Ramage And The Drum Beat (11 page)

‘The signal the ship is captured is two white lights!’

‘Good – that’s what my man said.’

‘And as soon as the frigate removes the upper of the three lights she’s showing,’ Antonio continued, ‘we alter course to the north-west.’

‘Good for you,’ Ramage said ruefully, ‘I forgot to ask that!’

‘My man was only too anxious to talk,’ Antonio said.

‘What did you do to him?’

‘Nothing – I merely threatened this.’ Antonio made an unambiguous gesture. ‘And you?’

‘The same.’

‘It never fails.’

‘Apparently not,’ Ramage said drily, ‘though it’s the first time I’ve tried it.’

‘And me, but – well, how would you like it if…’

‘Please!’ Ramage said hurriedly, ‘it’s bad enough threaten-ing someone else!’

As soon as the lanterns were in position, the course altered and the frigate signalled, and some seamen had gone down the cable to retrieve the Spanish boat, Ramage went below to Marmion’s cabin and without any preliminaries demanded, ‘You knew this attempt would be made?’

The Spaniard glanced from side to side, avoiding Ramage’s eyes, his fat face glistening with perspiration.

‘Captain Marmion,’ Ramage said in a deceptively calm voice, ‘Your officers were on parole. They gave their word of honour they would obey my orders.’

‘It seems they disobeyed them.’

The Spaniard’s tone was defiant now.

‘They obeyed your orders, then.’

‘Yes, it was my idea.’

Ramage gripped the sides of the doorway so hard the battens began to bend, but a moment later his anger was under control.

‘Earlier today I could have sunk your ship and left you and your men swimming. By now you would all be dead.’

‘And why didn’t you?’ Marmion sneered. ‘Because you want the honour and glory of capturing a frigate.’

And of course Marmion was partly right.

‘That has nothing to do with breaking parole.’

‘It is ridiculous,’ Marmion exclaimed. ‘A cutter capturing a frigate! Whoever heard of…’

‘But we have, my dear Marmion, we have. A cutter has captured a frigate. And, I haven’t changed my mind, at dawn you will be put back on board and, to save myself the bother of towing, I shall demonstrate how a cutter can sink a frigate. How many in your ship’s company? Say three hundred? Think of three hundred survivors – if all of them survive the explosion I shall have arranged in the magazine – clinging to the wreckage, and the sun rising and getting hotter and hotter and all of you thirstier and thirstier… By tomorrow night, you’ll have all been driven mad – except those who were too weak to hold on and drowned. Goodnight, captain. I wish I could send you a priest; you won’t have much time to make your peace in the morning.’

By the time Ramage was called by the Master’s mate just before dawn he had decided how to avoid a repetition of the previous night’s antics, and as he shaved he took malicious pleasure in the thought that Captain Marmion would have spent a sleepless night anticipating an unpleasant death. The pleasure was only slightly marred by the fact his steward had not stropped his razor properly and the water was almost cold, and he winced at every stroke of the blade.

On deck it was cold; dawn warned of its approach by a dimming of the stars and the hint of grey in the black of night. Appleby reported the Kathleen’s speed – still only a couple of knots – and that the wind had not changed.

Then Ramage realized he had forgotten something which might – apart from the attempt at boarding – have led to the Kathleen’s capture during the night. If the wind had dropped there would have been no strain on the cable, which would have sunk, and its enormous weight would have pulled the cutter and La Sabina together. The frigate would probably have ranged alongside and one broadside would have destroyed the cutter – or a Spanish boarding party would have overwhelmed the ship’s company… He felt sick at his foolhardy over-confidence; it was the worst peril after winning the first round of a battle.

The sky to the eastward was lightening perceptibly.

‘Beat to quarters, Mr Appleby, if you please.’

It was routine in wartime to meet the dawn with the ship’s company standing to the guns and ready for action.

After the excitement of the last twenty-four hours, Ramage wanted to hear only one hail, ‘The horizon’s clear’, and that would not come until it was light enough to send a lookout up to the masthead. For once he was looking forward to breakfast. He remembered just in time to tell Appleby to send the men to quarters quietly. The rattling of the drum would give the game away.

In quick succession, he was joined by Southwick, Antonio and Jackson. The Italian knew the dawn routine, and betrayed no anxiety at the order.

‘Good morning, Nico. You anticipate any excitement?’

‘No – at least, not from the frigate, but there may be another ship in sight.’

‘Have you thought of a suitable punishment for the Spanish lieutenant, and the rest of the gentlemen over there who broke their parole?’

‘Not yet. Make ’em scrub the deck on their knees, perhaps!’

Antonio laughed. ‘But the prisoners we have on board need many of our men to guard them.’

‘I know; I shall be disposing of them shortly.’

Ramage chuckled as Antonio, Southwick and Jackson all stiffened, obviously misinterpreting ‘disposing’.

‘I shall dispose of them, Mr Southwick, by sending them back in their own boat.’

The Master shuffled his feet, and then said apologetically, ‘If you’ll forgive me, sir, but is that wise? After all, they’ll have seen how short-handed we are…’

‘They must have guessed that from the start. But think of the surprise when all their boarding party led by their first lieutenant row back with bruised heads! Don’t forget that at this very moment everyone on board that frigate thinks the Kathleen is a prize, that the boarding party has killed most of us.’

‘By God, I’d forgotten that,’ Southwick exclaimed gleefully, slapping his thigh.

‘Yes, and before they recover, our gig will be alongside to take off all her officers, except the Master.’

Antonio drew his hand across his throat.

‘You cut off the snake’s head.’

‘Precisely.’

‘Unless, of course, the snake strikes first, and refuses to have its head cut off. In other words, the officers refuse to leave the ship.’

‘We have their captain, don’t forget,’ Ramage said. ‘He’s our hostage. By the way Mr Southwick, we’ll have Spanish colours run up over ours, if you please.’

As soon as the lookout climbed the shrouds and reported the horizon clear, Ramage told Southwick to get the prisoners over the side into their boat. Once they were sitting on the thwarts, bruised, bleary, frightened and bewildered, Ramage ordered them to row to La Sabina, snubbing Pareja by giving the order to a seaman.

Five minutes later, after protests from Southwick, he handed him the telescope. ‘They’re on board. I can just imagine the look on Teniente Pareja’s face as he describes what happened. Right, if the gig’s ready it’s time for me to join them.’

‘Let me go, sir!’

‘Please, Mr Southwick, don’t let’s go into all that again. Apart from anything else, you don’t speak Spanish and you’d probably miss some significant remark.’

‘Aye aye, sir,’ the Master said with as much disapproval in his voice as he dare express.

The crew were already in the gig as Ramage climbed down. Suddenly he realized that with the Spaniards’ boat already alongside the frigate and the Kathleen’s only remaining boat going alongside in a few minutes, the Spaniards could (if they thought of it) capture both and by risking their captain’s life scupper his only weapon, the explosion boat.

‘Mr Southwick,’ he called. ‘I want a dozen more men. I’ll send the gig straight back and bring the Spanish officers over in their own boat.’

A group of Spanish officers were waiting at the gangway for them to come on board, but Jackson put the gig neatly alongside the other boat and, with Ramage and the dozen extra seamen, leapt in, leaving the gig to drift clear and row back to the Kathleen.

The whole manoeuvre had taken place so smoothly and quickly that Ramage knew the Spaniards had either been taken by surprise or had not realized the importance of boats. Lieutenant Pareja was waiting for him as he reached the gangway, followed by Jackson.

As the Spaniard began his long formal greeting he gingerly removed his hat, revealing a plaster stuck on the crown of his head. His face was white and he winced in pain as, his bow completed, he stood upright again. Even as he winced he saw the scar over Ramage’s brow was now a white slash against the tan, as if the skin was too taut, and the eyebrows were drawn into a straight line. Then he looked into the deep-set eyes.

Since Pareja’s voice had trailed off for no apparent reason, Ramage said icily, ‘You broke your parole.’

‘Sir! How can you suggest…’

‘You broke your parole, and there is no basis for discussion. Please present your officers to me.’

Pareja shrugged his shoulders and called to a small group standing by the wheel. They came at once, four young men with barely a couple of years’ difference in their ages, and lined themselves up like nervous schoolboys, although Ramage knew they were all about his own age. He was careful to stand three or four paces from them to avoid any handshaking, and Pareja introduced them as the second, third, fourth and junior lieutenants and each bowed in turn.

‘And the Master?’

Pareja waved to an unshaven man, perhaps five feet tall but looking more like a weather-stained barrel with legs. Ramage turned to catch Jackson’s eye, glancing meaningfully at the pistol tucked in the American’s belt and then at Pareja, who missed the byplay.

While the Spanish Master waddled over, resentment, hatred and contempt showing in his face, Jackson moved casually so that he was standing a couple of paces behind Pareja.

As the Master was introduced Ramage knew he could not be left on board. He too would have to be a prisoner; he was obviously a tough, brutal man and capable of any treachery or crime that came into his greasy head. In his place Ramage decided to leave the fourth lieutenant, a willowy and weak-faced youth, foppish in his manner and obviously someone who had more ‘interest’ at Court than interest in seamanship.

Ramage turned to Pareja.

‘With the exception of this gentleman,’ he said in English, pointing to the fourth lieutenant, ‘you will all go into the boat at once.’

Pareja, dumbfounded by the unexpected order, stared at Ramage, and then stuttered, ‘But…but…’

‘Translate the order, please.’

‘No, I refuse.’

Ramage looked at Jackson over the Spaniard’s shoulder and nodded.

The muzzle of the American’s pistol pressed into the back of Pareja’s neck. He stood as if paralysed and Jackson, with a neatly timed sense of the dramatic, cocked the pistol so that Pareja must have felt the click all the way down his spine. Ramage could see beads of perspiration on the man’s forehead and upper lip, but because he looked as though he would remain silent, Ramage suddenly snapped out the order in Spanish himself. The suddenness of Jackson’s movement and Ramage’s unexpected ability to speak Spanish sent the second, third and junior lieutenants walking to the break in the bulwark, but the Master stood firm.

‘You, too,’ Ramage said.

‘No, I stay.’

Ramage was determined not to argue; but he did not want to spend life unnecessarily, so he turned to Pareja with what he hoped was a ruthless expression on his face, at the same time drawing his own pistol and pointing it at the Master.

Speaking in Spanish he said coldly, ‘Lieutenant, until yesterday I did not know you existed. Today I do not care whether you exist or not. The same applies to this man. If he does not get into the boat I shall kill you both. It is a matter of no consequence or significance to me or my plans, so please yourself whether or not you give him a lawful order as his senior officer; it is his last chance – and yours, too.’

Pareja now looked as if he would faint before he had a chance to speak: Jackson was pressing the muzzle of the pistol so firmly into his neck he was having to brace himself to avoid being forced to take an undignified pace forward.

Finally he whispered to the Master: ‘Do as you are told. Get into the boat.’

The Master seemed about to disobey, but after glancing at the muzzle of Ramage’s pistol and then at his eyes, he shuffled after the others. Ramage then spoke to the fourth lieutenant, standing by himself and obviously scared at having been singled out.

‘You are now appointed temporarily in command of La Sabina. You will follow in my ship’s wake, day and night. Burn three lights at night, as before. Make sure your men steer carefully. Don’t make any mistakes. The first one you make will cause the death of the Master – you’ll see his body float past. Then the junior, third, second and first lieutenants. Your sixth will send your captain to perdition. You understand?’

The man nodded, unable to speak.

Ramage motioned Jackson to remove his pistol and Pareja walked to the bulwark.

‘You are a barbarian,’ he half-whispered in English. ‘No better than a pirate.’

‘You flatter me,’ said Ramage coldly, enjoying himself in his temporary rôle and hard put to stop laughing, and he could not resist adding, ‘My pastime is murder. Legally, you understand; it must be done legally – that’s half the fun. That’s why I enjoy war – don’t you? After all, His Most Catholic Majesty declared war on us. We didn’t start it, you know. We are just heretics – you remember how your priests used to burn us to save our souls? Since you’ve shut the gates of Heaven to us we’re eternally damned and have nothing to lose. But you, why, if I kill you, you are bound to go to Heaven – aren’t you…?’

Ramage looked through the telescope with as much nonchalance as he could muster, forcing himself not to rub his brow as he put the telescope down. Instead, he picked some fluff off the sleeve of his jacket.

The two ships whose sails were now lifting over the horizon to the north-east were frigates, probably out ahead of the Spanish Fleet, though the ludicrous mirage effect which made them appear upside down also made it hard to identify them.