Ramage And The Rebels r-9 Read online

  In response to Ramage's wave, the men sat or stood where they wanted. Southwick subsided at his usual place, the single armchair; Rennick stood by the door, head bent because of the low beams, as if his uniform was too tight for sitting. Kenton, attending his first such meeting, stood looking lost until Ramage pointed to a chair.

  Kenton was five feet four inches tall, exactly the height under the deck beams. Whereas Aitken's face was pale but slightly tanned, Kenton's was pink and peeling, and heavily freckled. Kenton loved the Tropics but the sun scorched him, making him pay a high price for his red hair. The son of a half - pay captain, Kenton was twenty - one years old and had passed for lieutenant within three months of reaching his twentieth birthday, the earliest that he could be promoted.

  Southwick, who had served with Ramage for several years and was old enough to be the father of anyone in the cabin, guessed cheerfully: 'The Gulf of Mexico - patrol off Veracruz to look for the Spanish treasure fleet...' 'Of course,' Ramage said. 'You can have six men and the jolly boat, and start at dusk.' The other officers grinned: Southwicks's bloodthirsty attitude was well known. His round and cheerful face and white hair gave him the appearance of a gentle bishop or a benign village butcher a man in his early sixties who could inspire confidence in old ladies and who would sit back in an armchair with a favourite grandchild on each knee. As the austere Aitken later admitted, this had been his first impression of Southwick, and one which lasted until the first time they had gone into action, when he saw the old man transformed into a formidable fighter wielding a sword of incredible size, a two - handed sword that might have come straight from a Viking legend. It was then that Aitken had christened him the benevolent butcher'. The Admiral could have sent us to Veracruz,' Ramage said, 'but no doubt he thought mat because we have all done very well with prize money in the past few months, he'd better send us somewhere else.' The officers all smiled, realizing that Ramage was tantalizing them. 'He's given us an interesting operation for the Calypso - just a comfortable cruise. Lacey and the Creole will be doing all the work - and getting all the glory.' Everyone turned to look at Lacey. most of them more than a little envious, like members of a family at the reading of a rich uncle's will and wondering why their youngest cousin had been given all the sugarplums. Southwick gave one of his famous sniffs, a great intake of air which signalled disapproval without actually putting it into words. Ramage had heard such sniffs scores of times in the past, when the old master had disapproved of something Ramage was planning. There were in fact various grades. A loud but brief sniff meant that Southwick would not have done it that way, although it might not be entirely wrong. If he thought something was wrong, the sniff was loud and long. If it was followed by a drawn - out 'Weeelll, sir', by the rules of the game Ramage would raise his eyebrows questioningly, which Southwick men interpreted as permission to disagree, and he would speak his thoughts. It had taken Aitken some time to realize it was in fact a code which had evolved between the master and Mr Ramage over a long period; they had served together from the very day that Mr Ramage received his first command as a young lieutenant Since then the pair of mem had gone into battle a dozen times or more, been dismasted in a hurricane, lost their ship on a reef, been marooned on an island, found buried treasure ... It took a stranger a long while to understand the significance of the sniffs, and from the look of it only Aitken had suddenly realized that Southwick had in effect made a statement Aitken reckoned that Mr Ramage was ignoring it because Southwick's sniff was based on too little information. The fact that La Creole was going to do the work and get any glory meant that the task was one which could not be carried out by the Calypso. That much was obvious to Aitken, who was content to wait patiently.

  'While we were in Antigua you heard about the increasing privateer activity, and bow they are snapping up merchant ships sailing to or from Jamaica,' Ramage said. 'Well, it's worse than we thought and, more important, the frigates patrolling the coasts of Puerto Rico, Hispaniola and Cuba are all reporting fewer French, Spanish and Dutch privateers at the big ports.'

  Southwick ran his hand through his hair and growled: They need to keep a sharper lookout.'

  'Or look elsewhere for them,' Ramage said quietly, and everyone glanced up, realizing that those five words were not a chance remark but a clue.

  The Main,' Southwick speculated. 'Shallow water, dozens of likely bays lined with mangrove swamps - and swarming with mosquitoes, of course. Maracaibo, the Gulf of Venezuela, Riotacha, Santa Marta, Baranquilla, all the way round to Portobelo . . . Most of 'em too shallow for us, but not for the privateers, or for the Creole ...' Ramage nodded and turned towards Rennick. There's going to be plenty of boatwork for us, backing up the Creole. I shall want those Marines of yours getting in and out of boats as though they were born under the thwarts. And your men, Lacey. When a privateer escapes into water too shallow for La Creole, then you send boats in, and ours will follow when possible. I want you to exercise your men in hoisting out boats, rowing with muffled oars, using a compass in the dark.

  handling a boat gun, carrying pistols without them going off accidentally . . . And don't anyone expect we shall be doing this only in calm weather. You know the Trades blow half a gale out of a dear blue sky, with lumpy sea . . .'

  'Which end of the Main do we start, sir?' Aitken asked.

  It was a good question because the coast ran east and west, and the Trade winds Mew regularly from east to west Beginning at the eastern end meant that the Calypso and La Creole started up to windward, in effect starting at the top of the hill, and with luck would be able to chase the privateers to leeward, like wolves pursuing sheep downhill across a meadow, providing they did not make a bolt sideways for the shelter of the bays.

  'We start well to windward of Maracaibo," Ramage said. "With the Dutch islands, in fact, because the Admiral has been told that the privateers are using Curacao as a main base.'

  'Could be, could be,' Southwick muttered, half to himself. The capital, Amsterdam, is a secure anchorage with a narrow entrance easy to defend, plenty of warehouses to store the loot, and well placed to intercept our merchant ships. Good market for prize ships and prize goods - those damned Hollanders are good businessmen, and wealthy, too. And a good rendezvous for all enemy privateers - the French from Guadeloupe, Martinique and Hispaniola, the Spanish from the Main only a few miles away, and from Puerto Rico and Hispaniola to the north. And of course the Dutch.'

  Wagstaffe said diffidently: There's an advantage there for us, too: Jamaica is to leeward, so our prize crews will have a soldier's wind sailing back to Port Royal.'

  Southwick sniffed yet again, and Ramage guessed what was coming: 'And every boarding party we send away with a prize well never see again: none of the King's ships in Port Royal will be coming to Curacao; they'll just press our men. Well end up with only fifty men left, having supplied the ships in Port Royal with two hundred well - trained men . . .'

  It was a problem Ramage had already considered but put off any decision because that would only arise when they actually captured prizes, and remembering the sandbanks and cays and coral reefs littering the coast, he felt it unlikely to make him lose sleep.

  He unrolled the chart on the top of his desk and weighted it down to stop it curling up again. 'Gather round,' he said, 'I want you all to refresh your memories of this coast How we carry out my instructions - which are simply to get rid of the privateers, and yours, Lacey, will put you under my orders - will depend on what we find among the islands.'

  He jabbed a finger down at the lower half of the chart. There you have the island of Curacao, the middle of the three lying just off the Main. There's Bonaire to one side and Aruba the other, but Curacao is the only one that matters. Notice how Curacao is like the centre of a clock - the islands Of St Lucia and Martinique at three o'clock, Guadeloupe, Antigua, St Barts and St Kitts at one o'clock, Puerto Rico and Hispaniola at noon, and Jamaica here way over to the north - west at ten o'clock. And the Main to the south. All British merch
ant ships sailing between Jamaica to the west and the Windward and Leeward Islands to the east, have to cross these lines radiating from Curacao . . .'

  He took a pair of dividers from the rack and opened them up until they measured seven degrees, equal to 420 miles, against the latitude scale. Then he put one point on Curacao and slowly swept the second leg across the chart until the other point finally rested on Grenada, the island at the southern end of the chain. 'You see, only 420 miles to Grenada and the rest of them, Martinique, Antigua, Nevis, St Kitts, no more than 500 miles because of the way they curve round. Puerto Rico, most of Hispaniola - all inside the 420 miles.'

  He shut the dividers with a snap. 'Our merchant ships, whether sailing alone or in convoy, are passing east or west no more than four hundred miles north of Curacao. Four hundred miles - that's probably no more than three days' saying for the dullest sailor. Sail on Sunday morning, find a prize on Wednesday, and be back in Curacao unloading the prize by Saturday night. A prize a week at least, and no reason why one privateer should not take three prizes in a day. A hundred men on board to provide boarding parties and prize crews . . . All on a shares - of - the - spoils basis.'

  'Aye,' Southwick rumbled, 'making bigger profits than commanders - in - chief.'

  Taking more risks, too,' Wagstaffe said, and then glanced nervously at Ramage, who began taking the weights off the chart.

  'Lacey - you have a copy of this chart? In fact you'd better go through our chart outfit with Southwick, so you can make copies of anything you don't have. And the French signal book - you have a copy? The one we captured at Martinique, I mean.'

  'No, I don't have a copy, sir.'

  Ramage turned to Kenton. 'You can help Lacey by making a copy. And Lacey, you treat it like our own signal book: always locked up when not being used, and always in the weighted bag ready to be thrown over the side . . .' He took out his watch. 'Sunset in five hours. Very well, we weigh in three hours - get busy with pencils and paper, gentlemen.'

  CHAPTER TWO

  The kneeling seaman carefully removed his plaited straw hat and took a soggy, stringy piece of tobacco from the lining, but before he put it in his mouth and began chewing he commented: 'My jaws are getting tired of overhauling this piece: it's the second day, and there ain't much taste left You 'aven't got the lend of a piece, 'ave you, Jacko?' 'Since when have I ever chewed bacca?' 'I know, but you might've 'ad a bit tucked away.' 'Oh yes, as a charm against rheumatism and snake bites.' 'Oh, you're a Yankee misery. Now, 'old the doth still. Cor, the sun's bright You ready with those scissors, Rossi? Wait, let me flatten out that crease. Now, snip away!'

  The three men were crouching down on deck, cutting out the pattern of a pair of trousers drawn on a piece of white duck. Alberto Rossi, the Italian seaman from Genoa, snipped carefully, the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips revealing his concentration.

  The man in the straw hat Stafford, was a young Cockney for whom the trousers were intended, and who scorned 'slops', the clothing sold by the purser, all of it made to standard patterns. One of the more crushing judgements mat a self - respecting seaman could make of another man was: 'He's the sort o' feller who'd wear pusser's trousers.'

  Rossi paused a moment with the scissors and inspected the doth. 'Staff, I think you draw the line too tight here - ' he gestured with the scissors - 'and you might damage yourself. Shall I leave extra cloth?'

  Stafford looked at it doubtfully, certain that his pencilled line had been accurate, but Jackson nudged him. 'You pencilled round the outline of the trousers you're wearing but you forgot to allow for the seams.'

  The Cockney's face fell. 'So I did; I was concentrating on holding the cloth still - in this wind. All right then; give us an extra 'alf an inch all round, Rosey.'

  All three men stopped and looked round as another group of men kneeling nearby started a violent argument and one of them suddenly stood up, waving a ragged piece of doth.

  'You bluddy idjit!' he screamed. 'Look wotcher dun I Yer've cut froo two ficknesses, not one, an' took off the other leg! I sedjer coodn't be trusted wiv them bluddy scissors. Ten bob's worth o' cloft, that's whatcher've ruined. Why'ncher go'n sit on the jibboom tossing guineas over the side, heh?'

  'As long as they're your guineas it's all the same to me,' the other man answered calmly. 'But you marked it and you held it, and I just cut where you said.'

  With another scream of rage the first man flung the piece of cloth down on the deck and jumped up and down on it, shaking his fist. 'You rusty cuttle - bung; oooh you milk - livered jakes-scourer, why—'

  "Ere, 'old 'ard,' the man with the scissors interrupted mildly, 'if you go on like that, I shan't 'elp you no more.'

  Stafford prodded Rossi. 'Come on, snip away; don't pay no attention to them or you'll be doing the same. Don't forget, arf an inch outside the line.'

  Stafford watched carefully and then muttered: ' 'Ere, Jacko, ain't there someone around what'll lend me a chaw of bacca?'

  'Pay attention to your trousers, otherwise you'll end up with four legs and no seat, like a broken chair.'

  Finally the trousers were cut out and the front section was held up against Stafford, who looked down at it critically. 'Seems all right,' he said doubtfully. 'Wotcher fink, Rosey?'

  'Is all right,' the Italian said. 'Sta attenti with the stitches. Not those great big ones you put in a sail.'

  ' Taint often the bosun catches me for sail mending,' Stafford boasted. 'I volunteered when the foretopsail split yesterday, but that was so's I could get my fingers on a sail needle.'

  'I hope you picked a sharp one. Most of 'em are rusty,' Jackson said. They're the ones left on board by the French - poor quality they are. No guts in the metal; they won't hold a point'

  'I did get a nice sharp one, but I can't find it now,' Stafford admitted. ' 'Aven't got one I could borrow, 'ave you, Jacko?'

  'Bacca, needle - I suppose you've got a reel of thread?'

  'Well, not reely; I know Rosey's got some good fred, and I was 'oping . . .'

  The Italian glared at him. This cloth we just make the cut. Staff; you buy him from the purser? I wonder. The purser not sell any slops since we leave Antigua, and I don't remember . . .

  'Well, I didn't steal it from any of me shipmates,' Stafford declared hotly, 'you know me well enough for that Why, I'm - '

  'Accidente! Rossi said sharply. 'I was only going to ask why you didn't take the thread from the purser at the same time, and you need two buttons.'

  'I got the buttons all right' Stafford admitted, 'but old Nipcheese didn't get the fred out'

  'Old Nipcheese saw you coming,' Jackson commented. 'Not all pursers are daft!'

  Homage paused at the forward end of the quarterdeck and looked across the ship. It was a scene being repeated on board every one of the King's ships at sea: Sunday afternoon and 'make and mend', with the men off watch doing just what they wanted. Some dozed in the sun, others mended clothes, while yet more were cutting cloth and stitching, making new trousers and shirts and repairing old ones.

  It was curious how fussy the average seaman was about his clothes, Ramage reflected. Expect him to wear slop clothes and he would be outraged; unless he was lazy or particularly unskilled with needle and thread he did not want to wear a purser's shirt of the same cut and cloth as his shipmate; he wanted a wider or narrower collar, or he sewed the whole shirt with French seams so he could also wear it inside out His hat would be different; some preferred the natural straw colour of the Bennett while others tarred it Some liked a large hat almost resting on their ears with a wide brim which shaded their eyes and the back of their head; others wanted a narrow brim with a small bat worn high on the head and tilted rakishly forward.