'Yes, Jacko.'
'And don't forget to make up the line on the cleat once we're beached.'
'No, Jacko', Paolo said patiently, with just enough edge in his voice to remind the American that he had done this sort of thing several times before.
'I know, sir', Jackson said, having earlier detected the resentment in the boy's voice, 'but we don't want mistakes tonight.'
'What is so special about tonight?' Paolo made little attempt to hide his contempt for the landing.
'Any action is special, sir', Jackson said quietly. 'You're more likely to get killed if you're careless, and you're more likely to be careless if you think something's unimportant.'
'Quite true', Paolo admitted, 'but attacking hen houses!'
'They're barracks, sir', Jackson said sharply, 'with thirty or forty French soldiers in them. Each man has a musket and probably a pistol. That's a hundred lead shot, any one of which can drag your anchors for the next world. And thirty or forty swords slicing you up like a leg of salt pork ... Anyway', he said in a voice which clinched any argument, 'the captain sets a lot of store by us capturing it.'
CHAPTER FOUR
It wanted a few minutes to midnight with a clear sky when the Calypso glided under fore and maintopsails into the bay formed by the headlands of Foix and Aspet. Every minute or so another seaman hurried back from the leadsman at the mainchains and gave Ramage the depth of water: it was shoaling very gradually and unless they were unlucky enough to find and hit a high submerged rock they would very soon be anchoring in four fathoms close to the beach.
Aloft, out along the topsail yards, seamen were waiting to furl the sails, but instead of acting at Aitken's bellow through the speaking trumpet, ship's boys would scamper up the rigging and pass the word, although the topmen would get a preliminary warning as the Calypso luffed and came head to wind, backing the topsails so that she would stop and then, gathering sternway, set her anchor.
The splash of the anchor hitting the water should be the only noise that might travel as far as the semaphore station, which was now about a mile away on the Calypso's starboard beam.
The stars seemed everywhere, even reflecting in the water now and again as the frigate passed through what Southwick, who was waiting on the fo'c'sle for the word to anchor, would call 'a flat spot'; sufficient stars, Ramage noted, to give enough light to distinguish the shape of the land at a mile and recognize a man's face at four feet.
Inspecting the semaphore station yet again with the nightglass, and allowing for the upside-down image, Ramage was surprised to see that the semaphore tower, or screen, or whatever it was called, was in fact built on a small hill, thus raising it another thirty feet or more, although the rest of the headland was flat, reminding him of a miniature Dungeness and making the ends of the barrack buildings stand out like shadowy gravestones.
Even more surprising, neither Southwick nor Aitken had noticed during their close inspection from seaward earlier in the day that there was a low but wide hill two-thirds of the way round the bay, nearer Foix than Aspet, and as far as he could see the hill ran down to the beach and there was no sign of a road. Which meant that any road or lane from the semaphore station to the village of Foix, or joining the two headlands, would have made a long detour inland. So the sentry was likely to be on the north side of the camp, where the lane came in. Yes, a tiny building they had not seen before - was that the guardhouse?
He could hear the chatter of the bow wave round the Calypso's cutwater, and the frigate's decks looked strangely bare: the red-and-green cutters and the gig, normally stowed amidships, had been hoisted out and were now towing astern, full of Marines and seamen. Martin and Kenton would be quite happy with the cutters, but Paolo would be excited at the idea of being in command of the gig, at least until Ramage climbed down the rope ladder hanging from the taffrail.
He listened to the last sounding reported by a breathless seaman, looked again at the hill which was now just on the larboard bow, and then at the semaphore tower, now drawing round to the starboard quarter. 'My compliments to Mr Southwick', he told the seaman, 'and tell him to stand by to anchor as convenient.'
Which was a simple way of saying let go the anchor as soon as the way is off the ship.
'Rowlands?'
Rowlands was a sulky but ambitious Welsh boy with no brains who enjoyed nothing more than being allowed to climb aloft, and Ramage had kept him standing by to carry the message to the maintopmen to furl. The moment the foretopmen saw the other sail being furled they would follow suit.
'Here, sir.'
'Right, up to the maintop with your message!'
As the boy ran for the ratlines Ramage told the quartermaster to bring the Calypso head to wind, and the order was immediately passed to the two men at the wheel while Aitken gave instructions to men standing by at braces, sheets and halyards. All blocks had been greased again during the day - much to the annoyance of the cook, who had to provide the grease, or slush, which floated to the top of the boiler when salt pork or salt beef was cooked. Although it was against regulations, the cook and his mate usually sold the slush to the men, who liked to smear it on their bread - the official name for the biscuits with which they were issued, hard as board when fresh and crumbling when attacked by age or weevils.
The Calypso turned to starboard, but so smooth was the water and still the night, that Ramage had the sensation that the ship was stationary and the half moon of the bay was sliding from right to left, like the swing of a scythe across stalks of wheat.
The chattering of the bow wave quietened to a mutter and then went silent. The coxswain said quietly: 'No weight on the rudder, sir; we'll have sternway in a few moments.'
The forward movement of the ship, with water flowing past the rudder, meant that the men at the wheel had to use strength to turn the wheel and in turn the rudder, the amount of effort required being proportional to the speed. Once the ship stopped and then began to move astern, the action of the rudder was reversed.
A heavy splash forward, the drumming of heavy rope paying out rapidly and a strong smell of scorching as the friction burned both hemp and wood, showed that Southwick had let go the anchor. The backed topsails gave the Calypso enough sternway to make sure the anchor dug well in. The men aloft could see no more cable was being paid out, and a hissing and rustling told Ramage that two big topsails were being clewed up and then furled.
Everything seems to be a compromise, he thought crossly. He had given a lot of thought to the Calypso's arrival in the Baie de Foix. It was essential that the French at Foix - at the semaphore station, anyway - thought she was a French frigate coming in to anchor for her own reasons. They had seen a French frigate pass westward at noon and bear away towards Minorca; now she had come back.
At what point, Ramage tried to decide, did it become a matter of interest to the garrison at Foix? If she came in and anchored in broad daylight the commanding officer of the garrison would expect to be called on board or, more likely, have himself rowed out, in the hope of an invitation to dinner. An evening arrival meant the same thing, with the hope of a half bottle of brandy. But an arrival late at night - not surreptitiously, to raise suspicion, but without a lot of noise to rouse the sleeping garrison commander - might leave the decision to the sentry. If he happened to notice a ship anchoring in the bay he would probably not bother (or dare) rouse the commanding officer, who would curse him for raising the alarm at the arrival of what he knew to be a French ship. And obviously she was French: they had seen her pass flying a French flag, and when had any of them seen, or even heard of, a British ship? Everyone knew the rosbifs had been driven out of the Mediterranean ...