by Dudley Pope
The fact was, Ramage decided, that the Governor (the former Governor, rather) had interfered in something that was not his concern. Unless … unless he was going back on the surrender terms, now that the Delft had come in—and, Ramage thought ruefully, now that the British had disposed of all the rebels and French privateersmen.
Southwick came up on deck with the letter and Ramage moved closer to the gangway lantern to read it. Shorn of its polite verbiage, it bore out the Master’s description, except that Southwick had not mentioned that under van Someren’s signature was his own description, “Governor.” In all official communications, especially in circumstances like these, every word was significant.
Ramage folded the letter and put it in his pocket. Aitken and the rest of the ship’s officers were below, washing and shaving, while the seamen were washing on deck using head pumps and buckets, tired, but from the singing and joking, cheerful enough.
“I shall be calling on the former Governor. First I’m going to tidy myself. I want two boats rowing guard around us all night, and a third boat watching the Delft, from a discreet distance. Any sign of mischief, and it can burn a blue light. Two men at every gun on the starboard side, four lookouts, and plenty of flares ready: we can dazzle any would-be boarders, as well as see them.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Southwick said. “We won’t get caught napping.”
“And I want an officer in the boat watching the Delft. They’re all short of sleep but that’s unfortunate. A senior petty officer in each of the two other boats. Young Orsini can take a turn in one of them.”
With that Ramage went below. An hour later, washed, shaved and in a clean uniform, wearing polished shoes and a ceremonial sword, the former Governor’s letter stowed carefully in a pocket, he was being announced at van Someren’s residence.
The great drawing-room was both hot and crowded: not because of the number of candles burning in the two chandeliers overhead and the candelabra and candlesticks which seemed to be placed at random on every table, but because of the number of people in the room.
Ramage stood at the big double doors, deliberately waiting for van Someren to step forward to greet him, and also to give himself time to see who else was in the room. Van Someren was having an animated talk with two Dutch naval officers, one of whom was probably the Delft’s Captain: two other Dutch officers, one Army and one Navy, were waiting three or four feet away, as though they were aides expecting to be called.
Major Lausser was over by the big windows, not in uniform and talking to Maria van Someren and her mother. There were half a dozen other men in the room, with their wives. Two were officers from the garrison, the others probably leading citizens. But it was immediately obvious to Ramage that Lausser, Maria and her mother looked thoroughly uncomfortable; embarrassed but, he felt, anxious to talk and pleased (relieved?) to see him.
Why was Lausser not with the former Governor? In the brief moment available to scan the room Ramage had the impression that Lausser was definitely excluded from van Someren’s circle. It was hard to explain the impression but it was as tangible as a drop in the temperature.
Finally, deliberately finishing what he had been saying to the Delft’s Captain, van Someren walked over to Ramage, unsmiling and formal, condescending and giving the impression of a busy man being bothered by a trifle.
“My dear Ramage, I trust you’ve come to report on the success of your foray.”
Ramage bowed slightly. “My compliments to your wife and daughter. I trust they are well?”
Van Someren, puzzled, turned and gestured towards them. “Indeed they are, as you can see. Now, your report—”
“It will be delivered in the normal way,” Ramage interrupted and, lowering his voice so that no one else in the room could hear, added—”to my Admiral. Now, sir, shall we go to your office so that you can report to me?”
“To you? Why, that is preposterous! Why—”
“I think this is hardly the place to discuss the matter.”
“I am not accustomed to being given orders in my own residence,” van Someren said haughtily.
“That was a habit acquired while you were Governor, sir,” Ramage said, making no attempt to keep the edge out of his voice.
“I am still the Governor, and you will address me as ‘Your Excellency.’”
“You are not the Governor,” Ramage said evenly, and he looked van Someren straight in the eye when he added: “You surrendered yourself and the island to me as the representative of His Britannic Majesty, and you will therefore obey any orders I find it necessary to give.”
Van Someren looked down, and then glanced round at the groups of Dutch naval officers, as if feeling the need for reinforcements. “You had better meet the officers from the frigate.”
Ramage nodded briefly but said: “First I wish to see your wife and daughter.” When van Someren came with him, Ramage added: “Alone, I think.”
And, he thought as he walked slowly across the room, now van Someren is not quite so sure of himself. The news that I have disposed of the rebels and the privateers must have put the idea into his head that the threat which made him surrender the island and ask for Britain’s protection has vanished. And then the Delft arrives, giving him the reinforcements he needs and changing the situation radically so that it boils down to this: his strength and safety lies in the Delft frigate, while the threat now comes from the Calypso frigate. And they are lying almost alongside each other in the harbour. Two gamblers facing each other across a gaming table: on one side Gottlieb van Someren, wagering the island on the Delft frigate; on the other Nicholas Ramage, wagering the Calypso frigate. The piece of parchment recording the island’s surrender was not worth the toss of a worn die.
Ramage kissed Mrs van Someren’s hand, did the same to Maria, and turned to Major Lausser, who was holding out his hand and shook Ramage’s firmly. None of them had said a word, but sides had obviously been taken long before Ramage arrived back at Otrabanda, let alone landed on Punda.
“You were successful,” Lausser said. “My congratulations. I did not think it possible.”
“Much depends on one’s enemy making mistakes.”
Lausser glanced up and smiled. “Indeed, how right you are. And if one can wait long enough, they usually do.”
Ramage nodded, understanding exactly what Lausser was telling him. Now to make sure Maria was not just a neutral. “Your fiancé is still the First Lieutenant in the Delft, Mademoiselle?”
“My fiancé? Why, my Lord, I am not engaged.” Her hand moved her fan slowly, and Ramage saw the faint mark on her finger where until very recently there had been a heavily jewelled ring.
“My apologies,” Ramage said quickly. “I must have heard idle chatter about someone else. But what a pleasant surprise for you all, the Delft arriving after all this time.”
“Oh yes,” Maria said quietly. “As you can see, we are all so delighted that we are giving a ball for all the officers.”
“How kind of you. What evening will it be?”
“Oh, it is now,” Maria said. The edge on her laugh showed she was not far from tears. “Can you not see all the gay couples dancing? Our orchestra here in Amsterdam is like our honour, invisible and silent.”
“Maria!” her mother protested but without much conviction. “Your father has his duty to do.”
Ramage wondered why Lausser was not wearing uniform instead of a soberly-cut grey coat, with matching breeches. The Dutchman read Ramage’s thoughts. “I resigned my commission at noon,” he said.
“Before the former Governor sent a letter over to the Calypso?”
“Yes. A few minutes before. Several others resigned at the same time.”
“I see,” Ramage said. “But you are in a minority?”
Lausser shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, because only few people know what is going on.”
“They can guess, surely?”
“Probably not. The surrender to the British has not yet been published in the island�
�s official gazette. Only a dozen people know you in fact lawfully command in Curaçao. The rest believe a rumour, that the British had offered to help. Now the Delft has arrived, obviously the British can leave.”
“Can they leave?”
Again Lausser shrugged his shoulders. “At the time I resigned,” he said carefully, “that decision had not been made.”
Ramage saw that Lausser was watching someone behind him and turned to find van Someren had joined them. He touched Ramage’s arm. “Come now, you must meet the Captain of the Delft.”
“In your study,” Ramage said firmly. “This is not a social encounter.”
“But, my dear Lord Ramage, of course it is!”
“Mister van Someren,” Ramage said heavily, “you have no doubt heard of Newmarket Heath, in England?”
“Newmarket? Isn’t that where the horses race?”
“Yes, and I must remind you of two things that even the unluckiest gambler on the Heath learned at his father’s knee …”
“And what are they?”
“The first is that only one horse can win a race.”
Van Someren grunted. “He did not learn how to choose the winner, though.”
“No, that needs skill. But even the betting man knows the second lesson concerning horses.”
“And I am supposed to ask what that is?” van Someren asked impatiently.
“No, you are supposed to know that it is dangerous to change horses in midstream.”
“Come!” van Someren said crossly. “We go to my study.” He led the way from the drawing-room, snapping fingers at the two naval officers, indicating that they should follow. In the study he began introductions, but Ramage stopped him, even though he was curious about the younger man, who had been engaged to Maria. “I am forbidden by the laws of the Navy from having any meeting with the enemy. I accepted the surrender of this island from you, which means that you and your people are now under my protection. This gentleman, if he commands the Delft, either surrenders his ship to me, or he remains my enemy. Britain is still at war with the Batavian Republic …”
“This is ridiculous,” van Someren snapped. “You don’t take that surrender seriously, do you? It was signed under duress.”
“All surrenders are signed under duress,” Ramage said dryly. “Only I wasn’t applying the duress; your own Dutch rebels and the French privateersmen were, if you remember.”
“The duress, or threat, does not exist. You know that.”
“Oh yes, I know that it does not exist now; I removed it for you.”
“So you can see how absurd it is that I should surrender an island like this to a single English frigate! Quite absurd.”
“The instrument of surrender has your signature on it, witnessed by Major Lausser.”
“Lausser no longer holds a commission.”
“Neither do you,” Ramage said quietly. “You are no longer the Governor of the island, by virtue of the surrender you signed, but that doesn’t make the surrender document invalid: nothing—” he paused and then said with more emphasis—”nothing erases your signature. You surrendered the island of Curaçao.”
Van Someren gave an airy wave of his hand. “This is just the idle chatter of a young man,” he said in English to the Delft’s Captain. “He knows nothing of law, diplomacy or politics.”
And that, Ramage thought, is the end of that: he had given van Someren plenty of time to reconsider: whatever happens to him now is his own fault. Ramage admitted to himself that he was angry because he had taken van Someren for a man of honour, forgetting he was first and foremost a politician and a survivor: he had changed his politics and survived as Governor of Curaçao when the French invaded the Netherlands and his own monarch had fled to England.
“Mister van Someren,” Ramage said, with a slight emphasis on the “mister,” “I must return to my ship, but before I go I think my Admiral would want me to point out two things. First, the instrument of surrender will be published in England, and the moment the French government read it your life won’t be worth a worn-out shoe if they can get their hands on you; they’ll trot you off to the guillotine. Any question of your going back on it, therefore, is suicide. Second, Curaçao has been surrendered to the British. That a Dutch frigate has since arrived in the port is of no consequence. Now the island is British and we shall keep our word—my signature is on the document by which you place Curaçao under my King’s protection. Long before you can send any news to the Netherlands, let alone receive any help, a substantial British force will have arrived here from Jamaica.”
The Delft’s Captain, a swarthy and stocky man with a plump, white face in which the eyes seemed to be deeply-embedded currants in a suet pudding, tapped Ramage on the shoulder, and grinned, showing yellowed teeth which reminded Ramage of the horse that van Someren was changing in midstream. “You know the answer, English?”
Ramage shook his head.
“The answer, English, is that this surrender paper must not leave Amsterdam.”
In a fraction of a second Ramage realized that not only was he in a trap and the Delft had sprung it, but there was no point in acknowledging defeat. Surprise, that was the secret, helped by a white lie or so. He gave a contemptuous laugh. “Must not leave Amsterdam? You don’t seriously think it is still here, do you?”
The Captain looked nervously at van Someren, who had gone white. “When did you send it away? How? No ship has left Amsterdam!”
“Amsterdam is hardly the only place from which a ship can leave the island. What do you think my Admiral would say if I took the surrender of the island and then, without telling him, went off over the hills chasing a horde of pirates and rebels? He would court-martial me!”
He would, too, Ramage thought wryly, if he knew about it. And the contemptuous laugh and the tone of his voice was perfect. The two men believed him at the moment. Later they might have doubts; later they might reassure each other, but that would be later. Ramage had seen many actors staying on the stage too long after a good performance, remaining until the applause died so that they had to walk off in silence.
“I bid you gentlemen good night,” he said.
“Don’t try to escape, English,” the Delft’s Captain called after him. “My ship is covering you. You are my prize.”
“That’s so,” van Someren repeated. “You must consider yourselves our prisoners. We shall hoist the Dutch flag over the British in the morning.”
His cabin was cool and the breeze, still strong even though it was ten o’clock at night, made the candles flicker. The lieutenants stood or perched on the settee: Southwick, although only a warrant officer and technically the most junior in rank, sat in the armchair and Ramage was at his desk, the chair pulled round to face the men.
He had just finished telling them about his visit to Government House, and of how the Delft’s Captain had played what he thought was an ace by saying the instrument of surrender would not leave the island.
“Do you think they believed you, sir?” Aitken asked. “Saying it had already gone sounds likely. A fine trump card, in fact.”
“They believed me at the time because it was such a shock, but by now they may have had second thoughts. Van Someren knows no ship left Amsterdam. The chance of us having a ship waiting in one of the bays—well, it’s remote, when you come to think of it.”
Wagstaffe straightened himself up. “Whether or not they believe it, sir, are we to assume the Delft is hostile?”
“Very much so. But her Captain and van Someren regard us as her prize. If she needs to sink us, she will.”
Southwick gave one of his contemptuous snorts. “The Delft might be planning to sink us, but what have you in mind for the Delft?”
Ramage looked round at the gathered men. “Suggestions?” Lacey said: “I’d like to start off by bombarding Government House. When I think of all those mosquito and sandfly bites … just to kill off some of the former Governor’s enemies.”
“It’d be a good idea, if only t
o teach this damnable former excellency a lesson,” Southwick growled. “Topple a few tiles round his ears. Teach him that a gentleman keeps his word!”
“He knows that already,” Aitken said sourly. “That’s why a scoundrel can always cheat a man of honour.”
“Oh yes, but there’s nothing to stop a man of honour boxing his ears afterwards,” Southwick said.
“I’m waiting for ideas,” Ramage said patiently.
“Just open fire on her, sir. We’ve springs on our cable and our shooting will be accurate,” Wagstaffe said.
“They can put a spring on their cable—probably have, in fact—and shoot just as well,” Ramage said. “We end up with a pounding match at a cable’s distance. The first ship reduced to splinters is the loser.”
“What had you in mind, sir?” Aitken asked cautiously.
“I’d like to destroy the Delft with no damage to the Calypso and no casualties to us.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Southwick growled impatiently, ruffling his hair. “No one wants damage or casualties, sir, but short of blowing her out of the water, how can we do that?”
“What’s wrong with blowing her out of the water?” Ramage asked innocently.
“It’s a waste of our powder,” Southwick chuckled. “It’d take several tons.”
“Quite,” Ramage said, “but I had in mind to use hers.”
Six pairs of startled eyes jerked round to stare at him.
“You’re teasing us,” Southwick protested.
Ramage shook his head. “You have to think ahead. After we’ve destroyed the Delft we still have a problem—my original orders.”
“The privateers?” Southwick exclaimed. “Why, we’ve dealt with them!”
“I’m sure Admiral Foxe-Foote wouldn’t agree. We have ten privateers anchored in Amsterdam, but we can’t stay here and guard ‘em, and we don’t have enough men to sail them all to Jamaica. If we leave any behind, the Dutch might take them—or sell them to the French or Spanish.”