by Dudley Pope
There was a big splash, and Ramage saw the men had successfully launched the smallest raft and were hauling it forward, while a couple of men carried newly made paddles which had been lashed into bundles.
Damn, he’d given instructions for Appleby, but now he needed him to take the raft up to the Topaz. At that moment Southwick came bustling back.
“Appleby’s mustering his men, sir. I’ve given the key of the spirit room to the master-at-arms. With your permission I’ll leave with the raft to fetch the Topaz people.”
Ramage eyed the old Master.
“I didn’t know you liked these boating expeditions.”
“Makes a change, sir. I can do with the exercise.”
Ramage eyed Southwick’s pronounced belly and nodded.
Two hours later, as darkness fell, most of the people from the Topaz were on board the Triton. A dozen armed men under a mate had been left to guard the merchantman. Yorke had suggested getting all the provisions and water they needed next day and then setting fire to the ships but Ramage demurred. Both wrecks were hidden from prying eyes on the Puerto Rican coast by the bulk of Snake Island, and they had such low profiles it was possible that passing enemy ships would mistake them for some of the many low cays scattered across the area. A lot of flame by night or a big pall of smoke by day would be visible from just about everywhere—St Thomas, Vieques or Puerto Rico.
“But what if they do see the flames or smoke?” Yorke argued. “They won’t get anything because the ship will be destroyed.”
“It’ll tell them we’re here.”
“They’ll know anyway: they’ll see the wrecks.”
“They’ll see the wrecks,” Ramage said patiently, “but at a distance they might well mistake them for cays or rocks. Don’t forget, they won’t be looking for wrecks.”
“But supposing they do see them?”
“If they find two dismasted wrecks with no one on board, they’ll probably guess it was the result of the hurricane and think the survivors were taken off at sea by other ships, leaving the wrecks to drift on to the reef. They’ll probably pillage what they can and go happily on their way. But if they find the wrecks burned, they’ll know people were here after the ships hit the reef; people who lit the match. They’ll start searching the island—and they’ll know they have two complete ships’ companies to find.”
“You’re quite right,” Yorke admitted.
“For the time being, my main concern is to keep us all out of the hands of the Spaniards: their jails are a little primitive.”
“Agreed,” Yorke said. “By the way, to avoid any embarrassment or misunderstanding—how do you want to deal with my men?”
“We may have to think in terms of weeks, or even months, on shore here,” Ramage said tactfully.
“That’s why I’m asking the question.”
“Have you any doubts about them?”
“Yes,” Yorke said frankly. “They’re merchant seamen; I can’t beat them on the head with the Articles of War.”
“What do you suggest?” Ramage asked cautiously. He knew what would be best, but he wanted Yorke to mention it.
“Press ‘em,” Yorke said succinctly. “Put them down on the Triton’s muster roll. Twenty-eight more men to serve the King.”
“You’re sure about the mates?”
“Very sure: there’s several months’ pay due to them, so I’ve bought those two!”
“Fine,” Ramage said. “I’d better press the men before I abandon the Triton officially. I haven’t the faintest idea what the regulations are, but I think that’s when the Triton ceases to exist.”
“Look,” Yorke said, his tone of voice indicating the seriousness of what he was going to say, “have you really thought about not burning the Triton and Topaz?”
Ramage nodded without saying anything.
“But you’re taking a big risk, aren’t you? You personally, I mean. When you face a court of inquiry, couldn’t they claim you ‘didn’t do your utmost’ to prevent your ship falling into enemy hands? I mean, they could claim the Dons could tow the wrecks off the reef and refit them.”
“They could, and probably will. But the only way of destroying the ships is by setting them on fire. And that would probably lead to our being discovered by the Spaniards. Not us so much as the St Brieucs.”
“You save them from capture only at the risk of your neck in fact,” Yorke said.
“That’s putting a melodramatic interpretation on it. There’s no choice.”
“They’ll never agree to it.”
“They’ve no say in the matter,” Ramage said flatly and, since what had to be made clear could be said now without too much embarrassment, he added: “You’re forgetting I’m in command.”
“No I’m not,” Yorke said amiably. “I’ve even brought my dress sword to wear when you are enthroned as Governor of Snake Island. It’s just that I’m not forgetting Admiral Goddard’s interest in your welfare.”
“I appreciate that,” Ramage said, “but he’s in the happy position—if he’s not drowned—of having me at his mercy whether I fire the ships or not! I can be damned if I do and damned if I don’t, so that leaves me a completely free hand!”
Yorke laughed and then said quietly: “Whatever you decide, I’ll back you with everything I’ve got. Everything.”
An hour later, after Yorke had spoken to them all, the men of the Topaz were entered in the Triton’s muster book and credited with the bounty paid to volunteers. They’ll probably be better off on Snake Island than if actually serving in one of the King’s ships, Ramage thought to himself. Surprisingly, the Topaz men had been cheerful at the idea of joining the Royal Navy, as if they thought it would cloak them with its authority and protect them if they were taken prisoner.
Ramage inspected the Marines in the darkness using a lantern, and made sure their muskets and powder supply were well protected from spray and that each had a paddle. Then he gave Appleby instructions to make the best of his way to the eastern side of the island, which could be seen as a black smudge. The minute he landed he was to secure the raft and have the Marines find the best defensive place nearby and occupy it, taking up the powder and shot.
As soon as they were sure they had not been spotted, they could sleep for the rest of the night, leaving two sentries on duty. And next morning at dawn, when he saw the rafts ready to leave the Triton, Appleby was to drape strips of canvas over bushes to indicate where he was. It was all so simple Ramage was afraid there would be some hitch.
In the meantime his steward had been busy preparing Ramage’s cabin for the St Brieuc family. This had entailed slinging two extra cots from the beams overhead. Appleby provided one; Southwick gave the other.
As Ramage gave orders for a hammock to be slung for him on deck, from the taffrail to the bulwark, he looked up at the sky to the eastward. He could see all the stars; for the moment the weather looked settled. There was just a breeze, and the waves were normal; there was no swell. But this was the Tropics; the weather could—and often did—change within an hour. Still, long before dawn the remaining rafts would be launched and, with the men, passengers and provisions on board, would follow Appleby to whatever Snake Island had to offer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
YORKE had quietly prepared the St Brieucs, St Cast and Southwick for the landing: as the low waves curled and sucked, drifting the raft the last few yards and nudging it towards the beach, the young drummer, at a word from the Master, suddenly stood to attention and then played a ruffle.
Ramage jumped up, startled. At the back of the beach the Marines waited, and Appleby was at the water’s edge.
In the silence that followed, as the raft came to a stop and several seamen leapt into the water to secure it, helped by some of Appleby’s men, Southwick bellowed: “Drummer—the Governor’s Salute!”
The little drummer, a look of intense concentration on his face, shy but proud of being the centre of attention, marched a few paces across the raft, turned an
d marched back, playing a spirited tune on his drum amid many twirls and flourishes of the drumsticks. Yorke, Southwick and the two Frenchmen now stood to attention and saluted, broad grins on their faces.
As soon as the raft was secured, Southwick roared to a startled Appleby: “Stand by: the Governor is landing! Why aren’t your Marines presenting arms?”
The master’s mate quickly caught on and shouted an order to the Marines, then ran back up the beach and seized a short, thick branch of a tree which had been worn smooth and polished by wind, sea and sand. He marched back to the raft and, with the branch over his shoulder as a mace, stood at attention.
Southwick walked three paces to stand in front of Ramage, saluted again, and said in a stentorian voice: “Sir, your island awaits….”
Gravely Ramage returned the salute. “There’s no gangway,” he said with mock haughtiness. “However, our cause is just: I will get my feet wet.”
He bowed deeply to Mme St Brieuc and Maxine. “Ladies, permit me to confer on you the freedom of the island!”
With that the mock ceremony was over; as seamen helped the women on shore, Ramage jumped down from the raft to question Appleby.
“We’ve seen nothing, sir. I did a reconnaissance myself last night with the corporal. I also sent men along the beach each way but there was no sign of boats or huts. So we just hauled the raft into shallow water and secured it.”
“Very well,” Ramage said. “From now on the Marines have the responsibility of guarding the passengers.”
With that he signalled to Jackson. “Get three men and cut down some of these big palm fronds and make some sort of shelter for the ladies. The sun will be unbearably hot soon. Pick a spot that the breeze can get at.”
Just at that moment one of the seamen gave a howl and hopped out of the water on one leg, cursing and swearing at the top of his voice.
A shocked Southwick was beside the man almost immediately, bellowing at him to be silent, and blushing at the thought that the women had heard the words which were simple, strong and unambiguous.
“What’s the trouble?” Ramage demanded.
“Says his foot hurts, sir.”
“Not used to walking on land?”
“Says he trod on a lot of sharp nails—by jingo, sir, he’s got black spots all over the sole of his foot!”
“Sea urchin spines!” Ramage snapped. “Doesn’t he have the sense to look out for them?”
But the man had never seen them before, and when Ramage saw how many there were along the beach just under the water, he shouted to all the men to stop and listen.
“Look down into the water,” he shouted. “Can you see those small brownish-black discs on the sand—some of them three or four inches across? They’re sea urchins. A small ball with hundreds of short spines sticking out all over like a porcupine. If you tread on one the spines stick into your foot and break off.
“They hurt like the devil for half an hour. After that it’s not too bad. After a day or two you can forget ‘em. But you can’t get ‘em out once they’re in; if you probe around you break them up and they’ll probably go poisoned. So leave them—they’ll vanish eventually. It’s a different story for Mediterranean urchins, but this is the Caribbean. And while we’re at it, this is Snake Island but there are no snakes: the name comes from its shape. All you have to worry about are sea urchins in the water, and mosquitoes on land. And Mr Southwick and me. Right, carry on and be careful.”
Southwick said quietly: “There is a way of easing the pain, sir! I wonder if you—”
“Yes, I know,” Ramage said impatiently and added, lowering his voice, “The relief one gets from doing it is far less than the agony I’d experience in shouting at the top of my voice, in front of the ladies, that if you piss on where the spines are stuck in it’ll take the worst of the sting out.”
“Quite, sir,” Southwick said, his face red. “I’d better keep an eye on the men with the provisions. The other raft will be here in a few minutes.”
He pointed seaward to where the bosun was conning the smaller raft carrying the muskets, carpenter’s tools and powder in barrels. Seamen were hunched along two opposite sides wielding paddles.
Ramage nodded. “We’ll see if the bosun thinks Appleby can get back to the ship with the other raft before the wind springs up. We might as well ferry over as much food as we can. This island doesn’t look as though it has much to offer. And we had better bring some water.”
“Aye, it looks parched, and no streams on the chart. Not the place for them,” Southwick said. “Probably a fresh-water well for the village, but—”
“If there’s a garrison, they aren’t going to offer to fill our casks….”
The bosun was able to manoeuvre his raft in to the beach close to the big raft, and Ramage was thankful that there seemed to be a regular current crossing the outer reef on which the two wrecks were perched and which came to within fifty yards of this beach, so all that was needed was some vigorous rowing at the last moment.
Within fifteen minutes Appleby and the bosun were heading back for the Triton, and with them was the mate of the Topaz. Yorke had given him instructions to collect some particular provisions.
Finally, with the last raft unloaded and the men carefully stacking muskets, shot and powder well back from the beach, Ramage had time to sit down on a rock and take stock.
Even though it was not yet eight o’clock, it was obvious that everyone’s attitude towards tropical heat was about to change radically. The land was hot and humid; it was the kind of heat which had been there for centuries, as if during every moment of daylight the rock and earth soaked up and stored the sun’s scorching heat like a vast oven. At sea there was no heated land; they had the full advantage of the cooling Trade winds.
For Ramage it was a welcome change after months at sea; there were compensations, like the mixed-herbs smell of the land, rich and intimate, and from where he sat he could see several frangipani bushes covered in white flowers. The rich perfume contained memories of all the erotic sensations he would ever know, but he did not go over to smell it. The memories were strong enough without any reminders.
The birds sang in clear tones, never shrill, always joyful and always a delight. At sea one forgot the sheer pleasure of watching the birds—he stared at a little dark green velvet hummingbird by a shrub, its wings working so fast they were almost invisible, and the bird motionless as it hovered. Then a sudden jink as it moved to investigate another part of the bush. Above it there was a golden-yellow flash as a troupial found all the human beings too alarming and fled along the beach.
He was torn between getting more stores on shore from the ship and setting up a base which he could probably defend, and going off for a reconnaissance of the island. He couldn’t be in two places at once, but he did not want to trust anyone else with either job.
Jackson! He suddenly remembered a remark his cox’n had made a year or two ago in Italy when they were struggling over the Tuscan countryside, trying to avoid Bonaparte’s cavalry who were busy invading.
“I was with Colonel Pickens at Cowpens, sir,” the American had said, thinking that sufficient explanation as to why he knew a lot about soldiering. Well, the devil knew who Colonel Pickens was and what he was doing at Cowpens, but Jackson had obviously been a useful rebel during the American War.
Ramage called him over.
“Jackson, there’s one village—maybe a small town—on this island, San Ildefonso. It’s two or three miles from here, over these hills.”
Ramage gestured to the north-west and bent down, drawing in the sand with his finger.
“There’s an almost landlocked bay—entrance just beyond that headland—which forms the middle of the island. The village is on the east side, like so.” He drew a small circle. “I want to know more about the village: if there’s a garrison; if there’s a quay, and any ships in; if there’s a fresh-water well—and so on. How long—”
“Three hours, sir, if I can have a couple
of hands,” he said even before Ramage had time to frame the question. “Three hands, sir.”
“As many as you want.”
“I’d like Stafford, Rossi and Maxton,” he said promptly, “and, sir, can I suggest something?”
When Ramage nodded, he said: “The Marines, sir, an’ those red coats … Can’t they just wear shirts and trousers? You can see the red two miles off, and in this heat….”
“You’re speaking from experience about the red?”
Jackson grinned sheepishly. “Yes, sir. Many’s the time I’ve sighted a musket on a Redcoat….”
Such is the absurdity of war, Ramage thought: now he’s fighting for us and warning me about the red cloth.
“Very well, I’ll deal with that. Take what weapons you want and be back as soon as—”
He thought a moment. There was no hurry. Better Jackson made a good job of it. “No, don’t rush. Be back by sunset. Draw some rations and water from Mr Southwick.”
Twenty minutes later Ramage saw the four men vanish into the low scrub at the back of the beach. Only two of them had muskets; the other two carried cutlasses, with pistols in their belts. It made sense: their task was to look and quit, not stand and fight.
He walked to the frangipani, pulled off several blooms, and went over to the palm-frond shelter in which the St Brieucs and St Cast were sitting.
“From the gardens of the Governor’s Palace,” he said to Maxine, giving a deep bow as he presented the flowers with an elaborate flourish.
“Please congratulate the gardener en chef,” she said. “Oh—the parfum—smell it, Mother!”
St Brieuc said, “Thank you for our palace, too. No palace of stone and marble could be more welcome than this palace of palms!”
“We’ll have something better ready for you by this afternoon,” Ramage said.
“Believe me, its permanency is not important,” St Brieuc said, “since we certainly never even expected to see land again. My wife was just commenting that she has never experienced such a fascinating 24 hours as those just past.”