Ramage & the Renegades (25 page)

Ramage wrote “Prizes sold in River Plate ports?” That gave him a choice of Montevideo or Buenos Aires. The River Plate, nearly a hundred miles wide, was a busy area; the Spanish merchants there would always need ships. Particularly now, he realized. The war had meant that many, if not most, of the merchant ships trading in that area, and occasionally making a bolt for Spain to sell hides and bring back manufactured goods (what the Jonathan traders called “notions”), had been captured by the Royal Navy. They were not restored to their owners by the absurd treaty, so Spanish shipowners would be looking round for suitable replacement vessels to buy. And they must be in a hurry, because every merchant along the banks of the River Plate would be anxious to ship something to somewhere else: goods made a profit only when they moved to the market-place; stored in warehouses they cost money. Nor was that an original thought: it had been pointed out to him several years ago by Sidney Yorke, the young man who owned a small fleet of merchant ships.

Anyway, that answered the question of what happened to the ships. What about the hostages? The ships' officers would not be worth anything; they would probably be killed or, with the crews of the ships, put on shore at one of the remoter Brazilian ports. But how was a ransom demand for the hostages going to be sent on to those able (and willing) to pay? A message for the hostages' respective governments could be put on board homeward-bound ships, naming the prices and where the money should be paid over—somewhere like Madrid, or Cadiz, he presumed.

Yet compared with the value of the ships, the problems of collecting ransom entailed a great deal of work for very little profit, quite apart from the delays involved. Governments or relatives would want assurances that the hostages would be handed over safely. Neither Hart nor Tomás seemed the kind of man for that sort of work.

Ramage wrote “Fate of hostages?”, and then added: “Murdered or released without ransom?” He guessed that Tomás would vote for murder and Hart for release. Which of the two men really was the leader?

Then he wrote down the question whose answer he hardly dared to think about: “What is the consequence of the
Calypso
's arrival?”

The privateers had been quick to act. Obviously they had a lookout on the island who had spotted the
Calypso
on the eastern horizon, but the speed with which they arranged the hostages and made their plans showed that the
Lynx
was commanded by a decisive captain, not an argumentative committee of privateersmen. Tomás or Hart? He needed to know because one of them would murder without hesitation.

The final question was: “Can they blackmail me into leaving with the
Calypso?
”

Of course they could! But would they? From the
Lynx
's point of view, having the
Calypso
at anchor here ensured she was helpless: any action by her could provoke the murder of the hostages. On the other hand the
Calypso
at sea and out of sight could be fetching reinforcements (not much of a threat, considering the distances involved) or by chance meeting another of the King's ships (quite likely farther to the east, on the Cape route). Or could be intercepting the second privateer, surprising her with her prizes and sinking her.

Ramage cursed to himself: he was far from sure that having reached a stalemate here with the
Lynx,
he should not sail and try to catch her consort. But would Tomás and Hart let him sail? On the whole it seemed unlikely, and the decision certainly rested with them. Suddenly to sail with the
Calypso
would panic the privateersmen, causing them to murder everyone, abandon their prizes and flee.

Abruptly he realized that the sentry was now rapping on the door of his cabin, a sure sign that previous calls had gone unheard. A shout from Ramage brought Orsini into the cabin to report that the survey and sounding parties were now ready and Mr Aitken had them paraded along the gangway.

Ramage wiped his pen, put the cap on the inkwell, stood up and reached for his hat. The difference between a young midshipman and a post captain, he thought sourly, is that the midshipman goes off on an expedition while the captain stays behind and scribbles …

He found three groups of men waiting for him. The largest, under the Second Lieutenant, Wagstaffe, comprised the surveyor Williams, both draughtsmen, the grey-haired botanist, Garret, and five Marines with Rennick.

His instructions were brief. The party was to land at the most suitable place, choosing somewhere they would use for the next few days. The boat would then anchor off, leaving a couple of seamen in it as boat-keepers. The survey would then start, continuing until there was not enough light, and without being too obvious Rennick would choose the sites for batteries. The posts with the plaques would be erected, claiming the island as British.

“It is most important,” he emphasized, “that you all go about your business as though the privateer was not here. For the time being we have to pretend this is simply an anchorage for six ships. Don't do anything to spoil the impression I've given the privateersmen—that I will do nothing without orders from the Admiralty. So go ahead and measure your angles and distances. What will be your base?”

“I thought we'd erect a flagpole on the highest peak—or on a suitable platform which can be seen from all parts of the island,” David Williams said.

“Yes, but don't forget a signal platform will have to be manned eventually, and that means soldiers or seamen climbing up to it, perhaps in the dark.”

Williams nodded and admitted: “Yes, sir, I'd forgotten that aspect. I was looking at it from a surveyor's point of view.”

Ramage turned to Rennick. “You may find the camp on shore where the privateersmen are guarding the crews of their prizes. If so, give it a wide berth, but note its position and, without being too obvious about it, see how many men are on guard.”

“Details we'd need if we planned to rescue the prisoners,” Rennick said confidently.

“Exactly—but don't arouse the privateersmen's suspicions.”

With that he went on to the second survey party, led by Walter White and commanded by the
Calypso
's Third Lieutenant, Kenton. They had five Marines under Sergeant Ferris, but like Rennick's group they were dressed as seamen. Ramage was anxious not to alarm the privateersmen. Men dressed as seamen would arouse no curiosity but Marine jackets and crossbelts would. For the same reason the men were armed with cutlasses and pistols, not muskets. The pistols would not be very obvious; everyone knew that cutlasses were needed to cut a path through the waist-high brushwood covering much of the island.

With the second survey party following the first to shore, Ramage turned to the soundings team, commanded by Martin. They had, as instructed, all their equipment on the deck in front of them: two leads, the lines neatly coiled, an old butter firkin full of tallow, a boat compass, three notebooks, a quadrant and a telescope.

Ramage picked up one lead and inspected it, then the other. Each was a solid cylinder of lead, with an eye at one end to which the line was attached, and a depression cast in the other, to be filled with tallow.

Pointing at the firkin of tallow, Ramage said: “Don't forget it's as important to know the type of bottom as the depth, so make sure you keep on inspecting what sticks to the tallow, and wiping it off before the next cast. Sand, small shell, broken coral, volcanic mud, silt … note it all down, and make sure you get your abbreviations right: don't rely on ‘s'—it could mean sand, silt or shell.

“Have you decided your base lines for triangulation?” He addressed the question to Martin, but was just as interested to see what Orsini had learned about chartmaking from Southwick in the last few hours.

“Yes, sir,” Martin said. “Those two rocks that stand up like chimneys.” He pointed to one near the privateer, and a second one halfway along the peninsula forming the northern side of the bay.

Orsini said: “That first rock means we can keep on looking at the privateer, too.”

Ramage nodded. “Yes, the number of men and the times they leave or board the
Lynx.
By the way, Martin, if you suspect there are isolated rocks, get a second boat so that you can sink a line between the two of you and sweep the bottom. Or anyway drag to a definite depth.”

“How deep, sir?”

“Five fathoms,” Ramage said. Few ships drawing thirty feet would ever anchor here; the phrase “Swept to thirty feet” written on a chart was a warning that below five fathoms there might be isolated rocks to foul an anchor cable. It was all too common for a ship's cable to wind itself round rock or coral as she headed first one way and then another with each change of wind or tide, and often the first hint of trouble came only when trying to weigh—or the rock chafed through the rope and the ship found herself drifting, her cable cut and an anchor lost.

Turning to Rossi and Stafford, each of whom now wore a canvas apron to keep some of the water off them as they hauled up the lead, he said: “You'll find Mr Martin will take you close to one or two of the prizes as you row a line of soundings. Tell him anything you notice—number of guns, how many guards, if any passengers are on deck, if sheets, braces or tacks have been unrove … you know the sort of thing.”

A few minutes later the boat was heading for the first rock, and through the telescope Ramage could see that she was being watched by the privateersmen. Once she was past the
Lynx
and the men started heaving the lead as the boat was rowed slowly across the bay, the privateersmen lost interest: the
Calypso
's boat was doing what their Captain had said he had orders to do …

Ramage snapped the telescope shut and said to Aitken: “You have your ship-watchers at work?”

Aitken grinned and said: “The privateersmen won't spot them if you can't see them, sir.”

Together they walked over to Bowen: the surgeon was wedged into the shadowy corner of a gun port, a slate on his knees.

“Not much to report, sir. There are at least eight guards. They had eight women walking the deck for half an hour, and then eight men—I presume the husbands; they were not dressed as seamen—for another half hour. They used the after companion-way.”

That was an important point: it meant that in the
Earl of Dodsworth,
one of the Honourable East India Company's newest ships, the sixteen passengers were almost certainly being kept prisoner in their own cabins. Eight married couples, eight cabins. Or were some of the women daughters with separate cabins? Or one or two of the men bachelors? It was a hopeless problem to work out. East Indiamen varied in the number of passengers they carried: there were different classes, the people ranging from important members of the Company and its military service to clerks and writers, as they were called. Those big ships normally carried a couple of dozen passengers, the dozen most important paying a hundred pounds each (with food and linen extra) for the passage and the honour of dining at the captain's table.

Bowen grunted and wrote on his slate. “Another four women, and the same eight guards—I recognize their shirts.” He picked up the telescope again. “The guards have cutlasses. I presume pistols, too, but I can't distinguish them.”

“Looks as though they put a limit of eight prisoners on deck at any one time,” Aitken commented. “Probably means eight guards. These four women will have four husbands …”

“Why not exercise the four men with the women, then?” Bowen asked.

“I've no idea,” Aitken replied. “Modest privateers, no doubt.”

Ramage said: “Keeping the wives separate from the husbands creates uncertainty. The men worry about their women; the women are lost without their husbands.” And I should know, he thought; the Herveys will have long since arrived in Paris and Gianna will have gone on to Volterra—providing Bonaparte has not already arrested her or the Herveys persuaded her to abandon the journey. At that moment he realized for the first time that the Corsican was cunning enough to keep his secret police away from her: his spies might well have told him that there were desperate men in Volterra who, the minute the Marchesa returned to rule again, would do Bonaparte's work for him …

“Have you any idea if she's homeward or outward-bound?” Aitken asked Bowen.

“Homeward, I should think,” the surgeon said promptly. “Every piece of standing and running rigging is grey; the sun has bleached the John Company colours—” he indicated the flag flapping in the breeze, the red bars now a faded pink. “Before the first of January this year John Company ships flew that ensign, seven white and six red horizontal stripes, with an old Union in the upper canton of the fly. If she's come from India she won't yet know of the change in the Union.”

Aitken nodded and grinned. “For a surgeon, you're well informed on flag etiquette.”

“I always remember Southwick saying it looked like alternate slices of lean and fat bacon, but the only change now is adding the red saltire of the Irish after the Act of Union.”

Ramage watched Martin turn his boat as it reached the first rock and stop while a seaman hove the lead for the first sounding. Not above four fathoms, from the look of it, and close to the
Lynx.
Would the privateer draw more than a couple of fathoms, twelve feet, on that length? Perhaps, to give a bite when she was driving to windward after a prize. If they had any sense, they'd anchor closer in, where it was too shallow for the
Calypso,
to guard against a surprise attack. Still, it was proof enough of their confidence that they had not done so: they must be sure that Captain Ramage would never risk the hostages who at the sound of the first shot would have their throats cut …

He walked with Aitken to where Southwick, with the second telescope, was watching the second British ship and the Dutch one. “Nothing very exciting, sir,” the Master reported. “The British ship, the
Amethyst,
seems to have ten passengers and four guards. They had three women on deck for half an hour, then seven men. Same four guards, and I haven't seen anyone else. The Dutchman's the
Friesland.
I reckon both ships are homeward-bound: new rigging here and there, but simply replacing worn.”