At that moment he saw the captain going down the quarterdeck ladder on the weather side. Five minutes ago he had been up on the fo'c'sle, where Mr Southwick was still waiting with a handful of men. Jackson shrugged his shoulders, quite satisfied with his present ignorance: with Mr Ramage anything could happen, and it usually turned out for the best.
Ramage found Hill at the first division of guns, eight 12-pounders forward on the starboard side. His men were cheerful and obviously the Calypso's new third lieutenant was popular. More important, he had a knack of keeping the men on their toes, even after hours at general quarters, which with so much spray coming over the bow and sweeping along the lee side of the ship, meant they were in effect sitting in showers of salty rain.
It took only a couple of minutes to give Hill his orders and assure him that he should now explain things to his guns' crews. Kenton was equally cheerful but had obviously given up the task of trying to keep his hat on his head. His thatch of red hair, soaked with spray, looked black and was sticking out in all directions like sprouting grass in a high wind.
"Long time since we had a chance to fire these in anger, sir," Kenton commented, slapping the breech of one of the guns.
Ramage looked round at the seamen, who appeared more like pirates than ordinary seamen or men rated able in the King's service. Most had narrow strips of rag tied round their foreheads, intended originally to stop perspiration running down into their eyes in the heat of battle but, at the moment, serving the same purpose against spray. Although they had gone to general quarters wearing only trousers, all now wore shirts and some had jackets. Few had bothered with oilskins but had long since daubed jackets with tar, turning them into tarpaulin coats which kept out rain and spray - until the canvas began to crack with age and use.
"Yes," Ramage agreed, "it's a long time, but firing heats up the barrels and burns off the blacking, you know. And we have such a sloppy ship's company that when they have to paint the guns again they spill more blacking on the deck planking than they get on the metal."
"Aye, sir, that's true," Kenton said solemnly as the seamen laughed. "I've even heard it said that's why we never go into action."
"Of course," Ramage said equally seriously, to the delight of the men. "Why scrub the deck white if careless fellows are going to make it black again?"
After giving Kenton his orders, Ramage crossed to the larboard side, to find Martin sitting on the breech of a gun, holding his flute and explaining its finer points to the seamen gathered round him.
"Don't let me disturb you," Ramage told a startled Martin, who had not seen him approaching in the darkness, "but tell me, 'Blower', have you ever left aside the chanties and sampled the delights of, say, Georg Telemann?"
"Why, sir," Martin said eagerly, sliding off the breech, "do you know his work?"
"I do," Ramage said with mock irritation in his voice, "but no thanks to you. I haven't heard you play a note of Telemann while serving in this ship."
"No, sir, because the men prefer the popular tunes they know. But I play Telemann in my imagination almost every day. I've worked my way through the concerti with my imagination providing the orchestra and any other necessary instruments - oboes, violins, bassoon, harpsichord, whatever is called for. Now I'm halfway through the overtures."
"But the music - you can't know it all by heart?"
"No, sir, but my trunk's half full of sheet music. I don't need music for Telemann's fantasies, of course. And I've Handel's sonatas for the flute - my mother gave me all fifteen for flute and oboe just before we sailed."
Ramage cursed silently to himself. Music was the one thing he missed at sea - he blotted out thoughts of Sarah, thinking only of the time before he was married - and he had never thought of Martin playing anything on his flute but tunes for the men. All those evenings when he could have been listening to Telemann, who was one of his favourites. Did Aitken like music, and Kenton? Hill, come to think of it, probably did.
"Don't get that damaged," he told Martin, pointing to the flute. "After tomorrow we'll try and improve this ship's appreciation of serious music."
Martin grinned and said: "I have two flutes, sir. I always think of this as my working one. My best is in its own baize-lined case. I rarely do more than take it out and polish it."
"You can start sorting through your sheet music tomorrow," Ramage said. "Meanwhile time passes. What I want you to dowhen you get the order is this." Quickly, with the seamen listening and most of them nodding approvingly without realizing it, Ramage gave his instructions and then made his way aft, to find Orsini.
The young Italian was standing at a gunport, peering out and trying to glimpse the frigate astern while the gun captains chatted and most of the crews sat on the deck, backs against the carriages. Some seemed to be asleep, despite the spray, the creaking of the ropes of the tackles and the grumbling of the trucks as the guns moved an inch or so with each roll of the ship.
Orsini listened attentively as Ramage gave him his orders, ending with: "Any questions?"
"Not about the orders, sir. But are we leaving Tuscany for good?"
Ramage shrugged. "It depends, but I doubt it."
He understood immediately that it was no idle question, knowing Orsini's deep love for Tuscany, since he shared it. Most British seamen seeing the Lizard fading in the distance as they started off on a voyage from England wondered whether they would ever see their home again. Paolo must be wondering if that fleeting glimpse of breakers in the darkness would be the last time he saw Tuscany. The last time, or anyway, the last time for many years.
"It depends on whether our trick works," Ramage said, "if 'trick' is the right word."
After joking with the guns' crews, Ramage went back to the quarterdeck to find that Aitken, in anticipation of his return, was waiting for the seamen with the logline to report the Calypso's speed. While he waited Ramage looked yet again at his watch in the light from the binnacle. Fourteen minutes to go, and damnation, he had forgotten to have a word with the lookouts. Still, perhaps that was all to the good: in a few moments he would send round a couple of seamen to warn the lookouts that in ten minutes or so they should see ... should, but with the darkness and haze would they . .?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ramage slipped the watch back into his fob. "Send 'em off," he said, and Aitken snapped an order to two seamen, who hurried down the ladders to warn the lookouts amidships and forward. Aitken called over to the lookouts on each quarter, and Ramage saw the admiral stir as he heard the words above the howling wind.
There was no question now of being suspected of seeking Sir Henry's approval and, Ramage thought, not telling the old man at this stage might seem unnecessarily discourteous. He walked aft and Sir Henry slid off the breech of the carronade. "Expecting some action, eh?"
"I don't know what to expect, sir," Ramage said frankly. "I'm not sympathetic towards gamblers because usually a bit of thought lessens the odds considerably, but this time - well, I've got to stake everything on one throw of the dice."
"No second throw, then?"
Ramage shook his head, conscious of the minutes ticking away and listening: when the first shout came everything would happen with bewildering speed. "No, sir; we have to win the first time, or else we'll be done for. I'm sorry I've got you all into this situation."