Petite Anse d'Arlet was probably one of the loveliest bays in Martinique. At any other time Ramage would have enjoyed spending a few hours anchored there and would have let the men fish or swim over the side. With a few Marines acting as sentries, the bos'n could have taken a party on shore for a wooding expedition: the cook's eternal complaint was that he was short of firewood for the coppers and soon would not be able to produce hot food. It was the regular complaint of every cook in the Navy and not to be taken very seriously, but wooding and watering, even though it meant finding a freshwater stream and rolling the heavy casks along the beach, was always a welcome task for the men and often, for a year at a time, the only chance they had of setting foot on land.
The day wore on slowly. At half past eleven the order 'Clear decks and up spirits' was given and the rum was served out. At noon the men went to dinner. Ramage and Southwick were doing watch and watch about, and both of them were hard pressed not to hail the lookouts from time to time to see if La Créole had hoisted any signals.
The men were still below when an excited hail came: 'Deck there, the schooner has hoisted a French flag!'
Ramage shouted to Jackson to fire a musket shot to alert the Surcouf and ordered a bos'n's mate to pipe 'Man the capstan'. For the moment there was no rush: Wagstaffe's signal meant that he had sighted the French convoy rounding Pointe des Salines and definitely identified it. The French had a good ten miles to sail before they reached the Fours Channel, and Ramage did not want to risk his two frigates being seen by a French frigate which might stay out farther to the west, From now on La Créole's signals would be hoisted for one minute only, single flags whose meanings could be known only to those with copies of the list that Ramage had issued to Aitken, Wagstaffe and the petty officer in command of the Diamond batteries.
Southwick had heard the musket shot but not the lookout's hail. Hurrying up the companionway he inquired anxiously; 'The French or the Admiral, sir?'
'The French,' Ramage said crisply, 'and they're on time, you notice. But we can't be sure yet that the Admiral isn't chasing them round the Pointe. Man the capstan and heave round until we're at long stay. We'll be seeing some more signals from Wagstaffe soon and know what is happening.'
Although Ramage had not ordered the men to quarters - time enough for that on the way down to the Diamond - Jackson had already come up to the quarterdeck, where he would act as quartermaster, responsible for seeing that the men at the wheel carried out Ramage's orders. Now Orsini hurried up the companionway, his dirk round his waist and holding the signal book and a list of the special signals for La Créole. He had his own telescope under his arm and began strutting along the quarterdeck. For a moment Ramage was reminded of grackles at Barbados, the large friendly blackbirds with long, stiff tails. They too strutted and whenever he saw one he always pictured it with a telescope under its wing. The boy has a right to strut, he thought affectionately. Although at sea for only a few weeks, he has already soaked up more seamanship than most youngsters get drummed into them in a year. Orsini had an all-consuming curiosity about ships and the sea and was eager to learn. He was here on board the Juno because he had badgered Gianna into persuading Ramage to take him. Far too many 'younkers' went to sea as captain's servants (an inaccurate description since they were apprentices rather than servants) or midshipmen because their parents decided on it. In many families the eldest son inherited, the second went into the Navy, the third the Army, the fourth the Church, and a fifth was indentured to the East India Company, with high hopes that he would become a nabob and fears he would be hard put to remain a clerk and not fall off his counting house stool. Orsini was there from choice and all the more useful for it.
By now the men were heaving round on the capstan and he glanced across at the Surcouf. She too was heaving in, with Bevins the fiddler perched on the capstan. He was thankful he had spent the previous evening with Aitken and Wagstaffe going over everything he and they could think of. It should save a great deal of signalling. La Créole reports the French in sight by hoisting a Tricolour and whichever of the two frigates spots the signal first fires a musket shot and both frigates heave in to long stay. After that, the Surcouf follows the Juno's movements until they are approaching the Diamond. Then it would be time for the signal book, but both Aitken and Wagstaffe now understood so well what he anticipated would be his tactics that few signals should be needed. There was another hail from aloft. 'Schooner, sir. She's hoisted a single flag.'
Ramage had barely acknowledged the hail before Paolo, telescope to his eye, was calling, 'Number seven, sir. That's Enemy convoy comprises seven merchant ships or transports.'
A big convoy whose ships would carry enough to keep Martinique going for several months. Ramage took off his hat and wiped his brow, although now the perspiration suddenly felt cold. A big convoy meant a big escort and Wagstaffe's next signal would tell him how many frigates there were. The signal after that, if there was one, would tell him how many ships of the line were down there off Pointe des Salines.
'Deck there! She's lowered that flag and hoisted another!'
'Number four, sir!' Paolo shouted excitedly. ‘The escort includes four frigates.’
'Watch for the next one,' Ramage growled, and felt time slowing down as tension knotted his muscles.
'They're hauling the second one down, sir!' the masthead lookout reported.
Were they bending on another flag or simply taking the last one off and making up the halyard on its cleat? A minute passed, and then two. The capstan was groaning, and Jackson was watching him rubbing the scar on his brow, while Paolo kept his telescope trained on La Créole.
Aitken had seen the two signals and, like Ramage, was waiting anxiously to see if there was a third. Like Ramage he knew that it would be a death sentence for them all, whether it reported one ship of the line or ten.
He had often wondered how he would feel if he received orders that would probably cost him his life if he carried them out. Now he thought he knew. Many times in the past few years he had been given orders that had sent him into action where there was a chance of being killed or maimed. Although that was always frightening, death was far from certain. The thought in most minds was that death took the next man and left you, so there was a good chance of getting through alive. It was vastly different when the orders told you in effect that the odds were so enormous you were most unlikely to survive.
Such orders were like a long-faced and mournful-voiced judge sitting bewigged in his high chair and passing a death sentence on you. A flag signal from La Créole saying there was a ship of the line as well as four frigates with the French convoy would mean that by sunset there would not be a dozen men left alive in the Juno or the Surcouf. If Wagstaffe carried out his instructions he would survive because he had been given strict orders that if things became desperate he was to escape and get to Barbados to warn the Admiral.
So here he was, a damnable long way from Dunkeld, waiting to see if the judge was going to sentence him and the Surcoufs. Surprisingly, he felt no fear, or at least not the kind of fear he had known before, when his stomach seemed filled with cold water, his knees lost their strength and he wanted to run into a dark corner and hide. Perhaps it was another sort of fear he had never met before. He did not feel it in his body, really, although there was no denying that his stomach muscles were knotting. It was lurking at the back of his mind, like a mist forming in the valley at Dunkeld of an autumn's evening, slowly and gently soaking his jacket and kilt. But it did not make him want to run into a dark corner. In fact it was having the opposite effect, making him a little impatient, perhaps, much as a man sentenced to be hanged might want to get it all over as quickly as possible.