Most frigate captains - all frigate captains, he corrected himself - did everything they could to avoid convoy duty. In the West Indies, being ordered to escort a homeward-bound convoy was a sure sign that the captain was out of favour with the admiral. Favoured captains were sent off cruising, searching among the islands and along the Main for enemy ships, capturing prizes, making plenty of prize money - in which the admiral shared, of course.
Now consider the case of Captain Ramage who by now, thanks no doubt to a few deaths among the hundreds of captains senior to him, and the fact that a few deserving lieutenants had recently been made post and thus joined the list below him to push him up a few places, had achieved a little seniority. At least, he was no longer the most junior.
Captain Ramage had received orders from the Admiralty which many of his rivals would claim he did not deserve; to water and provision the Calypso for four months and then enter the Mediterranean and sink, burn or capture any enemy ships that he could and generally irritate and inconvenience the French.
Wonderful orders, he had to admit. So what did Captain Ramage do? He deliberately arranged a convoy for himself! Not a British convoy, mind you, but a French one. And where was it sailing? Not in the West Indies or westward across the Atlantic, where one could usually rely on brisk Trade winds during the day, but the Mediterranean, where in twenty-four hours the wind, at this time of the year, could blow from nineteen different directions and vanish completely for the other five hours, leaving ships rolling and pitching, booms slamming, yards creaking, masts straining first the shrouds on one side and then the other, stretching so that the lanyards would have to be set up again at the first opportunity, and reducing men's movements along the deck to a series of hurried lurches.
Blackstrapped with a French convoy! Well, it would make an amusing story when told in the Green Room at Plymouth or by the naval members of Boodle's or White's, but for the moment he could only hope that Orsini knew the finer shades of French obscenities and Martin would not hesitate to let drive across a laggard's bow or stern with one of those swivels.
He opened a drawer and looked for the list of French and Spanish ships drawn up by Orsini. Fifteen ships in all, and the Passe Partout by far the smallest, so crossing out her original crew made little difference. Fourteen ships, then. Slowly he added up the masters, officers and seamen, sometimes pausing to make sure of one of Orsini's hurriedly written figures. Yes, the fourteen ships had at least two hundred men by the time you added in the extras, because Orsini had noted down only the men he had actually seen (and one could be sure there were always several more below), plus the forty or so from the garrison of the semaphore station and the Passe Partout already on board the Calypso.
He would need fifty men to guard 250 or so prisoners, and none of these could be topmen or idlers. That also meant fifty fewer available as prize crews. No, he had been right the first time; right when he had sent the signal from Foix. He could understand why Aitken, Kenton and Southwick were puzzled.
He put the parallel rulers down on the chart with the top edge passing through Southwick's noon position and then moved them crabwise across to the destination. If only this wind direction would hold. It was increasing nicely - not enough to scare the timid masters into premature reefing and furling, but giving signs of settling in for the night.
Ramage was vaguely conscious of boots clattering down the companionway, and a few moments later the sentry knocked on the door and called: 'Mr Southwick, sir.'
'Send him in', Ramage answered, removing the weights and letting the chart roll up. He put the parallel rulers away, and while Southwick acknowledged his gesture and sat down on the settee, Ramage closed the log.
'Well, Mr Southwick?' Ramage knew the old master had come down just for a chat, but he always had an excuse and Ramage waited to see what it was.
Southwick fished a piece of paper from his pocket. 'The log, sir, I'm afraid it's not up to date: the expenditure of powder and shot was not entered. I have the figures here.'
Ramage took the paper. 'Nor was the departure in a French tartane of the captain, acting third lieutenant, midshipman and five seamen, and the captain's subsequent return.'
Southwick grinned and admitted: 'I wasn't sure how you wanted to deal with that, sir. It so happens, if you'll look just below the reference to the shortage of salt beef in that cask, there is space enough to enter the departure, and the captain's return would be the last entry, after this one about expenditure of powder and shot.'
'You'd better enter it all', Ramage said. 'Their Lordships may raise their eyebrows at my brief absence, but it was in a good cause!'
Southwick scratched his head in a gesture Ramage knew so well that he could guess what the old man was going to say.
'Beats me how you knew that privateer schooner, the Magpie, was going to turn out to be sailed by Algerines.'
'I didn't', Ramage said, surprised.
'Then why did you go in the Passe Partout, sir?'
'I didn't have time to tell Martin how to negotiate with a British privateer - it meant persuading them to let several prizes sail away.'
'Martin could have gone on board and torn up the letter of marque', Southwick said grimly.
'That wouldn't have helped. There are not many British ships of war to inspect it, and if the French catch a British privateer I doubt that they care much about letters of marque.'
'But you could have let Aitken go off in the Passe Partout, the master persisted.
'I could, but he learned more by being left in command of the Calypso. He handled her very well.'
Southwick nodded. 'Especially the way he sank the Magpie. But he worries too much.'
'How do you mean?'
'Well, when you hoisted number sixteen, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to tack up to you in time.'
'So was I', Ramage said grimly. 'In fact, if the Magpie hadn't had her masts go by the board...'
'But she did: I was telling Aitken that you'd do something, and you did.'
Ramage sighed at the thought of the thin line by which his life was at times suspended: a thin line of faith that he could perform miracles. 'Don't depend on it. We were lucky this time, but if those Algerines had been sailing the ship for another couple of months it would have been a different story.'
'Yes, sir', Southwick said comfortably, 'and we are all thankful they weren't. How long before you'll give young Orsini command of the Passe Partout?'
'I was going to leave Martin with him tonight, to hold his hand if necessary in the dark, and launch him off on his own tomorrow.'
'I'll pack up his quadrant, tables and glass: he didn't have time to take them with him.'
'It seems unfair to Martin', Ramage said, having second thoughts.
Southwick's eyes twinkled as he said casually, 'I don't expect she'll be the only prize we'll take. I'd have thought that a tartane rated a midshipman's command, not a lieutenant's!'
'It sounds to me as though you are trying to exercise patronage on behalf of the Marchesa.'
Southwick gave a bellow of laughter. 'That's about it! Anyway, I'd like to be. She'd have enjoyed watching the Magpie business.'
'From the Calypso.'
'No, sir, from the Passe Partout', Southwick corrected him with mock severity. 'You haven't seen her for so long you've forgotten what she's like when there's a whiff of action in the air.'
Ramage had not forgotten, but it had been so long since he had seen her that now memories brought pain rather than pleasure.
Southwick pointed at the chart which was still lying curled up on Ramage's desk. 'If this wind holds, we should sight land before noon the day after tomorrow, sir.'