by Dudley Pope
'Our own casualties?' Ramage asked quietly.
'About a dozen dead and wounded to larboard, I should think, sir. I have parties going round attending to the wounded, and Mr Bowen has half a dozen men helping him.'
'Very well,' Ramage said soberly, 'we were very lucky.'
'Lucky?' Aitken was too startled to say 'sir', and added: 'It all worked perfectly!'
Ramage turned back to the quarterdeck rail. Perhaps it had worked out perfectly so far, but none of them realized that up to now they had carried out barely a third of his plan: the hardest part was yet to come.
Two hours before dawn Ramage was weary but still excited. He had questioned the captain of the larboard schooner for half an hour and by playing alternately on the Frenchman's pride and his fear of what was going to happen now he was a prisoner, had managed to discover what the French had intended.
The two schooners, La Mutine and La Créole, had been taken over by the French Navy the day before the Juno sailed into Fort Royal Bay, and the first lieutenants of the two frigates had been put in command. Each had forty men taken from the frigates and embarked seventy soldiers from the 53rd Regiment. Their mission, the French lieutenant had said, was to board the Juno simultaneously from each side and take her into Fort Royal. After that the Frenchman would say no more. Ramage guessed that the man had decided it was proper to discuss the operation, but the way he had then refused further information made Ramage suspect him of hiding a great deal more than he revealed.
He had just signalled to the two Marines to take the Frenchman away when Aitken came into the cabin, obviously excited. The moment the Marines and their prisoner had left he said: 'Orsini and Rossi, sir: they've found an Italian among the prisoners who wants to quit the French and serve with us! He's a quartermaster and seems an intelligent fellow.'
'Fetch him in - but I'll talk to Orsini first'
The midshipman was almost giggling with excitement. He and several seamen, including Rossi, were guarding prisoners, he told Ramage, when Rossi had made some comment in Italian. One of the prisoners immediately spoke - 'In the accent of Genoa,' Orsini said, with all the contempt of one who spoke with the clear accent of Tuscany.
'Go on, boy,' Ramage said impatiently. 'What did he want?'
'We took him away from the other prisoners - in case any more of them spoke Italian - to see what he wanted. It seems he comes from a village twenty miles from Genoa. When Bonaparte invaded Genoa and renamed it the Ligurian Republic, many able-bodied men were forced to serve in the Army and Navy. They had no choice, this man says.'
Ramage nodded: he could not imagine the French giving able-bodied men any choice. Rossi had been fortunate in quitting the Republic before the French arrived (indeed, Ramage suspected the police were after him). So this prisoner might well have been serving the French against his will and, like Rossi, might prefer to serve in the Royal Navy. Well, he thought grimly, that depends on how much he knows and how much he tells.
'Anyway, sir,' the boy continued eagerly, 'this man – his name is Zolesi - told us that the Governor will be very angry that the schooners failed to capture the Juno: apparently a convoy is due very soon, and he wants us out of the way.'
Ramage stared at the boy. ' "Very soon" - he said that?'
When Orsini repeated the Italian phrase, mimicking the Genoese accent, Ramage said impatiently, 'Fetch the man. And bring Rossi.'
Zolesi was a stocky man with fair hair and blue eyes, and Ramage guessed that his forebears were mountain folk. He saluted smartly but Rossi, holding a pistol, watched him warily. He began by speaking to Rossi, expecting he would translate, but the seaman said: ‘The captain speaks Italian.'
Ramage, impatient to question Zolesi about the convoy, had first to listen to the man's request to be allowed to serve in the Royal Navy. His story sounded plausible and Ramage noticed Rossi nodding as he described how the French sent naval press-gangs and army squads through the streets, rounding up all able-bodied men.
Finally Ramage interrupted him. There were a few questions, based on what the French lieutenant had said, which would check the man's reliability.
'You were serving in La Mutine?’
'For this operation, sir.'
'Before that?'
'In La Désirée. Forty of us were sent to the schooner. And seventy soldiers.'
'What regiment?'
The man's brow wrinkled. 'The 53rd Regiment, sir.’
'Who commanded La Mutine?’
The first lieutenant of La Désirée. He was killed, sir.'
Ramage nodded. 'Is the Surcouf ready for sea?'
'Not yet, sir, but they are working hard.'
"And La Désirée?’
'Accidente!’Zolesi exclaimed. 'They are short of everything: yards, rope, canvas, wood for repairs, blocks, hammocks - everything!'
'Yet the French expect to commission her?'
sOh yes, once the convoy arrives.'
'But that has been delayed,' Ramage said, deciding that Zolesi was not likely to lie in this type of conversation, and the Italian's reply was just what he wanted.
'Delayed, sir? But it's expected within a week! A week - from today, in fact. Have the British captured it?'
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don't know, but it's not a large convoy anyway.'
'I don't know how big it is, sir, but the French are terrified of something happening to it. That's why the two schooners were sent out to capture this ship.'
'Will they send out more?'
Zolesi shook his head expressively. 'No! There was a good deal of trouble over these two. They were privateers and the owners refused to let the Navy use them.' Seeing Ramage's puzzled expression, he added: ‘The Governor took them over by decree.'
'But why no more attempts?'
‘I heard the privateer owners sent a deputation to the Governor, swearing that if he tried to take over any more the owners would sink them first.'
'What did the Governor say?' Ramage asked curiously.
'I heard he was very worried: the owners of the privateers are powerful men in Martinique. Now you have captured these two . . .' Zolesi stood with his arms spread out in front of him, palms upturned.
Ramage nodded to Rossi and said in English, 'Take him away and keep him separated from the others.'
'Can he ...’ He broke off, obviously worried that Ramage would think him impertinent.
'Keep him apart and see what else he knows about the convoy and the French defences in Fort Royal. And anything more about the other frigate. You can hint that he'll be allowed to enlist - and get the bounty, too!'
By now all the unwounded from the two schooners were being guarded by the Juno's Marines. The bos'n and his mates were busy sewing the dead men into hammocks ready for funerals at daybreak, with the gunner cursing that it was going to be a waste of roundshot until Ramage pointed out that there was plenty in the schooners, and it was more appropriate that Frenchmen should be buried at sea with French roundshot sewn into the foot of their hammocks.
Ramage sent for Aitken and Southwick and when they arrived he told them to sit down. The First Lieutenant was holding himself a little stiffly, the result of a bandage Bowen had put on the shoulder to cover a gash from a French pike. Ramage asked if they wanted hot drinks - the galley fire had been lit earlier to give the men a hot breakfast and provide Bowen with the hot water he demanded for the treatment of some of the badly wounded men. When both men refused, Ramage handed Aitken the sick list that Bowen had scribbled out and sent up to him. Nine Junos had been killed, seven seriously wounded and eighteen more had wounds that needed treatment but which allowed them, in an emergency, to go to general quarters.’
The First Lieutenant, his face drawn with weariness but his eyes still bright, passed it to Southwick. 'The figures are fantastic, sir. That's 139 French dead and wounded as against thirty-four Junos killed or wounded, and eighteen of ours were little more than scratches.'
'Surprise,’ grunted Southwick. 'That's what d
id it. Johnny Frenchman was too confident. The French were just standing there in both schooners, a solid mass of men waiting to leap on board. The Junos just leaned over the hammock nettings and fired right down into them!'
'We were damn' nearly too confident, too,' Ramage said.
Southwick sniffed, 'Well, sir, I'd better report on the schooners. The Mutine's foresail is badly torn and the gaff's broken. They dropped the sail in a hurry and the gaff crushed a couple of their own men. The sail's being repaired and the carpenter is fishing the gaff. It's a long break, so it isn't too difficult. Decks cut up with pistol and musket shots, a few shrouds parted - they're already knotted - and she'll be ready to get under way in an hour. The French had forty seamen on board; we can manage with ten. La Créole suffered no damage to speak of, except for bullet holes in the deck. She can get under way the moment you give the order. I've chosen the two prize crews, as you told me to. It's just a question of...'
'Exactly,' Ramage said, 'who is to command them,'
Aitken nodded. 'It'll take a week to sail 'em to Barbados and get our men back - perhaps more.'
'We needn't worry about Barbados for the time being,' Ramage said, and both men looked up quickly, obviously puzzled. Ramage decided to tease them for a little longer.
‘That Tricolour, Southwick: have Jackson and Rossi finished it yet?'
'No, sir. It's so big. It's taken all the red cloth we have on board including the red baize. I hope you won't be ordering many floggings ...'
'You won't regret it,' Ramage said enigmatically. 'I hope the other men have finished the smaller Red Ensigns.'
'I forgot to tell you, sir, we have three or four on board we can use, apart from the ones in the flag locker.'
Ramage nodded. 'Anyway, we have to decide who is to command the ships.' Southwick gave yet another sniff. It was clear that he considered taking a schooner to Barbados with a prize crew was an easy voyage to be left to the master's mate in one and perhaps the Fourth Lieutenant in the other.
Ramage thought the time had come to stop teasing both the Master and Aitken, but could not resist one last dig.
'I was thinking of putting you in command of La Créole, Aitken, and I hope Wagstaffe can manage La Mutine.'
The First Lieutenant's jaw dropped, and even though the light from the lanthorn was dim, Ramage saw that he had gone white. He realized that Aitken thought he had failed in his duties during the night's attack and was being put in command of the schooner to get him out of the way to allow another of the lieutenants to be promoted in his place.
Ramage reached out and touched his arm reassuringly. 'Cheer up, Aitken. Listen to me for a minute or two and after that you will be perfectly free to refuse the command and stay on board the Juno.’
Aitken swallowed and tried to smile, while Southwick looked completely puzzled, as though he feared for his Captain's sanity.
'Some time this morning,' Ramage said quietly, 'the French Governor in Fort Royal, and the naval commander, will be expecting to see La Créole and La Mutine sailing into Fort Royal Bay, escorting the Juno with a Tricolour flying above the Red Ensign ...'
He paused for a moment to make sure both men pictured the scene.
'On a Sunday morning everyone will be out in the streets cheering and I wouldn't be surprised if the guns of Fort St Louis began firing a feu de joie. The schooners will sail up to the anchorage, tack and wear round the Surcouf frigate a couple of times to show off. The French prize crew will bring the Juno in and prepare to anchor her close to the Surcouf. Just imagine the scene with everyone cheering and yelling, the crews of the schooners lining the bulwarks and waving, and the French prize crews on board the rosbif frigate Juno manning the rigging, singing revolutionary songs, no doubt.'
'But, but sir,' Aitken stammered. 'The French haven't captured the Juno!'
'No, indeed they have not,' Ramage said quietly, 'but the Governor of Fort Royal doesn't know that yet.'
CHAPTER TEN
The sky was cloudless, an unbelievable, almost gaudy blue, and the hills and mountains forming a wide bowl round Fort Royal Bay were a fresh green from the night's rain squalls. To the north Ramage could see the truncated top of Mount Pelée, and for once it was clear of its usual cap of cloud. The wind was brisk from the east and the sunlight sparkled from the wavelets. It was, he thought, a good morning to be alive; a piece of good fortune emphasized by the fact that an hour earlier he had attended a funeral service for forty-seven Frenchmen and conducted it for nine Junos.
Each of the fifty-six bodies had been put one by one on the hinged plank at the bulwark just above where the standing part of the foresheet was made fast to the ship's side, and the appropriate flag placed over it. Fifty-six times the plank had been tilted, the flag held, and the body in its shotted hammock slid over the side into the water. He had conducted the service for the Junos and he had asked the lieutenant who had commanded La Créole to carry it out for the Frenchmen; surely one of the few funeral services conducted by a man guarded by armed Marines.
As the Juno stretched close hauled across the mouth of Fort Royal Bay heading for the anchorage off the city, Ramage knew he was really gambling. By comparison last night's capture of the schooners had been a matter of calculation, and he had calculated correctly. Now he needed a gambler's luck, if there was such a thing, because what he was going to attempt was beyond calculation. Like some pallid gambler at Buck's, he could only roll the three dice (in this case the Juno, La Mutine and La Créole) and hope for the best, knowing that the croupier would rake in men's lives if he lost. His life and the Junos' were at stake.
He glanced aloft to where the Tricolour streamed to leeward, a third again as large as the Red Ensign beneath it. Every available telescope in Fort Royal would be watching it. Over to starboard Aitken was keeping La Créole well up to windward, while to larboard Baker was making a good job handling La Mutine, Wagstaffe had been disappointed to find that he was not going to get command after all until Ramage had told him his task.
The Junos were exhausted. First they had to transfer all the French wounded to La Mutine, where Bowen was still on board, with his instruments and assistants, attending to them. Once the wounded had been made as comfortable as possible in La Mutine, the French prisoners were transferred to her as well and secured in the hold, with Marine guards covering them. There was little likelihood of them trying to escape, for Ramage had explained carefully to the French lieutenant that he intended sending them all into Fort Royal under a flag of truce, providing the lieutenant gave his word that the total number of men would be entered on the exchange list, and none would ever serve against the British until the equivalent number of British prisoners in French hands had been duly exchanged. The Frenchman had readily agreed - it was a common enough practice - and drawn up a list of the names of the wounded and prisoners and signed it.
Whether or not the French at Fort Royal would honour La Mutine's flag of truce when they saw what the Juno and Créole were doing was a different matter, but Baker had his orders. If necessary he could free the lieutenant on parole and send him on shore in the schooner's boat to explain matters.
One thing that particularly worried Ramage was the thick anchor cable draped along the Juno's starboard side. To a sharp-eyed watcher on the shore it would seem strange, but with luck no one would guess its purpose. That damned cable, a rope ten inches in circumference, was the main reason why the Junos were exhausted: Wagstaffe had worked them hard, fighting the clock. The cable was made fast round the frigate's mizen mast, then 300 feet of it was carefully flaked down across the quarterdeck, leading out through the starboard sternchase port, round the edge of the transom, and then forward along the ship's side to the bow, where the end was made fast with light line that a slash of a cutlass would cut. Thin line secured it every few feet along the ship's side, to prevent it hanging down in a great bight, but that line was merely seizing, and a good tug would break it.
He stood at the quarterdeck rail and looked around the
maindeck of a ship which, as the great Tricolour told everyone in Fort Royal, was a French prize captured during the night in the Devil knew what desperate encounter with the two schooners now escorting her back in triumph, their prize crew on board handling her, as Ramage had carefully explained to Wagstaffe and the quartermaster, with somewhat less skill than she had been handled when she had tacked into the bay a few days earlier. It would be too much to expect a short-handed French crew - the schooners had carried only a total of eighty seamen - to be too expert.
He looked at the Juno's guns run out along the maindeck. Every 12-pounder was loaded with case shot so that when fired it would discharge forty-two iron balls, each weighing four ounces. A single broadside of thirteen guns would sweep the enemy with 546 shot, with another 120 weighing two ounces each from the three 6-pounders. Four-ounce and two-ounce shot was too light to inflict much damage on a ship, but sufficiently numerous and heavy to cut down men in swathes.
The guns were ready. The locks were fitted and the spark of the flints had been checked; the trigger lines were neatly coiled on top of the breech and tubs of water for the sponges stood between each pair of guns with match tubs nearby. The ship's boys squatted along the centreline, sitting on their cylindrical wooden cartridge boxes. The gunner was down in the magazine; the guns' crews were hidden against the bulwarks. At each gun port cutlasses were hung ready for all the men, while pikes were in the racks round the masts. Behind each pair of guns, well clear of the recoil, was a stand of muskets, all of them loaded. The decks were wetted and sanded but the planks were so hot that seamen had to keep wetting them afresh, using buckets and taking the water from tubs.
The skylight over Ramage's cabin had been removed and stowed below: it got in the way of the anchor cable as it led to the mizenmast. A pile of canvas stood by the stern chase port, ready for use as keekling, to prevent the cable chafing at the edges of the port when it was run out. Wagstaffe had wanted to measure the distance from the mast to the port and lash on the keekling earlier, but Ramage had watched the eastern sky lightening and had told him to leave it: there had still been much to do and very little time.
