A hurried shout and three seamen ran up to the quarterdeck. One carried a reel on which the logline was wound; another had two log glasses - one called the long, the other the short. The long one, in which the sand ran out in twenty-eight seconds, was used when the ship was estimated to be making less than five knots; the short, fourteen seconds, was for above five knots.
The third man carried a triangular-shaped piece of wood, the logchip, which had three lines attached to it, one to each corner. One of them was secured only by a peg pushed into the hole, and all three were made up to the logline itself.
The man with the logchip went to the lee quarter, and as the second seaman with the reel held it above his head by its handles so that it could spin, the logchip man called: "Is the glass clear?"
"Clear glass," the third seaman answered.
The logchip was dropped in the water, and the reel started spinning as the logchip, now immersed in the sea, dragged it off. As soon as a piece of bunting passed the logchip man, he shouted, "Turn," and the short glass was inverted to start the sand running.
The line, unreeling fast, had a knot tied in it every forty-seven feet three inches, and the knots were in the same proportion to a nautical mile as the glasses were to an hour. If three knots ran out with the long glass, the ship was making three knots; with the short glass she would be making six.
The third seaman with the short glass called "Stop!" as the sand ran out, and the line was checked by the first seaman. This jerked the peg out of the logchip, which went flat, skating along the top of the water as the men counted up the knots. Four.
"Eight knots, sir," the man with the reel reported to Aitken, doubling the number because he was using the short glass.
While the seamen were streaming the log, Ramage walked over to the compass and stared down at the card. The black lubber's line was within a hair's breadth of the letters SW x W¼W printed against a small black triangle, and he called to the men at the wheeclass="underline" "Obviously your favourite course!"
The four helmsmen and the quartermaster were still laughing when Aitken reported: "Eight knots, sir. Will you be wanting another cast?"
"Yes, in ten minutes or so. Stand by."
And there astern the French frigate was now inching her way up to windward to get directly into the Calypso's wake, having taken longer to wear round. Well, Ramage thought to himself, the odds are now almost in my favour. He took the slate from the binnacle box drawer and noted down the time the coast was sighted (a guess from the time he had ordered the course alteration and looked at his watch), the course they were now steering, and the Calypso's speed. The lives of many people now depended on three factors, time, speed and distance - and yes, the breaking strain of hemp ...
Now for the bloody mathematics. The Calypso had seven miles to run from the mouth of the Ombrone river, but they had turned away from the coast opposite the Torre Collelungo which was, he remembered, almost three miles south of the river mouth.
There was a northgoing current but running at no more than a knot at the moment. Seven miles to run at eight knots - that will take . . . yes, fifty-three minutes from the time we altered course. In fact we have to run slightly more than seven miles because we started off south of the Ombrone - but then, the guess of a knot for the speed of the northgoing current is on the low side. So the two, extra distance and current will, probably, cancel each other out. He went to the binnacle lamp and looked again at his watch. Forty-one minutes to go.
The quartermaster, misunderstanding why Ramage had gone to the binnacle, said defensively: "We're steering as close to a quarter point as makes no difference, sir. Coming off mebbe a quarter point either side as she yaws, and it evens out nice."
"It had better," Ramage said with a cheerfulness he did not feel, but not wanting to make the quartermaster think he was distrusted. "Otherwise all of us will be marked down 'DD' within the hour!"
The men at the wheel and the quartermaster laughed at Ramage's grim forecast: in wartime a man could leave a ship (and therefore the Navy) for one of only three reasons, which were written as initials beside his name in the muster book as "D" for Discharged (to another ship, or a hospital), or "DD" for Discharged Dead, meaning he had died or been killed, or "R", the Navy's curt way of saying that a man had Run or deserted, an offence which could end, if he was caught, with the man swinging by the neck from a yardarm. In fact in wartime the Navy was so short of men that a recaptured deserter was usually flogged and sent to sea again.
"Another cast of the log, if you please Mr Aitken, and I'll thank you to have a man ready in the chains with the lead."
The wooden triangle attached to the logline was thrown over the stern again and the seaman held up the reel by its handles so that it spun freely, while the third man turned the glass, timing how quickly the measured length of line took to run out. Aitken had shouted the order for the leadsman, and Ramage could picture the seaman tying on his leather apron and collecting the coiled up leadline, holding the actual lead (which looked like the weight of a grandfather clock) before going to the lee side to stand on the thick board fitted lengthwise along the ship's side abreast the foremast. This, known as the chain-plate (there was one each side in way of a mast and the shrouds were secured to it), formed a good platform. The leadsman put lines round himself (the breast ropes) and made the ends secure to the shrouds, so that he would not fall into the sea if there was an unexpected lee lurch.
Holding the coil of rope (marked at various depths by pieces of cloth and leather, because he would be working by feel) in his left hand, he had the end of the line secured to the lead in his right.
When the call came for the cast of the lead he would let six or seven feet of line pass through his right hand and then swing the lead back and forth, like a pendulum, finally letting it go when he judged it was swinging far enough forward that the lead would plummet into the water and hit the bottom as the ship sailed above it.
As soon as he felt the weight coming off the line he would feel for the nearest piece of cloth or leather, and know how much line was in the water, and thus the depth. As he shouted it out, he would be hastily hoisting up the lead and coiling the line, ready for another cast. And the leather apron would prevent the water streaming off the line from soaking him.
Forty minutes. After telling Aitken he was going to the fo'c'sle, Ramage walked up to see Southwick, who by now was wearing oilskins as the Calypso's bow butted into the seas, sending up showers of spray.
"She seems to like this length o' swell," Southwick commented. "The men are down in the cable tier, and I've the others up here." He was obviously hoping for some explanation and, knowing that the next orders would be bellowed at Southwick from the quarterdeck, the voice distorted by the speaking trumpet, Ramage described his plan in detail.
Southwick nodded from time to time as both men clung to the breech of the weathermost bowchaser, ducking occasionally from spray hurling itself into the air to be blown aft by the wind.
"Yes," Southwick agreed. "I think the cable will hold." He thought for a moment. "Anyway, it'll be all up with us if it doesn't!" he grunted.
"Ten fathoms," Ramage repeated.
"Aye aye, sir. I'll get plenty of cable up on deck, faked out and ready to run. I - er, well, if I may say so, sir, I wouldn't mention to Sir Henry what you intend doing . . ."