigational instruments to the drawer.
He did some calculations after checking depths of water, realized that the odds were against the great gamble he was about to take, and finally shrugged his shoulders. Often lack of an alternative made a man brave. This was a good example. He picked up the lanthorn to return it to the Marine sentry on duty at the great cabin door. The nuisance of being at general quarters was that lanthorns, giving a very dull light, replaced the glass-fronted lanterns.
Up on the quarterdeck he was surprised just how dark it had become while he was below. Looking astern, he could just make out the French frigate, a dark blur in the Calypso's wake. But could the Frenchman still see the Calypso? The British frigate was sailing into the darker eastern sky and, even though the visibility was bad, it was still lighter to the west, where the sun, despite having long since ducked below the horizon, still gave some reflected light.
"We'll have the poop lantern, Mr Southwick."
The lamptrimmer, a hulking man, was carrying a lanthorn, and he opened the front so that he could use the flame of the candle to light the wick. The wind blowing hard over the quarter seemed to fence with the flame, although the lamptrimmer did his best to shield it with his body. Finally the big poop lantern was lit, and Ramage saw that Sir Henry was still standing at the taffrail. He turned to Aitken. "Send someone for my boatcloak: the admiral must be soaked with spray."
"It's all right, sir," Aitken said, "I had some oilskins brought up for him while you were below in your cabin. I have the impression," he added quietly, "that the old gentleman is enjoying himself: it's probably a quarter of a century since he rushed round in a frigate!"
The sight of the lamptrimmer making his way back down the quarterdeck ladder reminded Ramage, and he called over Southwick so that he he could give both the first lieutenant and the master their orders at the same time.
"Mr Southwick, first, when I give the word I want four or five strong men sent down to the cable tier, with a couple of boys holding lanthorns, so they don't fall over each other or get tied in knots."
Southwick nodded but was puzzled, although he knew better than to start asking questions at this stage.
"Second, I want three men on the fo'c'sle with axes. Sharp axes. And a couple of lads with lanthorns. And six men at thebitts." He saw that Southwick would have apoplexy if he was not allowed to ask a question, and eased his curiosity by adding: "We may be anchoring in a hurry, so I want the men down in the cable tier to make sure the cable is ready to run smoothly. I want the men with axes to cut away the anchor, which at the moment is catted; and I want men at the bitts to secure the cable after I've decided we've veered enough. Does that satisfy you?"
"Doesn't sound as though you've much faith in my navigation, sir," Southwick grumbled. "Good lookouts, a man in the chains singing out the depths as he finds them with the lead, and there shouldn't be much chance of running up on the beach."
"Well, we can't be too sure," Ramage said, amused that Southwick had drawn the wrong conclusion. "Now, Mr Aitken, I see you've set the lookouts. As soon as Mr Southwick reckons we've nearly run our distance to the coast, I want a man in the chains with a lead, and you make sure those lookouts are looking! We shall wear round soon after sighting the coast. Perhaps even instantly. And now you have five minutes to go below and tell our guests what is happening. Should General Cargill offer any remarks that reflect on anyone's honour, you have my permission to leave and come back here at once. Do not," he emphasized, "answer back."
Once Aitken had gone below Ramage walked aft to find Sir Henry. "If you would prefer to be with us at the rail, sir . . ."
"No, no, my dear fellow," the admiral said. "Your first lieutenant was kind enough to give me some oilskins, and I'm happy enough here. Isn't often I get the chance of a frigate action, you know!"
"Action!" Ramage repeated jokingly. "I thought we were running away!"
"Oh yes, we are, we are. What I believe our army friends would call a tactical withdrawal if they were doing it." He pointed at the poop lantern. "Would that by any chance be a red herring?"
"Why no, sir," Ramage protested innocently. "That's what we rough sailors call a poop lantern, so that any ship astern of us can follow in the darkness."
Sir Henry smiled as he said: "Ah yes, it's just like a big coach lantern, isn't it. Well, I'll be your postilion, if you like."
"Much appreciate it, sir," Ramage said, giving a bow. "Now, if you'll forgive me, I'll rejoin the ladies."
As he turned away he was not sure if he could still see the frigate. The poop lantern was well screened so that it threw most of its light astern, but few stray beams reached the quarterdeck to interfere with anyone's night vision. Occasionally seas surged up so high that broken crests caught some of the light and threw reflections back on board as though the waves were momentarily swirling piles of sparkling diamonds.
Aitken rejoined him at the quarterdeck rail. "The marquis thanks you on behalf of the rest for letting 'em know what's happening, sir. The general - the junior of the two, I mean - said nothing." Aitken glanced up at Ramage, who sensed rather than saw the twinkle in the Scot's eye. "I had the impression that General Cargill was verra subdued. Aye, verra subdued. Like a man who has bet a lot more money than he has in his purse, and sees his horse starting to run lame."
Southwick sniffed contemptuously. "And that's about what he's done, with that cowardice nonsense. A pistol ball at twenty paces - yes, he can already feel it lodged in his gizzard! Probably he's already rehearsing his dying speech!"
Ramage laughed and turned to look astern. Yes, the frigate was still there, but he saw her bow wave rather than the hull. The French captain had not set more sail - surely an obvious move, once the Calypso altered course. Was the Frenchman fearful for his masts or unused to driving his ship in heavy weather? Or simply following the Calypso because he thought she was probably commanded by an officer senior to himself? Many questions and no answers, but as long as she followed the Calypso's poop lantern all was well.