by Dudley Pope
An hour later Ramage watched the Welcome's boat being hoisted in and stowed on the booms; then the foretopsail yard was braced round and as the sails began to draw the brig slowly gathered way, headed round towards the Diamond. Two hours later her hull was hidden by the curve of the earth. The young lieutenant commanding her had been jubilant when Ramage had handed him the various packets from Admiral Davis: after a brief call at Antigua he would be bound for England.
Ramage also guessed that the lieutenant was thankful to be going to Antigua direct, and not by way of Barbados because his three-week patrol off Fort Royal had met with little success. He had sighted a small island schooner leaving Fort Royal at dusk and chased her northwards, losing her in the darkness. In daylight a week later he had sighted a drogher in the Passe du Fours between the Diamond and the mainland but before he could reach her she had run up on the beach and the crew had fled ashore, leaving the drogher in flames. From the way she burned the lieutenant thought she had been carrying spirits, and was probably a smuggler bringing in rum from one of the southern islands.
He had looked blank when Ramage asked about boat operations at night in Fort Royal Bay. Captain Eames had responded in the same way to the same question. Most of the time the Welcome had found the current north-going, except at the southern end of the island, where it was usually west-going. Only once, after three days of light breezes and with the moon in the first quarter had he failed to find any current. No, he had never tried to anchor off the Diamond; yes, there were several French batteries along the coast between Pointe des Salines and Cap Salomon, but he had not landed seamen and marines at night to attack them and did not have their exact positions. The guns had never bothered him, he said, and as far as he knew Captain Eames had left them alone for the same reason.
He had been down to St Lucia once for water: half the casks filled in Barbados had been undrinkable. To Ramage's most important question his answer had been vague: as far as he knew there were two French frigates in Fort Royal, both stripped of their yards, and five merchantmen, none of them ready for sea. Half a dozen local schooners, perhaps more, were reported to be anchored inside the Bay, in the mouth of the Salée River, but he had not been far enough into the Bay to see them for himself. They could be privateers but he did not know for sure. A dozen droghers were also reported to be in the Salée River, but none of them ever went to sea, or if they did he had seen none, apart from the one that beached herself, and she was heading for Fort Royal. Captain Eames had only caught one vessel, which he had used as a tender.
Obviously the lieutenant lacked 'interest" with Admiral Davis and was anxious to get back to England with a whole skin and an undamaged ship after a year in the Caribbean. His heart had not been in his terrier-at-the-rabbit-hole task, and Ramage found it hard to blame him. Captain Eames's inactivity was another kettle of fish: it was up to Eames to interpret the Admiral's orders, but it was galling that a man who had spent three months off Martinique tacking back and forth without doing anything to discomfort the French had been chosen by the Admiral to carry out the special operation ordered by the First Lord . . . Eames must be one of the Admiral's favourites.
Ramage walked aft, hands clasped behind his back, and stared over the taffrail at the Juno's wake. What the devil was that special operation? The only enemy-held islands within Admiral Davis's command were Martinique and Guadeloupe. Obviously it did not concern Martinique, and the other island was of little importance: the First Lord would not concern himself with French privateers based there. That left the coast of South America. The eastern end of the north coast was Admiral Davis's responsibility - the Spanish Main was divided, so that the western part came under the Commander-in-Chief at Jamaica. Trinidad and Tobago and the Spanish province of Caracas . . . what was happening along there - apart from cruising to intercept Spanish ships, which was routine anyway - what could suddenly have aroused the interest of the First Lord? Some operation that could be carried out by a frigate? Ramage turned away, admitting that he was jealous of Eames and angry with himself for being childish enough to think that just because he brought out the orders he ought to be allowed to carry them out.
By now the Juno, jogging along under topsails, was approaching the Diamond Rock, and Ramage searched the coast from the headland at the foot of Diamond Hill round to the eastward, to half-way along the instep. He was irritated that the Welcome's commanding officer had not been able to tell him the precise position of the shore batteries, and he knew that at this very moment Frenchmen would be watching the Juno with telescopes, noting and reporting to Fort Royal that the brig had gone off to the north and a frigate had taken her place.
Having criticized Captain Eames and the poor fellow commanding the Welcome, who had obviously been thankful to have lasted a year in the West Indies without dying of yellow fever or running the Welcome on a coral reef, Ramage had to decide what they should have done, and do it himself. The Admiral's orders were simple enough: blockade Fort Royal. The French Army is desperate for supplies, and so is the Navy. Paris probably knows about it and various ministers may be trying to do something to help.
He put his telescope away in the binnacle box drawer and resumed walking the deck oblivious to the fact that the officers had noted his furrowed brow and were alarmed at the way he was glaring at a spot a few feet ahead. Paris must be well aware of the position, but what would the ministers do? They could dispatch a single merchantman, hoping that they could sneak past the British blockade. In that way supplies could be sent out as soon as they became available. He knew well enough that the dockyards and arsenals of France were short of almost every item needed to keep a ship at sea and an army on its feet. The alternative was to send out a convoy escorted by two or three frigates or even a ship of the line. A convoy with three frigates might well be able to find its way through the blockade - especially if Paris knew that there was usually only a single British frigate on patrol. That was the one thing about which Paris could never be sure: Admiral Davis had said that he appeared occasionally with the Invincible and two or three frigates off Fort Royal Bay...
A convoy seemed more likely than single ships. If the convoy had an escort of two frigates, then the Juno had a chance of picking off a merchantman or two and of surviving. If there was a ship of the line he had the choice of making a fight of it or bolting for Barbados to warn the Admiral. Unless the convoy was spotted far out in the Atlantic and a warning passed to Barbados, the first he would know of it would be when he saw it rounding Pointe des Salines and bearing up for Diamond Rock.
That raised another problem: he could not be in two places at once. If he was watching off Fort Royal Bay, then the whole French fleet, let alone a small convoy, could round the Pointe and get half-way up to Cap Salomon without him seeing it until it had only fifteen miles to sail to get right under the guns of Fort Royal itself.
All that was obvious enough, he told himself crossly, and until the convoy appeared it was useless making any plans: what he did depended on the size of the convoy and escort, whether it was sighted by day or night, and its position. And the wind's strength and direction. And a dozen things.
Very well, that deferred the problem of a convoy until the Juno's lookouts sighted it, which could be tomorrow or in two months' time. What could he do in the meantime to rattle the bars and annoy the French? The only bars worth rattling were those at Fort Royal. What about those two frigates that the Welcome reported in the bay? They were stripped of their yards, but that could be of no significance.
Damn, the sun was bright. He pulled his hat down to shield his eyes. What was the possibility of one of those frigates crossing her yards, bending on sails and suddenly appearing off Cap Salomon or the Diamond, loaded with troops and with half a dozen privateers in company? He rubbed the scars over his brow: the more he thought about it, the more ths possibility became a probability. It was a good twenty miles from Fort Royal Bay down to Pointe des Salines. From the time she looked into Fort Royal, went south to look round
Pointe des Salines and returned to Fort Royal, the Juno would have to cover forty miles. In a light breeze that could take eight hours.
Eight hours - yards up, sails bent on, and the ship under way: yes, it would need careful preparation but the French could do it. But in fact unless he looked into Fort Royal at dawn every day the French could have the whole night as well, with special lookouts along the coast warning them as the Juno made her way back north again ...
Those two frigates which had caused both Eames and the Welcome's lieutenant so little concern could break the blockade. If they knew when a convoy was due they could sail out and either capture the Juno or drive her off, and then help escort the convoy in. It was all very well for Admiral Davis to shrug off the little harbours of La Trinité and Robert on the Atlantic coast of Martinique. Certainly they were too small for landing supplies which would then have to be carried right over the mountain ridges to Fort Royal; but either harbour was ideally placed for a small French ship to sail in from the Atlantic and warn of a convoy's approach. Suddenly the blockade of Fort Royal took on a different appearance. Captain Eames and the Welcome brig had been lucky ...
Ramage found himself standing on the fo'c'sle by the belfry with no memory of having left the quarterdeck, but he was at last fairly clear in his mind what the blockade of Fort Royal entailed. He was startled to see Diamond Rock only a couple of miles ahead, fine on the starboard bow, and it was a fantastic sight: a rocky, stark islet jutting up out of the sea like an enormous tooth, nearly 600 feet high and each side about 400 yards long. Greyish rock mottled with patches of green and brown, like a great cheese attacked by mildew. With an effort he switched his thoughts back to the main problem.
First, he had to find out about the French frigates, and that meant going in close to Fort Royal to have a good look. Then he needed to know exactly what other ships and vessels the French had available in Fort Royal Bay, and that included the schooners and droghers anchored in the Salée River, on the south side. That was going to be a more difficult task because almost the entire Salée River anchorage was hidden behind Pointe de la Rose, with a fearsome number of shoals protecting it: even the French did not attempt to pass through them without local knowledge.
How well Fort Royal itself was protected was another question. The city itself did not matter, but the anchorage where the frigates were was vital. The batteries would be somewhere in the lee of Fort St Louis, which was built on a spit of land poking out southwards like a thumb. There would be other batteries, but the guns of Fort St Louis would be the most dangerous. Again Captain Eames and the Welcome's lieutenant were vague ...
He strode aft and told Wagstaffe, who was the officer of the deck, to pass the word for Mr Southwick to come to his cabin with the chart of Fort Royal Bay. At the top of the companionway he stared once again at the Diamond Rock. It seemed less menacing now because there was a scattering of green over the grey rock, like shreds of baize, and shrubs clung precariously to the almost sheer slopes. Beyond the Rock, across the Fours Channel, he could see a long silvery band of beach on the mainland: that must be the Grande Anse du Diamant, where the Welcome ran the drogher ashore, and which ended at the cliffs of Diamond Hill.
He acknowledged the Marine sentry's salute, went through to the great cabin and sprawled on the settee, feeling a sudden weariness which was mental rather than physical. He was asking too many questions and not finding enough answers. Southwick knocked on the door and came through into the cabin, a cheerful smile on his face. His expression did not change when he saw Ramage's furrowed brow,
‘That Diamond Rock is quite remarkable, isn't it, sir? I've been sketching it in the log. I estimate it is more than 550 feet high. And so parched I wonder how those goats manage to survive.'
'Goats?' Ramage exclaimed.
'Aye, I saw fifty or more through the glass, and that was only on the south-west side. Must be hundreds altogether. Means we can hunt for fresh meat when things are quiet - nice haunch of goat would make a pleasant change.'
Ramage snorted in disgust. 'You'd need to file your teeth first: the meat of those goats would serve as boot leather. They must live off the bushes; there's almost no grass except perhaps a little on the lower slopes.'
'It'd give the hunters plenty of exercise,' Southwick said happily, obviously not concerned about the toughness of the meat.
'Anyone needing exercise can arrange races up and down the rigging,' Ramage said crossly. 'Now, you have the chart of Fort Royal Bay?'
The Master unrolled it.
'Where would you expect the frigates to be anchored?’
'Carénage Bay,' Southwick said promptly, 'it's the deep cut just on the eastern side of Fort St Louis,' He turned the chart round and held it out for Ramage to see. 'If not there, then in front of the city - where it's marked "Anchorage des Flamands”.’
Ramage stared at the chart. 'Hmm, if we went close enough in - up here to the north-eastern corner of the Bay - we'd be able to look into the Salée River anchorage.'
'That's our best chance: I wouldn't feel confident taking the ship closer to the Salée,' Southwick admitted. 'Looks bad enough on the chart, and that doesn't show a tenth of the shoals. Coral grows there like weed in a garden. I'd say it was impossible to get into the anchorage itself without a local pilot. That's why the privateers like to use it. They know they're safe.'
'Safe from a frigate,' Ramage said thoughtfully, 'but sitting ducks for a boat attack.’
Southwick shrugged his shoulders. 'I must admit I'd sooner see those frigates out o' the way first, sir.'
'We've plenty of time,' Ramage said, beginning to cheer up. 'The frigates, the schooners, the droghers, the short batteries and then the goats if there's time to spare.'
'It'd be good exercise for the Marines,' said Southwick sardonically. 'Turn 'em loose on the Diamond with enough water for a week and tell 'em they have to live off the goats. Plenty of caves for them to sleep in - I saw three or four as we came by, some of them quite large.'
Ramage eyed Southwick with mock suspicion. 'I think you'd like to retire to the Diamond when the war is over.'
'We'll see.' Southwick was noncommittal. 'What are the orders for tonight, sir?'
Having discussed the navigation with the Master, Ramage passed the word for the First Lieutenant to join them. When Aitken arrived he told them briefly of the information passed on by the commanding officer of the Welcome. The First Lieutenant and Southwick both gave contemptuous sniffs, which Ramage found encouraging. The Master was always eager to seek out action, but up to this moment Ramage had had no chance to gauge Aitken.
'Do we have to leave those frigates in there, sir?' the First Lieutenant asked plaintively.
'Mr Southwick and I have just been going over the chart of Fort Royal Bay,' Ramage said. 'Have a look at it,' He gave Aitken a couple of minutes to absorb the general situation and then pointed to the two places where the frigates could be at anchor.
Aitken measured off distances from the latitude scale. ?Close enough to the Fort. Point-blank range . . .' he said mournfully.
Ramage felt disappointed: so the First Lieutenant was no fire-eater.
Aitken looked closely at the few soundings shown on the chart, and then dumbfounded Ramage by commenting: 'We'll have to sink one, since we can't tow 'em both out. Not unless they're rigged, in which case we could sail 'em.'
Ramage nodded as he thought the commanding officer of His Majesty's frigate Juno should nod when his First Lieutenant reached a conclusion he had himself reached a couple of hours earlier.
Aitken took out his watch and said eagerly. 'You plan to attack tonight, sir?'
Southwick shuddered and Ramage shook his head. 'We need to know a little more precisely where they are, and I don't think Mr Southwick would fancy piloting us into a harbour in the dark when he hasn't seen it for a few years. Not that I would ask him to, either!'
Aitken realized that his enthusiasm had run away with him. 'Of course, sir - but I’ll take a boat in ton
ight, if you wish. That way the French won't know the Juno is nearby.'
Ramage caught Southwick's eye and knew there was no need to worry about Aitken's aggressiveness; indeed it might be necessary to curb it. 'Don't worry about that: I'm sure the Governor at Fort Royal or St Pierre already knows we've relieved the brig. He's used to a British frigate tacking up and down the coast - this place has been under blockade for months.'
'That's what I find so puzzling about those frigates, sir,' Aitken said. 'Why haven't the French rigged 'em and used 'em to capture or drive off our ships?'
'The obvious reason may be the right one,' Ramage said quietly. 'Spars rotted or broken, short of cordage or sails . . . Probably waiting for supplies to arrive from France to commission them.'
Aitken looked at him admiringly, and Ramage felt embarrassed: it had been obvious enough to him, but not apparently to the First Lieutenant, nor, he saw from the look on Southwick's face, to the Master either.
'Give us a little more time,' Southwick commented.
'I hope so,' Ramage said, 'but I hope your thoughts aren't dwelling on those goats!'
'I'll let them take their turn,' Southwick said and began explaining the joke to Aitken, who looked excited and said enthusiastically: ‘I did a lot of deer hunting when I was a boy in Scotland, if that'd be any help.'
'Frigates,' Ramage said sternly, 'I'd be much obliged if you gentlemen would confine your thoughts to frigates, privateers and droghers.'
'Of course, sir,' said a chastened Aitken. 'Your night orders, sir?’
'Boat exercises,' Ramage said promptly. 'As soon as it is dark, we hoist out the boats and send away boarding parties. Issue them with muskets and pistols. Now's the time for them to make mistakes, out of earshot of the French. They'll row twice round the ship and then exercise at boarding us. We recover boats, hoist them out again, and do it once more. There won't be much sleep for anyone, but we'll have an easy day tomorrow.'