"Why on earth not?"
"Well, sir," Southwick said uncomfortably, "it's difficult to put it into words, but. . ."
"But what?" Ramage demanded. "Spit it out, man; since when have you come along blushing with a bunch of flowers in your hand?"
"Well, sir," Southwick started again, "I've sailed with you so long that I expect the unexpected; it's sort of - well, I've received some very strange orders from you, sir, but I've carried 'em out and later I see you were absolutely right, and you took Johnny Crapaud by surprise. What I mean, sir, is that Sir Henry hasn't - well, he hasn't sailed with you before and he - well, he might..."
"He'll probably think I've gone mad?" Ramage offered.
Southwick swallowed hard. "Yes, sir, he might. Aitken and the rest of the Calypsos know better; in fact few of 'em realize that half the time your orders'd sound odd to the usual run of frigate captains because you succeed, so as far as our fellows are concerned that's the way to do it."
Ramage patted Southwick's arm. "Don't worry, I understand what you mean and thanks for saying it. Anyway, Sir Henry seems happy enough wrapped up in his oilskins and sitting undisturbed on a carronade aft. Aitken says he's dreaming of the days when he was young and commanded a frigate, and not a fleet!"
Back on the quarterdeck, Aitken reported to Ramage that the Calypso was still making almost exactly eight knots, and the time and speed had been written on the slate. And the French frigate, Aitken added, was following in the Calypso's wake, barely a cable distant.
Ramage went to the binnacle and looked again at his watch. Twenty-nine minutes. The damned timepiece seemed to be going backwards. Well, Southwick knew what he had to do. Now to give Aitken his instructions, then he would take a turn round the deck, telling Kenton, Hill, Martin and Orsini what was expected of them. And, even though the present quartermaster was a good man, Ramage had an almost superstitious preference for having Jackson as the quartermaster, watching the helmsmen and the weather luffs of the sails, when they went into action - not that they were going into action, but... He gave the order to Aitken, and while the word was passed for the American, Ramage told Aitken what he intended doing.
Ramage watched the first lieutenant's face closely in the darkness, having already absorbed Southwick's honest comments, but Aitken revealed no reaction: Ramage could have been telling the Scotsman something routine - such as that tomorrow morning they would be anchoring in a quiet bay and he wanted the ship's boats away wooding and watering because they were down to fifteen tons of water and the cook was complaining he was short of wood for heating the coppers.
Aitken repeated the course that Ramage had mentioned, asked for a confirmation of the distance to be run, and suggested that he should visit all the officers at their divisions of guns, nodding contentedly when Ramage said he would do that himself.
Then, unexpectedly, Aitken had nodded his head aft. "Are you telling the admiral what you intend doing, sir?"
The Highland accent was strong, and Ramage knew the Scotsman was more excited than he had revealed. Hearing Southwick's warning, Ramage shook his head. "He might think I'm trying to get his approval."
"Aye, he might that. And I'm thinking you wouldn't, sir; to anyone not used to our ways it does sound a bit of a gamble. Our necks in a rope, one might say!"
"Yers, s'obvious, innit," Stafford declared. He, Rossi, Jackson and the four Frenchmen were crouched down in the lee of the fourth 12-pounder on the larboard side. The black enamelled barrel of the gun glistened wetly with spray in the diffused light from a moon fighting through haze and fast-moving cloud. "Yers - we're tryin' to lead this Frog frigate a dance. The Capting's got some trick ready so's we lose the Frog in the dark. Justchew wait'n see."
"Gilbert," Jackson said, "just check that apron: some of these gusts are a bit fierce."
The Frenchman stood up and worked his way to the breech. He ran his hand over the small tent of canvas protecting the flintlock from spray and rain.
"Is all right," he said, crouching down again beside the other men. "Tell me, Staff, supposing these 'Frogs' have already guessed what Mr Ramage intends doing? What then?"
"Frogs is a daft lot," Stafford declared, completely oblivious that number four gun on the larboard side was served by four Frenchmen, one Italian, one American and one Briton. "Needn't worry yerself Gilbert. Here, Jacko, they're callin' fer you from the quarterdeck. Wotchew bin doing then?"
For a moment, as he listened again for the hail, making sure it was for him, Jackson tried to decide whether Stafford was anxious for his wellbeing or afraid he might have missed something.
Yes, the hail was for him. "You're gun captain now, Staff, and Rosey, you move up one. Right?"
With that he walked aft in a series of splay-footed zigzags, looking like a drunken duck while moving from one handhold to another as the ship alternately heeled to stronger blasts of wind and then came upright in the lulls, like an inverted pendulum.
Stafford is probably right, Jackson thought; that Cockney is shrewd, and he has sailed with Mr Ramage for several years. But if Mr Ramage intends throwing off this French frigate, he is going to have to do it soon: the moon will be up all night, and the Frenchman was quick enough to follow the Calypso round on that last tack and shows up again at a cable's distance. Tacking and wearing across the Tyrrhenian Sea is all very well, but those Frenchmen can obviously work their ship fast enough to match tack for tack.
Once he reached the quarterdeck ladder he saw the first lieutenant and the captain standing together by the binnacle. Mr Aitken was still holding the speaking trumpet and had obviously hailed him.
"Sir," Jackson said, "you passed the word for me?"
"Yes. You take over as quartermaster."
As Jackson relieved his predecessor he listened as the man first repeated the course and described the sails set and wind direction. The American saw that the four men at the wheel were reliable and a glance at the compass showed the ship yawing comfortably about a quarter of a point either side of the course. Very good: the men were letting the ship find her own way rather than sawing the rudder first one way and then the other - nervous steering which usually ended in frayed tempers.
Jackson knew very well that he was always Mr Ramage's choice as quartermaster when going into action. But action on a night like this? Was Mr Ramage suddenly going to turn and steer down towards the Frenchman? With the Calypso rolling enough to make gunnery as near as dammit impossible? The two ships would pass each other at a combined speed of at least sixteen knots, so there would be time enough for only one broadside, and that would do precious little damage. Anyway, by the time the Calypso came near, the Frenchmen would probably be tacking, to get out of danger. At the moment - he pictured it clearly - they were like a donkey going uphill with the peasant holding on to their tail. Everywhere the donkey went, the peasant (in the shape of the French frigate) was sure to follow. Some nursery rhyme came to mind.
Yet up here on the quarterdeck Jackson did not feel there was any tension: Mr Aitken had gone back to his usual place at the quarterdeck rail; Mr Ramage moved up to the weather side, out of the reach of the spray. And that man sitting on the after carronade, oilskins glistening, must be the old admiral. Hicks, the other quartermaster, had gone off without sulking, and the whole ship's company knew that Hicks sulked as easily as the shine wore off brass in the sea air: in fact within a month of joining the ship the fellow had been nicknamed "Brightwork Hicks". If he was not sulking now, then Mr Aitken or Mr Ramage must have explained why he was being replaced. So at the moment, the American thought wryly, "Brightwork Hicks" knows a great deal more about what is going to happen than I do.