Ramage & The Drum Beat

by Pope, Dudley

  ‘Maybe sir. But I’m American now, for all that.’

  ‘You’ve got a Protection?’ Southwick’s voice was flat, as though he was stating rather than asking, and Jackson said slowly ‘Yes sir. I’ve got a duly attested Protection.’

  ‘Why haven’t you used it, then?’

  Jackson shifted from one foot to another. The Master’s persistent questioning didn’t anger him. Most people were curious, which wasn’t surprising since the Protection, signed by J W Keefe, Notary Public and one of the Justices for the City and County of New York, certified that Thomas Jackson, Mariner, had been sworn according to law, deposed he was a citizen of the United States and a native of the State of South Carolina, five feet ten inches high and aged about thirty-seven…

  Mr Keefe further certified that the said Thomas Jackson, being a Citizen of the United States of America and liable to be called in the Service of his Country, is to be respected accordingly at all times by Sea and Land. Whereof an attestation being required, I have granted this under my Notarial Firm and Seal.

  That piece of paper, headed by the American Eagle with United States of America in bold type beneath it, meant he could not be forced to serve His Britannic Majesty and, like anyone else possessing one, could get his discharge any time he liked – any time, rather, he could get in touch with an American Consul.

  What was more, unlike many in circulation, the Protection was genuine. But Jackson tried to imagine the Master’s reaction if he knew he also had another genuine one, attested and signed by a notary but with the spaces for the name and details left blank. It had cost ten dollars – and was worth twenty times as much.

  ‘Well, sir,’ Jackson said, after an appreciable pause, ‘my own country’s at peace, but I don’t like missing a good scrap.’

  ‘So you’ve decided to give us a hand.’ Southwick said with a chuckle, and his last doubts about the American disappeared. He’d never questioned Jackson’s loyalty – from all accounts he’d saved the lives of Mr Ramage and the lad and both were obviously very fond of him – but nevertheless Jackson was a Jonathan, and he couldn’t forget many American merchants and shipowners were making their fortunes trading with the French.

  Southwick’s attitude to the rest of the world was uncomplicated and uncompromising: in war, those who were not openly his friends were his enemies. Neutrals were at best a nuisance, always pettifogging about their rights, and at worst a conniving bunch of crooks selling their wares to the highest bidder without regard to the consequences.

  Jackson, sensing Southwick was lost in his own thoughts, excused himself and picked up the night glass.

  Balancing himself at the taffrail against the Kathleen’s uneven roll, he had a long and careful look at the frigate towing astern, blinked his eye to make sure he wasn’t mistaken, had another look and hurried over to where the Master was standing.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Southwick jumped down the last three steps of the companionway, snatched the sentry’s lantern while hissing at him to make no noise, and ducked his head as he hurried into Ramage’s temporary cabin.

  ‘Captain, sir!’ he whispered as he shook the cot, and Ramage woke in an instant. Southwick’s face, heavily shadowed by the lantern’s glow, warned him of danger.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The Spaniards, sir. They’ve got their boat and are rowing towards us, keeping close along the cable.’

  ‘Many in the boat?’ Ramage asked as he scrambled out of his cot.

  ‘Seems packed.’

  Ramage pulled on his boots, flipping back the little strap over the sheath in the right one to expose the throwing knife.

  ‘They’ll row to within twenty yards then swarm up the cable to board us.’

  ‘S’what I thought, sir.’

  Ramage picked up his pistols, tucked them in his belt and sat on the swinging cot for a full minute. Then he gave Southwick a string of orders.

  ‘Wake the Count and send him up to me. Tell the Marchesa she’s to transfer to this cabin – it’ll be dangerous for her with that skylight overhead. Tell the sentries on the Spanish captain’s door to lay him out with the flat of a sword if he shouts. Then rouse the watch below. I want all of them waiting at the bottom of the companionway. They’re to seize and secure anyone who’s thrown down. No pistols or muskets to be fired – I want absolute silence the whole time. Understand? Absolute silence from everyone.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  Southwick hurried off forward and Ramage made his way up the companionway. Only a few patches of stars were showing; high clouds hid the rest.

  ‘Who’s here?’ Ramage hissed. ‘Keep your voices down.’

  ‘Quartermaster, Jackson, and twelve men, sir: four at the tiller, four lookouts, three topmen and the man watching the cable.’

  ‘Right, keep quiet, behave as though you haven’t seen anything. Topmen – get forward and stay there for the time being.’

  Ramage knelt down and peered through the stern-chase port. He could just make out the boat about forty yards astern. It had twenty or so yards to go before reaching the point where the sagging cable came up out of the water in a gentle curve to the Kathleen’s starboard stern-chase port. A gentle curve which would be an easy hand-over-hand climb for nimble seamen.

  Jackson appeared in the darkness beside him and after Ramage whispered orders disappeared down the companionway.

  Ramage then told the quartermaster and the other men at the tiller: ‘No matter what happens around you, don’t leave the helm. Keep the ship on course – that’s your only concern.’

  The man who had been watching the cable was told to warn the lookouts forward and the topmen to disregard anything that happened aft unless they received direct orders.

  Jackson came back with Antonio, Southwick, Appleby, the Master’s mate, and Evans, the bosun’s mate. While Jackson went off to collect some belaying pins, Ramage looked at the boat again with the night glass.

  The Spaniards were holding on to the cable where it stayed a steady three or four feet above the surface, apart from an occasional wave crest which reached up to touch it. The Spaniards would not risk using pistols – there would be misfires due to wet priming.

  ‘Ah, Jackson,’ he whispered, ‘give us all one.’

  Each took a belaying pin and Antonio, who had never held one before, tried it for balance, giving some imaginary blows. Then Ramage whispered his orders to the group of men.

  ‘They’ll crawl up the cable, so they’ll have to come in through this stern-chase port. You can see it’s only just large enough for a man. We’ll knock them out one by one as they come on board – 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 crawl straight through and make for Southwick who, from his stance and the night glass glinting under his arm, was clearly the officer on watch. The men following would be much less careful because as far as they were concerned the coast would be clear.

  Pareja was so quick, coming through the port like a snake, that Ramage was only just in time to hit him. Jackson caught him as he fell and pulled him to one side and left Appleby to get him to the companionway. They all waited for the next man, who could suspect nothing. He was through in a moment and Antonio’s blow sent him sprawling into Evans’ arms.

  Jackson was ready again to catch the third man as Ramage hit him. The fourth, fifth and sixth men followed at close intervals and ended up unconscious. Not one groaned. The seventh man’s knife fell with a clatter, but the eighth took no notice.

  As soon as the twelfth man had fallen to Antonio’s belaying pin Ramage glanced through the port and saw there were three more to come. He motioned to Antonio to go below – the first victim should be fit for interrogation by now. The thirteenth and fourteenth men were also knocked unconscious, then Ramage motioned to Jackson to take up his position for securing the fifteenth and last man, who was heavily built, the biggest and the clumsiest of them all. He had to struggle through the port and in a moment Jackson’s hands were round his throat while Ramage tried to pinion his arms and Evans grabbed him round the legs.

  But the man was too strong for Ramage who, realizing that in a moment he would break free and tear Jackson’s hands from his throat, jerked his knee into the man’s groin, and he collapsed groaning. Ramage bent down, drew the knife from the sheath in his boot, and held the blade an inch from the man’s face.

  ‘Look!’ he hissed in Spanish. ‘If you shout, you will die.’ The man mixed a few words of prayer with his groans.

  ‘Drag him clear of the port,’ Ramage ordered, keeping his knife in position as Evans pulled the man’s legs.

  ‘Now,’ Ramage continued in Spanish, ‘tell me the signal you are to make when you have captured the ship.’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘The other man also has a knife,’ said Ramage harshly. ‘He will use it. When he has finished, you will no longer be a man.’

  Ramage, almost laughing at the melodrama in his voice, told Jackson, ‘Rip his belt open; I’ve threatened to emasculate him.’

  The Spaniard’s eyes were wide open and there was enough light to show the terror in them as he stared up at Ramage, gasping and reeking of garlic. Jackson sat astride the man’s stomach, facing his feet.

  ‘I count ten,’ Ramage said in Spanish. ‘If you haven’t told me by then – pouf! Now, uno, dos, tres…’

  He counted slowly. At seven the Spaniard begin to wriggle his hips, and Ramage tapped Jackson on the shoulder. The American ripped at the man’s trousers.

  ‘Ocho…neuve…’

  ‘Senor – I tell.’

  ‘Tell, then!’

  ‘We had to show two lanterns – that was all.’

  ‘If you lie…’

  ‘No, no, senor – I swear that was all! Two lanterns, one on each quarter, and leave them there.’

  ‘All right. You go below without a noise. Remember…’

  ‘Yes, yes, senor!’

  ‘Get him below,’ Ramage snapped, and Evans dragged the man by the feet diagonally across the open companionway and then let go, so he slid down below head first.

  ‘Jackson – two lanterns, quickly. Light fresh ones – don’t leave ’em in the dark below. Mr Southwick, get down there and sort out the prisoners.’

  Suddenly he remembered more men may have been left in the boat, but a quick look round showed it was empty. Should he make a noise to show the frigate there had been a struggle? No – men with knives in their backs died quietly. Antonio was beside him.

  ‘The signal the ship is captured is two white lights!’

  ‘Good – that’s what my man said.’

  ‘And as soon as the frigate removes the upper of the three lights she’s showing,’ Antonio continued, ‘we alter course to the north-west.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Ramage said ruefully, ‘I forgot to ask that!’

  ‘My man was only too anxious to talk,’ Antonio said.

  ‘What did you do to him?’

  ‘Nothing – I merely threatened this.’ Antonio made an unambiguous gesture. ‘And you?’

  ‘The same.’

  ‘It never fails.’

  ‘Apparently not,’ Ramage said drily, ‘though it’s the first time I’ve tried it.’

  ‘And me, but – well, how would you like it if…’

  ‘Please!’ Ramage said hurriedly, ‘it’s bad enough threaten-ing someone else!’

  As soon as the lanterns were in position, the course altered and the frigate signalled, and some seamen had gone down the cable to retrieve the Spanish boat, Ramage went below to Marmion’s cabin and without any preliminaries demanded, ‘You knew this attempt would be made?’

  The Spaniard glanced from side to side, avoiding Ramage’s eyes, his fat face glistening with perspiration.

  ‘Captain Marmion,’ Ramage said in a deceptively calm voice, ‘Your officers were on parole. They gave their word of honour they would obey my orders.’

  ‘It seems they disobeyed them.’

  The Spaniard’s tone was defiant now.

  ‘They obeyed your orders, then.’

  ‘Yes, it was my idea.’

  Ramage gripped the sides of the doorway so hard the battens began to bend,
but a moment later his anger was under control.

  ‘Earlier today I could have sunk your ship and left you and your men swimming. By now you would all be dead.’

  ‘And why didn’t you?’ Marmion sneered. ‘Because you want the honour and glory of capturing a frigate.’

  And of course Marmion was partly right.

  ‘That has nothing to do with breaking parole.’

  ‘It is ridiculous,’ Marmion exclaimed. ‘A cutter capturing a frigate! Whoever heard of…’

  ‘But we have, my dear Marmion, we have. A cutter has captured a frigate. And, I haven’t changed my mind, at dawn you will be put back on board and, to save myself the bother of towing, I shall demonstrate how a cutter can sink a frigate. How many in your ship’s company? Say three hundred? Think of three hundred survivors – if all of them survive the explosion I shall have arranged in the magazine – clinging to the wreckage, and the sun rising and getting hotter and hotter and all of you thirstier and thirstier… By tomorrow night, you’ll have all been driven mad – except those who were too weak to hold on and drowned. Goodnight, captain. I wish I could send you a priest; you won’t have much time to make your peace in the morning.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  By the time Ramage was called by the Master’s mate just before dawn he had decided how to avoid a repetition of the previous night’s antics, and as he shaved he took malicious pleasure in the thought that Captain Marmion would have spent a sleepless night anticipating an unpleasant death. The pleasure was only slightly marred by the fact his steward had not stropped his razor properly and the water was almost cold, and he winced at every stroke of the blade.

  On deck it was cold; dawn warned of its approach by a dimming of the stars and the hint of grey in the black of night. Appleby reported the Kathleen’s speed – still only a couple of knots – and that the wind had not changed.

  Then Ramage realized he had forgotten something which might – apart from the attempt at boarding – have led to the Kathleen’s capture during the night. If the wind had dropped there would have been no strain on the cable, which would have sunk, and its enormous weight would have pulled the cutter and La Sabina together. The frigate would probably have ranged alongside and one broadside would have destroyed the cutter – or a Spanish boarding party would have overwhelmed the ship’s company… He felt sick at his foolhardy over-confidence; it was the worst peril after winning the first round of a battle.