by Dudley Pope
He saw a lantern at the door and then in its light a man walked along the path towards the gate. In one hand he held the lantern, in the other a large key.
The man - yes, he was dressed as a manservant: that much was clear in the light of the lantern - turned the key and pushed back the gate with his shoulder. "This way, if you please."
Galicia? Yes, Ramage was sure of the accent: thick, as though spoken through cloth. He followed the man, with Orsini strolling along beside him.
What would the man be thinking? Neither visitor was wearing a uniform - which ruled out an official call. While both men were young, and spoke perfect Spanish, at least one of them was French, from the way he spoke his name. French officers out of uniform, obviously . . .
They reached the front door up half a dozen steps, and entered the house. Yes, the bittersweet smell of citronella, and Ramage felt his face beginning to itch: the mosquitoes had not wasted their time but with luck the swelling would be delayed.
Marble floors, plenty of furniture in the hall (unusual in a Latin house), a dog growling from the room in which he had been shut, two open doors ... the room to which they were going was at the far end of the corridor, and the thump, thump of his and Orsini's boots contrasted with the shuffle of the manservant's slippers.
They reached a door which the manservant opened, standing back and saying in slightly more than a conversational tone: "Lieutenant Leblond and companion, sir." He gestured them to go into the room.
It was a large, high-ceilinged room with a tiled floor. On the far side a white-haired man sat at a table, a quill in his hand and obviously interrupted while writing, and a woman perhaps ten years younger but well dressed sat at a stool, embroidering. Two lamps in the room showed a man and wife spending a quiet evening, even if the harbour was filled with the ships of the Combined Fleet of France and Spain, and the British fleet was just over the horizon.
"Lieutenant Leblond?" the white-haired man inquired, and the woman looked up curiously.
Ramage bowed and said: "May I introduce my assistant, Lieutenant Poulain?"
Ramage listened for the door to close behind him as the white-haired man said politely, but obviously puzzled. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, gentlemen? Do you come on the Emperor's business?"
Ramage heard the door shut behind him, and it was quite natural to continue walking into the room approaching the man sitting at the table.
"Not the Emperor's business," Ramage said in a quiet voice. "Can we talk alone?"
"I have no secrets from my wife," the man said calmly. "If not from the Emperor then, pray, from whom?"
Ramage gave him the message.
At the mention - with an unmistakable English accent - of the name of His Britannic Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, the white-haired man sprang to his feet.
"Should I know that name?" he asked in Spanish. "What makes you think that, Lieutenant Leblond?"
"Forgive me," Ramage said in English. "In fact my name is Ramage, Captain Ramage, and I command a frigate in Lord Nelson's fleet. The Secretary of State saw Lord Nelson in London recently. As a result, Lord Nelson gave me orders to seek out a Señor Perez near the church of San José, and mention the name you know."
"Tell me more: mistakes could put the garotte round my neck," Perez said, speaking quietly and in good English.
"About the minister? I know little about him. His title is fairly new - a barony ten or fifteen years ago. A man of middle height - I've seen him a few times in the House of Lords. Hair grey now, bald on the top, does not wear a wig . . . that's about all."
"What were you doing in the House of Lords, Captain?"
"My father is Admiral the Earl of Blazey, and I bear one of his titles (although I do not use it in the service for obvious reasons)."
"Obvious? Not to me, my dear sir."
"When I was a midshipman - and even now - it is not very tactful to have a title when your senior officers have none! As it is, I have a title senior to and much older than that of the minister!"
The man held out his hand. "Yes, I think you are whom you claim to be." They shook hands, and Perez said gracefully: "Please introduce your assistant."
Ramage introduced Orsini, and then Perez sat down, giving a quiet laugh. "Captain Ramage, indeed. Yes, I know that name well. It would not be true to say you are a popular figure among the French: Le Moniteur frequently refers to you as a cross between a pirate and a sorcerer! You have had considerable success against the French Navy over the years."
Ramage shrugged. "Over the years one is bound to be in action many times . . ."
"True, but you are more successful than most. Well, tell me what Lord Nelson wishes to know - I think I can guess."
Ramage smiled and said: "I imagine you can. First, he wants to know the size and condition of the Combined Fleet in Cadiz."
Perez made a face as though tasting something very sour. "The French - the condition of their ships fairly good but there is no spare canvas, cordage or spars available for them. They could get no replacements either when they visited Ferrol or Coruña.
"The Spanish ships are in far worse condition. They have not been to sea for months (at least Villeneuve crossed the Atlantic twice with the French fleet). Sails and cordage have rotted on the masts; those ships that put their sails below have had much of the canvas eaten by rats. Thanks to your blockade no replacements are available. Many have rotted spars."
Perez, now sitting down, sighed. "This is not easy for me, Captain Ramage. I am describing my country, even if those in control are my enemies."
He sighed again, and then continued. "So much for the ships. Far worse is the condition of the captains and officers, particularly the Spanish. As far as the French are concerned, the problem is mainly with Admiral Villeneuve. My informant - and he is in a position to know, although obviously I dare not reveal who he is - tells me that Admiral Villeneuve is out of favour with Bonaparte and will probably be replaced very soon by Admiral Decrès."
"But Admiral Decrès is the Minister of Marine!" Ramage exclaimed.
Perez nodded. "Yes, but presumably Bonaparte knows that everything depends on this fleet, and he must get it to sea. I don't think he believes Villeneuve is the man to do the job."
"When is this change expected?"
"I gather Villeneuve is afraid that Decrès will arrive any day, and he regards it as a dishonour."
"You mentioned the Spanish captains."
"Ah, yes. You are a practical man, Captain Ramage. Would you care to command a ship of the line and sail under the command of someone like this Villeneuve - and with your ship equipped with rotten rope, rotten sails, and short of provisions, those you have being rotten?"
Ramage grinned and shook his head. "Not even a rowing boat, let alone a ship of the line!"
"Exactly, so you can imagine in what a dreadful position the Spanish Admiral Gravina finds himself: his most senior captains come to him daily, begging for equipment he cannot supply; they beg him to tell the French it is suicide to sail with the English fleet waiting for them."
Perez shook his head, as though saddened by what he was going to say. "I'm afraid some of the captains are meeting among themselves and their talk is close to treason."
"But is the city of Cadiz so short of food and supplies?"
"The people are starving," Perez said frankly. "Every able-bodied man has been taken up for the ships, so women and children starve because they have lost the - how do you say, 'the breadwinner'.
"As you can see, this is not a fertile part of the country. No grain can get in because of your blockade - nor, of course, anything that can be used to fit out the ships."
Perez now looked haggard in the dim lamplight: telling such a tale of disaster seemed to be emphasizing it for him. Probably, Ramage thought, he thrusts it away at the back of his mind whenever he can, unless he can pass the word to the British in Gibraltar.
"Lord Nelson was concerned about the position of other French ships," Ram
age said. "How many, in which ports, and so on."
"Well now, let me see. Brest - yes, Admiral Gantaume is there with twenty-one Iine-of-battle ships, and from what I hear you people are blockading him so that he can't get out.
"Then Admiral Allemand is at sea - I don't know where - with four ships of the line. Difficult for him to break in and join either Gantaume at Brest or Villeneuve here. He could make for Ferrol or Coruña, I suppose. That's all the ships I know about. And, of course, Villeneuve commands thirty-four French and Spanish ships here. A very large fleet - on paper."
"You have no hint when Villeneuve is likely to sail, I suppose?"
Perez shook his head, his white hair flowing. "No - but I'm sure he will sail as soon as he gets a fair wind. Not so much because he wants to fight your Nelson, but he feels deeply the dishonour there would be if he is replaced by Decrès."
"So we can expect the Combined Fleet to sail the minute there is an east wind. Heading for the English Channel?"
Perez held up a hand as though restraining Ramage. "I hear reports that Villeneuve has received new orders. Reports? Rumours, more likely, and you must emphasize that to Lord Nelson. You came to me for information, but I must ask you a question - and please feel free not to answer. Is there a big British convoy at sea somewhere carrying troops into the Mediterranean?"
Ramage thought for several moments, and then decided that the French knew it was at sea and its destination - that was hardly a secret even before General Craig's ships left England bound for Italy.
Ramage nodded. "Yes, I believe there is such a convoy at sea."
"Ah, that might explain it!" Perez exclaimed. "You see, I know that until very recently Admiral Villeneuve's orders from Bonaparte were to leave Cadiz and sail north to the English Channel, and guard his flotillas waiting at Calais and Boulogne as they crossed to invade England.
"But this rumour I heard - or, rather, my informant heard - was to the effect that Villeneuve had just received entirely new orders: he was to break out of Cadiz and sail into the Mediterranean, to find and destroy this English convoy or, if it had already gone through and landed its men in Italy to help the Russians, to land troops - this city is full of them, eating what little food is left - and drive the English into the sea."
Ramage felt himself tensing as he thought about the rumour. If it was true, then Bonaparte was no longer threatening England. Had he lost his nerve? Had the difficulties and dangers of getting his boats and barges across the Channel frightened him? Or (more likely) had he lost faith in Villeneuve's ability to get the fleet up to the Channel and therefore abandoned the invasion? But what about Decrès - did Bonaparte not trust him either?
And, of course, it was late in the year. Who would dare guarantee even a day and night's decent weather in the Channel (let alone an easterly wind, which the invasion fleet had to have) in October? - and it would be late October even if Villeneuve broke out now. Even if he escaped Lord Nelson and even if he had fair winds, and even if he could control his mixed fleet - more ifs than hopes - he could not be off Calais and Dover before the last week in October.
Ramage found himself feeling sorry for Villeneuve: the poor man's Emperor had, it seemed, given him the choice of defeat or dishonour . . .
Perez looked at Ramage. "Yes, I understand the importance of that rumour, because if Villeneuve sails for the Mediterranean there can be no invasion of England. But I beg you, Captain Ramage, do emphasize to Lord Nelson that it is only a rumour. My informant has tried to get more information but as you can imagine, even if he has received such orders, Admiral Villeneuve will guard them carefully. After all, his success will depend on surprising Lord Nelson by breaking out and turning south for the Strait rather than north for England ..."
"Yes," Ramage said as casually as possible, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. "A rumour, I shall emphasize that. Now señor," he said, taking out his watch, "is there anything else? My boat will be waiting for me in about five minutes' time."
Perez shook his head. "No. I think that is all I have to offer. Is it of help?"
"Yes, His Lordship will be very grateful. Now, I suggest we leave by the front door, with you bidding us farewell, as though we have been paying you a normal visit. By the way, there is no curfew?"
Perez shook his head. "There was for a short while, but the people are too frightened to go out - because of the troops! So the garrison commander lifted the curfew."
As the gate shut behind them Ramage and Orsini, blinking to get accustomed to the darkness, began walking across the plaza to the cemetery. Both sighed at the same moment and laughed at the coincidence.
"What is troubling you?" Ramage asked in Spanish.
"A most interesting visit," Orsini said carefully, wary that he might be overheard.
"Yes," Ramage said, "we must pass the message to our master."
"He will be pleased!"
Will he? Ramage thought not. It was one thing to cover the Combined Fleet against the chance of escaping north to the English Channel, but it was quite something else (while staying out of sight, not risking deterring them from sailing) to guard against them escaping southwards to the Mediterranean. It was, indeed, a toss-up.
By now they were passing through the cemetery and they could hear the lazy slapping of wavelets on the beach. Ramage suddenly held Orsini's shoulder: "Listen!"
There were angry voices shouting in Spanish. Two voices. And equally vociferous replies in French. Ramage stared across the beach and gradually made out the shape of two horsemen at the water's edge and, just beyond them, the cutter. Spanish mounted guards, challenging the boat, and Gilbert and Louis shouting back in French, pretending to be indignant but not understanding whatever the Spanish sentries were asking.
Ramage crouched down and made his way across the sand, followed by Orsini. The Spaniards were getting more excited; they were clearly asking questions and demanding answers - why a boat full of men should be at this beach - but were not satisfied with the shouts in French.
Very soon Ramage could distinguish what the Spaniards were saying. They were very nervous, very jumpy and very angry at being answered in French: they reckoned that only Spanish boats should be out at night.
Ramage and Orsini were only five yards from the two horsemen when Ramage heard one of them bellow angrily: "Get out of the boat! Out! If you don't get out I shoot the nearest man!"
Surprise, thought Ramage. And noise. He whispered to Orsini. A moment later both men ran screaming and shouting at the horses, slapping each on the rump and starting them rearing. Without waiting to see what had happened to the equally startled horsemen, Ramage continued running, grabbed the side of the cutter and, making sure that Orsini was scrambling on board, snapped at Jackson: "Quick, shove off! Those two won't be able to aim pistols properly while their horses are dancing!"
The men on the beach side of the boat thrust down and away with their oars, levering the boat round, and the moment the bow was heading seaward all the oars dipped in the water and the men began rowing vigorously.
Ramage scrambled into the boat, sprawling across a thwart. He twisted round to look at the horsemen and saw they were ten yards further along the beach, fighting the horses which were rearing and neighing: horses frightened by the screams and slaps of the two men approaching from the rear, and spurred and kicked by the startled riders they had nearly thrown. The yanking at the bits and the raking of the spurs had frightened the horses even more and they continued rearing and walking sideways along the beach, their riders concerned only with staying in the saddles, the boat for the time being forgotten.
Ten yards off the shore, twenty and increasing speed, thirty and Jackson cursing as he tried to fit the metal tiller on to the wooden rudderhead. Thirty yards and they were out of sight of the horsemen; fifty yards and they could no longer see the thin white ribbons of the wavelets breaking.
"Back to the Calypso, sir?" Jackson asked politely once he had the tiller fitted and tucked under his arm.
<
br /> Ramage thought a moment. He had to sail at once for the Victory, but Blackwood commanded the little inshore squadron of which the Calypso was part.
"No, the Euryalus, first."
Blackwood would be patrolling between the El Diamante and La Galera shoals: a five-mile sail from here, and then another three miles or so to find the Calypso.
With the Calypso hove-to half a mile to windward of the flagship, Ramage boarded the Victory at exactly nine o'clock next morning, tired but shaven, wearing a frock-coat that Silkin had insisted on pressing, and a neatly tied stock.
At the last moment a whimsical thought that the news he was taking to Lord Nelson could mean that England was safe from any invasion threat led Ramage to wear his Lloyd's sword. A puzzled Silkin had mumbled: "But you didn't wear it when all the other captains were there," and Ramage had laughed. "It's an old Spanish custom," he said.
Hardy greeted him at the entryport, anxious but trying to hide it. "His Lordship is worried - couldn't you carry out his orders?"
"His orders?" a puzzled Ramage repeated. "But he only gave me one set of orders."
"Yes, about landing in Cadiz."
"Ah yes," Ramage said, "that's why I'm here." And, he thought, you may be the admiral's flag captain, but if you think I'm going to make a report to you standing at the entryport with your first lieutenant and a couple of seamen, not to mention sideboys, all straining their ears, you are wrong.
With that he hurried to the great cabin, had the Marine sentry announce him after saluting in a cloud of pipeclay, and at Lord Nelson's call went in to find the admiral again sitting in his special armchair.
"Well, Ramage, what happened, eh? Problems?"
Ramage was almost alarmed at the admiral's concern - he had jumped up out of the chair, good eye glinting, the single arm clutching a handful of papers which he had been reading.
"No, sir: I carried out your orders and hurried out to make my report."
"What a stout fellow!" Nelson exclaimed, slapping him on the back with the handful of papers. "As soon as you hove in sight and were identified, Hardy and I decided you hadn't had time to land in Cadiz and get out here! I'm only too delighted to learn we were wrong! Well, what news have you got for me? Did you find our friend?"