Ramage & The Drum Beat

by Pope, Dudley

  Well, it was too late to fret about a situation he couldn’t change. But as he climbed he realized it was a situation he could have changed.

  At last his head was level with the deck at the entry port and he looked neither to the right nor the left as he passed through until he was standing on the gangway. His hat was straight and surprisingly he suddenly felt nonchalant, as if he was walking into the Long Room at Plymouth. With the memory of the size of the Kathleen only seconds old, he was almost light-headed with the ludicrousness of what he was about to demand.

  A Spanish officer to his right straightened himself up after an elaborate bow, hat clasped in his right hand over his left breast.

  Ramage returned a polite but less deep bow.

  ‘Teniente. Francisco de Pareja at your service,’ the officer said in good English.

  ‘Lieutenant Ramage, of His Britannic Majesty’s cutter Kathleen, at your service. I wish to speak with your captain.’

  ‘Of course, Teniente. Please come this way. My captain asks me to tender his regrets that he speaks no English.’

  ‘If you would be kind enough to translate,’ Ramage said politely, ‘I am sure we shall all understand each other perfectly.’

  ‘Thank-you. I am at your service.’

  Without letting his eyes wander too obviously, Ramage saw the frigate’s deck was indeed swept clean. The remains of the masts, like stumps of clumsily felled trees, were monuments to a fatal combination of a powerful squall and bad seamanship. But however long and strong the squall had blown it failed to remove the usual smell of boiled fish, stale cooking oil and garlic which permeated most Spanish ships, and there was a smell like a bonfire just put out by a rainstorm. Ah! Suddenly he realized why there was water running from the frigate’s scuppers: some of the burning wreckage from the exploding boat had come on board and started several small fires… He mentally noted that a few signal rockets and blue lights put on top of the powder next time might yield good dividends.

  Waiting aft by the big double wheel, but deliberately looking away, stood a portly man of perhaps forty, resplendent in a uniform almost entirely covered in gold braid. The thick jowls hanging over the stock betrayed a professional gourmet. The pinkness of the face, the slackness of the mouth, protuberant belly, shifting and watery eyes that could not refuse food… Ramage guessed the Spanish captain regarded his cook as the most important member of the ship’s company.

  Deep bows, exchange of names – the portly man was Don Andreas Marmion – more bows, and both Ramage and Marmion turned to Pareja, waiting for the other to begin. Suddenly Ramage realized he had a chance of seizing the initiative and announced with all the confidence of a man stating something obvious and indisputable:

  ‘I have come to make arrangements for passing the tow.’

  Pareja paused for several seconds, then prefaced his translation into Spanish with an apologetic, ‘I am afraid the Englishman says…’

  Ramage watched the captain’s face. The pink turned red and, as the neck swelled, deepened to purple, and he replied in an abusive torrent of Spanish which Pareja translated as tactfully as he could, ‘My captain says you can’t tow us and anyway you are his prisoner and he will send your ship to Cartagena for assistance.’

  Since Ramage had understood even before Pareja spoke, he looked Marmion straight in the face, his eyebrows a straight line, hard put to stop rubbing the scar, and answered.

  ‘You are under a misapprehension. Apart from the fact I boarded under a flag of truce, this ship is our prize. You obey our orders. The tow is prepared and will be passed to you as soon as I return to the cutter.’

  Pareja waited, but Ramage’s expression was cold and formal and the Spaniard was frightened by the deep-set brown eyes. ‘Translate that. I haven’t finished yet, but I do not want any misunderstanding.’

  Like a dog on a leash, Marmion took half a dozen paces one way and half a dozen paces the other as Pareja translated. Suddenly he stopped and snapped a few phrases, emphasizing some of them with a petulant and rather comical stamping of his foot, but avoiding looking at Ramage as he spoke.

  Pareja said lamely: ‘My captain says it is ridiculous; you have a tiny ship; you cannot possibly take a big frigate like this as a prize. But he respects the flag of truce and grants you permission to continue your voyage.’

  Ramage tensed. This moment was the climax; instead of a battle of broadsides, it was a swift battle of wills. So far he’d kept the initiative; now, faced with a flat refusal, he was on the verge of losing it. Yet Marmion had avoided his eyes, and Pareja was doing his best as he translated to soften both Ramage’s and Marmion’s phrases, as if he felt Ramage still had some trump card. Then Ramage guessed the reason for Marmion’s attitude – pride. It was as simple – and as complicated – as that. Marmion could see how Spain would receive the news that La Sabina had surrendered to a tiny cutter. He’d be disgraced among his brother officers; a laughing stock. And Ramage knew he now had to give Marmion a way out: a way of backing down gracefully, an excuse acceptable to the Spanish Ministry of Marine.

  ‘Tell your captain,’ he said, ‘that he is in an unfortunate situation. His ship is absolutely helpless and he cannot make repairs. He has only one boat – insufficient to tow the ship round to aim a broadside. All of this will be made clear in our report. His ship is at the mercy of any enemy – whether a three-decker, a cutter, or a dozen Barbary pirates – and the four winds. He has limited food and water and little sea room. If a northerly wind blows for a couple of days his ship will end up on the beaches over there’ – he gestured towards the African coast – ‘and he and his ship’s company will end their days as slaves rowing in Barbary galleys…’

  Pareja translated but Marmion argued violently. As soon as Pareja finished translating Ramage, knowing this was the moment for the real threat, said harshly:

  ‘Tell your captain he knows as well as I do that we can destroy his ship, smash it into driftwood. And we cannot be expected to take nearly three hundred men on board as prisoners – even if they survived the explosion.’

  ‘What explosion?’ Pareja asked, after translating and getting Marmion’s reply. ‘My captain says you cannot destroy us, and it is only a matter of time before our fleet finds us. We have plenty of provisions, and the weather is good.’

  ‘Your own fleet,’ Ramage said, taking a chance, ‘is not within three hundred miles and won’t come this way. And we can destroy you. You saw the explosion boat.’

  ‘But the boat exploded fifty yards away! We were not damaged in the slightest!’

  ‘It exploded fifty yards away because we intended it to: you saw how we manoeuvred. We were simply showing you how easy it would be to tow a second boat and place it under your stern. We are in agreement, are we not, that such an explosion would remove your stern? Surely you don’t dispute that? And a second boat would also carry a considerable amount of incendiary material…’

  As soon as Pareja related this, Marmion swung on his heel and began to walk to the companionway to go below.

  Ramage felt himself going cold at this insult and snapped:

  ‘Tell him to come back here at once. He is my prisoner, and I’ve seen no reason so far to show him any more mercy than he’d receive from the galleys!’

  Pareja obviously sensed this was no idle threat and hurried after Marmion, repeating Ramage’s words in a low voice. He then beckoned to Ramage, who ignored him and Pareja came back.

  ‘My captain wishes to continue the conversation in his cabin.’

  ‘Your captain will continue the conversation on board the cutter. He has five minutes to pack a bag. In the meantime your first lieutenant and I will discuss the details of towing.’ Once again Pareja went back to Marmion and reported Ramage’s words. The captain went below and Pareja told Ramage:

  ‘He agrees under protest and only to save the lives of the ship’s company. He regards an explosion boat as a barbarous and dishonourable method of waging war and unprecedented in history. He says
that in the face of such barbarity it is his duty to protect his men.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Ramage. ‘Now, you are the first lieutenant? Very well, these are your orders for the tow.’

  As Marmion followed him on board the Kathleen, Ramage was pleased to see that in his absence Southwick had been busy. He’d changed into his best uniform and the rest of the ship’s company were neatly dressed and, apart from those standing to attention at their carronades, drawn up on the quarterdeck. There was no sign of a wounded man nor a trace of blood. Every rope was neatly coiled; match and sponge tubs were spaced at geometrically precise intervals with sponges and rammers in their racks.

  The impression of smartness and, compared with the Spanish ship’s company, the natural confidence and determination showing in the men’s bearing, would not be lost on Marmion, who was looking round carefully as he slowly unbuckled his sword.

  When Southwick saluted Ramage, Marmion turned in surprise and exclaimed involuntarily, ‘You are the captain?’ Ramage nodded since there was no further need to pretend he did not speak Spanish, and said, ‘Yes, I am in command. You surrender your sword to me.’ The hard note in his voice left no doubt that it was an order and Marmion gave it to Ramage, who accepted it without comment and passed it to Jackson as if it was dirty.

  Although Ramage felt contempt for the Spaniard because he had made no attempt to brazen it out and had accepted all the terms, he was wary. Those little watery, shifty eyes… He wished he hadn’t left Marmion and Pareja alone while he inspected the frigate.

  Southwick, although still standing to attention, showed by his attitude and expression that he still did not know exactly what was happening, and Ramage said, ‘This gentleman is the captain of the frigate. He is a prisoner. Detail two men to guard him. Rig up screens to make him some sort of cabin, and get a cot slung. Now, all the Spanish ship’s company are prisoners on parole. They’ve given their word to obey my orders – which are to haul in and secure the cable, and then do all they can to safeguard the tow. They were impressed with the explosion…’

  Ramage broke off because the Spaniard’s eyes were popping. He was staring at Gianna, who had just emerged from the companionway. Ramage guessed it wouldn’t hurt to create a bit of a mystery and ignored her.

  ‘Take the boat and pass the cable,’ he continued. ‘The frigate’s first lieutenant speaks very good English. And make sure they have lights ready. At night they’re to burn three white lights, one on either bow and the third on the centre line amidships but high, so we can always see how they are heading. Is that quite clear?’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ Southwick said and added with a grin, ‘Shall I take our colours over, and hoist ’em over the Spanish?’

  Ramage laughed. He had forgotten all about that. ‘Yes, but you’ll need something to rig ’em on – they’ve nothing longer than a boarding pike left!’

  With that Southwick turned away and began giving his orders.

  ‘Thirsty work, sir,’ Jackson commented.

  Ramage eyed him. ‘Yes – for me. I’ve been doing all the talking. Tell my steward to bring me some lemon juice and water.’

  Jackson looked crestfallen and Ramage relented. The capture of a frigate was worth an extra tot for all the men.

  ‘Remind me again at supper time how thirsty you are.’

  ‘Very good sir. You can rely on me.’

  Two seamen with cutlasses left Southwick and came over to Ramage, who said: ‘As soon as his cabin is prepared, the Spanish gentleman is to be taken below, under guard. For the time being keep him forward of the mast.’

  As seamen lowered into the boat the messenger, the light line which would haul across the heavy cable, Ramage walked over to Gianna, who was talking to Antonio.

  Her eyes were bright with excitement she was finding hard to control.

  ‘Nico – who is that funny man?’

  ‘The captain of the Spanish frigate.’

  ‘But why did you bring him over here?’

  ‘He is our prisoner – a hostage, in fact.’

  ‘But how can you control all those men in the frigate?’ Antonio asked. ‘Why, there are hundreds of them. Mr Souswick let me look with the telescope.’

  Ramage shrugged his shoulders. ‘We have to continue to bluff.’

  Antonio said eagerly, tugging his beard, ‘Nico – let me take a dozen men over to the ship. I’ll make sure they behave!’

  Ramage shook his head. ‘But for one thing, I’d have asked you to do that.’

  ‘What is the one thing?’

  ‘Antonio – you and Gianna are the reason for the Kathleen going to Gibraltar. You’re in my care. If anything happened to you…’

  ‘You and your orders,’ Antonio said gloomily. ‘It’s hardly worth having escaped from Italy.’

  ‘Antonio!’ exclaimed Gianna. ‘After all Nico has done for us!’

  ‘No,’ Antonio said hastily, ‘no, I didn’t mean it like that. You know I’m grateful, Nico; but those Spaniards – they’re worse than the French. They’ve only come into the war because they think the French will win.’

  ‘A successful man has many friends,’ Ramage said wrily. ‘But a failure is very lonely.’

  Southwick came up and saluted. ‘’Scuse me, sir. All ready. I’m just going off in the boat.’

  ‘Very well. Don’t stand any nonsense over there. Make ’em jump about, flagship style.’

  Ramage silently cursed the frigate towing astern and then realized it was as stupid as cursing fame and riches because they led innkeepers to double your bill. But the sun dropping over the horizon took most of the wind with it and now, with the sky changing from purplish-mauve to the chilly and impersonal grey of dusk, the cutter was making barely two knots. He had four men at the helm to counteract the drag on the Kathleen’s stern from La Sabina’s occasional sheer one way or the other.

  Gianna and Antonio were standing at the taffrail with him, and Gianna shivered. ‘I never like this time of the day and it’s always worse if there’s anything worrying you, because it’s cold and grey.’

  Antonio asked, ‘What’s worrying you?’

  ‘Oh, nothing really – except that great thing,’ she said, pointing at the frigate. ‘I have a premonition…’

  ‘Of what?’ asked Ramage.

  ‘That…it’s silly, Nico, but I feel she will bring bad luck.’

  Ramage laughed. ‘You must ward off the Evil Eye for us, then!’

  ‘Don’t make jokes about the Evil Eye, Nico…’

  ‘Then don’t be so serious. I noticed our Spanish friend couldn’t keep his evil eyes off you!’

  ‘He makes me feel unclean, the way he looks at me,’ she shuddered. ‘I don’t trust him.’

  ‘I should think not,’ Ramage said. ‘Nor do I. That’s why two seamen are guarding him. After all, he is our enemy!’

  ‘An enemy,’ she mused, ‘that fat man down there…’

  Antonio said coldly, ‘That fat man down there would strangle you slowly – and everyone else too – if it would get him his ship back.’

  ‘I’m feeling cold,’ Gianna said. ‘I am going to bed.’

  Ramage and Antonio kissed her hand, and she called goodnight to ‘Mr Souswick’, who gave his customary bow. When she had gone down below, Antonio asked, ‘Do you expect trouble?’

  ‘Well, I can’t see what they can do – apart from cast off the tow. That wouldn’t help them because we’d obviously wait until daylight and sink ’em.’

  ‘But do you – how do you say – do you “have a feeling”?’

  ‘Yes – probably just a reaction from the excitement.’

  ‘I expect so,’ Antonio said. ‘Well I’m tired, too, so – buona notte, Nico. This has been a day to remember!’

  A few minutes later Ramage suddenly felt weary too and decided to get some sleep in case he was called frequently during the night.

  ‘Mr Southwick, I’m going below for a couple of hours. Observe the usual night orders. If there’s anything
suspicious – even the faintest hint – call me. And issue pistols and muskets to the steadiest men, and cutlasses, pikes and tomahawks to the rest.’

  Ten minutes later Ramage was sprawled fully dressed in his cot in a deep sleep, his two pistols, both at half-cock, tucked against the canvas sides.

  Jackson had been tired, but as darkness came down an indefinable uneasiness drove away all thoughts of sleep. He watched idly as the Master walked round the deck, speaking briefly to the lookouts amidships and on either bow. The old boy was thorough – at each of the carronades, which had been left run out, he checked the tackles and breeching and made sure the canvas apron covering the lock was secure so the damp night air should not get at the flint. As he came aft he saw the American.

  ‘Well Jackson, a busy day.’

  ‘Aye, sir, and likely to be a busy night, too.’

  ‘You think the Dons’ll try something, eh?’

  ‘Well, we would if we were them!’

  ‘Quite so, but that’s the difference. Looked a pretty sheepish bunch when I was on board.’

  ‘Hope you’re right, sir. Still, if they started something…’ Southwick’s grunt indicated he thought the possibility remote, and then he said, ‘By the way, Jackson, are you really American?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘When were you born?’

  ‘Not sure of the exact date, sir,’ Jackson said warily.

  ‘Born English, tho’, I’ll warrant; before ’74, when all you folk revolted!’