by Dudley Pope
Hart said: 'I must introduce the mate, Jean-Louis Belmont. Unfortunately he speaks no English.'
Aitken nodded and bowed. The first lieutenant noted that despite the fatness, the man had climbed up the side without getting out of breath. And he was French. Presumably a royalist and a refugee from Bonaparte's regime. He took a risk if ever the privateer had been captured while the war was on: the French would have hanged him at once as a traitor.
The next man on board was small, muscular, with blond hair beginning to turn grey. Unlike the others he wore breeches instead of trousers and had a severely-cut coat of dark green. Aitken was unsure whether meeting him on shore he would mistake the man for a farmer or a rural dean. Unexpectedly he stood to attention, bowed his head, and moved to one side. Hart was busy looking round the ship and did not introduce the man, who did not give his name. Aitken was sure, from his appearance and manner, that he was Scandinavian.
The fourth man to come through the entryport was the big Negro, still carrying the boarding pike, although he had spun it a few times to wind the white flag round it.
Hart turned and said: 'Tomás - he's Spanish; speaks no English.'
'You have a language problem in the Lynx!'Aitken said, but Hart shook his head.
'I've picked up a few words here and there.'
Aitken waited for him to continue, but the four privateersmen stood in a half circle, as if waiting for him to make the next move. The first lieutenant glanced over towards the Lynx as if intending to admire their ship but in fact to see if boats were coming from the merchantmen. No boats had moved; those with their boats made up astern with painters still had them sitting like ducklings behind the mother and the rest of the boats hoisted up in quarter davits or still amidships, stowed on the cargo hatches.
Aitken looked across at Hart, puzzled by what he now recognized as a strange sight. Hart stared back at him and said in a flat voice: 'We want to see your captain.'
'Explain your business,' Aitken said brusquely, 'then I'll see if he has time: he is very busy.'
'What's his name?'
'Ramage, Captain Ramage.'
'Christ,' Hart said in a low voice, 'of all the ones the Admiralty pick it has to be him!'
'You know him?'
'Know of him,' Hart said, 'who doesn't? Well -' he shrugged his shoulders and said something in rapid Spanish to Tomás, who swore, '- fetch him.'
'I don't fetch the captain,' Aitken said stiffly.
'Now you do,' Hart sneered. 'You see those ships?' he gestured at the anchored merchantmen.
When Aitken nodded. Hart said: 'They're all our prizes. Now fetch your precious Mr Lord Ramage.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ramage sat in his chair behind his desk, not because he needed the desk in front of him but because his cabin was crowded with the four privateersmen, Aitken and Southwick. Aitken had hurried in to give a quick explanation of why he was bringing the privateersmen down and a couple of minutes later had led them in, Southwick following presumably because he realized something strange was happening.
'Strange' was the appropriate word. For the moment the privateersmen were settling themselves down with the leader, the Englishman calling himself Hart, sitting in what was usually regarded as Southwick's armchair and his three companions taking up the settee. Southwick stood one side of the door and Aitken the other, both stooped because there was not enough room to stand upright under the deck beams.
This is the first time I have taken my ship to a foreign island in peacetime, Ramage reflected, and I meet a situation more perplexing than any I met in the war. Perplexing because more than a hundred and fifty innocent lives are at stake: people I have never seen; men and women passengers, officers, petty officers and seamen from five merchant ships: Dutch, French and British. What did this fellow Hart want or intend? Well, the privateersmen seemed to be waiting for him to start the proceedings.
'Well, Mr Hart, my first lieutenant tells me you command the Lynx privateer, and you claim that the merchant ships anchored here are your prizes.'
'Correct, except for the "claim". I'm not "claiming"; they are.'
Ramage nodded, as if accepting the point, but he said quietly, as though mentioning it apologetically: 'Britain and France have signed a treaty: Britain is now at peace with France, Spain and the Netherlands. Can you take prizes in time of peace?'
'We can,' Hart said bluntly. 'We have.'
Again Ramage nodded. 'The two British, two French and one Dutch ships I see at anchor here?'
'Those very ones. And probably another two or three within a week: our sister ship is still at sea.'
'Yes, it must be quite easy taking prizes now,' Ramage said. 'No one expecting trouble: guns not loaded - in fact I expect many merchant ships will have landed their guns.'
'They will, they will,' Hart said confidently.
'What do you propose doing with your prizes?'
At that moment the black spoke to Hart in rapid Spanish, demanding to know what was being discussed. Ramage was surprised at the words the man chose. He was careful to keep the tone of voice suitable for a seaman who was probably a bodyguard, but the actual words in Spanish were those an officer would use to a seaman. Clearly neither Hart nor the black had the slightest idea that Ramage spoke Spanish. The only trouble was that Ramage's Spanish and accent were Castilian, while the black spoke the crude and heavily-accented Spanish of the New World; almost as hard to understand as the Creole spoken by blacks in the French islands.
'What are you telling this man?' the black was asking.
'Just that the ships are our prizes, Tomás.'
'You be sure he makes no argument.'
'He is not. He is accepting everything.'
'Why?' The black was shrewd and probably the real captain of the Lynx: Ramage was becoming quite sure of that.
'I do not know,' Hart said vaguely. 'What else can he do?'
'Find out,' Tomás said.
Hart turned to Ramage with a friendly smile. 'Tomás speaks no English; I was explaining what we had been discussing.'
'Perhaps you'd like to translate for the benefit of your French mate as well?'
Hart nodded and quickly related to Belmont the gist of the conversation so far, and Ramage's suspicion was confirmed: Belmont was of no consequence. Once again the tone was right but the words used were those a master would use to a petty officer, not his second-in-command.
The hierarchy of the Lynx, Ramage guessed, was that the big Spanish Negro, Tomás, was the leader, with Hart the second-in-command, while Belmont and the silent blond were mates.
'Well, Captain,' Hart said smoothly, 'you do not seem very surprised to find five prizes anchored here at Trinidade!'
'Oh, I wouldn't say that,' Ramage said vaguely. Tomás would not understand the words, but he would be quick to notice if a foreigner was an ineffectual man. Clearly Hart knew of Captain Ramage - he had made that clear at the beginning - but Tomás would not believe him if he saw that this Captain Ramage had a vague and indecisive manner. Even Hart might begin to wonder. 'Well, yes, I suppose I was surprised to find ships here. After all, it isn't a very big island. It takes a lot of finding.'
'You had trouble?' Hart asked casually.
'Oh yes. Our chronometer is not very accurate.' He was careful not to look at Southwick as he added: 'Fortunately one can run the westing down.'
Hart said quickly in Spanish to Tomás: 'They had to run their westing down to find this place.'
Tomás said nothing and Ramage said innocently to Hart: 'You did not say what you were going to do with your prizes.'
'No, I didn't. It now depends on you, to some extent.'
Ramage thought quickly, and then yawned, delicately picking fluff from his coat. 'Oh, does it? It's not really my responsibility, you know. After all, you're the privateer. Well, the war's over now, so I suppose your letter of marque has expired, or whatever it does when a war ends. But your prizes are your affair - after all, even if the war was still on, they'd
still be no concern of mine.'
'I'm glad to hear you say it,' Hart said.
'Oh indeed,' Ramage said, as though politely delighted that Hart agreed. 'I have my orders from the Admiralty and I really can't get involved in anything else - not without orders from their Lordships.'
'Might one ask if your orders will keep you here for long?' Hart asked cautiously.
Ramage shook his head and resumed the search for fluff on his coat. 'There's no secret about my orders: I've come here to survey the island and map it, and make a chart of the anchorages.'
'Why? Are the Admiralty going to start using it?'
'Use it?' Ramage said scornfully. 'I doubt it! Who the devil could find it! Anyway, it's a long way to anywhere else. No, Ascension is good enough for the Cape and John Company ships.'
'Why the sudden interest in Trinidade, then?'
'It's not a sudden interest in Trinidade,' Ramage said, with another yawn. 'The war is over, but the Admiralty have to keep a certain number of ships in commission, especially frigates. So they are sending several of them off to survey various unusual places. I expect one has gone to St Paul Rocks and another to Fernando de Noronha, for example. And probably Ascension; the charts for them are terrible, I know.'
'So how—' Hart was interrupted by Tomás asking what was being discussed. Hart told him that Ramage was not concerned about the privateer; that he wanted to avoid any responsibility, and that he was only concerned with carrying out his orders, to survey Trinidade.
'How long does he plan to be here?'
'I'll ask him.'
'You had better tell him why he cannot interfere with the prizes.'
'But he does not intend to anyway.'
'If he is going to be here long,' Tomás said, obviously controlling his impatience with Hart, 'it is only a matter of time before someone from one of the prizes raises the alarm. Anyway, this Ramage will expect to be invited to dinner by the other masters. When no invitations come, even he will get suspicious - if he can stay awake long enough.'
Ramage managed to keep his face blank at this unwitting praise for his acting. But what on earth was Tomás talking about?
'How long do you reckon on staying here, then?' Hart asked.
Ramage held out his hands, palms uppermost, in a gesture well understood by all Latins. 'Who knows? How big is the island, how long will my surveyors and draughtsmen take with their maps? How long will my lieutenants take with their soundings? Two months, four, six? Blessed if I know. I should think you'll be long gone before we've finished.'
Hart nodded, but was obviously puzzled how to carry out the important part of Tomás's instructions.
'Captain Ramage,' he said, a more formal note in his voice. 'About these prizes of ours...'
Ramage raised an eyebrow. 'Your affair, my dear chap. If you take prizes that's your responsibility. The courts decide, as you know. You might have trouble over those two British ships, of course - unless they'd been captured by the French, and you recaptured them. But I'm not the judge and I'm sure you know all about the Prize Act.'
'Oh yes, don't worry your head about that, sir,' Hart said, a confidential note in his voice. 'No, what I was going to explain is that of course we have prize crews on board each of the ships.'
'Oh yes, I assumed that.'
'Yes, and our men have orders,' Hart said casually but there was no mistaking the warning, 'to kill all the passengers the minute they see there's any danger of losing a ship.'
'What, if the prize crew run a ship on a reef, they murder the passengers? Hardly seems just, I must say.'
Hart clucked like a disappointed schoolteacher. 'No, no, no sir, not that sort of danger. I mean if they saw there was any chance of their ships being recaptured...'
'Can't see who'd try to do that,' Ramage said, obviously puzzled. 'After all, the war is over. Why, that'd be an act of piracy, surely?'
A contented smile spread over Hart's face. 'Why, of course, sir, that's exactly what it would be, and that is why our prize crews have those orders; we have to be on our guard against piracy.'
Again Ramage looked puzzled, scratching his head with one hand and tugging at the knee of his breeches with the other. 'Yes, but I can't see how killing the passengers keeps pirates away.'
'Oh, I see what you mean, Captain, but if you just think of it as insurance, you'll understand.'
'Ah yes, just insurance. Very wise too: never sail underinsured, somebody once told me. "Beware of barratry by master and crew and pay the premiums promptly" - that was what he said, and it's wise advice, don't you think?'
'Indeed it is,' Hart patiently agreed, 'and we have the officers and men staying in a camp on shore.' He turned to Tomás, saying in Spanish: 'I have told him about the hostages and he sees nothing wrong about us having prizes. He might be a brave man - he must be, to have his reputation - but he's a fool. He's swallowed our story like a pike taking a minnow. So we can wait for our friends with more prizes, and then we can all sail in one convoy, leaving this pudding to finish his survey.'
'Good, so now be helpful: tell him where to get fresh water. Then he will not be suspicious.'
Hart waved away the idea. 'It is not necessary, Tomás. He is not short of water, or he would have asked us about rivers and springs. No, believe me, I understand these people. We say goodbye now and go.'
'Lead the way and say the right things then,' Tomás said, and anyone listening but unable to speak Spanish would not have realized that the big black had been giving orders.
Fifteen minutes later Southwick was sitting in the armchair, Aitken leaned back on the settee with his hat beside him, and Ramage sat at the desk, looking far removed from the vague, hesitant and languid individual who had talked to the privateersmen.
'What was the flag of truce all about?' Southwick asked.
Ramage looked at Aitken, who shook his head. 'I think they thought we might have known what they were doing,'
Ramage said. 'The sight of one of the King's ships sailing into the bay must have startled them. But as we didn't have our portlids up and guns run out, they were puzzled too. By coming out under flag of truce, perhaps they thought they were safeguarding their own necks.'
'I couldn't understand the Spanish parts, sir,' Aitken said, 'but why did Hart take so much trouble to translate for that black while ignoring the other two?'
'The black is the leader,' Ramage said. 'He's the deep one; ten times the brains of Hart.'
Southwick gave a deep sniff and Ramage guessed that he was impressed by the black's shrewdness. 'What was his name? Thomas?'
'The Spanish version. Hart speaks reasonably good Spanish and good French.'
'Comes from the West Country,' Southwick commented. 'Bristol, I reckon.'
'Probably, because he said the Lynx hailed from there,' Aitken said. 'Mind you, it's a fake name, I'll be bound.'
Ramage let the two men gossip for a few more minutes because, having just had a shock when they did not expect it, they needed some idle talk to let their thoughts settle. Then the questions would come poking up, like fish in a stream looking for flies. Finally Aitken coughed and both Southwick and Ramage looked at him.
'When that fellow Hart said that their prize crews had orders to kill the passengers if the ships were in danger, sir, what did he mean?'
Ramage's face hardened and his brown eyes seemed more sunken than ever, his high cheekbones becoming more pronounced and his narrow nose more beaklike.
'We were being warned. Hart was telling us that they have armed men in each merchant ship, guarding the passengers, who are in fact hostages. He said the officers and men are on shore "in a camp". That means there are a dozen or more hostages in each vessel, and if we make any attempt to recapture any of the ships or attack the Lynx, they'll simply massacre the hostages.'
'Stalemate,' Southwick said crossly.
'I wish it was,' Ramage said. 'At the moment the privateers hold the pistol at our heads. We can do nothing. That devil Tomás has probably given
orders that if we so much as wave a musket, all the hostages get their throats cut. Remember, a privateer carries a large number of men solely to provide crews for the prizes. I doubt if the Lynx needs even one man from an original crew to sail a ship, so the officers and men could be thrown over the side. I've no idea if they'll bother to ransom the hostages - they might think it too much effort and risk for too little profit.
'They'll sell each ship and cargo for cash to unscrupulous owners anxious to increase their fleets. Paint out the old name, line in a new, hoist fresh colours and no one will ever guess that's a ship which apparently vanished while the war was on.'
Southwick nodded admiringly. 'Privateers in wartime and pirates in peace. More profitable in peacetime - they're not at the mercy of the Admiralty court judge's valuation of a prize: they get the full market value with no deductions for agents, court fees and bribes. And, being pirates, they can disregard a ship's colours - look at the ones they've got out there: French, Dutch and British. No Spanish, though; perhaps this fellow Tomás draws the line at that!'
Ramage shook his head. 'That man has no loyalty to anything. There are no Spanish simply because there are so few Spanish ships at sea. Wait until the Lynx's sister ship comes in - she may have picked up a Don.'
'Well, what are we going to do?' Southwick asked angrily. 'We can't just look at these devils knowing that the ships are prisons for the passengers.'
'We can send the men to quarters and weigh and sink the Lynx. Mind you, you wouldn't have the bars in the capstan or the portlids raised before every hostage would be dead,' Ramage said quietly.
Aitken said: 'What do you propose, sir?'
'Let's wait a few days and just watch. We'll put the surveyors on shore each day, and you can send off Martin and Orsini in boats to take soundings and start that chart. Get the privateersmen accustomed to seeing our boats bustling about - but keep away from the prizes. Not obviously; just don't let any boat pass within hail.'
