Ramage's Challenge r-15

by Dudley Pope

  Ramage went back to the quarterdeck, where Aitken and Southwick stood talking to Sir Henry.

  The admiral glanced aft and Ramage walked with him until they were out of earshot of both officers, the quartermaster and the men at the wheel.

  "The general - what happened?"

  "I told him to go up to the fo'c'sle or down to his cabin," Ramage said in a flat voice. "He refused: said he wanted to watch the shooting and report to the Board of Ordnance."

  Sir Henry nodded. "And then?"

  "My lieutenant of Marines warned him he was disobeying the lawful order of the captain of the ship. The general found this amusing. I told the Marines to take him below."

  "Under arrest?"

  Ramage shook his head. "No, sir; I didn't feel inclined to give him that satisfaction."

  "Very wise, very wise," Sir Henry said. "I didn't interfere because - well, you seem to be able to take care of yourself. I'd be inclined to treat him like a naughty boy."

  "Indeed sir, he behaves like one," Ramage agreed, pausing as Jackson fired again but fighting down his curiosity and not looking where the shot landed. He was thankful that Sir Henry was, very tactfully, giving advice, and even more thankful that the advice coincided with what he had already decided to do.

  "Trouble with arresting people," Sir Henry said conversationally, "is that to set 'em free again, you've either to charge 'em or climb down, which is bad for discipline."

  "That's what I had in mind, sir," Ramage said. "And I wasn't quite sure what the King's Regulations and Admiralty Instructions had to say about travelling generals."

  "Ha!" Sir Henry said contemptuously, "the Articles of War are all you need, particularly with the ship in action against the enemy." He looked squarely at Ramage and smiled. "Why the devil d'you think I'm so well behaved, eh?"

  Ramage laughed, and took the opportunity of turning so that he could spot the fall of shot. "I'd put it down to your natural kindness towards young captains at the bottom of the Post List, sir."

  "I eat 'em for breakfast," Sir Henry said. "Majors-general I keep for dinner. Lieutenants-general I have served cold for supper."

  Number four gun on the starboard side grunted again. "That gun captain is either very lucky or very good," Sir Henry commented.

  "Very good, sir. He's served with me since I had my first command."

  "While you were, er, attending to the general, your master (what's his name - Southwick?) was telling me he was on board the Kathleen when that Spanish three-decker rammed her and rolled her over. Must have been an alarming sight, her bearing down on you."

  "We had a rather limited view, sir," Ramage said, "but other ships later gave us flattering descriptions. By the way, sir, our story is that we rammed the Spaniard, not the other way round!"

  "Well, a mouse in the stable can panic a stallion, so you may be right. Oh - just look at that!"

  Ramage glanced across at the frigate just in time to see the two boom boats disintegrate. The angle at which they had been lying on the booms (compared with the single boat which had hung horizontally in the quarter davits) meant that Jackson was firing down on to them, and obviously one round of grapeshot had spread just sufficiently, like an enormous flail, to hit the larboard side of one and the starboard side of the other, ripping them open like a pair of bananas in the hands of a hungry ape.

  "I'll have the spring on the cable taken in, if you please Mr Aitken," Ramage said. "The men can stand down from general quarters. Then Mr Aitken, we'll see about getting under way."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ramage sat at his desk listening to the two men report. The lantern swinging from its hook in the deckhead threw dancing shadows which emphasized their features: Rossi with his round face, full and generous lips, straight black hair and large, expressive eyes could only be an Italian: his hands gestured as eloquently as he spoke and seemed part of the words. Orsini's face was narrower, the shadows exaggerating his high cheekbones. In this light, Ramage thought, he looked like a youth painted by one of the better Renaissance artists. For the moment, Orsini was content to let Rossi tell the story in his Genovese accent.

  "We landed on the rocks below Forte della Stella without trouble, and then climbed the cliff. The goats, they must have a hard life. We frightened a mother and her youngsters - or, rather," he admitted with a grin, "they frightened us because they suddenly bolted from a ledge just above and showered us with stones."

  "The hostages," Ramage said impatiently. "Tell me the details later."

  "Oh, they are in there, in Forte della Stella. We were in position by sunset, and soon after we saw the French guards shut the doors, two big wooden doors studded with boltheads to blunt axe blades. There is also a small door, big enough for one man, fitted into one of the big doors."

  "A wicket gate." Ramage said in English.

  "Yes, a wicked gate. That was opened just before it was dark, and a sentry came and stood outside. Musket, no sword. He stands to one side - the left as you face the gate - and leans against it. He's probably learned how to sleep standing up."

  "Learned it from a sailor, I expect," Ramage said drily.

  "Yes," Rossi grinned. "And we saw one sentry walking round the battlements."

  Although he had already made up his own mind, Ramage asked Orsini: "Do you also think the hostages are there?"

  Orsini nodded. "Yes, sir."

  "Why?" Ramage asked bluntly.

  "Well, there are no guns on the battlements, sir - we were careful to check all round the fortress. Why keep a garrison at Forte della Stella unless to handle cannon to cover the entrance to Port' Ercole? To prevent enemy ships approaching?"

  No guns? Now Ramage was certain. He was already half convinced when Rossi told him of one sentry at the main gate and another up on the battlements: that was unusual enough at a French fortress in such an isolated place and would be justified only if they were artillerymen guarding against enemy ships trying to sneak past to attack Port' Ercole. But with no guns perched up on the battlements, then there had to be another reason for the garrison and for the sentries.

  There must be something special to guard inside the fortress, and that would not be Bonaparte's favourite canteen of cutlery. What could it be, apart from hostages?

  Ramage could think of nothing else that would not be kept more safely in a castle or fortress scores of miles inland, not on the edge of the sea. Except that the Orsini Palace was just that, a comfortable palace but hard to defend, while Forte della Stella was simply a fortress and (like Castello on Giglio) relatively impregnable.

  He looked at his watch. Eleven o'clock. A garrison of how many men? What duty was each sentry doing - four hours on and eight off? Or two on and four off? Anyway, two sentries on duty represented six men, not allowing for sickness. And guards for the prisoners. Say at least a dozen men, with a corporal, a sergeant, a cook, a lieutenant and a captain. Probably a groom or two for the horses. Nineteen - so say a minimum of twenty officers and men. After all, they were guarding hostages, not defending the fortress.

  How many hostages? And where were they kept? Did they have a guard with them all the time - guards who, at the first sign of a rescue attempt, would treat them immediately as hostages, threatening to kill them unless the would-be rescuers withdrew?

  "There was this contadino," Orsini said casually. "He helped."

  "What contadino, and helped what?" Ramage demanded impatiently.

  "Well, sir, as we left we saw a man making his way along a track about two hundred yards inland from the fortress. He was not worrying about being seen from the fortress - although in fact he was hidden most of the time by sage and thyme and juniper bushes. We wouldn't have seen him except that we were keeping a sharp lookout."

  "Come on!" Ramage said, still holding his watch.

  Rossi said: "I walked along the track so that I met him face to face. He was surprised to see me, of course, but as I was obviously an Italian he was not particularly alarmed.

  "He had just come fro
m Port' Ercole and was on his way to Sbarcatella - that's the small cape at the southern end of this bay and south-west of Isolotto."

  Clearly Rossi was going to tell the story at his own speed, and Ramage realized that anyway it was difficult for some men to grasp the most important point in an incident: to them they had to begin at the beginning and carry on to the end.

  "Well," Rossi continued, "this man has a small boat down there and some lobster pots, and he was going to row out and lift the pots."

  "To whom does he sell the lobsters?"

  "I was just coming to that, sir," Rossi said. "He used to sell them to the garrison at the fort, but it seems that after the first month they halved the price they would pay, so now he sells them in the village. He was very angry with the French. This only happened three weeks ago."

  "So he started selling lobsters to the garrison seven weeks ago?"

  "I was just coming to that," Rossi said again, finally adding, "sir", but carefully timing the gap. "According to this man the fort was standing empty until eight weeks ago. He remembers the date because it was a particular feast day and the French soldiers marching through the port interrupted a procession, which made the local people angry.

  "Anyway, they went through the port and up the track leading from La Rocca, above the port, and on to the fort."

  "Just soldiers?" Ramage interrupted.

  "Just soldiers. About thirty of them, marching in four columns," Rossi said, hard put to keep the pride from his voice that the contadino could remember that. "Two officers, who were riding mules."

  "No hostages, then?"

  Rossi shook his head and then, in a typical Italian gesture, tapped the side of his nose knowingly with a forefinger. "Not then. They arrived a week later, with a special escort, and were taken to the fort. The special escort left again next day."

  "So there's absolutely no doubt that the hostages are in the fort?"

  "No sir," Rossi said blandly.

  "Accidente!" Ramage exclaimed. "Why did you hold on to the information about this contadino for so long?"

  Orsini took over the narrative, his manner defensive. "Well, sir, we didn't think you would believe us if we just said 'The hostages are there!' I thought you would need all the facts that led us to the conclusion."

  Ramage sighed. These two mules were going to proceed at their own speed. "Go on, then. How many hostages?"

  "The man didn't know because he did not see them: he was out fishing that day and his wife told him. Some women, some men. 'Many', the man said. But he could describe the inside of the fort."

  "Wait a moment," Ramage said. "Why was this man so helpful? What stops him going to the garrison and reporting that there are two Italian strangers asking questions?"

  Rossi gave a short and bitter laugh. "First, sir, he saw only me: Mr Orsini was hidden. Second, this man hates all Frenchmen. Apart from cheating him over the lobsters, two French soldiers tried to rape one of his daughters . . ."

  "What happened about that?"

  "Two of her brothers arrived, killed the Frenchmen and hid the bodies. The French commandant made the port pay a heavy fine because two of their men were missing. The Italians told the French captain the men had probably deserted."

  "So now everyone in the port is angry with the French?"

  "Yes, sir!" Rossi exclaimed, "but this happened four years ago, with soldiers stationed at the fort on the other side of Port' Ercole."

  "Go on," Ramage said, "what did you find out about the inside of Forte della Stella, then?"

  Orsini leaned forward and gave Ramage a folded piece of paper. "When I came back on board I drew this plan, based on what the man said. It's only a rough sketch. The guardhouse is here on the right, just inside the main gate. Then officers, two of them, have their quarters here. The soldiers and NCOs are here."

  "And the hostages?"

  "Here, sir," Orsini said, pointing to the north-west corner. "There is a corridor and leading off it are two very large rooms - almost like cellars. The men are kept in one, the women in the other. No privacy. When he delivered lobsters, the man saw a sentry on each door - he came usually in the late evening."

  "How long did it take you to get up to the fort from the moment you landed from the boat at the foot of the cliff?" Ramage asked Orsini.

  "Less than half an hour, sir. That includes ten minutes of crawling like snakes through the sage bushes to get close to the main gate - it was still daylight then. We had trouble with the macchia: it's thick and waist-high up to about thirty yards from the main gate but it's so dry that branches crackle every time you move: it's impossible not to snap them."

  "And attacking the fort?"

  Orsini thought for several seconds, and then glanced at Rossi, who remained staring down at the desk, obviously not wanting to commit himself. "It would be hard, sir. The only way in is through the main gate - or the little wicket door. There's smooth, open ground in front of the sentry, thirty yards or more, with gravel spread all over it (the French must use it as a parade ground) and the gravel makes a crunching noise if you tread on it."

  "Coming back down the cliff to the boat," Ramage said, "could women get down that way?"

  While Rossi shrugged his shoulders, with the comment: "It's the only way, sir, and it depends how old they are!", Orsini nodded. "Yes, sir. There's only one really bad place, and that's a climb of about fourteen feet, almost vertical. But we could secure a rope ladder from a rock just above it, so they could use that. We could rig knotted ropes along the rest of the route, above and below the ladder, which would give them something to hold on to, and guide them as well. A seaman here and there to help them - yes, it could be done. If there is a very old lady," he added as an afterthought, "a strong seaman could bring her all the way on his back."

  Ramage looked at his watch. Macchia that went snap in the night. A sentry on the battlements. A sentry at the door whose defence was thirty yards of crackling gravel. He thought of General Cargill's standard tactic, a direct frontal attack. "Thank you," he told the two Italians. "Pass the word for Mr Aitken as you go out."

  The Calypso's first lieutenant had obviously been waiting on deck, and once he was sitting in the armchair Ramage gave him the gist of the two Italians' report.

  "Doesn't seem too hopeful, sir," Aitken said. "Do we try the Giglio trick tomorrow, march up and bluff 'em?"

  Ramage shook his head. "I'd like to, but it's too great a risk. We'd have to go through Port' Ercole and anyway someone might have come over from Giglio in the meantime and casually mentioned something. I might have risked it," he admitted, "if all the hostages were men, but I can't (at least, I won't) risk women's lives. Not with these stakes."

  "But nothing is at stake, sir!" Aitken protested.

  "Exactly. If we sail off and leave them, they're kept prisoners until the end of the war and they're left alive and safe. My orders are to rescue hostages named in my orders from the Admiralty, and I've done that: they're all safely on board."

  Aitken looked stubborn. He stood up and began pacing the cabin, his head bent to one side to avoid hitting the beams. The dim light of the lantern showed the muscles taut along his jawline. Ramage could never remember his first lieutenant pacing the cabin before. Obviously strong emotions were at work in the Scotsman.

  Finally Ramage exclaimed, "For God's sake, sit down and spit it out! All the pacing back and forth makes me dizzy!"

  Aitken sat down, took a deep breath and turned to look directly at Ramage. "These women, sir. 1 don't fully agree with you, if you'll permit me to say so."

  "Since when have you had to ask permission to give an honest opinion?"

  "It's not just that," Aitken said mournfully. "I'm not just expressing an opinion; I'm completely disagreeing with you, sir."

  "Tell me about it, then. With what do you disagree?" Ramage was exasperated: he seemed to be spending the evening hauling information out of men like corks from bottles.

  "You said the women are 'safe' while they are still pr
isoners. I canna agree. They're hostages. This fellow Bonaparte is holding them as bargaining counters. When the Admiralty gave you orders to rescue the other hostages (the ones named, and whom we found at Giglio), you can't be sure that when the Admiralty drew up those orders they knew anything about the second group - the ones now in the fort. In fact, I'm sure they didn't."

  "What do you suggest, then?" Ramage asked coldly. "Shall we hurry back to London and ask Their Lordships if we should include these others? Or would you prefer that I go ahead and risk their lives?"

  "There's no need to go to London, sir. You've several of the husbands on board, including Sir Henry. Why not ask them what they think?"

  "Call a council of war, eh?" Ramage asked sarcastically.

  "No, sir," Aitken answered calmly, knowing how his captain despised councils of war. "But husbands understand their wives," he continued. "Sir Henry knows what his wife would want us to do. Maybe just as important, Sir Henry knows what he would prefer. You can ask them individually: visit each one in his cabin. There's no question of a council of war and no question of evading responsibility. I'm a bachelor, I admit; but if I was a married man in this position, safe on board a frigate with my wife up in yon fortress, I know I'd like to have a say in what's to be done. After you know what the husbands have said, you can make your decision. The responsibility will be yours, and yours alone."

  The more Ramage thought about it, the more reasonable Aitken's argument became. "Very well, I'll do that, and thanks for speaking up: I'm grateful - though I'm rather puzzled why you hesitated."

  Both men sat alone with their thoughts for two or three minutes, until Ramage said quietly: "But even if all the husbands are in favour of us trying a rescue, how the devil can we tackle Forte della Stella? It's designed to hold off an army . . ."

  "We're just reaching the place where we need the rope ladder," Orsini said. "You can see that sharp rock up there, sir: just made to secure it."

  "Wait a moment," Ramage gasped, "let me get my breath back: I'm neither a topman nor a goat, and this climbing in the dark is hard work."