by Dudley Pope
It was, Ramage noticed, the charred stump of a tree that had been hit by a bolt of lightning.
"Do you feel better?" he asked.
"You murderer!" Colon blurted.
"I'm not - yet!" Ramage said, and Colon fainted again.
"Gawd," Stafford grumbled as the Spaniard slid to the ground, "I'd 'ave to be quick to give 'im the carrot."
"Garrotte," Jackson said automatically as he bent over Colon. "By the way, sir, what do we want to know?"
"About the trenches. Why he's digging them. He says his orders are secret."
"Does he speak English, sir?"
"I didn't ask him, but he probably does."
"If he does, why don't you leave him with your barbaric crew?”
"None of that, Jackson!”
"No, sir, we won't touch him; but I guarantee he'll talk. In fact we'll have him singing."
Ramage nodded. "No violence, though."
"Guarantee not to touch him, sir."
"No need for guarantees; just remember, 'moderation in all things'!"
"Aye aye, sir; my grandfather always said the same thing."
As soon as Colon recovered and had been propped up on the stump of the tree once again, Ramage carefully arranged his face to look as brutal and ruthless as possible, and said icily: "Do you speak English?"
"A little."
"Now you have one last chance to tell me about the graves."
"Never," Colon said, with little conviction, and added despairingly, "They are not graves."
"I am busy," Ramage said haughtily. "I take my farewell. My men will deal with you."
The effect on Colon startled Ramage and the seamen: he gave a tragic and despairing moan, slid forward from the stump face down on the ground, his hands clutching at Ramage's feet.
"No," he whispered, "I cannot tell -"
Ramage, embarrassed, hurriedly stepped back, glanced at Jackson and said with as much melodrama as he could muster: "Farewell, señor, if you cannot tell, you cannot live..."
With that he turned and hurried away.
Only a fool never knows fear, he thought; but I'm damned if I can understand a man too craven to hide or control it. Colon believes he has only a minute or so to live. So far as he knows, I've given orders for him to be killed. A minute or so isn't long to clench your teeth, stand up and perhaps shout defiance. It's something you owe yourself, and surely it makes the going easier than weeping and tearing your hair out.
He hadn't gone twenty yards towards the camp before he began worrying about Jackson. Would the American be able to make Colon talk? Supposing Colon kept up his refusal? Was he prepared to die with the secret? Because that wretched example of foppery held the key to ... to what?
He stopped walking and stared at the distant horizon, his eyes out of focus and his mind racing.
Whatever Colon was up to with his gang of grave-diggers and platoon of armed sextons was absolutely no concern of his, except for the potential threat of the soldiers to the men of the Triton and Topaz. His only responsibility was the present safety of the two ships' companies and subsequent rescue.
Back at the camp Southwick was ready with reports on the day's activities so far: Appleby had gone off with the raft and was more than halfway to the wrecks; carpenter's mates from both ships had gone with him to find suitable timber for building a boat; his calculations on the provisions landed so far, and based on the regular Navy issue, showed that they had food for three months.
Ramage walked with Southwick round the provisions store, hidden under its tarpaulin and palm fronds, nodding to the Marine sentries, and then went on to inspect the magazine. The men had made an excellent job of building it, using the same method as Cornishmen had used for centuries to make their drystone walls.
In a couple of centuries' time, Ramage thought, someone is going to examine the remains of this little magazine and, knowing nothing of the hurricane, the Triton and the Topaz, wonder how a small building using such a remote system came to be erected on Snake Island. A building with such a tiny doorway that the men or women who used it would have to have been midgets...
At that moment he saw Jackson approaching; looking cheerful, almost smug.
"I think he's ready to tell you all about it, sir," Jackson said in reply to Ramage's inquiry. "I can't speak Spanish, as you know, but he made himself understood."
Ramage glanced at Colon and saw his dejected, hunchbacked walk, the reluctant, foot-dragging steps. "What did you do to him?"
"Well, sir..." Jackson began sheepishly, "we didn't lay a finger on him..."
Ramage eyed the seaman, and then laughed. "Lieutenant Colon will tell me all about it."
Jackson's face fell. "Honestly, sir, we didn't touch him. Just a bit o' play-acting by Staff and Rosey."
A few moments later Colon was led up by a gleeful Stafford, Rossi and Maxton.
Southwick looked curiously at Colon. He had shown little interest in Ramage's description of the morning's ambush, but that was his way of showing disapproval at not being put in command.
Colon had eyes only for Ramage and began speaking as soon as Stafford signalled him to stop walking.
"I wish to tell you," he said, words tumbling out as if he was trying to make an urgent plea as the guillotine blade fell. "I will tell you everything. But I want a guarantee. Your word of honour-"
"A guarantee about what?"
"That they won't garrotte me!" he said, pointing to the seamen. "Slowly," he added with a shudder. Stafford's pantomime seemed to have been extremely effective. But again Ramage thought of this man sending for a slave to be whipped for his pleasure.
"You aren't in a position to demand guarantees. Tell me about the graves."
"Not graves!" Colon exclaimed almost tearfully, as though using the word to describe the trenches would eventually change their purpose. "Trenches."
"Holes," Ramage said, suddenly exasperated. "You shouldn't waste time fussing about the precise choice of words. Tell me about the holes."
"I want a guarantee."
Not at all sure he could muster a bloodcurdling laugh without breaking into a giggle, Ramage merely said contemptuously, "A beggar doesn't make demands."
Colon stared at the ground. Ramage looked directly at Stafford, let his eyes drop to the cord the Cockney was still holding and then looked back and forth along the ground in front of Colon.
Stafford understood the signal immediately and began to walk around, slapping the cord impatiently against his leg and whistling cheerfully through his teeth. He looked the picture of an impatient killer, as though, as he might phrase it, in a hurry to use the "carrot".
Colon glanced up nervously, looking first at Stafford and then at Ramage, who said nothing. Apart from the sharp slapping of the cord against Stafford's leg, his whistling, and the distant boom of waves hitting the outer reefs, there was silence.
To Colon, though, it seemed to be a silence filled with terrifying fantasies; he was perspiring and pale, clasping and unclasping his hands.
"The orders you received," Ramage prompted.
Colon looked up and Ramage was reminded of an animal trapped in a snare.
"You can guess," Colon said.
Ramage was puzzled for a moment and then wondered if there was more to Colon than he thought. Was the man hoping Ramage would guess, so that he would not actually have to use words to reveal his orders? A legalistic interpretation of "reveal"? Ramage decided that as long as he found out what the holes were for, he didn't give a damn, so he gave Colon a little help.
"I presume you were looking for something."
"Of course."
"The only things of value likely to be on this island are water and pirate's treasure."
Suddenly Colon became animated: his head came up, his shoulders straightened, both arms came up as though he was greeting a long-lost friend.
"Precisely! And there is plenty of water in the village..."
"So you are looking for treasure."
Col
on did not answer; instead he grinned happily. Ramage was too excited now for the long-winded method he'd been manoeuvred into. Treasure! Presumably treasure looted from the Spanish Main, so who would be in a better position to know about it than the Spanish!
"You have a map?"
Colon shook bis head.
"You're not just digging at random?"
Colon nodded.
Is this clown being legalistic again? Ramage wondered.
"You are digging at random?" Ramage asked.
Colon nodded vigorously.
"Anywhere on the island?"
Again Colon nodded.
"You'd better find your tongue," Ramage said. "Don't forget that now I have guessed about the treasure, you aren't revealing that!"
This seemed to reassure Colon.
"Anywhere," he said. "Just selecting likely places and digging-"
"Are the holes all the same depth?"
"Oh yes, no more than the height of a small man."
"Why that limit?"
Colon shrugged his shoulders. "Orders. The Colonel said it wouldn't be deeper than that."
"How did he know?"
Ramage had the impression that Colon was slowly becoming conspiratorial in his manner; as though he had secretly abandoned the Colonel and the service of Spain, and was giving clandestine help to the British.
"There was a report."
"What report?" Ramage said angrily, getting impatient as he levered the facts out of Colon a few words at a time. "Come now, tell me all you know, otherwise you'll be pegged out to dry like boucan."
His exasperation gave his words just the right ring; Colon went white again and Ramage expected him to faint. Pirates and privateersmen haunting the Caribbean islands pegged out raw meat to dry in the sun to preserve it, calling it "boucan", and became known as boucaniers, or buccaneers.
Ramage turned to Jackson and said in English: "Use your cutlass to clear some of this-" he pointed to the low shrubs. "Level a space about seven feet long and five feet wide. In front of this chap."
Jackson gave an impressive salute and began a series of low, sweeping strokes with the cutlass blade.
Colon watched, as if hypnotized, and when Jackson had finished and kicked the branches clear, Ramage turned to the Spaniard and said abruptly: "Pegged out there. You were saying?"
"The report," Colon said hurriedly. "A family here, on this island. No taxes - they had not paid taxes. It was a long fraud on the government. The Intendente was going to put father and son in prison and confiscate their land. To save themselves the father offered to tell the Intendente about the treasure if the tax was forgotten."
"How did he know about treasure?"
"He is a descendant of a pirate. There are many such families."
"But treasure? Not every pirate family-"
"This one knew," Colon said contemptuously.
"How could the Intendente be sure?"
"A week in the dungeon at El Morro and everyone tells everything," Colon said. "That much I can assure you."
"We can do quite well here, and in less time," Ramage said dryly. "Now, tell me all you know about it.''
"Well," Colon said nervously, "treasure is buried here somewhere. They've known that in San Juan for scores of years. They've looked for a map and they've watched the people, hoping that the family that knew would one day start to dig."
"Did they?"
"No. In fact they didn't know the details. Only the depth."
"And what is the important clue?"
"I was going to tell you about that," Colon said quickly. "Everyone says it's important, but no one understands it."
"Say it!"
Colon recited:
" 'By the sound of the sea
and my memory,
Three times three
A tree above.'"
"And no one knows what it means?" Ramage asked.
"No one!"
"What else should you tell me?"
"That's all," Colon said, and Ramage felt he was telling the truth. "That's all, and now you can kill me."
The voice was so lugubrious that Ramage laughed, and then realized Colon interpreted the laugh as agreement.
"I'll wait a while," Ramage said. "I may think of some more questions. By the way, the family that knew the poem?"
"They are still in jail at El Morro."
"And the other islanders?"
"They know nothing."
He gave Jackson instructions for guarding Colon and he and Southwick went back to the beach. There they found Yorke, St Brieuc and St Cast and walked along the beach with them. After describing the so-called clue he said, "You can all exercise your brains on that. As soon as one of you tells me what it means, we can start digging for the treasure."
"If it really is a clue," Yorke said doubtfully.
"I'm inclined to think it is," St Brieuc said. "The Spanish are not stupid. They're close to the treasure. If they believe it, then I think we should."
"They were digging on level patches," Yorke said. "That's something we can do anyway. There can't be so many in a hilly place like this. Plenty of flat fields, of course, but I think the Dons know it's a small flat area up in the hills. If we try those we don't waste time while we work on the clue. We want to get to windward of the treasure before the provision ship arrives."
Ramage had quite forgotten to find out when the ship was due. He excused himself and went off to question the teniente again. He found him much more cheerful, and quite prepared to talk. The next ship was due on the first day of the month. That was the regular date, though it was sometimes a day or two late.
While considering the problem of keeping Colon a prisoner without a building to lock him in, Ramage remembered that there were houses in the village ... Houses and a well.
The Marines and a handful of seamen could stay here in the camp to guard the provisions and magazine and the rest of them could move to San Ildefonso. The slaves seemed quite cheerful with their new status, which could be best described as freedom with limited liberty.
Chapter Fourteen
By nightfall most of the survivors of the two ships were in occupation of the village. The powder and muskets had been moved and the St Brieucs and St Cast were given the best house while Ramage, Yorke, Southwick and Bowen shared another. The senior petty officers shared two more which left four unoccupied and in various stages of disrepair for the seamen. Ramage was surprised at the lack of enthusiasm for them.
"Those houses," he asked Jackson. "What's wrong with them? Why don't the men use them?"
Jackson looked blank and Ramage said irritably, "I've given them four houses and told 'em to decide among themselves, you know all that!"
The American said apologetically, "Sorry, sir, I didn't quite follow what you meant. The men are grateful, sir, but they'd sooner sleep out in the open."
"You mean that what is good enough for the officers isn't good enough for them," Ramage said acidly.
"Oh no, sir!" Jackson exclaimed in alarm, "it's not that at all. Sleeping in hammocks slung from trees in the Tropics with all the birds singing and the strange flowers and all that - why, sir, they're like kids at Michaelmas Fair. They're loving it. They've been betting on humming birds, putting their money on which particular blossoms on a tree get visited in a set time."
"Oh," Ramage said lamely. "I'm glad. I hope they won't forget how to sling a hammock afloat."
"They'll be ready to go to sea when the time comes, sir. It's just something completely new. Even the men from country places are finding it so different, sir."
Supper was served in the largest room in the house taken over by Ramage, and he decided that he would eat his meals with the others simply because the alternative was too complicated.
They were halfway through the meal when Ramage said: "Has anyone thought of an explanation of the mysterious clue?"
No one had.
"What do you propose to do?" Yorke asked.
"Well, the provisions ship isn't d
ue from San Juan for another three weeks. I might as well keep the men busy digging holes as doing anything else."
"The wrecks, sir," Southwick reminded him.
"Of course. The most important jobs are protecting ourselves here, guarding the provisions, bringing over the rest of the powder, and getting more supplies from the wrecks before they break up, just in case we don't get off the island for a while. That means I can use the slaves and some seamen just to dig. The dons dug only one hole at a time."
"I'm not surprised," Bowen said. "If that Spanish officer wasn't there, the moment the treasure was found, it'd vanish into thin air!"
"Exactly," Ramage said. "And because we have more reliable people to take charge, we can cover more ground."
"Count me in," Yorke said.
"I hope you won't forget me, sir," Bowen said. "I should regard the discovery of pirate treasure as the climax of my medical career."
"Medicine and piracy go hand in hand," Southwick teased.
"Exactly," Bowen said. "Didn't you notice the alacrity with which I volunteered?"
"I wonder what language the clue was composed in," Yorke said.
"Why not Spanish?" Ramage asked.
"I just can't see a pirate not making it rhyme. I was wondering if it was originally in English, poorly translated, and now translated back, slightly differently from the original."
"I should have thought of that before," Ramage said, feeling his face redden. "The Spanish weren't the pirates; they were the victims. The clue certainly wouldn't have been in Spanish."
"Let's translate it again," Yorke said cheerfully.
Ramage sent his steward for pen, ink and paper, and when he had written a translation of the Spanish phrases, he read them out aloud:
"By the sound of the sea
and my memory,
Three times three
A tree above."
"Let's take the first line," he said. "I want ideas reflecting treasure and poetry!"
Yorke said, "It's wrong, I'm sure. It's isolated from the next line, whereas it probably ran on originally."
"What was the man trying to describe?" Bowen asked.