Ramage's Mutiny

by Dudley Pope

  Jackson snapped an order to the oarsmen and a moment later the bowman had hooked on with a boat-hook and the boat was rising and falling alongside the ship. Ramage jammed his hat on his head, swung his sword round out of the way, and leapt for the rope ladder hanging down the ship’s side.

  The men who met him on deck were unshaven, their faces drawn with weariness and despair. Behind them the wheel spun uselessly and in several places the deck planking was stove in where yards had crashed down. On the starboard side the bulwarks were jagged, sections crushed by the weight of the falling yards.

  One of the men stepped forward. He was solidly built and in better times he obviously had a cheerful face. Now his skin was grey from fatigue and his eyes rimmed with red.

  “I am the master of this ship,” he said nervously.

  Ramage nodded and answered in Spanish. “You are now prize to his Britannic Majesty’s ship Jocasta.”

  “But—well, when we first saw you we thought you were a Spanish frigate, La Perla.”

  By now the Marines had followed Ramage up the ladder and were spreading round the deck, covering the Spanish crew with their muskets. He decided to leave the Spanish master puzzled for the time being; first he wanted to find out about the “particular cargo.”

  “Show me the ship’s papers,” he said, and followed when the Spaniard pointed to the companion-way.

  The cabin was comfortable; it had a good deal of mahogany panelling and the furnishings were tasteful. The master went to his desk and unlocked a drawer.

  “The log and the ship’s papers,” he said, placing them on the desk and shutting the drawer again. Ramage saw that he was very nervous; his movements were jerky and his upper lip was beaded with perspiration. It was hot down here in the cabin, but that was the perspiration of nervousness, not heat.

  “Manifests, bills of lading … ?” Ramage asked.

  “We had not completed loading.”

  “You are wasting my time,” Ramage said impatiently. “You know what I am looking for. I can set my seamen to work searching through the holds until we find it, but unless you want to be left on board this wreck until you drift to the Mosquito Coast, I suggest you cooperate.”

  “Señor, I dare not …”

  “The papers are in that desk. Do you want me to have you seized so that I can get them out?”

  The man finally shrugged his shoulders, took another key from his pocket and unlocked the bottom drawer. Slowly he took out a sheaf of papers and put them on top of the desk. Ramage saw that he could not bring himself to push them across; that would be handing them over to the enemy. He reached over and took them.

  There were two or three dozen sheets of paper and most of them had at least one large seal. He began to leaf through them, intending to look for any that came from Panama. Half of them bore the seals of the office of the Viceroy of the Indies and the rest had the seals and signatures of the Captain-General of the Province of Caracas. They referred to two separate consignments of cargo.

  Then he found copies of receipts, notarized and signed by the master of the ship. They said that he had received the consignments on board, and described what they were. Ramage felt dizzy as he read the words again, and the quantities. He glanced up at the master, who was watching him like a rabbit paralysed by the eyes of a weasel.

  “Where is it stowed?” he asked.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AS THE Jocasta glided through the entrance to English Harbour, Ramage saw the Invincible at anchor in Freeman’s Bay with two frigates farther up towards the careening wharf. Jackson began calling out the numbers of a signal from the flagship, and Paolo was busy with the signal book.

  Southwick said suddenly: “Look, sir: the Invincible’s men are swarming up the rigging!”

  Was she about to get under way? Ramage trained his telescope on the fo’c’s’le of the flagship. No, there were no men there, so she could not be weighing anchor. The men continued climbing the rigging; then some spread out along the lower yards while others carried on upwards, to go out on the topsail and topgallant yards, looking at this distance like starlings on the branches of three trees.

  “They’re manning the yards!” Southwick exclaimed.

  “What on earth for?” Ramage muttered anxiously, trying to remember if it was the King’s or Queen’s birthday, or one of the half a dozen other days when salutes were fired. He saw both Aitken and Southwick staring at him.

  “They might be glad to see the Jocasta coming back,” Southwick said, barely troubling to keep the irony out of his voice.

  Now Paolo was reading out the signal: the Jocasta was to anchor to the north-west of the flagship—just in front of the masked battery, Ramage noted. A moment later Jackson was reporting another signal that had been hoisted by the flagship with the Calypso’s numbers.

  “Well, what is it?” Ramage asked Paolo impatiently.

  “She’s to anchor to the south-east of the flagship, sir.”

  The Admiral was gathering the frigates round him like a hen collecting her chicks.

  “The batteries, sir!” Southwick exclaimed and Ramage glanced up to the walls of Fort Barclay, built along the top of the western arm of the entrance. Rows of red-coated soldiers were standing to attention.

  There was no more time to think about all that. “Stand by for anchoring, Mr Southwick,” he snapped, and the Master hurried to the fo’c’s’le.

  Ramage picked up the speaking-trumpet, gave an order to the quartermaster and began shouting the sequence of orders for trimming the Jocasta’s yards round and bringing her to the positioning for anchoring.

  The ship was a hundred yards from the Invincible when it started: a stentorian “Hip, hip” followed by five hundred voices bellowing “Hurrah!”

  Birds wheeled up in alarm as the cheer echoed off the hills on either side of the anchorage and a few moments later came a second cheer, and then a third. What on earth does one do? Ramage could only recall the yards being manned to cheer a departing commander-in-chief, who usually stood on the quarterdeck saluting.

  He glanced astern to see that the Calypso was through the entrance under topsails only and already bearing up to anchor south of the Invincible. He looked forward again to make sure the cable was ranged on deck. The anchor was clear, the topmen waiting. Aitken was beside the binnacle and calling out the bearing of the flagship. Ramage lifted the speaking-trumpet to his lips. Every man in English Harbour was watching, from the Admiral to the most heavy-footed soldier in the island’s garrison; this was not the time to make a mistake in what the seaman-ship books referred to as “Bringing the ship to anchor.”

  Fifteen minutes later, with her topsails furled and riding to a single anchor, the Jocasta looked like any other frigate in English Harbour. The boatswain was being rowed round in one of her boats, giving signals to ensure the yards were square. A second boat had been hoisted out and Jackson was inspecting its crew, making sure their queues were neatly tied and that their shirts and trousers were clean.

  Ramage came up on deck with his best uniform, his sword slung, a canvas pouch of papers under his arm. The anchor buoy had hardly hit the water before the flagship had hoisted another signal for the Jocasta, ordering her commanding officer to come on board. They had sharp eyes on the flagship, spotting that he was not in the Calypso.

  The Admiral’s cabin was cool, and the Admiral watched impatiently as Ramage paused to unlace the canvas pouch and take out several papers.

  “Edwards,” he said, “tell that steward to step lively with those rum punches. Are you sure you don’t want a dash of rum in your lime juice?” he asked Ramage anxiously. “No? Well, you know best.”

  Clearly the Admiral regarded the drinking of lime juice without rum as a dangerous practice, liable to bring on any one of the dozen or so foul diseases which took their toll of men serving in the West Indies.

  “Carry on with your report,” he said impatiently. “The papers can wait. Now, what made you send that Spanish brig—what was
her name, the Santa Barbara?—back into Santa Cruz with the prisoners? She’d have been a useful ship. I can always use a fast brig.”

  “There were more than two hundred prisoners, sir. I had to send some of the Calypso’s men over to the Jocasta.”

  “Fifty men could have brought the Jocasta back. That would have left you with nearly two hundred men in the Calypso. More than enough to guard two hundred prisoners.”

  Ramage had guessed he would have to face that question, and he had spent much of the time on the passage north from the rendezvous off Bonaire—where he found that Wagstaffe had not even heard of a caldereta, let alone experienced one—trying to think of a satisfactory answer. He had concluded that it was easier to tell the truth, which was not the same as giving a satisfactory answer, because the Admiral would also be thinking of his own share in the prize-money the brig would have fetched.

  “I needed more men in the Jocasta, sir, so I gave Wagstaffe fifty men and put him in command of the Calypso.”

  “Wagstaffe? Why not your First Lieutenant, that Scots fellow, Aitken?”

  “I needed him on board the Jocasta, sir. You see—”

  “No I don’t. It seems to me you were very unwise in freeing two hundred prisoners. Trained seamen—just the sort of men the Spanish always need. And that brig—she’s the best ship they have on the Main. You gave them the ship back and five times the number of men needed to sail her.”

  Edwards said quietly: “Did you sail back direct from Santa Cruz?”

  “No, sir.” Ramage was grateful for the interruption. “You see, sir,” he told the Admiral, fighting to keep the exasperation from showing in his voice, “you want me to give you my report in the exact sequence that things happened?”

  “Yes, of course, it’s the only way to make a report. Can’t very well begin at the end, eh?”

  “After you sent the Santa Barbara back into port,” Edwards said, “you decided you wanted four-fifths of your men in the Jocasta, instead of splitting them evenly between the two frigates. Why?”

  “I read through the papers on board the Jocasta and found she was due to meet a merchant ship in La Guaira and escort her to Havana, where a convoy for Spain was forming,” Ramage said hurriedly, hoping to complete the explanation before he was interrupted again, but he was unlucky.

  “You understand Spanish?” the Admiral asked.

  “Yes, sir. And I knew the Jocasta could reach La Guaira before anyone could warn the Captain-General of the province that the frigate had been recaptured.”

  “Why go to La Guaira?” the Admiral demanded.

  “To cut out the merchant ship, sir; she—”

  “What? Do you mean to say you thought of risking losing the Jocasta again for the sake of some damned merchant ship? Why, she’d be laden with hides and dyewood and coffee; not worth a thousand pounds in prize-money. Well, thank goodness you didn’t go!”

  “But I did, sir.”

  “You didn’t get the ship, though!”

  “No, sir, she wasn’t there.”

  “There you are,” the Admiral said crossly. “Just taking a needless risk. Your orders were to cut out the Jocasta and bring her back here. There was no mention of cruising along the coast of the Main. Bring the Jocasta back here; that was the important thing. Their Lordships will be pleased; you’ll get all the credit, I’ll see to that.”

  Ramage sensed that Edwards was watching him closely and sympathizing with him for the way the Admiral interrupted and jumped to conclusions after insisting Ramage told his story in a precise sequence.

  “What happened at La Guaira?” Captain Edwards asked. Ramage described the caldereta, minimizing the risk to the Jocasta, and told how he had sailed into the empty anchorage under the Spanish flag, been boarded by the Mayor, commander of the garrison and Port Captain, and learned from them that the merchant ship had drifted out to sea after parting her anchor cables in the caldereta.

  “When I think of the Jocasta lying hove-to under the guns of that fort,” Admiral Davis said wrathfully, “I feel like bringing you to trial. Risking the Jocasta just to ask dam’ silly questions about a merchant ship. I’m not saying,” he added, “that I don’t want my captains to harass the enemy, but I did expect you to appreciate the Admiralty’s interest in the Jocasta; she’s not just another frigate.”

  At that moment the steward came in with a tray of drinks and hurriedly handed them round. The moment he had left the cabin Edwards said: “I get the impression that you had a particular interest in this merchant ship, Ramage.”

  “There were two phrases in the Captain-General’s orders,” Ramage explained. “One referred to ‘a particular cargo’ and the other referred to it as ‘valuable.’ The Viceroy was involved, so I thought it must be important!”

  “Bah!” the Admiral exclaimed. “He or his friends had an investment in it. Safeguarding his own purse. Anyway, you finally decided to obey my orders and bring the Jocasta back, and I’m thankful for that!”

  “Well,” Ramage said cautiously, “not immediately, sir. I—”

  “Don’t tell me you went off and searched for this ship?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But you didn’t find her! I’ve been waiting here day after day, waiting and worrying! What a damned waste of time—”

  “I think Ramage did find her,” Edwards said mildly. “What was she carrying?”

  “A quantity of pearls and emeralds consigned to the Spanish Crown,” Ramage said in a flat voice.

  The Admiral sat bolt upright. “A quantity?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why the devil didn’t you tell me this at the beginning?” The surprise had angered the Admiral, and Ramage looked at Edwards helplessly.

  “I think it was my fault, sir,” Edwards said smoothly. “I kept telling him to make his report in sequence, and—”

  “Yes, the poor fellow didn’t get a chance. Well, don’t keep on interrupting, Edwards, you confuse Ramage. Where are all these pearls and emeralds now?”

  “On board the Jocasta, sir.”

  “Why didn’t you bring them over with you?”

  “With me, sir?” Ramage said, startled.

  “Yes, with you. You can carry that dam’ pouch of papers; surely you could have put a bag of gems in your pocket?”

  The Admiral was obviously interested in his eighth share of the value and wanted to see them.

  Ramage looked the Admiral straight in the eye. “There are nine crates of pearls, two years’ output from the Pearl Island, and eleven crates of emeralds, two years’ output from the mines of the province of Columbia, sir. The crates weigh more than a ton, complete with royal seals.”

  For a full minute there was complete silence in the cabin. Ramage saw the Admiral trying to put a value on them, until finally he took a deep drink and then smiled happily, suddenly comfortable in the knowledge that his share of the prize-money would make him a rich man. “Orders should never be too rigid,” he said. “One must be careful not to stifle initiative. Remember that, Edwards.”