Ramage's Diamond

by Dudley Pope

  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.’

  ‘lt’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 tonight, 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 aleady 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.’

  Southwick and Aitken glanced at each other at his last words, but Ramage decided against explaining his plan. The ship’s company was in good spirits because it was confident. Now the men had to develop another kind of confidence – that they could deal with anything unexpected while in the boats. Most important of all, how to scramble up a ship’s side while armed with a pistol, musket, cutlass or pike, and with a determined enemy firing down at them. There would be no shooting while they exercised boarding the Juno in the darkness, but it would teach them that the side of a prison wall and the side of a frigate could be just as difficult to scale.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Next morning the Surgeon reported to Ramage shortly after dawn, holding a list in one hand and his journal in the other. Bowen had a long face and said mournfully, ‘It’s been a long time since I had to report men on the sick list, sir…’

  ‘You’d better start getting used to the idea,’ Ramage said grimly. ‘We’ll be seeing plenty of action in the next few weeks, I hope. Now, what sort of harvest did you reap last night?’

  Bowen held out the list. ‘The men are so careless,’ he grumbled. ‘They don’t seem to give a thought to their own safety.’

  ‘This list certainly bears that out,’ Ramage said crossly, and Bowen looked up, startled. ‘Four men wounded by the accidental discharge of pistols, one by a musket ball, one cut by a cutlass – how the devil can that happen? – and three with rope burns to the hands and shins.’

  ‘Accidents will happen, sir,’ Bowen said lamely.

  ‘Accidents? Five shots fired. Can you imagine that happening as boats row up with muffled oars to make a surprise night attack on an enemy ship at anchor? Even one shot would give the alarm. The enemy is alerted and opens fire, and every man in our boarding party might be killed. Twenty men die – many more if there are other boats – all because of the stupid, criminal carelessness of one man.’

  He looked down at the list and said wrathfully: ‘That can happen if one man is careless, but just look at this.’ He waved the paper. ‘Not one man but five. And in every case the man shoots himself or another of his shipmates. Well, I’m warning the ship’s company that the next time I’ll have each man flogged–’

  ‘Fortunately, sir, all the wounds are slight. I have–’

  ‘Bowen,’ Ramage snapped, ‘frankly I don’t give a damn about the wounds. What concerns me is the noise. A pistol shot at night can be heard for a couple of miles, let alone a couple of yards. Can’t you understand that one man’s carelessness can kill all his shipmates, and wreck a carefully planned attack?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I do understand about the gunshot wounds, but the rope burns–’

  ‘Rope burns!’ Ramage exclaimed. ‘Damnation take it, Bowen, these men are supposed to be seamen. Do I have to start training them to climb ropes?’

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ Bowen said nervously, not having seen Ramage so angry before, ‘I did question those three men because it surprised me too, and it was due to enthusiasm. All three were climbing the same rope to board the Juno, and apparently the lower two men were urging on the man above them. In his excitement he missed his grasp with one hand, began to slide and took the rest of the men down with him.’

  ‘Very well,’ Ramage said, a little mollified. ‘But this fellow with the cutlass wound?’

  ‘Didn’t Orsini report that incident to you, sir?’ Bowen asked cautiously.

  ‘What incident?’

  ‘Oh dear, sir, I seem to be getting into deep water. I don’t want to get Orsini into trouble…’

  ‘Out with it,’ Ramage ordered, ‘otherwise I’ll send for Orsini. I’ll have to anyway, if it is something he should have reported.’

  ‘Well, sir, apparently the boarders from the cutter came over the starboard side of the fo’c’sle and those from the launch over the larboard side. Both parties began boarding at the same time, and when they met on the fo’c’sle one man from each party began quarrelling about who was first on board. I’m sorry to say they came to blows.’

  ‘With cutlasses?’ Ramage asked incredulously.

  Bowen nodded. ‘One of them was cut and they only stopped slashing at each other when Orsini jumped between them. It was a very brave act on the part of the boy,’ he added.

  ‘Very foolish if you ask me. Were the men drunk?’

  ‘No, just excited. You see, sir, they’re so proud of the ship now that they’re all trying to outdo each other and be first at everything. I’m surprised–’

  When the Surgeon broke off, Ramage said, ‘Well, go on, man!’

  ‘I was going to say, if you’ll excuse the boldness, sir, that I was surprised you had not noticed it. All the lieutenants have been commenting on it for some time, and Southwick is most gratified…’

  ‘Proud, are they?’ Ramage exclaimed. ‘Well, after that farce last night they ought to be thoroughly ashamed. I assure you, Bowen, that I am heartily ashamed that I command a ship which is incapable of sending off boarding parties that don’t spend their time shooting at each other.’

  He gave the list back to Bowen. ‘It’s your job to treat these men, Bowen, but have you ever thought what a captain feels? I’m trying to train them so they stand the best possible chance of carrying out any orders I give them without unnecessary casualties. If I send out boarding parties made up of untrained men to attack a French ship and the boats return three-quarters full of dead and dying men, you’d be justified in blaming me. I’m trying to make sure it never happens; that every man realizes that a mistake, however slight, can get everyone killed.’

  Bowen nodded and folded the list. ‘I understand, sir,’ he said quietly. ‘If you’ll just sign the entry in my journals… I’ll have these men back on their feet as soon as possible.’

  Ramage went to the desk and took out pen and ink from the rack. He glanced down the names and was thankful to note that none of them was a former Triton. Under the ‘Disease and Symptoms’ column he saw that the gunshot wounds were comparatively slight. The cutlass wound was a gash on the forearm. He scribbled his signature and gave the journal back to the Surgeon.

  Bowen hesitated for a moment and then said cautiously: ‘Orsini’s failure to report the episode, sir…’

  Ramage raised his eyebrows. ‘Orsini?’

  The Surgeon grinned. ‘Thank you, sir. He’s a lad with plenty of spirit – I sometimes wish the Marchesa could see him now.’

  An hour after sunrise the Juno tacked off Pointe des Salines at the south end of Martinique and steered northwards along the coast, keeping as close in to the shore as Southwick’s sketchy charts allowed. Jackson was aloft at the foretopmasthead with strict orders to watch for any signs of shoals, and the Master had the chart spread out on the binnacle box, held down by weights and his quadrant.

  The Juno’s guns were loaded and run out, the lieutenants stood by on the maindeck, watching their own divisions, and Ramage stood aft beside the quartermaster
, a speaking trumpet on the deck beside him and a telescope in his hand.

  The land here was flat but rising slightly towards Pointe Dunkerque. That was a good place for a battery, to cover one side of the deep but narrow bay forming the anchorage of St Anne, with the village of Bourg du Marin at its head. It was a fine little anchorage for droghers carrying sugar cane from plantations at the south end of the island up to Fort Royal and St Pierre – and an equally good place for privateers to lurk, ready to snatch up a British merchantman making its way up or down the coast, while safe from any British frigate which would not risk the shoals almost closing the entrance. Yet, Ramage remembered, the Welcome brig had been close in under Pointe Dunkerque, and had not been fired on. Perhaps the French were short of guns, too, using those they had for the defence of Fort Royal and perhaps St Pierre, which had no harbour.

  The Pointe soon drew round on to the Juno’s quarter as Ramage took her over towards the headland on the northern side of the entrance. He now saw it would make more sense to place a battery on that side because any vessel beating into the bay, which ran north-east, would have to pass within a hundred yards of it to avoid shoals on the other side.

  He lifted the speaking trumpet and shouted the order that would brace the yards and trim the sheets as he gave the quartermaster instructions to steer a point more to starboard. Through the telescope he examined the headland, nearly a mile distant. There was a hint of a pathway leading up to an old stone wall partly overgrown with bushes. Then he noticed that the bushes round the wall were withered; the leaves were brown while those shrubs nearby were a living green. Was that some movement beyond the wall? It was hard to tell at this range.