– but without the next astern on the cable knowing. So no noise. One man bangs him smartly on the head and catches him and the next hauls him to one side out of the way and tips him down the companionway. No mistakes though – one bang has to do the job. Understood?’ The men whispered agreement.
‘Antonio,’ Ramage said, ‘your Spanish is good?’
‘Reasonably so.’
‘Well, in case I’m – er, busy, or anything – we’ve got to find out the signal these men are supposed to make to the frigate when they’ve captured us. So as soon as you can, get hold of one of them below and make him tell you. I’ll try to get it out of the last one as well. Now, into position!’ With the exception of Southwick, they all crept to the taffrail, bent double, and grouped themselves on either side of the port.
The Master began carrying out Ramage’s orders, calling in a loud voice, ‘Forward lookouts – anything to report from ahead?’
‘Nothin’ to larboard sir,’ came back one voice, followed by ‘Nuthin’ to starboard, neither, sir.’
‘Very well. Keep a sharp lookout.’
The normal hails made every ten or fifteen minutes; nothing to indicate to the Spaniards that they had been spotted.
‘How are you heading, quartermaster,’ Southwick asked in a quieter conversational voice.
‘Due west, sir.’
‘Very well.’
Ramage glanced out of the port. The thick cable now had men swarming along it, like monkeys on the bough of a tree. The nearest man was fifteen yards away.
‘Mr Southwick,’ he whispered, ‘show yourself above the taffrail. Just glance over the stern but don’t stare at the Dons. When you know they’ve seen you, just walk about as though you haven’t seen them.’
As soon as Southwick began pacing the deck again, his orders completed, Ramage whispered, ‘Ask the lookouts how the headsails are setting.’
The Master hailed, and a puzzled lookout answered they were setting well enough. Again the normal shouts and replies which would reassure the Spaniards that they hadn’t been spotted – and perhaps make them over-confident.
‘Quartermaster,’ hissed Ramage, ‘luff up for a moment so your leeches flutter. Mr Southwick, curse him as soon as they do.’
The tiller creaked and from ahead the headsails flapped, while overhead the mainboom swung inboard a foot as the pressure of the wind eased, and then went back with a bang. Southwick swore violently and Ramage peered through the port. The Spaniards hanging under the cable had stopped crawling, but as he watched they began again. The flap of sails and the resultant cursing from the officer of the watch was an international language.
Fifteen feet to go. Ramage saw the dull gleam of metal in the darkness – a knife or cutlass. Each Spaniard would have to sit astride the cable for a moment and grasp the edge of the port before coming through because it was only just a little wider than his shoulders, partly blocked by the cable itself and the rope keckling wrapped round it to prevent chafe. Ramage indicated to Jackson that he would deal with the first man but the American must catch the body as it fell. Southwick was standing still, and Ramage whispered, ‘Mr Southwick, walk around a few paces, then stand a couple of yards ahead of this port and act as the live bait.’
Ramage saw the first Spaniard was a slim, agile man, climbing easily and being careful not to get out of breath.
Twelve feet…nine… The man paused to let go with one hand and transfer a knife from his belt to his teeth. Six feet…five… Ramage, sure the Spaniard would hear his heart beating, gripped the belaying pin.
Three feet…one foot… The Spaniard swung himself up astride the cable, gripping it with his legs, and reaching out with his hands for the sides of the port. Ramage could just see him, and suddenly realized it was Pareja. He prayed the lieutenant would not first poke his head through the port to peer to his immediate left or right, but instead
‘Antonio,’ Ramage said, ‘your Spanish is good?’
‘Reasonably so.’
‘Well, in case I’m – er, busy, or anything – we’ve got to find out the signal these men are supposed to make to the frigate when they’ve captured us. So as soon as you can, get hold of one of them below and make him tell you. I’ll try to get it out of the last one as well. Now, into position!’ With the exception of Southwick, they all crept to the taffrail, bent double, and grouped themselves on either side of the port.
The Master began carrying out Ramage’s orders, calling in a loud voice, ‘Forward lookouts – anything to report from ahead?’
‘Nothin’ to larboard sir,’ came back one voice, followed by ‘Nuthin’ to starboard, neither, sir.’
‘Very well. Keep a sharp lookout.’
The normal hails made every ten or fifteen minutes; nothing to indicate to the Spaniards that they had been spotted.
‘How are you heading, quartermaster,’ Southwick asked in a quieter conversational voice.
‘Due west, sir.’
‘Very well.’
Ramage glanced out of the port. The thick cable now had men swarming along it, like monkeys on the bough of a tree. The nearest man was fifteen yards away.
‘Mr Southwick,’ he whispered, ‘show yourself above the taffrail. Just glance over the stern but don’t stare at the Dons. When you know they’ve seen you, just walk about as though you haven’t seen them.’
As soon as Southwick began pacing the deck again, his orders completed, Ramage whispered, ‘Ask the lookouts how the headsails are setting.’
The Master hailed, and a puzzled lookout answered they were setting well enough. Again the normal shouts and replies which would reassure the Spaniards that they hadn’t been spotted – and perhaps make them over-confident.
‘Quartermaster,’ hissed Ramage, ‘luff up for a moment so your leeches flutter. Mr Southwick, curse him as soon as they do.’
The tiller creaked and from ahead the headsails flapped, while overhead the mainboom swung inboard a foot as the pressure of the wind eased, and then went back with a bang. Southwick swore violently and Ramage peered through the port. The Spaniards hanging under the cable had stopped crawling, but as he watched they began again. The flap of sails and the resultant cursing from the officer of the watch was an international language.
Fifteen feet to go. Ramage saw the dull gleam of metal in the darkness – a knife or cutlass. Each Spaniard would have to sit astride the cable for a moment and grasp the edge of the port before coming through because it was only just a little wider than his shoulders, partly blocked by the cable itself and the rope keckling wrapped round it to prevent chafe. Ramage indicated to Jackson that he would deal with the first man but the American must catch the body as it fell. Southwick was standing still, and Ramage whispered, ‘Mr Southwick, walk around a few paces, then stand a couple of yards ahead of this port and act as the live bait.’
Ramage saw the first Spaniard was a slim, agile man, climbing easily and being careful not to get out of breath.
Twelve feet…nine… The man paused to let go with one hand and transfer a knife from his belt to his teeth. Six feet…five… Ramage, sure the Spaniard would hear his heart beating, gripped the belaying pin.
Three feet…one foot… The Spaniard swung himself up astride the cable, gripping it with his legs, and reaching out with his hands for the sides of the port. Ramage could just see him, and suddenly realized it was Pareja. He prayed the lieutenant would not first poke his head through the port to peer to his immediate left or right, but instead
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