Ramage's Signal by Dudley Pope Page B

although if the
mistral
blew for any length of time and became a full Gulf of Lions gale—which was likely—he might have to worry about raising French curiosity as to why one of their ships should want to stay close to land in that weather.
    John Smith the Second was standing on top of the capstan barrel, turning as the head turned—
girasole,
Ramage suddenly thought, remembering the big Italian sunflower—scratching away at his fiddle, the wind just carrying back to the quarterdeck the sound of a favourite “forebitter,” a tune which kept the men at the capstan heaving on the bars in unison and had those with spare breath joining in.
    Soon Southwick was signalling the cable was “At long stay,” meaning that its angle was the same as the mainstay, and then “At short stay,” the same as the forestay. That was followed by “Up and down,” so the anchor was now off the bottom and the cable hanging perpendicular. At once the
Calypso
’s bow began to pay off and the men at the capstan, spurred on by Smith’s fiddle and with the weight lessened because they were no longer hauling the
Calypso
through the water towards the anchor, soon had the anchor up to the hawse.
    Ramage gave brief helm orders as Southwick dealt with catting and fishing the anchor—getting the hook from a tackle on to the anchor and hauling it up horizontally to deck level, where it could be lashed securely in its chocks, safe against seas which might well, within the next few hours, be breaking green over the fo’c’s’le.
    With Aitken standing beside him, Ramage passed on his orders and the Scotsman now had to bellow loudly through the speaking-trumpet as the wind piped up to make his voice heard forward.
    â€œAway aloft … trice up … layout …”
    Ramage saw the topmen first go up the ratlines hand over hand as if they were weightless, then, after a pause for the next order, swarm out along the topsail yards as the stunsail booms, lying along the top of the yards, were cocked up out of the men’s way.
    â€œMan the topsail sheets!” That was an order for the men down on the deck. Then the speaking-trumpet pointed aloft for “Let fall!” and down again for “Sheet home!” as the topmen let go the gaskets and the canvas tumbled down, and the men at the long ropes sweeping down from the lower corners of the sail to the deck heaved swiftly to get the sails under control, the wind quick to belly the cloth.
    â€œLower booms!” The topmen dropped the stunsail booms back in position.
    â€œDown from aloft!”
    With that order the
Calypso
’s finest seamen swarmed down the ratlines again while others on deck took the strain on the braces to swing the yards round. More men were standing by at the topsail halyards and, at Aitken’s order, hauled the yards up several feet.
    Ramage always found it satisfying when sails on different masts were set as though they were one, but the fore and main-topsails hardly had time to get the creases out of the material because of the press of wind before Ramage, looking astern over the taffrail, saw that the frigate was already well out of the bay, the semaphore tower of Foix sitting on its hill like a playing card stuck into a tiny pile of sand, while the big hill between Foix and Aspet now seemed little more than a hummock. Behind it, stretching it seemed right over Languedoc, were fast-moving grey clouds, racing towards them like lancers across a plain. The temperature was dropping now the sun had vanished, and the
Calypso
began pitching as she came clear of the headlands.
    â€œComes up as fast as it does in the Tropics, sir,” Aitken commented.
    Ramage nodded but warned: “In the Mediterranean it lasts longer. Off Martinique we’d forget a squall like this in an hour. Here it can last three days.”
    He waited five minutes and then said: “Close reef the top-sails, Mr Aitken,