Governor Ramage RN

Chapter Fourteen

By nightfall most of the survivors of the two ships were in occupation of the village. The powder and muskets had been moved and the St Brieucs and St Cast were given the best house while Ramage, Yorke, Southwick and Bowen shared another. The senior petty officers shared two more which left four unoccupied and in various stages of disrepair for the seamen. Ramage was surprised at the lack of enthusiasm for them.

"Those houses," he asked Jackson. "What's wrong with them? Why don't the men use them?"

Jackson looked blank and Ramage said irritably, "I've given them four houses and told 'em to decide among themselves, you know all that!"

The American said apologetically, "Sorry, sir, I didn't quite follow what you meant. The men are grateful, sir, but they'd sooner sleep out in the open."

"You mean that what is good enough for the officers isn't good enough for them," Ramage said acidly.

"Oh no, sir!" Jackson exclaimed in alarm, "it's not that at all. Sleeping in hammocks slung from trees in the Tropics with all the birds singing and the strange flowers and all that - why, sir, they're like kids at Michaelmas Fair. They're loving it. They've been betting on humming birds, putting their money on which particular blossoms on a tree get visited in a set time."

"Oh," Ramage said lamely. "I'm glad. I hope they won't forget how to sling a hammock afloat."

"They'll be ready to go to sea when the time comes, sir. It's just something completely new. Even the men from country places are finding it so different, sir."

Supper was served in the largest room in the house taken over by Ramage, and he decided that he would eat his meals with the others simply because the alternative was too complicated.

They were halfway through the meal when Ramage said: "Has anyone thought of an explanation of the mysterious clue?"

No one had.

"What do you propose to do?" Yorke asked.

"Well, the provisions ship isn't due from San Juan for another three weeks. I might as well keep the men busy digging holes as doing anything else."

"The wrecks, sir," Southwick reminded him.

"Of course. The most important jobs are protecting ourselves here, guarding the provisions, bringing over the rest of the powder, and getting more supplies from the wrecks before they break up, just in case we don't get off the island for a while. That means I can use the slaves and some seamen just to dig. The dons dug only one hole at a time."

"I'm not surprised," Bowen said. "If that Spanish officer wasn't there, the moment the treasure was found, it'd vanish into thin air!"

"Exactly," Ramage said. "And because we have more reliable people to take charge, we can cover more ground."

"Count me in," Yorke said.

"I hope you won't forget me, sir," Bowen said. "I should regard the discovery of pirate treasure as the climax of my medical career."

"Medicine and piracy go hand in hand," Southwick teased.

"Exactly," Bowen said. "Didn't you notice the alacrity with which I volunteered?"

"I wonder what language the clue was composed in," Yorke said.

"Why not Spanish?" Ramage asked.

"I just can't see a pirate not making it rhyme. I was wondering if it was originally in English, poorly translated, and now translated back, slightly differently from the original."

"I should have thought of that before," Ramage said, feeling his face redden. "The Spanish weren't the pirates; they were the victims. The clue certainly wouldn't have been in Spanish."

"Let's translate it again," Yorke said cheerfully.

Ramage sent his steward for pen, ink and paper, and when he had written a translation of the Spanish phrases, he read them out aloud:

"Let's take the first line," he said. "I want ideas reflecting treasure and poetry!"

Yorke said, "It's wrong, I'm sure. It's isolated from the next line, whereas it probably ran on originally."

"What was the man trying to describe?" Bowen asked.

"It's a distance," Southwick said. "Buried within sound of the sea."

"You're right," Ramage exclaimed. "Let's look at the second line for a moment. It's ambiguous. It could be 'my memory' or 'remember'."

" 'Remember me'?" asked Yorke.

Ramage nodded, wrote it down and then said tentatively, "It could begin, 'Hear the sea and remember me...'"

"That's more like it," Bowen said. "Now, how did the third line go?"

Ramage read it again, and the surgeon said: "Three times three, eh. Nine paces, or perhaps three pieces of something in three places?"

"Three pieces ... I'd have expected it to be 'Three by three' in that case," Yorke said.

Ramage scribbled it down, and read the fourth line, adding, " 'A tree above' could also mean 'underneath a tree', or in the shade of it."

"What have we got now, sir?" Southwick said, running his hands through his white hair. "My memory isn't very good for poetry."

Ramage continued changing a word here and there for a moment, then said: "How does this sound?

"Well, we can hear the sea," he continued. "Then we have to remember this chap - presumably remember his treasure. Then 'three by three', or 'three times three'. Trees in three groups of three ... A hill with three groups of three big rocks on its slope - plenty around here, I've noticed ... Three groups of three peaks among the hills?"

"Not trees, surely," Southwick said. "They grow quickly or get blown away in a hurricane. Or burned down - I've seen traces of big fires here, probably started by lightning. And hills - they're not precise enough."

"Not trees," Yorke echoed. "Too obvious. The family here who knew the rhyme would have spotted anything like that. They've probably been looking for a trio of anything for a century or more."

"Can you hear the sea from where the Spanish party was digging when Jackson found them?" Bowen asked.

"Barely," Ramage said. "On a still night with a heavy swell on the reefs..."

"So either the Spanish don't realize the significance of 'The sound of the sea', sir, or they discount it," Bowen said.

"Yes, but obviously they have plenty of time. I didn't ask this fellow Colon how long he expected to be here, but the provisions ship is due monthly. Now, we have enough slaves to make up five parties of four. Plus four seamen to each party. And one officer."

By the time they went to bed the leadership of each party had been decided. At dawn next day they marched out along the track towards the camp. Ramage had decided to continue in that direction because Colon had covered all the flat areas flanking the track from San Ildefonso to the point where he was captured.

By nightfall the parties had returned to report that they had dug an average of twelve trenches each and found no sign of anything.

"Sixty damned trenches," Ramage said crossly to Southwick, "and not a trace ..."

"Don't think of it like that," the Master said soothingly. "It means three hundred and sixty a week which is about a year's effort for that Spanish lieutenant."

Southwick's mathematics were comforting, but whoever buried the treasure did not envisage scores of men digging for weeks: he meant someone who learnt the poem and solved its riddle to be able to go straight to the treasure.

At supper that evening he discussed the day's digging with the other men. He felt they did not share his sense of urgency; to them three weeks seemed time enough. It probably was but, as he pointed out to Yorke, "We can't be sure a ship won't arrive unexpectedly. If it does we have to capture it, and if it's suitable, sail away in it, treasure or no treasure."

"We ought to proceed with scientific precision," Yorke said mockingly. "If one or two people who know the poem just walked around the island looking for possible sites and checking the 'three by three' part, we might save a great deal of time and effort."

After supper when the table had been cleared, Ramage spread out some paper and made a rough sketch of the section of Snake Island he already knew. He shaded in the area the men had worked on during the day, and those where Colon's men had been unsuccessful.

"Which would you prefer?" he asked Yorke. "Search or dig?"

"Search!" Yorke said promptly.

For three days they searched the island, Ramage taking Jackson, Yorke accompanied by Stafford and Bowen with Rossi. Slowly they worked their way over the lower foothills on the east and north-east sides of the island. From Cabeza de Perro, the headland on the east side of where the rafts had landed, Ramage was sure they were getting warm: just opposite, half a mile away, was a small island, Culebrita, with another to the north-west. There were two sections of beach which fishermen obviously used as landing places, and there were several flat areas like platforms close by in the low hills. But there was nothing near the platforms that answered the "three by three" description.

Late in the evening Ramage and Yorke were sitting on the low wall outside their house and looking down at the reflection of the stars on the mirror-like surface of the bay.

"It could take a year," Yorke said.

"It could," Ramage said stubbornly. "But that wasn't the intention of whoever hid the treasure."

"I've been trying to picture him," Yorke said. "After all, who buries treasure, and why?"

"People like us a century or so ago."

"How do you mean?" Yorke asked, and suddenly sprang up and gave a bow. "Madame."

Maxine had walked to the wall from her parents' house.

"Are you talking about affairs of state, or may I sit and listen?"

Yorke left Ramage to reply.

"You are always welcome; I'll get you a chair."

She gestured for him to remain seated. "I will sit on the wall with you."

She sat between them and arranged her skirt. Then she turned to Ramage and gave an impish smile.

"We're trying to look into the mind of the corsair who buried the treasure," Ramage said.

"How fascinating. Please continue, I shall feel important if I can help."

They had been talking for several minutes when Maxine asked Ramage to repeat the clue. When he had done so she commented: "I would expect five lines. Peut-être ... did someone forget a line?"

"By jingo!" Yorke exclaimed. "I think she's right."

And Ramage knew she was. Colon had fooled him.

"If you'll excuse me for a few minutes," he said.

He collected Jackson and Stafford, gave them instructions and took them to the hut being used as a prison. In a sudden fit of pique Colon had refused to give his parole, so Ramage had to keep him locked up and guarded.

Jackson led the way, carrying a lantern, reassured the sentry and followed Ramage into the room.

Colon, eyes blinking in the light, looked wary.

"The poem," Ramage said abruptly. "You forgot to tell me one of the lines. I hope you made no other mistakes."

Colon shook his head. "I told you everything."

"I saved your life," Ramage said.

"Do you usually murder prisoners?"

"Listen carefully," Ramage said, not troubling to keep the bitterness from his voice. "Since the Inquisition, you people have had a bad reputation where prisoners are concerned. Now, think like a man. If I fell into your colonel's hands, and he discovered I knew a poem which was the clue to the whereabouts of a treasure trove ... you know what he would do!"

"He would behave like a gentleman."

"Rubbish!" Ramage exclaimed angrily. "He would torture me, and you know it - just as the Intendente tortured that family in the first place. You can even guess how he would torture me!"

Colon's silence told Ramage he had been lucky in choosing the Colonel as an example.

"Now," Ramage said ominously, "all I have to do is to imitate the Colonel. Then you can have no complaints."

Colon was beginning to perspire. Tiny beads of sweat mottled his brow and upper lip. His eyes jerked from side to side so much that Jackson stood with his back to the door.

"Send these men outside so that I can talk!" Colon whispered.

"They speak no Spanish."

"How can I be sure of that?"

"You can't," Ramage said unsympathetically. "You have to take my word for it."

"I will tell you," Colon said. "I told all of it except for the first line."

"Well, go on," Ramage said when the Spaniard paused, and then saw he was concentrating, as if anxious to get it right this time.

"You see the three,

By the sound of the sea

And my memory,

Three times three

A tree above.

"That's all, I swear," Colon said. "It makes no sense with or without. It is useless. The finest brains in Spain have tried to solve it. And there's the legend that the treasure lies no deeper than the height of a small man."

"Is there anything more to tell me?"

"No, señor" Colon said, "I swear it."

At last, Ramage thought, he was speaking the truth.

Leaving Jackson to lock the door, Ramage strode back to his room with the lantern, took out his copy of the earlier version of the poem, and then began changing the new version to fit the modified translation. He wrote:

He could hear Maxine and Yorke talking quietly outside, and he joined them. They both turned towards him expectantly.

"You were right, Madame, and thank you."

"Presumably you now have the missing line?" Yorke asked.

Ramage nodded. "It doesn't help much," he said, and repeated the poem.

"You stand somewhere and you see three things and hear the sea," Maxine said, as if thinking aloud. "Three what? Trees, hills, capes?"

"Headlands!" Ramage exclaimed. "Quick, let's look at the chart!"

They went into the house and Ramage unrolled the chart, but it was too small in scale to be of much use.

"A local fisherman?" Yorke suggested.

There was a chance. He called for his steward and sent him to find the slave Roberto. He would know the most reliable fisherman.

Half an hour later a thin, middle-aged and frightened fisherman stood before Ramage, wide-brimmed straw hat in his hand. The man's skin was the colour of mahogany, the result of a coloured forebear and a life spent under a tropical sun.

"Please be seated," Ramage said quietly, indicating a canvas-backed chair.

The man sidled towards the chair, as if fearing some trap, and finally sat down.

"I wish for your help," Ramage said in Spanish. "A small matter concerning the island."

The fisherman stared at him.

"The names of the bays and headlands," Ramage said. "You know them all?"

The fisherman nodded.

"That's all I want to know," Ramage said. "Just the names."

"Where do I start?"

"The entrance of this bay. Imagine we are sailing out of it and round the island with the sun. Round by the west."

"Dakity," the man said. "Ensenada Dakity, that's the first, it's a bay. Then Malena next to it. Then Punta del Soldado - that's the tip of the island. There are no more names until you get to Punta de Maguey, and Punta Tampico, with Bahia Linda in between."

As the fisherman paused to think, Ramage knew he was wasting his time; but since the fisherman was now reassured it was easier to let him go on than to shut him up.

"Punta Melones, that's next. No, Bahia de Sardinas first, then Melones. Then Bahia Tarja - that's a long bay, all the way between Punta Melones and Punta Tamarindo Chico.

"It's very rocky off Tamarindo Chico, but it has lobsters. Then comes Bahia Tamarindo, Punta Tamarindo - that's the other end of the bay - and then Punta Tamarindo Grande. There are no more names for a long distance, until you get to Punta Noroeste -"

Yorke interrupted to ask Ramage: "Didn't he just give three or four places with the -"

"I'm letting him go on so he doesn't guess we attach importance to them."

Yorke nodded, and Ramage waved for the fisherman to continue. Name after name followed - Molinos ... Flamenco ... Manchita ... Playa Larga ... Perro ... Manzanilla ... Vaca ... Mosquito.

Finally the fisherman intoned, "Punta Carenero, Punta Padilla, Punta Cabras - and then you are back here."

"Thank you," Ramage said. "They have interesting names. Why do you suppose Punta del Soldado was so named? A garrison perhaps?"

"Yes, long ago," the fisherman said. "My grandfather mentioned it."

"And Bahia de Sardinas - good for sardines, no doubt?"

The fisherman snorted. "Never one in that bay!"

"No more than there are tamarinds in Bahia Tamarindo!"

"Ah," the fisherman said knowingly, "plenty of tamarinds there, just at the back of the beach. Beads," he said. "I collect the pods and we empty out the seeds. Then I soak the seeds in boiling water until they get soft and I can stitch them. Make necklaces for the lady?" he asked, looking at Maxine. "Would she like to buy them? I can make to whatever pattern she wishes."

Quickly Ramage seized the chance, speaking to Maxine in French as though asking her a question. Then he said to the fisherman: "The señora would like to buy. She wishes me to go to the bay tomorrow to select the seeds."

"Certainly," the fisherman said, "I have no seeds in stock. How many necklaces does the lady require?"

"Many," Ramage said. "For herself and her mother."

"Ah," said the fisherman, "it will be a pleasure."

Ramage told him to report next morning at dawn, and the man left after bowing to Maxine with the natural manners of an honest man.

Yorke raised his eyebrows. "Reveal to us the secrets of the Tropics, O Governor with the Spanish tongue."

Maxine laughed when Ramage drew himself up and took a deep breath, like a politician about to harangue a crowd.

"Tamarind," he said gravely. "Vote for the tamarind, known to our Spanish brothers as the tamarindo, and our French sister as the tamarin."

"It has our vote," Yorke said equally gravely. "But what we want to know now is, will it win the election; will it reduce taxes and bring us peace and prosperity at no effort?"

"We'll know by tomorrow," Ramage said, and explained what the fisherman had told him. "There are three 'Tamarind Points' - and that's unusual anywhere - with a 'Tamarind Bay' for good measure."

"Why three points?" Yorke asked.

"Well, the one in the middle is plain Punta Tamarindo, with Bahia Tamarindo to the south down to Punta Tamarindo Chico. Chico can mean 'small' or 'short'. The one to the north, Punta Tamarindo Grande, is just the big one."

"And now..." Yorke asked.

"We sleep, and at dawn the fisherman takes us there to gather tamarind seeds."

"Oh good, I must admit I was running short of them," Yorke said.

"I guessed that," Ramage said. "By the way, the trees are the wild tamarind. The seeds can be strung together as beads, or shaken as a musical instrument."

Next morning Ramage, Yorke, Jackson and Stafford stood on Punta Tamarindo while the sun rose behind them. The air was dry and aromatic and already the heat had set the shrubs buzzing with insects, while humming birds inspected the blossom. The fisherman tapped Ramage's arm.

"It is beautiful, eh?"

Ramage nodded, and the man pointed to a cone-shaped island in front of them.

"Cayo de Luis Peña," he said. "Just goats there now. Good fishing - grouper, snapper, lobster ... And the little cays beyond - Las Hermanas. And beyond them, towards Puerto Rico, I don't know their names. There" - he pointed to the long, low island to the south-west - "that is Vieques. The priest lives there," he added. "He visits us twice a year."

Ramage nodded, wondering when to steer the conversation back to where they stood, but the fisherman needed no prompting. He pointed southwards, to their left.

"There, Bahia Tamarindo. The water - have you ever seen it so blue? Then Tamarindo Chico at the end."

"The point beyond Chico?"

"Ah," the Spaniard said, with the pride of a shopkeeper displaying an item he knows a wealthy customer will not only admire but buy at the right price. "That is Punta Melones and in line beyond it, the most distant of all, Punta del Soldado."

"Beautiful," Ramage said.

The fisherman turned to the north, pointing to his right. "Tamarindo Grande," he announced. Ramage nodded appreciatively and, turning to Yorke, said in English: "Any comments on the scenery?"

"Yes. For what it's worth, Tamarindo Grande, the Melon - or whatever it was the fellow called it - and Punto del Soldado are in line. Two miles from each other and a geometrically precise straight line passes through the western tip of each one."

"And that," Ramage said, "seems to put paid to our 'three by three'."

Yorke shrugged his shoulders.

The fisherman had walked fifty yards away and was beginning to pull the long, flat pods from the tamarinds, crack them open and shake the seeds into his sack.

Ramage and Yorke looked around the short headland. There was a scattering of trees, the most prominent being a tall, lacy-leaved casuarina, and they strolled towards it.

"Seven trees," Yorke said. "The significant thing is that seven has no possible connection with three, or three times three!"

"I know," Ramage said. "I'm getting to the point where things only exist for me if they're in multiples of three."

Yorke laughed and bent down to pick up a large sea shell. It was sun-bleached and worn by the sea and the sand.

"How do these things get up here?"

"Birds, probably," Ramage said. "They find them alive and bring 'em ashore to eat the animal inside."

"It's a pretty shell."

"A flame helmet."

"What is?" Yorke asked in surprise.

"That shell. A type of conch - you've seen the natives eating the Queen conchs. They cut a small slot here" - he pointed to one end - "and that severs the animal's anchor so they can pull it out. The birds haven't learned the trick. This one is a cousin of the Queen conch. You can see it's shaped something like a helmet."

"Haven't seen one before," Yorke said, turning it in his hand. "I'll take this one back and present it to Madame."

The fisherman joined them, his sack of seeds slung over his shoulder.

"You take him back with you," Ramage said. "Jackson and I will just have a look over the other two Tamarinds."

Yorke said doubtfully: "I've got a feeling the trio of tamarinds is just a coincidence."

Ramage grimaced. "We might as well clutch at a tamarind as a straw..."

With that Yorke, Stafford and the fisherman began the long walk back to the camp while Ramage and Jackson went northwards to Tamarindo Grande. It was barren; just a few trees and boulders. Then they walked back past Punta Tamarindo to Tamarindo Chico.

Jackson kicked a small stone in anger.

"It isn't as though the Spaniards deserve to find it, sir!"

"No more or less than us," Ramage said mildly.

"I suppose not. Do the admirals get a share, sir?"

That's an interesting point, Ramage thought. "I've no idea. Probably not treated like prize money."

"But it's the same thing, isn't it, sir?"

"It most certainly isn't! Only a ship can be condemned as a prize. You wouldn't get a penn'orth of prize money for capturing this island, for instance."

"Not even a reward, sir?" Jackson asked hopefully.

"You might get something. Don't spend it until you've received it though, just in case!"

In silence the men started back to the village.

As he walked down the slope to the houses Ramage heard the sound of women's laughter and found Yorke and St Cast sitting with the St Brieucs on the balcony of their house.

Maxine waved gaily when she saw Ramage and beckoned to him to join them. He would have preferred to go to his own room and sit alone for an hour or two: the visit to Punta Tamarindo was a bigger disappointment than he cared to admit. He'd spent the night and all the time they were walking there thinking that the three headlands called tamarind must fit the poem. His hopes had strengthened when he found three headlands in line, and now he felt flat. His feet were sore from the long walk; his eyes ached from the sun's glare; his mouth was dry and gritty from the dusty tracks, and mosquitoes and sandflies had bitten him freely.

"Come!" Maxine called "We have limonade ready for you."

As she stood facing him, her eyes sparkling and her hands outstretched, he wanted to take her in his arms. Instead he climbed the steps to the balcony, bowed to the St Brieucs and nodded to the others.

"Such a long face!" Maxine exclaimed.

"Someone knocked his sand-castle down!" Yorke said.

Maxine looked puzzled. "Sand-castle?"

"Mr Yorke likes talking in riddles."

She shrugged her shoulders. "Alors - he has given me a beautiful present."

Ramage was jealous but said quickly: "Don't tell me what it is - I'll guess. Now, let me see - a coronet studded with diamonds and rubies?"

She shook her head and laughed. "Not exactly."

"A tiara, then - of gold, mounted with a huge emerald and one hundred perfect pearls."

She shook her head again. "No, it is much more beautiful."

"A miniature of me."

She laughed so loudly her mother looked shocked and her father delighted. St Brieuc glanced at Ramage, as if encouraging him to go on making her laugh; she needed to laugh much more.

"That would be 'a pearl beyond price' - isn't that how you say it? No, it is a sea shell."

She waved the flame helmet which Yorke had cleaned and polished.

"It is wonderful - look, if I hold it to my ear I can hear the sea!"

Ramage froze for a moment, and then reached out for it.

"Give it to me please," he said harshly.

He put the open part of the shell to his ear and sure enough there was a hollow noise, like breakers on a distant beach. Even as he listened, he saw the startled look on Yorke's face give way to deep thought and that in turn was replaced by an almost disbelieving grin.

Before either of them could say anything, St Brieuc whispered, "That's it, 'The sound of the sea...’”

Then Maxine, who had been startled by Ramage snatching the shell from her, gave a quick curtsey and said, "A shell without price, anyway!"

They all laughed and for several minutes they chattered excitedly, passing the shell from one to another. As they talked Ramage kept trying to fit this particular shell into the hunt for the treasure.

St Brieuc put it into words, saying in his quick yet authoritative voice: "We must not forget this is only one shell. I presume that there are thousands more in the sea."

And they all looked crestfallen.

"We're letting the treasure hunt get on our nerves," Ramage said. "I am, anyway."

"Me too!" Yorke said. "I have to admit it's exciting. Even if we find nothing, I've enjoyed it so far. What small boy hasn't played pirates and searched for treasure?"

"Quite," Ramage agreed, "but at the same time I'd like to be one of the few adults who actually found it!" As he spoke he saw Maxine watching him speculatively, as though weighing him up. Their eyes met and Ramage wondered, yet again, what her husband was like.

Within a week of the landing from the rafts, life on Snake Island had settled into a pleasant routine. The seamen of both ships enjoyed the treasure hunt - they were so eager to join one of the digging teams that Southwick grumbled that if there had been any miscreants he'd have made them part of the raft's crew.

After a day's digging, several of the men spent an hour or two each evening tidying up the ground round the houses. They cleared out some of the shrubs to give more space to the frangipani, now coming towards the end of its blossom, and a dozen other and smaller flowering trees, shrubs and bushes. They had made crude tables and forms and set them under the shade of a big flamboyant which towered over them like a scarlet umbrella. The paths leading from house to house had been lined with small rocks which had been painted white. Slowly San Ildefonso was being transformed into a neat hamlet.

Ramage saw that the men, starved for years of the sight and sound of life on land, were making up for it by getting the feel of the soil; watching and helping it to produce beauty. Southwick, in his quiet, fatherly way, was helping them. Appleby was told to bring over paint, nails, a few planks of timber chopped from bulwarks, so the men could make more furniture.

Much to Bowen's delight, St Cast had proved to be a fine chess player, and Appleby brought the surgeon's chess-set back from the wreck so the two could play a few games each evening.

The St Brieucs had settled into life in the tiny village of San Ildefonso as if they were in a comfortable château on the banks of the Loire. Early in the morning, before the sun was too hot, or in the late afternoon, he saw all three of them walking slowly along one of the beaches of the great inland bay as if they were inspecting their estates. They were enchanted by the flocks of small white egrets which flew out every evening to sleep on a small cay in the centre of the bay, and came back with descriptions of strange birds and butterflies, chameleons and insects.

Ramage intended to let Appleby make two more raft trips to the wrecks. After that they'd have more than enough provisions. The idea of putting partly filled casks over the side and letting them float ashore had been highly successful. The cooper had also taken the opportunity of cleaning water casks and floating them over empty, and now they were stored by the well, ready to be filled when the supply ship arrived. Ramage was determined they should not be short of water and provisions on the voyage to Jamaica.

The slaves had proved a cheerful crowd of men, and most evenings they sang the songs of Africa or danced round a fire, to the delight of the seamen, who were soon learning the steps of the dances and joining in with clumsy enthusiasm.

It amused everyone to refer to Ramage as "The Governor". St Brieuc quietly promoted the idea and it certainly made things a lot easier for Ramage. He was the youngest of them all, except for Maxine, but as Governor he could give orders without affecting the social side of their lives together.

Ramage was talking to Jackson one morning when the American asked: "Did the fisherman make a good job of the necklaces?"

"Excellent. They were a great success."

"That Tamarind Point business was a big disappointment, sir."

Ramage nodded. "Tamarinds, and flame helmets - I don't care if I never see any more!"

"Flame helmets, sir?" Jackson asked. "What are they?"

Ramage described the shell to the American.

"I remember it now, sir."

"Yes, if only there'd been three of them," Ramage said absentmindedly as he recalled Maxine's "I can hear the sea", and their brief excitement.

"There were, sir," Jackson said. "Three of them in a straight line. Mr Yorke picked up the nearest one. Didn't you see the others?"