by Dudley Pope
'We won't go into all that again,' Nelson said impatiently. 'Well, gentlemen, that completes our business for today. You've heard what the soldiers think; I've had the benefit of your views on the suitability - from the French point of view - of the stretches of coast you are patrolling; and we've all heard what a newcomer to the Squadron thinks.' As if realizing the ambiguity of the remark he turned to Ramage and added: 'Your reasoning is good. I find it most stimulating to hear the views of imaginative and practical young men. It makes sure I don't overlook anything.'
'Not much chance of that, sir,' Captain Lacey said, his voice betraying both disappointment and irritation. 'I don't think any of us have said anything you haven't already thought about.'
Ramage knew that Lacey was not a flatterer; his comment probably expressed a genuine fear that some possibility might still have been overlooked. A moment later the Admiral made the same point. 'I don't want any of you to relax just because I've held this discussion. Your views may be modified later as a result of hearing other men's opinions, and you might develop new ideas. If so, I want to hear them in good time: my flagship is anchored in the Downs, as well you know. Very well, I bid you all good night. Ramage, stay behind: I still have some matters to discuss with you.'
As soon as the other officers left, the Admiral said briskly: Tell me how you are going to get to France.'
'I haven't had time to find a way, sir,' Ramage said apologetically. Then, worried that Lord Nelson might have forgotten that he had arrived in Dover only an hour earlier, he added: 'But I'll be in Boulogne within twenty-four hours.'
'I'm less concerned about how and when you get there than about the arrangements you make for getting information back to me.'
'Exactly, sir,' Ramage said quickly. 'That was what made me rule out getting on shore from one of our own ships -'
'I can't see Bonaparte sending out a frigate to fetch you,' Nelson interrupted.
Ramage managed to choke a laugh: sometimes it was hard to know when His Lordship was serious and when he was teasing. 'I had in mind that it's still easy to buy French lace and brandy on this side of the Channel, sir, providing you know who to ask for it.'
The Admiral nodded. 'I have an idea that more is being smuggled across the Channel now there's a war than was brought over legitimately in time of peace.'
'Forbidden fruit, sir. Our people like brandy and enough Frenchmen still like whisky!'
'I hope you find our smugglers co-operative. They're a dour crowd, you know.'
'With Preventive officers in nearly every village and Revenue cutters at sea most of the time, they have to watch their tongues, sir. A bit of idle gossip could mean the noose for them.'
'You speak with all the feeling of a man who has money invested in the business,' the Admiral said dryly.
'Wish I had, sir,' Ramage said with a grin. 'Then there'd be no problem about getting to France!'
Nelson began folding the chart. 'You're quite clear what you are after?'
'Aye aye, sir.'
'Well, look'ee here young Ramage, I'm going to tell you more than I originally intended because it's obvious the French would never dream you'd know this sort of thing, and I'm anxious you should understand precisely what information would be of use to me.'
He picked up Ramage's pages of notes. 'You know we do not want to bring the Channel Fleet round to the Strait of Dover unnecessarily, for fear we frighten Bonaparte. It's a risk leaving it down to the west, and for that reason it is absolutely vital that I get forty-eight hours' warning if the French are going to sail. That will give the Channel Fleet plenty of time to get round.
'That warning would most probably come first from you. I might hear later from the frigates if they see any unusual activity, but you will be in Boulogne. Use your common sense: don't pass the word when you're not really sure - but don't be over-cautious so that you pass the word too late.'
'If the French saw the Channel Fleet close in off Boulogne, sir,' Ramage began cautiously, 'they'd be frightened -'
'Exactly! That's just what I don't want!' Nelson exclaimed. 'It's no good frightening them back to their holes, so that they can attack us again the moment they've rested. We must lure them out and destroy them,' he said, emphasizing each word by slapping the table. 'We've nothing to fear from Bonaparte at sea - so that's where we can beat him. But he has such a vast army that we don't stand a chance against him in the field - sheer weight of numbers.'
By now Nelson's single eye seemed to be looking at some remote spot beyond Ramage; the little Admiral, as though still trying to persuade ministers and generals (and perhaps some admirals, Ramage thought sourly), said emphatically: 'Stalemate - that's the biggest threat. The moment Bonaparte realizes it's stalemate he'll offer us peace, and our wretched politicians will accept it. But any peace treaty with Bonaparte will be as good as a draft on Aldgate Pump - as worthless as a gallon of cold water.'
He gave a start, as though surprised to find himself in the stark castle room talking to a young lieutenant. 'Hmm, I was carried away. My sermon for the day. Now,' he said with his customary enthusiasm, 'you'll very soon be in France. What about those men of yours? Did you give their names to Mr Nepean?'
'Yes, sir, three of them. The Secretary said you had spoken to him, and they've been ordered up from Portsmouth by the telegraph. They should be here early in the morning.'
‘Three?' Nelson frowned. 'I thought you wanted more. Still, you've probably thought about the danger of marching through the streets of Boulogne with seamen who speak no French.'
'I'll keep them well hidden sir,' Ramage grinned. They'll be my insurance - and messengers, if I need men to bring back reports to you. Smugglers might not be too reliable.'
The Admiral nodded as he picked up a sealed packet. 'Well, Ramage, here are your orders. You have wide discretion: I've simply instructed you to proceed in pursuance of verbal orders. Don't be alarmed; no one is going to say afterwards that you were told to do something you never in fact heard about. I don't want orders lying around that might compromise your neck in France. And you've already received enough verbal orders. Get to France as best you can. If you want a cutter, apply to me. If you want to make your own arrangements, just carry on. I'll give you a letter so you can draw money.'
'I'll manage, sir. It'll probably take me most of tomorrow to make arrangements, but I hope we’ll be on our way tomorrow night and land before dawn the next day.'
Nelson held out his left hand. 'Good luck, m'boy,' he said as Ramage shook hands awkwardly, and he looked away as he said quietly, 'I hate giving orders like this - I'd sooner order you to attack a brace of frigates with a rowing-boat. That sort of thing is out in the open. I don't like this hole-in-the-corner spy business, but it has to be done.'
CHAPTER FIVE
After seventeen miles in the darkness on a hard-mouthed horse borrowed from the squadron of cavalry stationed at Dover Castle, Ramage reined in at his uncle's house at Aldington. He guessed it was little short of one o'clock in the morning. His eyes seemed full of sand, his leg and arm muscles were pulled into knots; he felt so weary his brain seemed disembodied, floating in the darkness.
He dismounted and, holding the reins in one hand, walked to the front door and jerked the bell. Several minutes seemed to elapse - but probably only two or three - before the door swung open and a bleary-eyed and surly manservant with a lantern demanded to know who was bothering Mr Rufus Treffry at this time o' night. As Ramage said his name there was a bellowed welcome from the stairs, 'Hello there, Nicholas! What brings you to the wilds of Kent - is Boney coming?'
‘No, only me,' Ramage said with a weary attempt at humour as he shook hands with his uncle. 'You look fit, sir: how are the rest of the Treffry family?'
'Well enough, well enough. Your aunt will be down the moment she knows it's you. Have you eaten?' Before he could answer his uncle was peering out through the door. He took the lantern from the manservant and held it so the light shone on the sweating horse. 'Humph, where d'y
ou get that nag, eh? Looks more like a remount!'
'It is - I borrowed it from the cavalry at Dover.'
His uncle stared at him from under bushy eyebrows and then snapped at the manservant. 'Come on, jump about! Get his Lordship's horse stabled and rubbed down. Feed and water it. Now, Nicholas, we'd better get you fed and watered, too.' He watched the manservant scurry out of the front dooi and then said quietly, eyebrows raised, 'Not a social call, I imagine?'
Ramage shook his head. 'I need your help, uncle.' Then, seeing the bewildered look on the old man's face and guessing at the questions that must be running through his head, he grasped him by the shoulders. 'Don't worry, I haven't "run". You haven't a deserter on your hands! I'm on the King’s business.'
Treffry chuckled and led Ramage into the drawing-room. 'Even if you were being hunted down by the Admiralty, the Preventive officers or a dozen scheming women you'd always be welcome in this house.' He held the lantern higher and looked at Ramage. 'You look worn out. Sit down a minute - what do you want to eat? Let me rouse out the rest of the staff-'
'I had a meal before I left Dover. I'd like-' he glanced at his watch and slipped it back in his pocket, 'five hours sleep. Could we have a talk at six o'clock - over an early breakfast?'
'Of course, of course! But give me a hint of what it's all about, m'boy; otherwise I'll never get to sleep again!'
Ramage laughed, though he was so weary the room was beginning to blur. 'I need some help from the smugglers, and I thought you might introduce me to them.’
He woke next morning to a sudden clinking of metal and sat up in bed, trying to remember where he was, to see the curtains being drawn back. The sudden light made him rub his eyes and a voice said, 'Them metal rings is noisy, m'Lord. There's a tray with hot tea and biscuits on the table beside you. I'll bring up a jug of hot water in a moment.'
The man was dressed in servant's livery but a long, wide scar across his left cheek had tightened the flesh to make the face sinister. Ramage pictured the man without the scar, and the features seemed familiar.
'Remember me, M'Lord? Raven, Mr Treffry's butler.'
Memories came tumbling over each other: boyhood memories of holidays spent in Aldington, scrambling along sunken lanes with rabbit nets and Raven handling his ferrets, and galloping across the rolling fields to Kingsnorth on a pony his uncle selected for him. Exploring thick woods of oak and beech and ash, and being frightened by the silence and shadows in the undergrowth; using one of his uncle's fowling pieces and getting an occasional partridge.
'Yes - you used to take me fishing in the river down by the mill. We used to catch roach and cook them on a bonfire. But...'
'I didn't have this in those days,' Raven said, touching the scar. 'Changes a man's appearance. You've collected a couple, too,' he added, tapping his forehead, where Ramage had two scars above his right eyebrow. 'Clean cuts, like from a sword. m'Lord?'
'Boarding parties,' Ramage said. 'What happened to you?'
'Misunderstanding with a Revenue officer a few years back,' he said briefly. 'I'll fetch up your hot water, m'Lord. I've unpacked your bag and set out your razor. Your linen's been washed and should be dry in half an hour - it's hanging over the kitchen stove. I took it down last night. Your fresh clothes is hung up.'
Ramage muttered his thanks and remembered the sealed orders in his coat pocket. He had not bothered to read them, and he waited until Raven left the room before jumping out of bed and reassuring himself that the seal had not been broken. Not, he realized, that the orders would give away any secrets - Lord Nelson made sure of that.
He stripped off his nightshirt and tossed it on the bed. It was chilly, and every muscle in his body seemed to ache, but five hours' solid sleep - much more than he could usually manage at sea - had refreshed him. Raven had hung up his uniform - well, he would not be wanting that for a while. He would wear the grey breeches and brown coat, and take an old pair of trousers and a jersey with him.
He walked over to the large window and looked down over Romney Marsh. It was as though a great wedge of low and utterly flat land measuring a dozen miles by almost twenty, with Dungeness its apex, had been arbitrarily stuck on to the high land stretching from Hythe through Aldington and in a gentle sweep on to Appledore and finally Rye.
From anywhere along this ridge - his uncle's house was right on the edge of it - one could look right across the Marsh to the Channel, which formed the distant eastern horizon. Even in the early sunlight the Marsh seemed mysterious and brooding. He had forgotten just how flat it all was. The canals and drainage dykes, which also served as hedges, now seemed as they reflected the rising sun like narrow ribbons of shiny metal criss-crossing the green fields and spanned here and there by small, hump-backed bridges which allowed the sheep to move from one meadow to another.
If there were few villages, there were fewer towns: he could just make out the buildings of Dymchurch round to his left, their west walls just black shadows, with Old Romney almost due south and the long point of Dungeness - known locally as 'the Ness' - beyond.
Fifteen minutes later, washed and shaven, he joined his uncle at the breakfast table. Rufus Treffry was a stocky man of sixty who did not carry an ounce of fat. His face was round and cheerful, and although his once sandy hair was now thin, his eyebrows were bushy, bristling out over startlingly bright blue eyes.
While Raven served at the table with a remarkable economy of movement, Treffry said: 'How is my sister, and that sailor she married?'
'Both very well. They didn't know I'd be calling, otherwise they would have sent greetings.'
'And what's the news from Dover Castle? They expectin' Bonaparte?' He spoke lightly, but Ramage detected his concern.
'Everything is quiet in Dover. I don't think there's more news than is reported in the newspapers.'
Treffry grunted doubtfully as he helped himself to fried eggs and thick slices of gammon from the dish Raven was holding. 'One day they'd have us believe Bonaparte is due any moment, and the next they're laughing at him!'
Ramage grinned at the cross, almost aggrieved tone of voice and, catching his uncle's eye, glanced at Raven, indicating he would say more when they were alone. For two or three minutes the men ate in silence while Raven replaced the covers on the hot dishes and left the room.
'Well, what's all the mystery, m'lad?' his uncle demanded.
'I have to get to France in a hurry - and perhaps return in even more of a hurry ...'
'What's wrong with landing by boat at night from one of the King's ships?' Treffry asked, his voice showing he accepted there was a reason and was merely curious.
'I'd probably land all right from a cutter, but the chances of getting away again - a rendezvous has to be arranged, and depends on weather. And I have to send reports back to England...'
Treffry frowned. 'Is this some sort of spy business?'
There was no harm in him knowing that much; indeed, there could be no other reason for visiting France. 'Yes, I have to try and find out one or two things, and send some reports back. Then I can come home again! Do you know anyone who can help?’
'I know some folk who could help if they had a mind to,' his uncle said cautiously, 'but they've no reason to love authority: the Revenue men make nothing but trouble for them.'
Sensing a reluctance on his uncle's part, Ramage said: 'Surely running foul of the Revenue men now and again doesn't turn them against the King, does it?'
'Dear me, no,' Treffry said agreeably, 'but you must remember that the war has made their - ah, profession - ten times as dangerous. So many of our own Navy ships at sea, and all on the watch for anything suspicious.'
'Very well, so smuggling is ten times more dangerous,' Ramage said sourly, 'but I'll wager it's also twenty times more profitable, thanks to the war.'
'Very probably,' his uncle said, his eyes twinkling, 'and no doubt Bonaparte's douaniers want ten times bigger bribes. I must admit I know very little about it; I must be one of the few around here not invol
ved. I hear some of my neighbours grumbling at the risks their men run, and they usually send me a case or two of brandy at Christmas, Easter and Michaelmas. Still, when I see a string of packhorses being led across my land in the middle of the night, I must admit I look the other way; and when I see a shielded lantern shining from a high window facing the Marsh I assume it is a curate working late on his church accounts, although no doubt the Revenue men would claim it was a signal to smugglers that the coast was clear for their packhorses to make a delivery.'
'I'm not judging them,' Ramage said hastily. 'I just want their help!'
'Yes, I know all that, my lad; but I'm trying to warn you it's not going to be as easy as you think. First, you have to understand these men haven't been smuggling just for the last seven or eight years - since the war began. No, they've been smugglers all their lives, and their fathers before them. They-'
'I know all that, sir,' Ramage said impatiently.
‘I doubt it,' his uncle said, unruffled, 'and if you want their co-operation it'll make your job a lot easier if you know more about 'em. I can see you're thinking in terms of a couple of men and a small fishing smack, but -' he wagged an admonitory finger, 'remember the Marsh covers a couple of hundred square miles, and the Marsh Men control all the smuggling along the coast from Folkestone to Rye Bay, and that's some twenty-five miles. Why, I doubt if anything happens on the Marsh without them knowing about it - and not only on the Marsh. Did you notice any people on your way here last night?'
'I didn't see a soul after I got through Hythe.'
The old man shook his head and smiled. 'I'm sure you didn't; but people saw you: long before dawn they were trying to discover why a naval officer galloping full tilt along the Ashford road suddenly turned off southwards at Sellindge and headed for Aldington. Many people were roused from their beds, and didn't get back to their sleep until word reached them that Mr Rufus's nephew had arrived at Treffry Hall, and all was well.'