by Dudley Pope
And now that Marine lieutenant had come down the ladder and was looking at them. And he was pointing and beckoning. One of the sentries pulled him by the arm. Now Bazin knew they were going to shoot him. He turned to Roget. 'I forgive you,' he said, 'but for my sake stop this royalist talk.' He looked at the third lieutenant. 'Courage,' he said, like a benediction. With that he braced his shoulders and began to climb the steps. After the second step his knees had an unfortunate tendency to fold, like shutting a pocket knife, but he managed to continue climbing. This was how the aristos felt when they climbed up to the platform of the guillotine . . .
On deck the sun was dazzling, and he followed the Marine lieutenant. He glanced astern, but no sentry followed. nor could he see the firing squad. Up the quarterdeck ladder La Perle's topsails were now neatly furled and the two ships were still drifting alongside each other - and now down the companionway. This, Bazin knew, led to the captain's quarters.
At the foot of the companionway there was a Marine sentry who stood smartly to attention and saluted as the Marine officer passed, and he called some word into the cabin. Then Bazin was in the cabin, his head bent sideways to avoid hitting the beams overhead, and facing him, sitting at a desk, was this milord Ramage, who waved towards a settee and told him to sit down. The door shut and Bazin glanced up to see that the Marine lieutenant had left the cabin. He was alone with the milord. And his uniform was sticking to him and the perspiration was turning cold, and fresh beads of perspiration sprouting from his upper lip and forehead were cold, too, like rain on a glass window, and his breathing was shallow and he felt as though he was going to faint 'Lieutenant Bazin, I must apologize for the ruse.'
His accent was perfect He must have lived in France before the war - no foreigner could speak French like a Frenchman without living in France. The accent of Paris. In Lyon he would pass for a Parisian, Bazin was sure of that. But ruse?
'What ruse, milord?' There was the damned 'milord' again: it seemed so natural when talking to him, but he must guard his tongue against it.
The flags, M. Bazin. But I am sure you know perfectly well that it is a legitimate ruse de guerre to fly another flag as long as it is lowered and one's own flag hoisted before opening fire.'
Bazin was puzzled. 'Yes, of course. We always do it when we sight an English merchant ship, or a privateer.'
'You do? So you have no ill - feelings about me doing it?'
Ill - feelings? What is he talking about? Bazin knew it was his own fault that he had not grasped the significance of the Calypso's Tricolour coming down at the run. He shrugged his shoulders. And this milord was smiling, as though pleased. Bazin felt less chilly, but wondered if all this polite talk was not the prelude to another trap, another pat at the mouse by the cat's paw before the end came in a flurry of pain and blood.
'La Perle was a few hours late in leaving Aruba, M. Bazin?'
What a curious question. 'Several hours. In fact we nearly didn't leave at all.'
'Oh. Why was that?'
The leak, of course. Touching that reef made it a lot worse.
The captain waited for some time before we left to make sure the pumps could hold it'
'And they could, of course.'
'Only just, but there was no point in waiting in Aruba because we couldn't careen there to make repairs. Curacao is the nearest safe place - and of course it would have to be to windward. That's why Captain Duroc was not going to stop for you - but he was curious when you made the signal.'
The milord was looking at him strangely now. He was leaning forward slightly in the chair that he had twisted round to face the settee. 'You had all your pumps going?'
'Oh yes - chain pump, deck wash pumps and men with buckets. Every available man took his turn.'
'And you were just holding the leak.'
'Yes, just. It was getting no worse, thank goodness. If only we could have reached Curacao we'd have saved her.' '
The milord stood up slowly and walked out through the door, and the Marine sentry came into the cabin to guard him. He heard the milord's shoes clattering up the companionway. He had gone to arrange for the firing squad. He will not bother to question Roget or the third lieutenant. He would bother to question only the man who had been commanding La Perle (admittedly very briefly).
Bazin was proud that, with the firing squad only minutes away, he had kept control of himself and told this milord nothing. Nothing except that they were going to Curacao, and that was obvious enough to anyone who saw which way the ship was heading.
A few minutes later the milord came back again and the sentry left the cabin. The milord still had this pleasant smile on his face; the smile the cat has as it plays with the mouse. However, no aristo was going to fool Jean - Pierre Bazin with a smile.
The privateers are waiting for you in Curacao, M. Bazin.'
This is an obvious trap. 'Are they, milord?'
'I saw ten of them a few days ago. Perhaps more have arrived by now.'
'Very interesting, milord. There might be fifty, then.' That would worry him, Bazin knew. 'But they can get on quite well without La Perle, because we did not intend to call there. Not until we sprang this leak, rather.'
'Forgive my ignorance about all this, M. Bazin: I did not have time to talk to Captain Duroc.'
Look at those eyes: Bazin now knew what an assassin looked like. He had large brown eyes, the son that would fool a woman like Roget's wife, and they were sunk deep below bushy brows, and he smiled such a friendly but false smile. No, milord had not bothered to talk to Duroc before murdering him, so he did not know that Duroc was making a desperate rush to get to Curacao to careen the ship in the hope of finding the leak. No one was very optimistic, though; the whole garboard seam on the starboard side was leaking, and it seemed the entire transom was working loose because all the butt ends of the planks were weeping, although the caulking was still in the seams. The carpenter was puzzled and Duroc was frightened and he - ah, a chain pump had just started working somewhere this very moment because he could hear the distant clank - and - thump. And running water, like a distant stream. Now the clank of a head pump, and a second one has just started up. And a third and fourth, which was strange because La Perle had only two.
The milord was speaking again; something about La Perle working with the privateers. It was hard to concentrate, worrying about that leak, and he repeated the question.
'Does La Perle really not work with the privateers at Curacao?'
Did this milord, this rosbif cretin, really think that lieutenant de vaisseau Bazin was going to give away secrets? 'No, she does not.' Nor did she, but there was no point in giving the enemy information.
This patrol of La Perle's, M. Bazin - might one ask if you were co-operating with the Spanish or the Dutch?'
'With neither.' That would puzzle him. This evil man could not imagine that La Perle was on an ordinary patrol, having arrived in Martinique from France with dispatches and being sent on a patrol of the eastern end of la mer des Antilles on her way back to France. But La Perle had first begun to leak a few days after leaving Brest; they had pumped her across the Atlantique to Fort de France; they had careened her there and the caulkers had hammered away at their cotton and the pitch had been heated and poured. And the leaks were stopped, but Duroc, always anxious to please and always impatient, had left for the patrol and for France without trials, and the leaks had started again the minute the frigate had sailed beyond the lee of the islands and reached the full strength of the Trades. Why Duroc called at Aruba no one knew, and the reef they hit was not shown on the chart - or, rather, it was shown with more water over it, but more coral must have grown. Anyway, the leak was now twice as bad, and the nearest careenage was Curacao. However, you know nothing about all that, milord aristo.
Ramage found that after five minutes' conversation with Bazin he felt grubby. The man had a face which was startlingly like a weasel's; his manner, way of talking, and probably his way of thinking was the same. No doubt he was
quick to pounce and bully or kill a weaker animal; but he was ingratiating when in the company of a stronger. And a fool, too; he had seen the Tricolour being hauled down, leaving only a British ensign flying, and he had thought nothing of it.
Out of curiosity it might be worth talking to the other two French lieutenants, just to find out their view of Citizen Bazin, but Ramage felt he could guess. And now Bazin was below again, under Marine guard, and no doubt quite certain that he had told the rosbif captain nothing . . .
Ramage went up on deck again and found both Aitken and Southwick waiting for him, shamefaced and looking like naughty schoolboys caught red - handed.
'I'm sorry, sir,' Aitken said. 'Southwick and the carpenter were just going on board her when you came up and told us about the leak, but - '
'But they should have finished their examination by then...'
'Yes, sir.'
'And you've no explanation for this lapse.'
'No, sir," Aitken said contritely. 'None at all.'
'Ill give you one,' Ramage said, 'and it's a lesson we've all just learned. Just because no shots have been fired, don't assume a prize isn't damaged and sinking.'
'Aye,' Southwick said, 'and it's worse than that, sir: they could have scuttled her - they should have done, in fact - and I just leaned on the quarterdeck rail and looked at her. I even noticed she rolled more than we did and had less freeboard, but I never thought the reason was that she had several feet of water in her.'
"Well, how's the pumping going?'
Southwick grinned cheerfully. 'With three hundred prisoners and our own pumps on board as well, it's no problem. No man has more than a quarter of an hour at a pump, but he has to work like a madman. It's the only way we'll get the level down.'
'She's making seven feet an hour,' Ramage said.
'Yes, but if we can empty her while she's alongside us, then the French can hold her with their own pumps without much trouble. We've got all the Frenchmen pumping - purser, bosun, sailmaker, captain's steward, everyone is taking a turn.'
Aitken was still rather chastened, and he said to Ramage: 'After we've pumped her dry and left the French prisoners to hold their seven feet an hour, what are we going to do with her, sir?"
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. 'After capturing her for the price of some cloth to make flags, it seems a pity to let her sink; but our orders are to deal with those privateers. I can't spare fifty men to take La Perle to Jamaica. More than fifty, because the prizemaster would need enough men to sail her and enough to guard three hundred Frenchmen and keep them busy pumping.'
'But losing a prize like this, sir!' Southwick protested.
The chances of her reaching Jamaica with these leaks even if I put a hundred of our men on board are remote.'
'How so, sir?'
The leaks are getting worse. I don't think she's just spewing her caulking; I'm sure she's rotten and the fastenings are going. The planks are loosening as the hull works in anything of a sea and popping 'em out The next thing will be the butt ends of planks suddenly springing, and then shell sink in ten minutes.'
Southwick scratched his head. 'Well, we can't take three hundred prisoners on board, that's certain. Still, we could put 'em on shore right here, in Curacao. Land 'em on that beach there.'
'And give the privateers in Amsterdam another thirty men each?'
'I hadn't thought of that,' Southwick admitted. 'But if we don't bring 'em on board and don't put 'em on shore . . . ?'
Ramage began walking up and down the quarterdeck, hands clasped behind his back. If all revolutions replaced uncomfortable breeches and white stockings which showed every dirty mark with loose - fitting trousers, he thought wryly, then officers would be well advised to change their politics. With La Perle captured he had no excuse for not going down to his cabin and putting on his uniform. The same applied to the rest of the Calypso's officers. Perhaps they were waiting for the captain to give a lead, afraid of offending him by appearing in uniform when he still wore trousers. Perhaps (and much more likely) they were as comfortable as he was and in no hurry to return to the uncomfortable and hot smartness of breeches.
All this thinking about trousers and breeches was wasting time; he had to make up his mind as soon as possible about La Perle and her three hundred men. Very well, state the problem. Well, three problems, sir. I can't spare a prize crew to sail (and pump) her to Jamaica, and anyway she'd probably sink in the first gale she met But, problem two, I can't leave her drifting. She has to be sunk - or set on fire. That leaves me with problem three, the three hundred prisoners whom I daren't land in Aruba or Curacao, because they'll immediately become privateersmen.
Given that La Perle was eventually bound back to France and would have sunk on the way, her meeting with the Calypso is hardly a stroke of good fortune for the British, least of all the Calypso, which loses prize money and head money, and whose captain will have to face the wrath of Admiral Foxe-Foote, who is not going to like losing his share of the prize money.
Very well, milord, as that wretched Bazin insisted on addressing you, with true republican regard to ingratiating himself, reduce the problems to their simplest terms. God it's hot; the deck throws up waves of heat. No sails set to cause a cooling downdraught, no awning stretched to make some shade. And here is Jackson with a straw hat for me to wear. A thoughtful act: he felt as though his brains were already frying, and his eyes seemed scorched from the glare.
The problem, he reminded himself, tipping the hat farther forward so that it shaded his eyes more completely, the problem is really quite simple: how to dispose of a French frigate without drowning her ship's company or handing them over to the French privateersmen in Curasao.
Quite simple, milord: turn both ships and men over to the Dons.
He stopped in mid - stride. That was the answer 1 Where it came from he was far from sure; probably lurking inside this straw hat. The French could land from La Perle on the Spanish Main, but they must not be able to repair the ship. His head buzzed with ideas, but none was any use until he looked at a chart He glanced over at La Perle and saw clear streams of water pouring out of her scuppers and from the hoses of head pumps rigged on the sides. La Creole was tacking back and forth to windward; the two frigates were drifting slowly to leeward, westward along the coast of Curacao. The weather seemed set fair. The only really miserable men on board the Calypso should be Duroc, Bazin and the two junior lieutenants.
Down in his cabin he pitched the straw hat on to the settee and pulled a chart out of the rack, unrolling it on his desk and holding it down flat with weights. The nearest part of the Main was in fact a long semicircle stretching from the tip of the Peninsula de Paraguana, the hatchet - shaped piece of land forming one side of the Gulf of Venezuela and leading down to Maracaibo, round to (for practical purposes) San Juan de los Cayos, a hundred and fifty miles to the eastward. Notes on his chart showed that there was not a port along that stretch where La Perle could be careened and repaired, nothing on the Peninsula apart from a mountain range topped by Pan de Santa Ana, a peak nearly 3000 feet high and visible for sixty miles on a clear day - which meant that any ship sailing south - west from Curacao would sight it within a few hours. Just where the hatchet - handle joined the mainland was La Vela de Coro, a large village on the bay. A soft mud bottom, frequent breakers, a sea whipped up by almost any breeze . . . Yes, hardly the place to careen a fishing smack, let alone a frigate/ Then came Cumarebo, which although the Spanish gave it the name 'Puerto' was simply an open roadstead in front of the town. After that was another small village, and then nothing for a dozen miles to Punta Zamuro, a coastline formed by sandy beaches, clay bluffs, shallow water . . . Punta Aguida had a red clay bluff and shallows of less than three fathoms more than a mile offshore . . . And, after a long stretch, the Bay of San Juan. The point sheltered it from the Trade winds coming from the east and north - east, but there was only twenty feet of water a mile offshore. As long as La Perle was not half full of water, she could get fairly do
se in, but she would not careen . . . Now for the distances. He opened the dividers. Fifty miles would bring La Perle to anywhere on the Peninsula; a hundred miles would take her down to San Juan de los Cayos. The wind would be on the beam so she would make a fast passage, but give her the benefit of the doubt and say she averaged only three knots and went to San Juan de los Cayos. Thirty - three hours, a day and a half at the outside.
He called to the Marine sentry to pass the word for the first lieutenant, lieutenant of Marines, master and purser. The purser was the last to arrive, looking alarmed at suddenly being summoned to the captain's cabin.
Ramage decided to deal with him first, to put him out of his misery. Tell Mr Southwick the quantity of water needed for two days by three hundred men working extremely hard in this climate.'
'Water, sir? You don't mean beer?'
'No, nor cheese nor butter. Just water.'
Rowlands's lips moved as he did some mental arithmetic. Finally he gave a figure. Ramage thanked him and the man left the cabin.
'Remember that figure, Mr Southwick. Now, gentlemen, at midnight La Perle leaves us, escorted by La Creole, bound for the Main - anywhere between the entrance to the Gulf of Venezuela and San Juan de los Cayos. Come and look at this chart and refresh your memories.'
The three men inspected it, and Rennick said: 'All the Marines on board her as guards, sir?'
His face fell when Ramage shook his head and said: There'll be no guards. The Frenchmen will be alone on board: just La Creole to keep them company.'
Aitken was the first to grasp what Ramage had said. 'But, sir, what's to stop them making for Martinique?'
'Or attacking us?' added Southwick. 'No good putting them on parole; they'd never keep their word.'
'Sit down,' Ramage said. 'You all have jobs to do, so pay attention. La Perle sails at midnight under the command of Duroc, and he has the choice of the destinations I've just shown you, and - '