Ramage and the Freebooters (39 page)

‘If you go ahead with your plan you stand perhaps a ten per cent chance of success. That kind of percentage rules out the whole thing from my point of view.’

‘But–’ Ramage started to protest.

‘Listen carefully: no businessman would risk his whole capital for a ten per cent gain. If he loses, he’s lost everything; he can’t start again. Even a gambler would only risk his whole capital if he had a chance of a hundred per cent gain.’

‘But I still don’t–’

‘No, because you aren’t a businessman. Now, to be blunt, you’re our only chance of destroying these privateers. Very well, I want you to succeed. Apart from my personal regard for you, my profits will quadruple if the privateers are destroyed – and be quartered if they’re not.

‘So I’d rather you waited for a better chance of succeeding. If you’re killed we can resign ourselves to another six months or a year of losses. That means ruin: we’ll have no schooners left. Not a hundredweight of produce can be shipped to England. Grenada will collapse.’

‘But there are frigates,’ Ramage protested. ‘Admiral Robinson–’

‘Can do nothing: it’s men that matter, not ships,’ Rondin said. ‘No ship of war is better than her captain.’

Having spent most of his life in the Navy, his contact with men of business had been small, so Ramage was fascinated by Rondin’s honesty in weighing personal against business feelings.

Wilson asked bluntly: ‘For all that, you’ll let us use one of your schooners?’

‘Of course! But I hope I’ve persuaded him to wait for a more propitious opportunity.’

Ramage shook his head.

‘The big difference between a businessman and a fighting man, Mr Rondin, is that the businessman can rarely surprise his competitors. He gets a higher price for his goods only if he gets to the market first selling something everyone wants.’

‘True enough,’ Rondin admitted, ‘and in wartime the convoy system means all our produce arrives on the English market at the same time, so that overnight scarcity becomes a glut, and prices drop accordingly.’

‘Exactly, but a fighting man can often surprise his enemies. I’m hoping surprise will give us a considerable advantage – bringing the percentage down to something more acceptable to an investor!’

Rondin smiled. ‘The schooner’s yours, my Lord. Now, tell me again exactly what you want me to do.’

Jackson and Maxton reported promptly to Ramage on the quarterdeck.

‘Well, Maxton, how’s your pupil coming along?’

‘Fine, sah,’ the West Indian said enthusiastically. ‘We’ve made the drum and it’s just right. Jacko’s been practising. You won’t be able to tell the difference.’

Knowing a West Indian’s two faults were the habit of saying what he thought the other person wanted to hear, and an incurably optimistic approach to all problems, Ramage said sharply: ‘It’s not whether I can tell the difference, Maxton, but whether that fellow listening up to the north can.’

Maxton shook his head, as if guessing what Ramage was thinking. ‘Even I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, sah.’

‘Very well, you’ve obviously been a good teacher. I appreciate it.’

Maxton looked embarrassed, knowing there was more behind his captain’s words than most people realized.

‘Jackson,’ Ramage said, ‘I want to see you in my cabin in five minutes. Mr Southwick! If you can spare me a minute.’

Down in the stuffy cabin the Master listened with his usual cheerfulness as Ramage described the latest developments, nodding at the prospect of action at last.

‘M’sword’s been getting rusty!’ he exclaimed.

‘I hope it’ll stay rusty,’ Ramage said. ‘I’ll be leading the boarding party and you’ll be commanding the
Triton
.’

‘Oh, sir!’ Southwick sounded like a disappointed schoolboy. ‘The boarding party’s really my job. After all,’ he added slyly, ‘you command the
Triton
, sir: she’s your responsibility…’

‘Not if I leave you in command,’ Ramage countered.

‘Seems to me you’re taking advantage of your position, sir,’ the Master said in mock protest.

‘That’s the sole advantage of seniority, Southwick. It starts with the Prime Minister, who bullies the First Lord, who bullies the Commander-in-Chief…’

‘Down to lieutenants commanding brigs who bully masters of brigs,’ Southwick added.

‘Who bully quartermasters of brigs… I can’t see what you’re complaining about, Southwick!’

‘All right, sir,’ Southwick said, ‘I submit only because I know Admiral Robinson’s doing the same thing to you!’

‘As good a reason as any.’

There was a knock on the door and the sentry called that Jackson wished to be admitted.

The American came in and stood at attention, shoulders hunched, head bent forward to keep clear of the beams overhead.

‘Ah Jackson – how did your conversation with Maxton turn out?’

‘Well enough, sir. You see, he was frightened when he began giving me lessons; kept muttering and grunting words I didn’t understand, and crossing himself the way Catholics do. But he didn’t today, and when I–’

He glanced at the Master and Ramage nodded.

‘–when I said I’d heard the best drummer in Grenada was a man called Josiah Fetch, Maxton just swore. Never heard him carry on like that before, sir. Three or four minutes he was, just cussing and blaspheming–’

‘Did he cross himself?’ Ramage interrupted.

‘Never once, sir. When he calmed down I asked what’d put him about so, and he said this man Fetch was the wickedest man in the Caribbean; that he wished him dead.’

Ramage nodded. ‘Did you get the impression he’d help…’

‘Yes, sir. To be honest – I hope I didn’t overstep the mark, sir, but I thought you might have the same idea – I sort of hinted that it shouldn’t be too difficult to do him in.’

‘What did he say to that?’

‘Went quiet for a minute or two and his eyes went glassy – you know how I mean, sir. Then he asked if I’d help, and if I reckoned Rossi an’ Stafford would join us, I said I knew they would.’

‘Does Maxton know where he lives?’

‘Yes, apparently he’s a sort of witch doctor and terrorizes all the local people, Maxton’s father included, and makes ’em pay him so much a week from their crops. Maxton says he was mixed up in the big rebellion a year or so ago.’

‘Thank you, Jackson; that’s all we need to know. You’d better sound out Rossi and Stafford about this Fetch fellow. Don’t go into a lot of detail, though.’

As soon as Jackson left the cabin, Southwick said: ‘How many men are you taking, sir?’

‘Say twenty. Water and food for forty-eight hours. Swords, pikes, tomahawks and pistols. No muskets – too crowded for them.’

‘Twenty? Can’t you squeeze in more?’

‘I doubt it, but have another twenty standing by when you rendezvous with us. Oh yes, some grenades might be useful – you’d better see to it that half a dozen men know how to use ’em and make sure they’ve flints and slow matches. And I want false-fires and rockets, at least a dozen of each.’

Southwick had already taken pen and paper and was noting down Ramage’s requirements.

‘Call for volunteers, sir?’

‘No – they’ll all volunteer. Just pick twenty steady men for the main party, and another twenty to stand by. Don’t leave yourself short of topmen. I’d like Jackson, Maxton, Rossi, Stafford, Evans, Fuller, John Smith the Second… You keep Appleby; you’ll probably need him.’

‘Although you don’t want muskets, sir, there’s those half dozen musketoons. They fairly cut a swathe through a crowd o’ men.’

Ramage nodded. ‘I’d forgotten – yes, we’ll take them. One each for Jackson, Stafford, Evans, Fuller and Smith the Second, and you choose the other one.’

‘Very well, sir. I’d better make a start on this, and the station bill will have to be changed.’

With that Southwick bustled out, and Ramage took up the pen, jabbed it in the ink, and scribbled a few lines in his daily journal. With so much happening, one day was merging into the next, and he’d need the notes when he came to write his report.

Just before leaving the Fort, the Colonel had given him some advice. Wilson began by pointing out what was already obvious, that Admiral Robinson had given Ramage his orders for a particular reason, because whoever received them was likely to fail, and would be a convenient scapegoat.

It was what followed that surprised Ramage.

‘Suppose you don’t come out of this alive, m’lad,’ the Colonel had said with his usual bluntness. ‘I’m the only one in any authority who knows what you’re going to attempt tomorrow night. So why don’t you write a report to His Excellency explaining exactly what you intend doing and why. You can leave it with me, and I’ll deliver it the following afternoon, when it’s too late for him to countermand anything – or, for that matter, accidentally reveal anything that’s secret.’

Although he’d shrugged off the idea at the time, Ramage had since realized it was sound advice. Well, if he didn’t write the report now he never would, because there wasn’t much time left. He closed the journal, took out some sheets of notepaper, dipped the pen in the ink and began writing.

Triton
, St George Roads, 1st June, 1797

Sir,

Having failed to discover the precise whereabouts of the privateers’ base by making a reconnaissance in HM brig under my command, but having discovered the means by which advance news of the sailing of schooners is passed northwards through the islands to the privateersmen, I am putting into execution a few nights hence the only plan which, upon mature consideration, offers any chance of speedily securing the safety of the schooners upon which the trade of the island of Grenada so largely depends.

The plan fell into four parts, Ramage wrote, and described it briefly, concluding:

The operation depends for its success upon the amount of surprise that can be achieved. If surprise is lost, the operation will fail since the privateersmen will outnumber the British seamen by a considerable margin. However, this is a factor against which it is impossible to plan in detail.

I am, sir, etc.,

Nicholas Ramage,

Lieutenant and Commanding Officer

His Excellency Sir Jason Fisher, Knt,

Government House,

Grenada.

Calling for his clerk and telling him to copy the letter into the letter book, and make another copy for Colonel Wilson, Ramage then went up on deck, thankful to get into the cool breeze.

The next afternoon, by which time, Ramage estimated, the privateers would have unloaded their prize, he went on deck to give orders to Southwick to get under way.

‘I have to report that four men have deserted, sir,’ Southwick said solemnly.

‘Deserted? Who the–’

Southwick laughed at Ramage’s dismay.

‘The tom-tom, sir – difficult to smuggle something like that on shore. I thought the best thing was to send in the master’s mate with a boat to fill water-casks. Jackson put the tom-tom in a kitbag and while Appleby turned his back he and Maxton and the other two slipped away. Anyone watching would’ve thought it was a regular case o’ men deserting.’

Ramage felt childishly annoyed: to begin with he’d completely forgotten to arrange for the four men to be landed to carry out their part of the night’s work; and he was – he admitted it – jealous that Southwick had, without reference to him, thought up an ingenious way of doing it.

‘I hope you explained what they’re supposed to do,’ he said tartly.

Southwick related in detail what he’d said.

‘Fine – they didn’t forget to take false-fires, I hope?’

‘Took three, sir, just in case one gets damp.’

‘Hmmm,’ Ramage grunted.

Now he had nothing to do he was getting jumpy. Too much depended on too many people doing things upon which other things depended. Jackson was reliable – but had Maxton
really
trained him with that damned drum? Would the four of them carry out their orders properly? Could Rondin really be trusted, or had he already passed a warning to the privateers?

Was – he forced himself to think about it now, though he’d been avoiding it most of the afternoon – Claire really to be trusted? He felt ashamed at his doubts; but he’d fallen in love with her and that alone might warp his judgement, leading him to wasting men’s lives. That worried him more, he admitted, than if she’d been married and he’d cuckolded her husband while a guest under his roof. And what if the schooner –

‘Everything’ll go all right, sir,’ Southwick said quietly, sensing Ramage’s doubts. ‘It’s the waiting that plays old Harry with all of us.’

‘Not with you,’ Ramage said.

‘You’d be surprised, sir. I’d sooner be leading a boarding party than trying to conn the
Triton
round reefs in the dark into some damned bay I’ve never seen before and where the chart gives no soundings.’

‘Better to run the ship aground than get a pike in your stomach.’

‘No,’ Southwick laughed, ‘when you’ve a stomach the size of mine’ – he patted it proudly – ‘you’d sooner take your chance with a pike than a reef.’

At that moment the clerk came up with Ramage’s letters to the Governor and Wilson. Both were plastered with red seals, and Ramage said: ‘Have these delivered to the Colonel at the Fort, Mr Southwick, and we’ll get under way as soon as the boat returns.’

The
Triton
had sailed in broad daylight with all the ritual attached to a final departure, including a farewell salute fired in honour of the Governor, and rounded Point Saline. To a casual onlooker or a watchful spy, she was obviously bound for Barbados or Trinidad.

And, as planned, when darkness fell with its usual tropical suddenness, Ramage had given the order for her to wear round and steer for the rendezvous with Rondin’s schooner, the
Jorum
, at midnight four miles off Gouyave, a small village on the north-west side of Grenada ten miles from St George.

From several minutes before ten o’clock he and Southwick had watched Point Saline for signs of the blue flame of a false-fire. At ten minutes past ten Ramage shut the night-glass with a snap, having taken three bearings.