Ramage And The Rebels r-9

by Dudley Pope

  'Sir!' he said, and when Ramage nodded he announced: 'I killed two, sir.'

  'Main-gauche?' Ramage enquired.

  The second one; not the first, sir."

  'Very good; I presume you missed with your pistol, but you must practise. Now rejoin your company.'

  'Mama mia,' Rossi murmured. 'In Volterra he had the good education.'

  'Wot's a "man goes"?' Stafford enquired.

  'Is when you have a dagger in the left hand and a sword in the right. The minute you get the other man's sword pointing away from you and him off the balance, you slip in the dagger.'

  'Well I never 1' Stafford's amazement was quite genuine.

  "Wot a good idea. Why don't we use "man goes"?'

  Jackson surveyed the pile of bodies. 'Savin' Mr Orsini's presence, we seem to do quite well without 'em.'

  Ramage counted the men as they fell in behind Jackson. The Dutch guide, whom Ramage had last seen just before the attack started, arrived mopping his face with a large handkerchief and holding a bloodstained sword in the other.

  'Good hunting, good hunting,' he grunted to Ramage. 'I do not think they stop again before West Punt. We kill many here. Some rebels are still alive, though.' There was no mistaking the regret in his voice nor the difference he made between Dutch rebels and French privateersmen.

  Ramage resumed his counting. Twenty - six ... are you one of my company? I thought so, fall in, and that's twenty - eight. And you two, you're late. Thirty.'

  The heat of the bonfire must be awful for some of those French wounded, and he'd do something about it as soon as he could, but his first concern was his own men, none of whom had forgotten the Tranquil. 'Jackson, collect reports from the lieutenants and the sergeant.'

  Ten minutes later Ramage was listening to the American, scarcely able to believe his ears. Four Marines wounded (one gunshot and three sword cuts); four seamen known to have been killed and three wounded; and seven more missing. Only eighteen casualties, assuming that the seven missing were dead or wounded. Ramage had reckoned on fifty - although the operation was far from complete.

  He turned to his company. 'Working in pairs, I want you to find the enemy wounded. Those that can be moved, bring them here, away from the heat but where there's still some light. Jackson, tell Mr Aitken to send the two surgeon's mates in his company to join us here.'

  He turned to the Dutch guide. 'Can you find your way back to Amsterdam?'

  'Of course, sir.'

  'I'll give you an escort. I want you to report what you've seen to the Governor, but first I want you to send out to this place all the horses and carts you can find. Bring straw, mattresses, cloth for bandages - anything that will make the journey easier for the wounded. Some of them,' he added, noting the look in the Dutchman's eyes, 'are our own men. And tell the Governor any surgeons would be welcome - they should ride out at once, bringing bandages and instruments.'

  'Yes, sir, but I prefer no escort: I will be faster alone!'

  For the next two hours the Calypsos sorted the dead from the living, frequently stoking the bonfire with brushwood to give themselves more light. The moon rose, its light cold and forbidding compared with the yellow flames of the bonfire.

  The French casualties round the bonfire would have been horrifying, Ramage thought, but for the Tranquil: ninety - eight dead, forty - two badly wounded and eleven wounded but able to walk. A total of one hundred and fifty - one . . . nearly a third of the rebel force, and enough to man a 32 - gun frigate. Then he reminded himself that it also meant that two - thirds of the enemy had escaped. Three hundred and fifty of them were at this very moment over there to the west, reorganizing themselves . . .

  Three Marines guarded the eleven walking wounded, and Ramage decided to question them. If they had come from the western end of the island, the rest of the rebels might now return to the same place. He saw one man whose wounded leg had been bandaged and who was wearing what seemed to be the remnants of a French Navy officer's uniform. He was a young man, his face hard, narrow and angular, unshaven for several days, his sallow complexion seeming darker in the red glow of the fire.

  'Your name and rank?' Ramage enquired in French, kneeling beside the man. He noticed one of the Marine sentries move round a yard, or two, so that Ramage did not interfere with his field of fire.

  'Brune, Jean Brune.'

  For a moment Ramage felt dizzy. "You command the Nuestra Senora de Antigua!' 'No, that is - that was - my brother. I command L'Actif.' 'Your brother - where is he?'

  'Adolphe? He is over there.' The man gestured to where the bodies had been carried. 'Murdered. And you, M'sieur, who are you?"

  'Captain Ramage. I commanded the attack.'

  'Ah, so you are this Ramage, eh? We heard you were on the coast. We might have guessed.'

  'Guessed what?'

  'That you would attack treacherously, like an assassin in the dark.'

  'I found a British merchant ship after your brother had finished with it in daylight. She was called the Tranquil.' 'Yes, he told me of it. A British frigate came in sight.'

  'So your brother murdered everyone on board, including several women, who were raped as well, before he fled.'

  Jean Brune shrugged his shoulders. 'One woman, but surely not several."

  Ramage looked at the sneering face. No remorse, no surprise, and apparently ho regrets. Raping and killing women was unfortunate - because they might have been ransomed.

  'Your brother - what does he look like?'

  'Very big. Tall and broad, with big moustaches. A man kill him with a cutlass. My brother is - was - a fine swordsman. He must have tripped, for this English sailor to kill him.'

  'You saw it happen?"

  'Yes, I was lying on the ground, a musket ball in my leg.'

  'And your brother fell forward on this British sailor, so they collapsed together?"

  'Yes - 1 tell you, he must have tripped. He was a fine man, my brother."

  Ramage nodded soberly. 'I killed him, and he didn't trip. I am sorry he is dead.'

  'You should be,' Jean Brune said bitterly. 'Such a fine man, my brother. My older brother, you understand; he taught me everything of the sea', from when we were boys in Brittany. And he took me privateering, and later he helped me buy my ship.'

  'Yes,' Ramage said quietly, 'I am sorry your brother is dead: I had hoped to have him hanged from a gallows in Port Royal. And you - if any of my men find out you are his brother, your life won't be worth a puff of smoke, so guard your tongue.'

  Brune sat up on one elbow, his eyes widening in fear. 'But you must give orders to protect me. As an English officer you would not let one of your prisoners be murdered!'

  'Wouldn't I? Your brother did. In fact he ordered it'

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The first carts arrived an hour after dawn. Two nervous Dutch surgeons had come on horseback, obviously unwilling and acting under orders, and with them was the guide, who told Ramage that he had reported to the Governor.

  'Is there any message from His Excellency?'

  The guide shook his head. 'More carts come soon and the hospital has been warned to - how do you say? - to stand by.'

  'Do you speak French?'

  'Some - enough, I think.'

  'I'm leaving you a dozen men to help you get the wounded back to Amsterdam. If you have spades and picks you can bury the dead here; otherwise take them back to the city.'

  The seven missing British seamen had been found: two were dead, killed in sword fights, and five were wounded, one badly. A total of six dead and twelve wounded. For the moment Ramage did not want to know the names of the dead; there would probably be more before sunset The British dead and wounded - they go in the first carts.'

  'Of course,' the Dutchman said. The doctors are already attending them with your surgeon's mates.'

  The guide was an unimaginative but competent man, and it was clear that he hated Dutch rebels, Frenchmen and anyone else who wilfully interrupted the normal peace and quiet of life
in Curacao. The British were helping to restore that peace and quiet and for that reason (for that reason only, Ramage was certain) they had his loyalty and assistance.

  Ramage turned away to look for Rennick but Jackson came up, carrying something carefully.

  'Breakfast, sir. Some fine slices o' beef. One of the men has roasted them specially. Just about scorched his eyebrows off, too!'

  And suddenly, at the thought of munching juicy slices of beef, Ramage felt faint from hunger. He grinned at Jackson as he took the meat, which was stacked like several thin slices of bread and dripping with juice. 'Have all the men eaten and packed away some for later?'

  'Only you and Mr Aitken to eat now, sir. The men have had enough to last a week.'

  'And Mr Orsini?'

  Jackson began laughing. 'He's been your head chef, sir, standing over the man who was roasting it. Reckon he knows just how you like it, sir, red in the middle and brown at the edges. Most concerned, he was.'

  Ramage sat down and began eating. The rising sun was still below the horizon but just beginning to catch the peak of Sint Christoffelberg, which was 1200 feet high, although not yet lighting the top of Tafelberg in front of it, which was only 750 feet.

  Where were the rebels making for? There were villages all round Sint Christoffelberg, although it seemed possible they'd make for Sint Kruis Baai, on the coast near the southern slope of the great peak and close to where the Calypso had been when she first sighted La Perle. Then Ramage dismissed the idea: why make for a bay when you have no boats to rescue you?

  This beef is good. It tastes all the better for being eaten with the fingers, juice running down the sleeve and down the chin, tickling, and the chin unshaven and rasping as a sleeve serves as a napkin. All the better, too, knowing that all the men now bustling around have eaten their fill of it. No one at the finest hotel in London could taste such beef - but two hundred Calypsos had just gorged themselves on it. They deserved such a feast, even though there were no vegetables and no tots to wash it down - the Marine sergeant had. been ordered to pour away all the wine, otherwise by now several men would be drunk.

  It was, of course, a feast in a strangely beautiful cemetery, because the corpses of the Frenchmen were still over there, but the rising sun was casting fantastic long shadows, using rounded hills and mountain peaks and cactus and the small divi-divi trees which always pointed towards the west, leaning in deference to the Trade winds. No clouds yet and the stars have faded, the moon becoming anaemic. In a few minutes the sun will come with its usual rush and the grey countryside will suddenly be dappled with pink as the upper rim - he shook his head and stood up: there had been killing a few hours ago, there was more to come. His cutlass was still stained with the blood of Brune - he refused to think of the grim coincidence which had brought them together, because killing the man gave no satisfaction: he would have preferred a trial. Time, time when Brune was locked alone in a cell and perhaps in the long nights the enormity of what he had done in the Tranquil would come to him. Yet it would not; a man who could order the unnecessary massacre of innocent men and women was so beyond the understanding of civilized people that he was almost beyond judicial punishment: one did not try a rabid dog.

  'Ah, Rennick!' The Marine officer had seen him get up from his meal, and was ready for orders. 'Well, you still have your guide - I'm leaving mine here to get the casualties back to Amsterdam. So let's ferret out the rest of those rebels. Have your guide question anyone you see on the road: we don't want to march a yard more than necessary.'

  'I was just going to report, sir,' Rennick said, 'but I decided to wait until you'd eaten. A Dutch farmer who rode in to see what was happening - the rebels burned down his house two days ago - has just told the guide that he's just seen them beyond a village called Pannekoek, about six or seven miles along the road. It's a couple of miles short of Sint Kruis Baai. They're just gathered there, in no sort of order, and apparently with no leader. He's emphatic they're in no sort of order. They had small campfires lit and went hunting for cattle and goats to cook - there are very few cattle there, he says, so they'll have to be content with goat, which the local people won't normally eat.'

  'We can't trap them, I suppose?'

  'No, sir, not from what he says and the map shows. When they see us coming they'll just move west. We can only trap them at the far end of the island, West Punt, when they meet the sea.'

  'Very well, let's see your Marines stepping out. A steady pace, not too fast: the seamen have some aching muscles after the night's stroll.'

  As Ramage watched the French camp through his telescope he cursed the Dutch farmer, although it was not the poor fellow's fault that the French had marched another couple of miles and then spent the busiest morning of their lives since the Dutchman passed. The Frenchmen's backs would be aching, their hands sore, their heads aching from the triple assault of last night's drinking, this morning's effort, and the scorching sun beating down on them as they picked up hundreds - thousands more likely - of the rocks and stones littering the fields and used them to build up three or four dozen little defensive positions, like miniature butts built for a partridge or pheasant drive, along the top of a hill at the eastern side of Sint Kruis Baai.

  Obviously this was where the French and the rebels had decided to stand and fight. With the sea at their backs in the protected bay, perhaps they intended to retreat to ships or boats - there might be other privateers around, though Ramage doubted it. Were some privateersmen going to try to seize one or two of those anchored in Amsterdam and sail them round here? That too seemed doubtful, and even if they tried they were unlikely to succeed.

  Rennick, who was also lying beside Ramage inspecting the French defences, was impressed by the amount of work but scornful of its effectiveness. 'All that shifting of stone would be admirable if they were building a barracks,' he said. 'The masons could pick and choose. But they've fallen into the trap of fixed defences.'

  Ramage smiled to himself; it was a trap from which Ren - nick had been rescued only yesterday, when he had planned a defence for Amsterdam. They've chosen a good place, though,' he said mildly. 'That hill rising gently means they look down on us, and behind there's only a few feet of cliff to jump down if they want to get away in boats.'

  'Oh yes,' Rennick said airily, 'they can watch us, but each of our men needs only a dozen rocks and he's safe behind his own musket - proof rampart'

  'But we have to storm them uphill,' Ramage said, curious to see what Rennick had in mind. 'And with all these divi-divi trees and cactus and whatever those other bushes are called, the men will be slowed up. Why, you can't even see the ground for the undergrowth!'

  'Attack in the dark, sir,' Rennick said. 'Or, rather, just as darkness falls. Then we can see them against the afterglow of the sunset, but we are coming from the east and attacking out of the dark half.'

  'Rennick, is that really a good bet? The odds mean the bookmaker can't lose. Two defenders to one attacker, the attackers slowed up by the slope of the hill and undergrowth, with no surprise possible . . .'

  The Marine officer was silent for a minute or two and then admitted: Their position does in effect give them another hundred men, I admit; but they'll be fighting with their backs to the sea, so they've cut off their own line of retreat.'

  'Then they must be pretty sure they won't have to retreat,' Ramage said, deliberately making his voice sound .grim. 'Militarily we don't seem to be in a very good position."

  Rennick wriggled, looked again through his telescope, and then said judicially: 'I have to agree with you, sir."

  'All this military business baffles me,' Ramage suddenly admitted. 'I'd be lost the moment I went through the gateway at the Horse Guards. But as a sailor I can see we have one advantage.'

  Rennick waited to hear about it and when Ramage said nothing, finally asked: 'What advantage had you in mind, sir?'

  'We have the weather gage; with this south - east wind we are to windward of them.'

  'But sir,
I don't see how that can help us.'

  'Oh, there are many advantages. We can breathe garlic over them. If they look hungry we can roast some beef over a bonfire and drive them mad with starvation as they smell the aroma. We can call out insults and be sure they hear every word.'

  He scrambled back, followed by Rennick, and learned that all the lieutenants had managed to get some sleep after arriving at Sint Kruis, and they reported that except for sentries their companies were also sleeping, the seamen quite cheerfully curling up on the hard ground and in the blazing sun, the only requirement being a small pile of rocks to protect them from French fire. Sentries squatting behind larger piles were also watching for any of their own shipmates who while asleep rolled over beyond the shelter of the rock piles.

  The lieutenants soon received their orders, grinning at their simplicity, and Ramage, taking one last look at the French positions, glanced over to his right and saw that the wind was still steady in strength and direction, a breeze from the east, with an extra gust every few minutes that was just strong enough to make the dust rise up in little eddies. Yes, it was east now, but one could never be sure it would not back to the north - east or veer to the south - east. There was very little cloud; a few cotton balls whose whiteness was emphasized by the hard blue of the sky. It was strange to be lying here on earth, smelling all the strange odours that went with life on land. The sharp sweetness of thyme, the spicy smells of plants and shrubs whose names he did not know.

  He dosed the telescope and slid it into a pocket. The French seemed to be dozing; they bad not - so far, anyway - put out sharpshooters to keep up a hail of musket fire every time a Briton moved. Were they short of muskets, powder or shot? Surely not every man had bolted from the bonfire leaving his gun behind? Perhaps, but at least each man would have a cutlass, and this was the sort of situation which must be settled finally with the blade of a sword, the edge of a tomahawk or the point of a pike.

  The wind was freshening, there was no doubt about that, and the cotton - ball clouds were swelling up with the warmth of the sun. In half an hour, with the land heating up, the breeze would be brisk as the Trade winds set in for the day. He wanted no more than that, of course. It had taken only five minutes to tell the lieutenants what he wanted done and to make sure they all understood. Some men might be killed or wounded but once again, if they obeyed orders they would have the advantage of surprise, the invisible armour which had so often protected them in the past.