by Pope, Dudley
The sky to the eastward was lightening perceptibly.
‘Beat to quarters, Mr Appleby, if you please.’
It was routine in wartime to meet the dawn with the ship’s company standing to the guns and ready for action.
After the excitement of the last twenty-four hours, Ramage wanted to hear only one hail, ‘The horizon’s clear’, and that would not come until it was light enough to send a lookout up to the masthead. For once he was looking forward to breakfast. He remembered just in time to tell Appleby to send the men to quarters quietly. The rattling of the drum would give the game away.
In quick succession, he was joined by Southwick, Antonio and Jackson. The Italian knew the dawn routine, and betrayed no anxiety at the order.
‘Good morning, Nico. You anticipate any excitement?’
‘No – at least, not from the frigate, but there may be another ship in sight.’
‘Have you thought of a suitable punishment for the Spanish lieutenant, and the rest of the gentlemen over there who broke their parole?’
‘Not yet. Make ’em scrub the deck on their knees, perhaps!’
Antonio laughed. ‘But the prisoners we have on board need many of our men to guard them.’
‘I know; I shall be disposing of them shortly.’
Ramage chuckled as Antonio, Southwick and Jackson all stiffened, obviously misinterpreting ‘disposing’.
‘I shall dispose of them, Mr Southwick, by sending them back in their own boat.’
The Master shuffled his feet, and then said apologetically, ‘If you’ll forgive me, sir, but is that wise? After all, they’ll have seen how short-handed we are…’
‘They must have guessed that from the start. But think of the surprise when all their boarding party led by their first lieutenant row back with bruised heads! Don’t forget that at this very moment everyone on board that frigate thinks the Kathleen is a prize, that the boarding party has killed most of us.’
‘By God, I’d forgotten that,’ Southwick exclaimed gleefully, slapping his thigh.
‘Yes, and before they recover, our gig will be alongside to take off all her officers, except the Master.’
Antonio drew his hand across his throat.
‘You cut off the snake’s head.’
‘Precisely.’
‘Unless, of course, the snake strikes first, and refuses to have its head cut off. In other words, the officers refuse to leave the ship.’
‘We have their captain, don’t forget,’ Ramage said. ‘He’s our hostage. By the way Mr Southwick, we’ll have Spanish colours run up over ours, if you please.’
As soon as the lookout climbed the shrouds and reported the horizon clear, Ramage told Southwick to get the prisoners over the side into their boat. Once they were sitting on the thwarts, bruised, bleary, frightened and bewildered, Ramage ordered them to row to La Sabina, snubbing Pareja by giving the order to a seaman.
Five minutes later, after protests from Southwick, he handed him the telescope. ‘They’re on board. I can just imagine the look on Teniente Pareja’s face as he describes what happened. Right, if the gig’s ready it’s time for me to join them.’
‘Let me go, sir!’
‘Please, Mr Southwick, don’t let’s go into all that again. Apart from anything else, you don’t speak Spanish and you’d probably miss some significant remark.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ the Master said with as much disapproval in his voice as he dare express.
The crew were already in the gig as Ramage climbed down. Suddenly he realized that with the Spaniards’ boat already alongside the frigate and the Kathleen’s only remaining boat going alongside in a few minutes, the Spaniards could (if they thought of it) capture both and by risking their captain’s life scupper his only weapon, the explosion boat.
‘Mr Southwick,’ he called. ‘I want a dozen more men. I’ll send the gig straight back and bring the Spanish officers over in their own boat.’
A group of Spanish officers were waiting at the gangway for them to come on board, but Jackson put the gig neatly alongside the other boat and, with Ramage and the dozen extra seamen, leapt in, leaving the gig to drift clear and row back to the Kathleen.
The whole manoeuvre had taken place so smoothly and quickly that Ramage knew the Spaniards had either been taken by surprise or had not realized the importance of boats. Lieutenant Pareja was waiting for him as he reached the gangway, followed by Jackson.
As the Spaniard began his long formal greeting he gingerly removed his hat, revealing a plaster stuck on the crown of his head. His face was white and he winced in pain as, his bow completed, he stood upright again. Even as he winced he saw the scar over Ramage’s brow was now a white slash against the tan, as if the skin was too taut, and the eyebrows were drawn into a straight line. Then he looked into the deep-set eyes.
Since Pareja’s voice had trailed off for no apparent reason, Ramage said icily, ‘You broke your parole.’
‘Sir! How can you suggest…’
‘You broke your parole, and there is no basis for discussion. Please present your officers to me.’
Pareja shrugged his shoulders and called to a small group standing by the wheel. They came at once, four young men with barely a couple of years’ difference in their ages, and lined themselves up like nervous schoolboys, although Ramage knew they were all about his own age. He was careful to stand three or four paces from them to avoid any handshaking, and Pareja introduced them as the second, third, fourth and junior lieutenants and each bowed in turn.
‘And the Master?’
Pareja waved to an unshaven man, perhaps five feet tall but looking more like a weather-stained barrel with legs. Ramage turned to catch Jackson’s eye, glancing meaningfully at the pistol tucked in the American’s belt and then at Pareja, who missed the byplay.
While the Spanish Master waddled over, resentment, hatred and contempt showing in his face, Jackson moved casually so that he was standing a couple of paces behind Pareja.
As the Master was introduced Ramage knew he could not be left on board. He too would have to be a prisoner; he was obviously a tough, brutal man and capable of any treachery or crime that came into his greasy head. In his place Ramage decided to leave the fourth lieutenant, a willowy and weak-faced youth, foppish in his manner and obviously someone who had more ‘interest’ at Court than interest in seamanship.
Ramage turned to Pareja.
‘With the exception of this gentleman,’ he said in English, pointing to the fourth lieutenant, ‘you will all go into the boat at once.’
Pareja, dumbfounded by the unexpected order, stared at Ramage, and then stuttered, ‘But…but…’
‘Translate the order, please.’
‘No, I refuse.’
Ramage looked at Jackson over the Spaniard’s shoulder and nodded.
The muzzle of the American’s pistol pressed into the back of Pareja’s neck. He stood as if paralysed and Jackson, with a neatly timed sense of the dramatic, cocked the pistol so that Pareja must have felt the click all the way down his spine. Ramage could see beads of perspiration on the man’s forehead and upper lip, but because he looked as though he would remain silent, Ramage suddenly snapped out the order in Spanish himself. The suddenness of Jackson’s movement and Ramage’s unexpected ability to speak Spanish sent the second, third and junior lieutenants walking to the break in the bulwark, but the Master stood firm.
‘You, too,’ Ramage said.
‘No, I stay.’
Ramage was determined not to argue; but he did not want to spend life unnecessarily, so he turned to Pareja with what he hoped was a ruthless expression on his face, at the same time drawing his own pistol and pointing it at the Master.
Speaking in Spanish he said coldly, ‘Lieutenant, until yesterday I did not know you existed. Today I do not care whether you exist or not. The same applies to this man. If he does not get into the boat I shall kill you both. It is a matter of no consequence or significance to me or my plans, so
please yourself whether or not you give him a lawful order as his senior officer; it is his last chance – and yours, too.’
Pareja now looked as if he would faint before he had a chance to speak: Jackson was pressing the muzzle of the pistol so firmly into his neck he was having to brace himself to avoid being forced to take an undignified pace forward.
Finally he whispered to the Master: ‘Do as you are told. Get into the boat.’
The Master seemed about to disobey, but after glancing at the muzzle of Ramage’s pistol and then at his eyes, he shuffled after the others. Ramage then spoke to the fourth lieutenant, standing by himself and obviously scared at having been singled out.
‘You are now appointed temporarily in command of La Sabina. You will follow in my ship’s wake, day and night. Burn three lights at night, as before. Make sure your men steer carefully. Don’t make any mistakes. The first one you make will cause the death of the Master – you’ll see his body float past. Then the junior, third, second and first lieutenants. Your sixth will send your captain to perdition. You understand?’
The man nodded, unable to speak.
Ramage motioned Jackson to remove his pistol and Pareja walked to the bulwark.
‘You are a barbarian,’ he half-whispered in English. ‘No better than a pirate.’
‘You flatter me,’ said Ramage coldly, enjoying himself in his temporary rôle and hard put to stop laughing, and he could not resist adding, ‘My pastime is murder. Legally, you understand; it must be done legally – that’s half the fun. That’s why I enjoy war – don’t you? After all, His Most Catholic Majesty declared war on us. We didn’t start it, you know. We are just heretics – you remember how your priests used to burn us to save our souls? Since you’ve shut the gates of Heaven to us we’re eternally damned and have nothing to lose. But you, why, if I kill you, you are bound to go to Heaven – aren’t you…?’
CHAPTER NINE
Ramage looked through the telescope with as much nonchalance as he could muster, forcing himself not to rub his brow as he put the telescope down. Instead, he picked some fluff off the sleeve of his jacket.
The two ships whose sails were now lifting over the horizon to the north-east were frigates, probably out ahead of the Spanish Fleet, though the ludicrous mirage effect which made them appear upside down also made it hard to identify them.
But a few minutes after being sighted by the Kathleen’s lookouts they’d altered course towards the cutter, each diverging slightly, so that if Ramage cast off the tow and ran either could cut him off. They obviously had more wind up there and were probably bringing it down with them.
Ramage’s face was slack with weariness; his bloodshot eyes seemed sunken now, rather than deep-set. Yet he was freshly shaven, his uniform newly pressed, and without seeing his face one might have thought him an elegant young officer on board a flagship at anchor at Spithead.
He snapped the telescope shut, rubbed his brow for a moment before snatching his hand away, and repeated to himself once again that his duty now was to destroy La Sabina. Yet he knew the Spanish crew, with help at hand, would never let his men get on board to scuttle or burn her, even if it meant the death of their officers held as hostages in the Kathleen. And there wasn’t time to rig an explosion boat.
Gianna said in Italian, and it made her voice more intimate. ‘We haven’t much more time together, caro mio…’
Ramage was startled because he had not seen her and said without thinking, ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ then added quickly, ‘don’t worry – you’ll probably be rescued again before they get into port. They’re bound to be intercepted.’
‘Shall we be left alive to be captured?’
It wasn’t really a question, and she said it so simply that for a moment he missed its significance.
‘We don’t fight,’ he said almost harshly.
‘Why not? Or let’s use the hostages. Why not threaten to kill them unless the two ships let us go – we can make a bargain and leave them the wrecked ship.’
‘My dear,’ he said gently, ‘we can’t.’
‘Why? Why not?’ she asked fiercely.
‘Because – well, we can’t murder prisoners. And we’d have to if they called our bluff.’
‘Why can’t we? It’s war. You once gave us a long lecture about how we Tuscans let Napoleon walk through our country without fighting. Now you have the faint heart. Don’t forget the Spanish officers broke their word of honour and sent men with knives to try to murder us last night!’
There must be an answer but he was too weary to think of it, and she added, ‘If they capture Antonio and me, we shall be executed.’
‘You won’t! They’ve no idea who you are.’
‘They’ll guess. The Spanish captain heard a sentry use my title this morning. I saw the look on his face.’
And this, Ramage thought to himself savagely, is what happens when you gamble. Capturing La Sabina hadn’t really been a gamble – he’d been reasonably certain the explosion boat bluff would work because he knew enough of the Spanish mind to be sure of the outcome. But he’d thought no farther than having La Sabina safely in tow astern of the Kathleen; he hadn’t thought of the consequences. In halving the Kathleen’s speed he’d doubled the time for the voyage to Gibraltar, and that doubled the chances of being intercepted. And doubled the chances that Gianna and Antonio would end up on a French guillotine.
Gianna glimpsed the agony in his mind and touched his arm.
‘Nico – neither Antonio nor I would have changed anything that’s happened, anything, do you understand?’
He was too distraught to answer for a moment and she said fiercely, ‘Nico – I talked with Antonio. You were right – we now realize we Tuscans did let that Napoleon walk over our land. But you’ve given us the will and the chance to regain our pride. We’re proud, Nico – proud of the Kathleen, of you, of all those men, and proud of ourselves. Antonio asks only one thing – that we fight those two ships. He’ll be killed, but we’d die anyway – the French would see to that. We’ve nothing to lose. Except,’ she added quietly, ‘for you and me. We lose each other. So, caro mio, if it’s your duty to fight then…’
Then, Ramage said bitterly to himself, let’s all die in the coffin that Lieutenant Ramage has so carelessly constructed. His eyes were fixed on the tight spiral of metal that was the elevating screw of a carronade. If he surrendered without a fight, the Kathleens would rot in a Spanish prison and Gianna and Antonio would end up on a French guillotine. There was no choice. He swung round to the Master and called, ‘Mr Southwick, clear the ship for action!’
Southwick rubbed his hands as he bellowed the order, not waiting for the bosun’s mate to pipe it first. Not content with that he went to the hatchways and bawled down each of them in turn.
As soon as he returned aft, Ramage said, ‘Double the sentries over the prisoners. Warn ’em if they move an inch they’ll be shot. Have we any musketoons on board? If so, see the sentries have them, and make sure they understand my orders.’
‘Aye, aye, sir!’
Antonio came over, grinning happily and tugging his beard.
‘So we fight after all, Nico!’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. I was afraid you’d…’ he stopped, embarrassed. ‘For the best possible reasons…’
Ramage laughed. ‘Antonio – you worry more about my reputation than your own neck.’
‘My neck keeps getting caught up in your reputation,’ Antonio retorted. ‘And this time I join in the battle, whatever you say!’
Men were running along the deck, placing sponges and rammers ready beside the carronades, undoing the canvas aprons protecting the flintlocks and snapping them to make sure the flints were sparking well. Others were flinging buckets of water over the deck and sprinkling more sand. And Ramage sensed every man knew that this time it was a fight to the death; a fact and not an empty phrase, and he was humbled by their cheerfulness. They were too busy to dwell on what might have been; too busy for
morbid thoughts.
Jackson, standing to one side, coughed discreetly until Ramage was sufficiently irritated to look at him.
‘Wondered if I might borrow the “bring-em-near” for a moment, sir.’
Ramage gave him the telescope and within a few seconds the American was scrambling up the ratlines.
Then Ramage went below, put his secret papers in the lead-weighted box which had holes drilled in it so that it would sink quickly, brought it up and put it by the binnacle, warning the quartermaster to keep an eye on it. By then Jackson was coming down from aloft. With a grin on his thin face and waving the telescope with one hand as he ran the fingers of the other through his thin, sandy hair, he trode across the deck.
‘Beg pardon, sir, but I’m pretty sure of the two frigates.’
‘Well, out with it, man, who are they?’
‘I’m positive one’s the Heroine, sir. I was in her for six months. Or she’s one of that class. The other – the one to windward – is the Apollo.’
‘You’re absolutely sure?’
‘Yes, sir.’
It made sense. Both ships were in Sir John Jervis’ squadron. Ramage saw Gianna was looking at him, a curious yet happy look in her eye. In Italian she murmured, ‘So we’ll share another sunset.’
Antonio heard and growled. ‘To the devil with your sentimental sunsets. Once again I miss my own personal naval battle. Nico, you might ask if I can transfer to one of the frigates; to the one commanded by the most bloodthirsty captain. Otherwise what tale shall I have to tell my grandchildren about how I fought in the Royal Navy?’
Captain Henry Usher, commanding His Majesty’s frigate Apollo, was a large, ruddy-faced and cheerful man with a ready laugh, and as senior of the two captains sat in his cabin listening to Ramage’s story with open admiration.