Rennick waited for Ramage to speak, but the Marine's eyes were on the distant tower, watching it as a hunter might study a sparsely-covered valley separating him from a fine deer.
'Twenty-five men as garrison, a night attack from boats, no one must escape to raise the alarm, and preferably no muskets or pistols used in case some casual eye spots a flash. Well?'
Rennick paused a few moments before answering. 'If we wait until they're all turned in and there's only a sentry awake, sir, I could do it with my men alone. But if the alarm was raised and it's a straight attack at darkness - well, I'd like a second boat with a boarding party. Prisoners?'
'If possible. And I want an attack without the alarm being raised.'
Rennick nodded. 'There's no moon. The thing most likely to raise the alarm would be the keel of the boat grating on the beach.'
'It's sand here, not pebbles', Ramage said, 'and the boat party can drop a kedge and ease themselves in.'
'A nice run on shore for my lads, sir', Rennick said cheerfully, 'and -'
'There are a few conditions', Ramage said warningly. 'They might change your views. First every book, log, letter - every sheet of paper in those huts must be seized intact. Once the French realize they're being attacked, they might try to destroy signal books and logs. Secondly, I might decide at the last moment that our party will stay on to occupy the semaphore station for a few days. That means they might have to defend it. Thirdly, I shall be coming along too.'
'Aye aye, sir', Rennick said, grinning at Ramage's last few words.
By now seamen were stopping to gossip with one another, pointing at the distant tower and, without knowing what it was, guessing it now held some special significance for the Calypso, although obviously puzzled because the frigate was holding her course and already the tower was drawing aft along the starboard quarter.
William Stafford, a Cockney able seaman working abreast the foremast, waved his hand, dismissing the whole thing. 'It's very windy 'ere; comes roarin' acrorst that plain from the mountings. They put up the wall to protect the 'uts.'
The Italian seaman, Alberto Rossi, laughed derisively. 'Is a good idea, Staff, but the torre is not between the huts and the plain. Is to one side.'
'And it's made of wood; I heard Mr Aitken say so', Jackson added.
'Well, it's tall enough, Jacko', Stafford persisted.
'It has shutters that open and close like windows', Jackson said. 'Used for semaphore. I heard them say that, too.' As the captain's coxswain and an American who had served in the Royal Navy for years, even though he had a Protection in his seabag declaring his nationality that would secure his freedom whenever he presented it to an American consul, he was treated as the leader of a small group of seamen who had served with the captain since he was a junior lieutenant.
'What good are windows?' Rossi demanded.
'How the devil do I know', Jackson said amiably, keeping an eye on the bosun, who would be along in a few minutes to inspect the brasswork which he was polishing with brickdust. 'I've never seen one of those things before.'
'Seems funny, just one put up on this bit o' the coast', Stafford said. 'What's semifour mean, anyway?'
'Semaphore', Jackson corrected. 'I'm not sure. Something to do with signalling, I think.'
'Don't see no flags', Stafford persisted.
'That's the reason for the shutters, I expect', Jackson said. 'Opening some, closing others - that'd make patterns meaning different things.'
'Semaphore: it is from the Greek', a young midshipman said in near perfect English. 'It means - well, sema is "a sign", and phew "to bear". A sign-bearer.'
'Oh', Stafford said, 'I thought it was the number four. Like four shutters, or somefing. I say, Mr Orsini, 'ow many languages do you talk?'
'Well, I had to learn Latin and Greek. Italian is my native language and anyway is very like Latin. Spanish - that's like Italian too, and French.'
'And English', Stafford added. 'That makes six!'
The young midshipman, fourteen years old but tall, with straight black hair, a sallow skin and hooked nose, flushed with embarrassment.
'It is not as you think. My tutor, he made me study Latin, Greek, French, but at home we speak - we used to speak', he corrected himself, 'English and Spanish. I have Spanish relatives', he said.
'And the Marchesa?' Jackson asked. 'She speaks them too?'
Paolo Orsini nodded matter-of-factly. 'Her French is better than mine. She hated the French ambassador.'
The three seamen waited expectantly, but Orsini obviously did not consider any further explanation necessary.
'Hated him, sir?' Jackson ventured.
'Oh, not just one but all of them. The last one sent by Louis XVI, and then the two from the Directory. The first of them she declared persona non grata - some affair of him stealing Court cutlery at one of her receptions - and his replacement was, how do you say, a boor.'
'Yes, they're all boars and should be kept in sties', Stafford said sympathetically, 'but why did it make your aunt improve her French?'
'Oh yes', Orsini said, pausing a moment as he worked out Stafford's error, 'my aunt occasionally had to talk to the French ambassador, and in the world of diplomacy the language is French. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of hearing her make a mistake.'
'Cor, French eh?' exclaimed Stafford. 'It oughta be English. Lot of double meanings, that's all French is.'
'That's why governments use it', Jackson said. 'Now look sharp, 'cos here comes the bosun.'
CHAPTER TWO
Paolo Orsini had come off watch. He could now be in his berth sleeping, but it was a glorious day and because this was apart of the coast he had never seen before he had come up on deck to look. And he had listened to the talk of the tower with fascination. Semaphore!
He was very familiar with the thick-walled towers built two hundred years ago by the Spaniards along the Tuscan coast and many other places. They were signal towers and watch towers, some round, some square, each within sight of another, so that a fire of brushwood - usually from olive trees which burned readily and with intense flames - lit in a brazier on top would be seen in a moment; within twenty minutes a warning could be passed a hundred miles along a coast. They were admittedly just towers, with walls ten feet thick. These semaphore towers that the captain had been discussing with the first lieutenant and Southwick were something quite different.
What exactly was 'semaphore'? He knew the Greek derivation but had no idea what use the French were making of it. At that moment he heard his name being hailed from the quarterdeck rail and saw that the first lieutenant was down from aloft. Accidente, he had no hat, his shirt was grubby, his breeches stained by that oaf of a boy spilling the apology for stew that had masqueraded as a meal. But it was the first lieutenant hailing, and he had only slightly more patience than the captain.
There were times, he thought crossly, as he made for the quarterdeck ladder, when he could not understand why his aunt had fallen in love with Captain Ramage. Then, to be fair, when he recalled seeing her in some of her regal rages in the palace at Volterra, he could not understand why Captain Ramage had fallen in love with her. Anyway, with her now a refugee from her kingdom of Volterra and living in England with the captain's parents, at least she had to be patient.