Ramage's Signal r-11

by Dudley Pope

  Ramage watched as Lewis showed where he had marked the positions for the bolts. 'They'll be set into the wood so they won't chafe nothing, and anyway the woolding will cover 'em.'

  'You can't hoop it, I suppose?'

  Lewis shook his head. 'We just don't have the iron 'oops, sir. Nothing I'd like better than drive an 'ot iron 'oop every three feet; that'd set it up like a new spar. No, sir, it'll 'ave to be woolding. Not that there's anything wrong with that, sir', he added hastily. 'These 'ere blacksmiths swear by 'ot 'oops but I b'aint so sure. 'Ere, sir', he said confidentially, taking a pace nearer and dropping his voice, 'it's on account of rust.'

  'Is that so?' a startled Ramage replied.

  'Yus, sir. They 'oop masts and spars now as a matter o' course when they make 'em, but once there's a few coats of paint on the 'oops, yer can't see what's goin' on underbeneath. But I seen it, sir; I seen masts and yards where, when they've got the 'oops off, underbeneath it's been rusting away for years and the 'oops is thin as paper. As paper', he repeated disgustedly. 'I ask yer, sir, what's thegood o' 'oops like that? Might just as well put on a few pages of the Morning Post like a winding sheet and paint it over.

  'No, sir', Lewis said firmly, 'wooldin's the answer, and it stand to reason. With 'oops you can't see what's going on underbeneath - and that rust makes the 'oops swell, too. I've seen some that the rust has swelled so much they've split orf by theirselves. But with wooldin', you can see.

  'First you use good stretched rope. It's bin used so you know it's strong an' sound. You nail one end to the yard and then start passin' it round, 'eaving a good strain on it, and nailing. That way a nail every couple o' feet 'olds the strain you've 'eaved, and by the time you got six or eight turns on and nailed, you've got that spar gripped better than with an 'oop and now, sir, you tell me the two big advantages you've got over the 'oop.'

  Ramage could see more than two, but it seemed unfair to spoil the climax of Lewis's exposition. 'You tell me', he said cautiously.

  'Well, sir, stands to reason. 'Ow many turns have you got on, eh?'

  'Let's say eight.'

  'Right, sir. Diameter of the rope used - say one inch. Eight turns of rope lying side by side and well nailed down means that bit of wooldin' is at least eight inches wide and is 'olding eight times the breakin' strain of the rope. And 'ow wide is an 'oop?'

  Ramage was saved having to guess by Lewis's exultant, 'You see, sir, stands to reason. But' - he held up an admonitory finger - 'that's only one of the advantages. The other one - and by my reckonin' it's the greatest one - is that you can go along every few months and check it over. You give the wooldin' a good bang with a mallet and you'll soon see if the rope's still sound and the nails 'oldin' in the wood. Not like an 'oop 'iding its weakness under coats of paint.'

  'So woolding it is', Ramage said, knowing that he would be there for half an hour if he let Lewis carry on. The man talked sense and Ramage would have happily listened to hiswisdom for the rest of the day - if the foreyard was not lying on the deck beside them.

  'Ah', Lewis said, 'that be light enough to start drilling for them bolts. If you'll excuse me, sir - now, Butcher, let's start turning them augers.'

  By nine o'clock, with the sun just beginning to get some warmth in it, Ramage heard a clattering of metal and looked forward from the quarterdeck to see the armourer's mate emptying a sack of bolts at Lewis's feet beside the foreyard. The carpenter bent down, picked up one of the bolts and examined it critically. He looked round for a heavy hammer, went over to the first of the holes drilled right through the yard and the fish on each side, and pressed in the first two or three inches of the bolt, motioning to the armourer's mate to hold it steady while he swung the hammer, which had a handle five feet long.

  The rest of the carpenter's mates stopped to watch and, at an order from the carpenter, leaned against the yard to steady it, standing alternately. The armourer's mate held the bolt at arm's length, obviously afraid one of the carpenter's blows would miss, glance off and hit him.

  The carpenter struck one blow, and then called to one of his men, who had a jar of Stockholm tar and a brush. He dabbed the bolt with tar and after each blow with the hammer wetted the bolt and wood again.

  As the bolt drove into the wood one of the mates crouched down to watch for the other end to emerge. He had to make sure that the wood did not split and that the lower fish was held securely by the turns of the Spanish windlasses, even though the glue had not yet set hard.

  'Here she comes!' he called, and at once the carpenter began delivering lighter strokes. 'An inch to go ... end's level ... out half an inch and no splitting...'

  The carpenter dropped the hammer with the proud gesture of a skilled craftsman: other and lesser men could drive the remaining bolts now he had shown them how itshould be done, and then clench the lower ends over the big washers, or roves, so that each bolt became a great rivet.

  Already the bosun was cutting lengths of rope, each one long enough to go round the yard eight times, and his mates were busy putting whippings on each end to prevent the strands unlaying. Several men with chisels and gouges were cutting grooves round the yard just deep enough for the rope to lie in for a third of its diameter, but because of the fishes the grooves need be only along the edges of the planks. Lying ready were piles of copper nails, awls to drill the holes in the wood and fids to make holes through the whole rope, rather than let the copper nails drive down between the strands.

  Southwick came up the quarterdeck ladder after a tour of inspection and reported to Ramage: 'He'll have finished it by noon, sir: a good man, Lewis; he's got a sense of order. Prepares things so that as he finishes one part the next one is ready.'

  'One of those bolts could make a bad split if it's a fraction too big or the hole bored too small', Ramage said. Td like to see Lewis drive them all.'

  Southwick nodded. 'Aye, sir, that's the one thing that really could set us back a day. I'll go down and tell him.'

  As the master left, Ramage looked astern gloomily. It did not seem possible that fifteen ships could occupy so much space: they were spread from a mile astern of the Calypso - that was the Sarazine - in a vast semicircle to the horizon. As soon as Lewis has driven those bolts, Ramage vowed, the Calypso would be forcing them into the formation described in the orders that Orsini had delivered to each master.

  Martin was the officer of the deck and it was Orsini's watch. Martin was proving a very competent watchkeeper and Ramage was thankful that his next letter to Gianna would still be able to give Paolo honest praise because he was (apart from mathematics) improving almost daily.

  Ramage guessed that both youngsters were giving impatient glances astern, waiting for the captain to turn the Calypso back to crack the whip round the merchant ships. Neither of them appreciated that for the time being it did notmatter; what mattered was that an unexpected roll did not upset the foreyard, which could not be chocked up, shored up, roped down, wedged or lashed too tightly at this stage because it was important that when drilled and bolted it was in its natural shape. In an emergency, yes, it would be worth risking bolting in a slight bend, but at this stage with the convoy at least following, albeit like sheep ambling across a field in search of fresh grass, and no risk of an enemy, good formation did not really matter. Not, Ramage realized, that he could say such a thing out loud in front of his offïcers.

  'We could do with the Passe Partout now, sir', Orsini said cautiously. As a rule midshipmen did not initiate conversations with captains, and Paolo was more than anxious that he should not appear to take advantage of the fact that the Marchesa was his aunt. The result was, of course, that he spoke to the captain less than if he had been a complete stranger.

  'We could also do with another frigate', Ramage said sourly.

  'But in these light airs, sir, a tartane...'

  Ramage gave a sniff that he was sure Southwick would envy; a perfect blend of understanding Paolo's motives in making the remark, a superior knowledge of the sailing abilit
y of tartanes in general and the Passe Partout in particular, and some information that Paolo did not possess.

  'If I was the master of the Sarazine', Ramage said, 'I don't think I'd be bothered by any tartane in my wake.'

  'But she has swivels, sir. Three-pounder shot whistling round your ears...'

  'And the Sarazine has 9-pounders, and a stem that could cut the Passe Partout in half without scraping any paint...'

  'Yes, sir', Paolo agreed regretfully. 'Still, the Passe Partout is keeping well up; she's only one ship astern of the Sarazine.'

  'I've noticed that', Ramage said heavily. 'Fetch me the French signal book: it is in the binnacle drawer.'

  Ramage glanced at it to check a signal, and said: 'Mr Martin - hoist the French signal for "The convoy is to take up close formation at once", and fire a gun to draw attention to it. Leave it hoisted until I give the word.' He handed the signal book to the lieutenant, pointing out the flags.

  Three minutes later, with the flags hoisted, one of the Calypso's sternchase guns was fired. The smoke drifted forward over the quarterdeck and as it cleared Ramage looked at the French ships with his glass, shut it with a snap, and said to Martin: 'I'm going to my cabin. Pass the word if those mules pay any attention to the signal.'

  As he sat down on the settee, remembering he had not filled in his journal for the previous day's events, Ramage knew that although Paolo wanted to get on board the Passe Partout simply because he was a young lad who dreamed of his own command, the fact was that Lewis would have the yard repaired by noon; it would be hoisted and the foresail bent on and the lead of the foretopsail sheets corrected by two o'clock at the latest, and it would be better if the convoy was in some sort of formation by then, rather than having the Calypso chasing round in light airs ...

  The Passe Partout, according to Paolo, had a master, mate and four men on board. That, the boy admitted, was all he saw. So there would also be a cook, and perhaps another couple of men who were sleeping when Paolo was on board. Nine men, say a dozen at the most. The problem was not how to overpower a dozen men and seize the ship, but how to do it without fourteen other ships seeing it, getting alarmed and bolting.

  He told the sentry to pass the word for Aitken, who arrived breathless, assuming something had gone wrong.

  'No', Ramage assured him, 'quite to the contrary. It is just that we'll very soon need a sheepdog to yap at the convoy's heels.'

  'Ah - that tartane, sir, the Passe Partout.'

  'You've been listening to young Orsini!'

  'Yes, sir, but I must admit I think she's the one I'd choose.'

  'You're more concerned with sparing the fewest men for a prize crew', Ramage said teasingly.

  'Aye, that's true, sir, but I can find a dozen without much strain.'

  'And who would you put in command?' Ramage asked out of curïosity.

  'Orsini, if we just want yapping at their heels; Martin if there are likely to be any serious decisions to be taken which he can't refer to you.'

  'You have a good opinion of Martin.'

  'Yes, sir, he'll go far. And he's having an excellent influence on Orsini. They work well together. That sort of thing is, in my experience, unusual: normally a midshipman wants to show off and a lieutenant won't listen to him. But they both like and trust each other, like a younger and older brother. Orsini has, well, I suppose it's a cosmopolitan view because of his background, and Martin is a fine seaman. Each wants to learn what the other has to offer - at least, that's my impression, sir.'

  Ramage nodded because Aitken's opinion coincided with his own, though the Scot had phrased it more succinctly.

  'So we want the tartane, then, and Martin can command it with Orsini as mate.'

  'Night attack, sir?'

  'No. We don't want them firing off those swivels and alarming the rest of the convoy. No, we must take her without a shot being fired, and the only way I can think of is this.' For the next fïve minutes Ramage gave Aitken his orders.

  Within an hour of the men finishing their midday meal the great foreyard was hoisted, using the capstan to raise its fifteen hundredweight up the foremast. Running rigging was fitted and by the time the foretopsail sheets were properly rove, the foresail, the second largest sail in the ship, was lying at the foot of the mast ready to be hoisted and bent on.

  The sail was made up of more than fifteen hundred square feet of canvas; along the head of the sail, where it would be laced to the yard, it measured within inches of fifty feet;along the curved foot it was a couple of feet less, while the luffs - the vertical sides - were thirty-one feet.

  The sailmaker, bosun and his mates had already checked over the sail and made repairs, and Ramage was surprised how little damage it had suffered. Most of the tears had been vertical along the seams; the cloth had held while the stitching gave way. Reef points had been checked over and many replaced - not through damage but because of wear. Two reef cringles had also been replaced, along with all the bowline cringles on the starboard side of the sail.

  Now fifty men were busy round the sail. Yard ropes were rove to the reef cringles; buntlines, running vertically along the sail and normally used for hauling it up to the yard for furling, were rove through their respective blocks which were once again secured to the yard.

  Topmen went aloft and out along the yard; slowly the sail was hoisted up as Aitken shouted his orders through the speaking trumpet. Once the head of the sail reached the yard, lïke a great sheet being pegged out on a washing line, the topmen secured it, hauling the canvas taut. With that done, Aitken gave the orders to furl the sail, which was then hauled up to the yard, gathered like an enormous sausage, and secured with gaskets.

  'The yard seems to sit well enough', Southwick commented to Ramage. 'As straight as before. Not so much spring in her, but she's bound to be stiffer where she's bolted and fished.'

  'The yard is stronger than before, anyway', Ramage said dryly. 'She won't break there again!'

  'You won't be setting stunsails for a while, sir?'

  'No - why?'

  'Lewis mentioned to me that - well, in the rush to get the yard repaired he hadn't noticed that the larboard stunsail boom is in two pieces, and he has to make a new one. Matter of an hour or so.'

  'If that's all he's forgotten, he did a good job', Ramage said. 'Send for him and his mates: they deserve some praise - and some sleep, too.'

  As soon as the men were lined up on the quarterdeck, Lewis standing a pace in front of them, Ramage thanked them briefly. More than a dozen words of praise had them shuffling with embarrassment, and Ramage could see that three or four of them were almost asleep on their feet, having been working on the yard for nearly twelve hours.

  Once the carpenter had led his mates below, Ramage explained to Southwick his plan for the Passe Partout and the master chuckled. 'Ah, I wish I was a youngster again; they get all the fun.'

  'You've had your share', Ramage said unsympathetically, 'and there'll be more to come before you go over the standing part of the foresheet.'

  'Aye, I hope so', Southwick said.

  'There'd better be', Ramage said, 'otherwise I'll go back to Cornwall and breed horses.'

  Knowing how much Ramage disliked horses and riding, Southwick gave a broad grin, and nodded when Ramage said: 'Send Martin, Orsini, Jackson, Stafford and Rossi down to my cabin, and look up the Passe Partout's number in our version of the convoy orders. Eight, I think it was. Then, - he took out the French signal book and looked up a signal - 'be ready to hoist "Pass within hail".'

  The Passe Partout's big triangular lateen sail bulging from the curving yard hoisted on her single mast reminded Ramage of a shark's fin slicing through the water as she came up astern of the Calypso.

  Most of the ships in the convoy had made some attempt to get into formation, or rather they bunched up closer to the Sarazine, which in turn was obviously trying to stay in the Calypso's wake. Most were three miles or more astern now that the frigate, unknown to the convoy, was deliberately outpacing
it.

  Aitken admired the way that the captain had first hoisted the signal for the convoy to take up closer formation, one he knew they were incapable of obeying with any sort of efficiency, and given them a couple of hours to do their best.

  As the captain had predicted, they had simply closed up on the Sarazine like chicks following the mother hen.

  Aitken then had noticed that the captain's telescope was more often pointing out to the sides than directly astern and he later commented that he was more concerned that the convoy formation became narrower than wider; that the ships bulged out astern rather than strung out across the width of the horizon.

  Then, simultaneously with hoisting the Passe Partout's number and the signal for her to pass within hail, Mr Ramage had almost imperceptibly edged the Calypso over to one edge of the convoy: all the merchant ships were now over on the Calypso's larboard quarter. And, he guessed, the Passe Partout was going to be ordered up on the starboard side, out of sight of the rest of them...

  The tartane, her hull blue and mast white, was now a mile astern, gliding up and over the slight swell waves like a gull, her foresail flapping idly as the big lateen sail took all the wind in a great bellying curve swelled out by the following breeze. There were two men in the waist of the ship, almost hidden by the bow because of the tartane's deep sheer, and Aitken could see two more men at the tiller. In this wind it could be handled by one, so the other was probably the master just standing there giving orders.

  There were three lumps down each side on top of the bulwarks looking rather like horses' heads, and which Aitken recognized as swivel guns, covered in protective canvas covers that distorted their shape.

  'How many men can you distinguish?' Ramage asked.

  'Only four, sir. Perhaps more will come up when she gets closer.'