Ramage & the Renegades (40 page)

“Just about that time someone saw a dozen or so men swimming in our wake and reported to me, but there was nothing we could do for the time being—I didn't know how badly hurt were the men lying round on deck. Two dozen looks like four dozen, with all that mess. Oh, then there was the fire, sir, which—”

“Fire!” Ramage exclaimed, lifting himself on his right arm. “Fire on board this ship?”

“It was soon put out, sir, so rest easy while I tell you about it. Some of the burning debris from the
Lynx
landed on our sails. The main course took fire, but it was furled so some men soon beat out the flames. Fires broke out on the main-deck but all the men knew what to do; every cartridge was tossed over the side, all the larboard broadside was fired off because the guns were loaded, and the deckwash pumps and buckets soon had everything under control without getting up the fire engine.”

“Under control? What else burned?”

“Well, sir, some riggings, gratings, one side of the quarterdeck ladder—that sort of thing. It wasn't a conflagration, so the men could leave it while they did more urgent things. Heave-to the ship, tend to the wounded, look for you, that sort of thing. They were getting worried about you: there was only Jackson, knocked out, and two dead men by the binnacle (which was not even scratched). Then they found you still in your chair—which was just matchwood—lying under the muzzle of the aftermost gun on the larboard side. Apparently your leg was jammed in the wreck of the chair and it was only the back and one leg of the chair that stopped you from falling out through the gun port.”

“So you and Stafford took control?”

“Not me, sir, because I was busy with the wounded. Stafford was splendid. Then the moment the ship was hove-to, Martin and then Mr Aitken managed to get on board—they had been trying to intercept us, but until we hove-to, we were making five or six knots. Anyway, they came on board and Mr Aitken at once took complete command.

“He sent off Martin with the soundings and survey boats to collect the privateersmen prisoners in the five ships—I gather Martin made the prisoners row, threatening to shoot the first man that flagged.”

“So Aitken is in command? Where are we?”

“Mr Aitken is in command, yes sir, and making a good job of it. We are back where we slipped our anchor—Mr Aitken picked up the dan buoy under sail.”

Southwick grunted his approval. “Made a very good job of it. I thought he'd have used the boats—we have five towing astern by now—but he got the cable on board and sailed the ship up on it while the men heaved in the slack. Couldn't have done it better myself.”

Ramage eased back into the cot again and stared up at the deckhead, the beams appearing to move when the lantern, which Southwick had returned to its hook, swung slightly as the ship gently pitched.

“The
Lynx,
” he said. “Did you find any survivors?”

“We sent a boat to look,” Southwick said. “They found no complete bodies. The water is so clear they rowed around looking for a long time. They could see some of the privateers' guns lying on the bottom a hundred yards apart. We were lucky some of them didn't land on us.”

“I think those privateersmen were lucky,” Ramage said, although he was talking to himself. “We'd have taken them to England, where they'd have all been hanged. They might have escaped with jail if they hadn't used the passengers as hostages. Tomás and Hart were quite prepared to murder them.”

Southwick reminded Ramage of the privateersmen being held on board as prisoners.

“I'd forgotten those. They probably stand less chance in court than the others actually in the
Lynx
because if Tomás or Hart had actually given the word, they would have been the murderers. What happened to Rennick, by the way?”

Bowen shook his head. “I'm sorry, sir, I forgot to mention him. He's all right now, but he was knocked out by one of the
Lynx
's half beams; it flew on board, hit the mainmast and then fell on him. He's a trifle sensitive about it, sir; reckons it's an undignified way for a Marine officer to be put out of action!”

“Undignified! His Captain nearly went over the side in an armchair!” Ramage burst out laughing at the thought of it, but a moment later was gasping with pain as the spasms of laughter wrenched at his arm and leg.

Once he had his breath back again, he said: “Well, I suppose that's it. You've no other surprises for me, I presume.”

The two men looked at each other, and seemed reluctant to speak.

“What's the matter?” Ramage was alarmed. Was it about Paolo? He suddenly remembered Southwick had only mentioned him swimming.

“Well, nothing the
matter,
sir,” Southwick said. “It's just rather irregular, and I don't know how to tell you.”

Ramage grinned. “Oh, come
on,
let's get this report over with!”

“It's not a report exactly, sir. Aitken discussed it all with Bowen and I, and as I knew more about it than the others, I took the responsibility. Well, that's to say I—er, I agreed that—”

“Southwick!” Ramage snapped. “You sound as though you plan to jilt a blushing maiden.”

“Ah, yes, sir: you remember that lady in the
Earl of Dodsworth
who cleaned up the wound on your arm?”

Ramage nodded warily. He had asked Southwick earlier if everyone in the East Indiaman was safe and had been assured they were. Now here was Southwick backing and filling, and Bowen looking damned uncomfortable.

“Well, sir, she and her mother have been waiting to see you since soon after we anchored.”

“Waiting? What, you mean you signalled the
Earl of Dodsworth
when I'd recovered enough to receive visitors?”

“No, sir,” Bowen said firmly. “They insisted that one of the East Indiaman's boats be lowered, collected every scrap of clean cotton and linen in the ship, and had themselves rowed over to help tend our wounded.

“They spent several hours helping me clean up and bandage the men, then took over the galley and made them soup. They—well, the daughter, because the mother was busy with Wagstaffe—helped me sort out your leg and splint it, sir, and did your arm again. They wore themselves out.”

“Have they gone back to the
Earl of Dodsworth
now?”

“Not exactly, sir, because they know they'll be able to help me again when it comes to changing dressings and checking that each man is comfortable.”

“Where are they, then?”

“We made up a bed for the mother on your settee, sir, and the lady's resting in the armchair. They're both waiting in your day cabin. Can I show them in now, sir?”

W
ALKING his own quarterdeck using a cane had its funny side, at least as far as Sarah was concerned. The click of the ferrule on the planking, she said, sounded like a wooden-legged, black eye-patched pirate captain walking up and down, a parrot on his shoulder, and shouting foul oaths because no ship came over the horizon to provide him with a victim.

It was two weeks since the
Lynx
had blown up and the bay looked strangely empty. Strangely because he had first seen it with the privateer and her five prizes anchored there. As soon as all the ships' companies were freed from their prison camp (with the privateersmen prisoners on board the
Calypso,
closely guarded by Rennick's Marines), there had been a round of official calls on Ramage, by then transferred to his settee each day.

The first visitor (apart from Sarah and her mother) had been the Captain of the
Earl of Dodsworth.
As befitted the captain of a John Company ship, he came in considerable state, but he was a pleasant and plump man, pink-faced and perspiring under a wig that did its best to hide his complete baldness. He made no secret that, during the long days as a prisoner, he never expected to see his ship again. The arrival of the
Calypso,
he said, had not given them any hope because the pirate guards—he resolutely refused to refer to them as privateersmen and was, of course, perfectly correct—had warned them that all the passengers, still held in the ships, and everyone in the prison camp, would be killed if any rescue was attempted.

On a later visit to the frigate, the
Earl of Dodsworth
's Captain, John Hungerford, also made no secret of the fact that after the rescue, and with the
Lynx
destroyed by the
Calypso,
the passengers had met in the saloon and then called him to hear what they had been discussing: they did not want to sail on to England alone.

He had explained to them that there was now a treaty of peace signed with Bonaparte, but they had pointed out that the
Lynx
had been a British ship, and two of her victims had been French. What they were afraid of, he said, was yet another
Lynx
like the one that had recently hove in sight.

Ramage was not sure whether Hungerford was being tactful or he had not expected the
Calypso
to catch the
Lynx
's sister ship, but it was unlikely that their Lordships at the Admiralty would view the episode with much favour.

Dusk was warning of night when the second privateer came into the bay. Aitken had realized immediately who she was. The
Calypso
had slipped her anchor and sailed at once in chase, the men loading and running out the guns by the time the frigate passed the headland, but the privateer, making the best use of her fore and aft rig to work up to windward to round the eastern side of the island, then turned north-east, sailing into the darker half of the horizon. By the time the
Calypso
had settled down to chase it was completely dark, and dawn brought an empty horizon, except for the grey smudge of Trinidade in the distance.

Ramage, still confined to his cot by the leg wound, had been puzzled by one thing: where were the second ship's prizes? Tomás and Hart had hinted that their fellow privateer was due with more victims, so had she failed to find any? Bad weather in the English Channel could delay sailings for a month, and that could be enough to account for a lack of outward-bound ships. Or she could have her victims anchored somewhere else. If so, where?

For once he was not bedevilled with choices: looking for prizes was ruled out by the fact that there were no known islands that the privateer could be using: Ascension, Fernando de Noronha, St Paul Rocks—all were too frequently visited. Finally he concluded that the privateer was simply intending to rejoin the
Lynx
and help take the prizes to wherever they were to be sold off. Indeed, she could have been away arranging the sale at some port on the South American coast.

Hungerford had brought many invitations for the officers to visit the
Earl of Dodsworth
for dinner, but more thoughtful was the request that one of the
Calypso
's boats go alongside the East Indiaman to collect some cases of spiced foods for the
Calypso
's men: things with sharp tastes that would tempt the men after weeks of salt tack.

The
Amethyst
's captain had been the next visitor, and he confirmed that the ship was indeed one of Mr Sidney Yorke's fleet, and Mr Yorke himself had told him about the voyage he had once made across the Atlantic with Mr Ramage and Mr Southwick, discovering how Post Office packets were being captured by the enemy.

The French captain of the
Heliotrope
and the Dutch master of the
Friesland
came together and, to begin with, were chilly and formal, protesting to Ramage that the
Lynx
had been British, and implying that Ramage must have known of and approved her activities even though a peace had been signed.

This had been such an outrageous suggestion that Ramage had immediately told Aitken, who had escorted them below, to see them to their boats. Taken aback by this treatment, both men had stood there grumbling in a truculent duet until Ramage, from his cot, had held up his hand for silence. Gesturing to the Dutch captain of the
Friesland,
who spoke good English, he had then pointed to Aitken.

“This officer swam alone in the night to board
your
ship secretly and warn your passengers and, when his men followed him, they captured the privateersmen and freed your passengers, eight of them. If I'd helped the
Lynx
people capture your ship, I'm damned if I see why I'd risk my own men freeing her.” He pointed at the Frenchman, “I swam to
your
ship and my men followed. This—” he raised his bandaged arm “—is my souvenir of that. All your passengers were freed.

“A day after that my ship destroyed the privateers' vessel and you were all rescued from the comparative safety of the prison camp. So your passengers are safe, your ships undamaged, and now the pair of you have the gross impertinence to imply that I, or the Royal Navy, or my government, were in league with the
Lynx.

“Pray tell me,” he said quietly, “are
you
responsible for the French and Dutchmen we've found among the
Lynx
's guards? One of my officers has drawn up a rough muster list for the
Lynx
by questioning the survivors—the guards we captured—and it seems she had one hundred and ten men altogether. Nineteen of them were British, 41 French and 27 Dutch. The rest were Spanish or from various other countries. So I bid you good day, gentlemen.”

Both captains were immediately apologetic, pretending they did not notice Aitken waiting to escort them up on deck. Would Captain Ramage favour the passengers of the
Heliotrope
by taking dinner with them? Not to be outdone by his French companion, the Dutch captain of the
Friesland
gave his invitation. Ramage thanked them gravely and Aitken led them out. By contrast the French master of the
Commerce
hurried over with a case of his best wine, alarmed to hear of Ramage's wounds and swearing that the wine he brought, from his own part of France, was famous for restoring the blood.