Ramage's Signal r-11 Page 9

  The row back to the Calypso in the gig lasted long enough for him to realize how tired he was. He made his way down to his cabin, stripping off his wet boatcloak as he went.

  Waving away his steward, who wanted to serve him a bowl of hot soup, he sent for Aitken and when the first lieutenant arrived he said: 'A convoy is waiting to sail from Barcelona. Eleven ships. The French escort of two frigates has not yet arrived.'

  'That's too bad', Aitken said in his soft Perthshire accent. 'Delayed by this same bad weather, perhaps; or just late ... they'd be sailing from Toulon, and we've seen nothing of them - I wonder if they'd go direct or keep in with the coast?'

  'Keep close in with a mistral', Ramage said. 'That is, if they've sailed at all.'

  'Aye, that's the puzzle', Aitkenmused. 'Ifthey've sailed at all ...'

  Quickly Ramage described the gist of the signals that had passed between Barcelona and Toulon. Then he told Aitken of the wild idea he had had and was slightly disappointed that the Scotsman's only reaction was a brief nod and the comment: 'We can start that going first thing in the morning. We'll look daft if those French frigates get to Barcelona first.'

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The distant outline of the Alpes de Provence was just appearing to the eastward, shaped by the first hint of dawn beyond, when Ramage jumped on to the beach from his gig and answered the respectful greetings of Martin and Rennick with a cheerfulness that startled them and made Paolo glance quickly at Jackson.

  The acting signalmen, with nothing to do until daylight showed the towers at Aspet and Le Chesne, had come down to the beach to help hold the gig, anticipating heavy swells from the previous days' storm, but the sea had calmed.

  'Somefing's up!' Stafford whispered to Jackson. 'Whenever 'e's so cheerful this time o' the morning it means trouble.'

  'Action, not trouble', Rossi corrected.

  ''S what I mean. I'm getting fed up wiv pulling them bloody 'alyards, I don't mind telling you. Black an' white squares', he exclaimed scornfully. 'Beats me 'ow people can stay awake playin' chess!'

  'They're usually yellow, not white', Jackson said.

  'Even worse. Wearin' a yellow dress can make you miscarry, so my sister says.'

  'Yes', Jackson said briskly, 'that's why I never wear one. Now the captain's on shore we might as well get ready to go up the tower.'

  'We got hours yet', Stafford protested.

  'All right, you stay here and let the mosquitoes eat you. But that tower is just high enough that the lazy ones don't bother to fly that high, and they'll be swarming in another ten minutes.'

  'Is right, I come with you', Rossi said, slapping at early-risers who were already biting his bare arm. 'The higher you go the not so many zanzari.'

  Inside the signalmen's hut, appropriated by Martin as the officers' quarters and serving as his combined headquarters and gunroom, the lantern light seemed very yellow, an even stronger hint that dawn was breaking. Again Ramage indicated the trio should sit down, and from his jacket he took a slip of paper. 'This signal must be sent westwards at first light. I don't want the Le Chesne station to see it, so we must try to send it off before they man their tower.'

  He unfolded it and gave it to Paolo. 'Read it aloud in French', he said, and when the midshipman had done so, he said: 'Now translate it for Mr Martin and Mr Rennick.'

  Paolo paused a few moments, obviously changing the French construction into English, but equally obvious to Martin and Rennick was that reading the French version had brought first puzzlement and then excitement to the midshipman's eyes.

  Paolo began reading aloud: '"Figures 34, Convoy to sail immediately for Baie de Foix where escort will join. Figures 1." That's the signal and', he added for Rennick's benefit, 'it's to the station at Barcelona, which is thirty-four, from Toulon, which is number one.'

  Martin gestured impatiently for the paper but Ramage realized that the movement was a delaying action as much as anything: young 'Blower' Martin, confronted with an entirely unexpected situation, was giving himself time to think. And then, as he realized the consequences, he gave a cheerful grin.

  'Shall we have enough men to make up prize crews, sir?'

  'Don't count your prize money before the prizes are caught', Ramage said. 'There are just two or three possible snags, aren't there, Rennick?'

  He knew the Marine had spotted them - more perhaps by instinct than logical thought, because Martin was twice as clever as the burly Marine.

  'Yes, sir: if the French authorities somewhere between here and Barcelona get suspicious and send two or three frigates to see what's going on in the Baie de Foix, or the real escort arrive in time or meet the convoy on the way and sail with it to here. Or, a third alternative, they meet the convoy, hear of the signal from Toulon about going to Foix, reckon it no longer applies because the convoy now has an escort, and sails direct to its original destinations.'

  Ramage nodded. 'The first two are risks; the third will be the disappointment.'

  Martin said: 'But, sir, supposing the merchantmen refuse to risk sailing without an escort? If they're anything like our own shipmasters, they can be a damned independent crowd.'

  'It could happen, but Barcelona would report to Toulon. We would intercept the signal and after a suitable interval send back a reply threatening the shipmasters. I doubt if they dare play the games the British ones do: they have no Committee of West India merchants or Lloyd's Coffee House to back them up ...'

  He glanced up as there was a knock at the door, and at a word from Martin, a Marine came in with two jugs, which he put on the table, went to a cupboard and came back with four mugs.

  'Tea, sir?' he asked Ramage politely, and when Ramage nodded and watched a mug being neatly filled from one jug was surprised to hear the Marine ask: 'And milk, sir?'

  Then he remembered the three cows in the meadow behind the guardhouse. 'A little, please', he said.

  Ramage had stood on the tower platform with Paolo and Jackson while Rossi and Stafford hauled on the halyards, watched by an anxious Martin. Before daylight they had hoisted the yellow flag, warning Aspet there was a signal for them, so that the first signalman at Aspet to look at Foix would see it. Ramage had watched the tower at Le Chesne for signs of movement, particularly when Paolo exclaimed that Aspet had answered and the signal could be sent. A shout down to Stafford and Rossi started the shutters rising and falling, Jackson watching Aspet for any request for a repetition while Ramage kept an eye on Le Chesne for any indication that they had noticed that Foix's shutters were working.

  Finally, after Paolo had shouted down the last letter of the signal and the shutters had risen and then crashed down again, so the tower was once more without window-like openings, Jackson took the halyard, raised and lowered the yellow flag twice, and said to Ramage: 'Now the signal's on its way, sir. As the postchaise coachman says: "Next stop Barcelona".'

  And, Ramage thought to himself, it will probably take all day to reach Barcelona, allowing for a noon delay for the meal and siesta at about station twenty ... so the convoy could sail about noon tomorrow. The distance from Barcelona to Foix was almost exactly 150 miles, and the course followed the coast because the ships had to round the cape just north of Palamós. They needed plenty of south in the wind to bring them north without too much delay.

  Without an escort to crack a whip behind them, they would make perhaps four knots with a fair wind, so at the earliest there would be no sign of them until thirty-six hours after they sailed. Thirty-six hours from noon tomorrow. It was a long time. And he had to spend the rest of the day on shore, just in case a signal came back unexpectedly before sunset. In the meantime he looked across at the Calypso swinging at anchor in the bay, a glorious sight washed by the pinkish-orange of a good sunrise following the gale.

  Ramage climbed down the ladder, telling Paolo to hail the moment a signal started to come through from either Aspet or Le Chesne - he was more curious about the method than what the message might say. His first task for the morning was to
inspect the Marines.

  This was set for eight o'clock, and Ramage knew Rennick would be happy for the rest of the day - even if, by some miracle, the captain spotted a dulled button or a speck of sand on a musket barrel. Flints - ah yes, just to tease Rennick (without the men realizing it) he would insist on all muskets being 'snapped' - cocked and fired, without being loaded - to check the strength of the spark in the flintlock. And he would play merry hell if even one failed to spark, because in action a misfire could cost the man's life.

  At eight o'clock, on the only flat area between the huts not dug for a garden - but certainly not used as a parade ground by the French - Rennick had his men drawn up, and when Ramage strode out with all the nonchalance expected of the captain of one of the King's ships, Rennick gave a smart salute and bellowed: 'One sergeant, one corporal and twenty-eight men, all present and correct, sir! One corporal and six men on detached guard duty!'

  'Very well, lieutenant; I will inspect the men.'

  Escorted by Rennick and followed by the sergeant, Ramage began to walk along the first of the four ranks of men. The corporal was the first he reached.

  'Have him make sure his musket isn't loaded; then I want to see him snap the lock.'

  Rennick barked out the order with his usual confidence; the corporal flipped up the pan cover and blew into the vent while the sergeant blocked the barrel with his thumb over the muzzle and then took it away suddenly so that a 'whoosh' of the corporal's breath showed the gun was unloaded.

  'Cock the piece and squeeze the trigger', Rennick ordered. Ramage watched the flint strike the steel. There was no spark.

  'Cock the piece and squeeze the trigger', Rennick repeated.

  Again there was no spark.

  'Take this man's name, sergeant', Rennick said as Ramage walked on to the first Marine in the front rank. The locks of twenty-eight muskets sparked satisfactorily and Ramage, already feeling sorry for the wretched corporal, decided not to check the sergeant's musket.

  After Rennick dismissed the men, he led the way to the guardhouse where the second corporal and six men were drawn up outside the hut. Knowing their muskets would be loaded, Ramage confined himself to inspecting the French uniforms the men were wearing.

  'They were never as smart with Frenchmen inside 'em', he commented to Rennick. 'Even if the Frenchmen were shorter.'

  'Yes. I've been trying to persuade the sergeant that although a couple of inches of ankle showing at the trouser leg would cause a sensation at Portsmouth, it doesn't matter here. He now agrees. He issued the uniforms', he added, 'so it's hardly surprising his own is the only perfect fit.'

  Suddenly Ramage heard Jackson hailing from the top of the tower. 'Captain, sir! Captain, sir!'

  Ramage, knowing the limitations of his own voice, nodded to Rennick, who bellowed: 'The captain is here, at the guardhouse.'

  'Signal coming from Aspet, sir.'

  'Very well.'

  Ramage looked towards the corporal. 'Your men are a credit. Don't forget though, if anyone arrives, no talking, and blow the whistle for Mr Orsini.'

  With that Ramage hurried over to the tower, noting that Rennick and the sergeant were heading for one of the huts, presumably to deal with the unfortunate corporal whose flint refused to spark.

  By now the sun was well above the horizon, bringing warmth with it and putting new vigour into the insects which were beginning to buzz about the yellow flecks of flower among the gorse bushes. Feeling he needed the exercise, Ramage climbed the ladder, although he did it at a speed which made it clear to any onlooker that the captain was simply climbing the ladder to get to the top of the platform, not to demonstrate how topmen should go up the ratlines wearing breeches.

  Paolo, eye glued to the telescope on its stand, and aimed at Aspet, was calling out letters of the alphabet which Jackson was writing down on a slate. Ramage looked over the American's shoulder and saw it was a signal from Barcelona to Toulon.

  'That's all', Paolo said briskly, 'now dip the flag twice and then they can go to sleep again over there, happy in the knowledge we have the signal.'

  'I wonder where that signal spent the night', Ramage reflected. 'It started off from Barcelona in broad daylight yesterday, for certain, but it was benighted before it travelled very far. It can have travelled through only two or three stations today.'

  'Probably delayed by rain, sir', Jackson offered, 'especially when you remember how the thunderstorms roll down the side of the Pyrenees. Cuts visibility to a few yards.'

  Paolo took the slate from Jackson and held it out for Ramage to finish reading. Then he asked: 'Do we pass it on, sir?'

  Ramage shook his head. 'No, put it in the log and add a translation.'

  'The fools may have trumped your ace, sir', he said sympathetically. 'One can never trust the Spanish.'

  The signal when translated said quite simply: 'Convoy now fifteen ships refuses await escort and sails tomorrow.' Obviously 'tomorrow' meant today, because it was now only half past eight in the morning.

  Ramage knew that only one question needed an answer now: would the Spanish (and probably French) merchantmen have left Barcelona before his faked order arrived telling them to make for Foix?

  Most British convoys Ramage had ever seen - admittedly large West Indian ones, often comprising more than one hundred ships - took all day to get out of the harbour and sometimes all the next day to form up properly.

  With Aitken, Southwick and Kenton on board the Calypso Ramage could spend the day at the semaphore station, although apart from giving an immediate answer to any questions concerning signals there seemed little else for him to do, and he enjoyed the atmosphere of the maquis.

  Thirty-six hours from noon: that was about the earliest he could hope to sight the convoy, providing his signal arrived in time - and providing the real escort had not reached Barcelona. It was a sequence of events, he reflected gloomily, in which the word 'providing' appeared too frequently.

  Idly he watched the Calypso and saw the red-and-green cutters being hoisted out. As soon as they were in the water they would be filled with water casks - Aitken's men were to spend the rest of the day 'wooding and watering': parties would be collecting firewood for the Calypso's coppers within the limits of the camp while others were filling casks with fresh water from the well. With luck the Calypso by the end of the day would again have thirty tons on board, the amount with which she had left Gibraltar to begin the present cruise. The cook was not going to be pleased with the wood, though; most of the trees were stunted and would yield logs more suitable for brightening the hearth of a cottage than heating a frigate's big coppers.

  'Le Chesne, sir', Jackson reported to Orsini. 'They've got their flag up.'

  'Answer and stand by', Orsini said, swinging the telescope round to the eastward and focusing it on the Le Chesne tower. Jackson hoisted and lowered the red flag and then picked up the slate. The signal was from Toulon and directed to station sixteen, which Ramage guessed was Séte. As Orsini called out the letters and Jackson wrote them down, Ramage realized the signal was a routine one about a discrepancy between stores reported used and the amount actually found in a recent inventory, and the commanding officer was required ...

  As he climbed down the ladder and recalled the contents of the original French signal log, he decided that pilfering, selling government stores and taking inventories were the main occupations of the commanding officers of the various semaphore stations.

  Two days later Ramage sat on the Calypso's quarterdeck in a canvas-backed chair in the shade of the awning, which was rigged again to provide shelter from the blazing sun returning after the mistral. The sea was calm with a gentle breeze from the west so that the frigate was lying parallel with the beach. Over at the semaphore tower, which he could see on the larboard quarter, the tiny awning was rigged on the platform and he could just make out two figures, Paolo and Jackson, swinging the telescope round from time to time, keeping a watch on Aspet and Le Chesne.

  Aloft in the Cal
ypso seamen kept watch seaward, but by now he was sure that the convoy had sailed from Barcelona direct for their destinations before his signal had arrived ordering them to Foix, and no doubt the French escort had joined them.

  Tonight, he decided, the Calypso would sail to look for the convoy - though he was uncertain whether to head eastward, close along the coast, on the assumption that it had passed in the darkness, or southeast because perhaps it had found a different wind once it left Barcelona and could comfortably lay Marseilles, its first destination.

  He was not sure whether his semaphore signal had been a wild idea and a waste of time, or whether it had been a good idea unluckily ruined by the impatience of the French masters of merchantmen. Anyway tonight, as soon as it was dark, the tower would topple under the Marines' axes, the barrack huts would be wrecked, the powder casks rolled into the sea, and the cattle turned loose - the villagers would soon find and appropriate them. Burning down the whole place would attract far too much attention to the Calypso - the flames would be seen for miles - and to the French the important part of the camp as a link in the signal chain was not the accommodation (which could be replaced by tents) but the tower, which was as easily destroyed by axes as flames.

  A fruitless chase after the convoy, he thought miserably, then a few weeks' cruising along the French and Spanish coasts sinking xebecs, tartanes and suchlike small coasting vessels, and then back to Gibraltar because the time limit for his orders would have run out. He could destroy a few of the semaphore towers, every fourth one, say, but he could not see Their Lordships (or even the port admiral at Gibraltar) realizing what a blow that would be to the French naval communication system. The Board and admirals could understand ships captured or sunk; signals were dull affairs.

  A few seamen in the waist were exercising French prisoners, allowing them up a dozen at a time. They were made to run round the fore and mainmasts a few times (they showed a great reluctance to exercise themselves voluntarily) and before they were sent below had to be inspected by Southwick.