Ramage and the drum beat

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Herded below in the Spanish frigate, the Kathleens stood in a group surrounded by Spanish seamen and soldiers armed with muskets. A small cannon had been hauled over and trained down the hatch at them, and standing at the breech were two Spanish seamen, each holding a slowmatch in case the flint-lock misfired.

'They aren't taking any chances,' muttered Jackson.

'I don't blame them: we didn't—' said Ramage but left the sentence unfinished as two Spanish guards threatened him with their muskets.

It was hot and the ship stank: bilgewater, sweat, garlic, stale olive oil, rotting vegetables and ordure from the animals kept forward all added their quota to the stench. Finally, they heard sounds of the yards being braced round as the ship got under way, and the Spanish guards signalled they could sit down.

A few minutes later they had to stand again as a Spanish officer came down the ladder holding the Kathleen's muster book in his hand. Ramage wondered for a moment if Southwick had told a convincing story, then felt angry with himself: he'd put an unfair burden on the old Master's shoulders. If the Spaniards found out, Southwick would suffer as well, and Ramage felt ashamed at having embarked on the deception by merely following what Jackson had told him to do. Yet Southwick seemed to have accepted everything with his usual cheerfulness; indeed, Ramage sensed he and Jackson must have discussed it earlier.

The Spanish seamen stood to attention as best they could, shoulders and necks bent because there was little more than five feet headroom. At the foot of the companionway the Spanish officer held up the muster book to catch the light and read out the name of one of the seamen. The man looked startled.

'Over there,' said the officer, pointing to one side. He then read out more names, each time motioning the particular man to leave the group. Suddenly Ramage realized he was sorting out the foreigners - a Genoese, two Americans (at least, they were so listed in the muster book but Ramage knew both were English), a Portuguese, a West Indian and a Dane. Then he called for Jackson and Ramage, and as soon as they had joined the others, beckoned them to follow him up the companionway.

On deck the sun was rising and, glancing round, Ramage was startled to see they were in the midst of a large fleet -six great three-deckers, more than a couple of dozen two-deckers, one of which had the dismasted frigate in tow, and five or six frigates, one of them towing the Kathleen, which was flying Spanish colours. Seeing her a prize, picturing a Spanish officer in his cabin - Gianna's cabin - left Ramage feeling almost faint with dismay and anger.

As they lined up along the gangway under the direction of the Spanish officer, he realized he was the only one who had shaved within the last twenty-four hours and promptly rubbed his face to spread the dirt and perspiration more generously.

As the officer walked towards the captain's cabin Jackson whispered: 'Guessed as much: now we just swear we were pressed from neutral ships and forced to serve.'

"What good will that do?' said Ramage. 'They'll just press us into their service.'

'May not. If they do, it'll be easier to escape from a Spanish ship in port than from a Spanish prison. But we start off claiming our freedom as neutral subjects.'

'Yus,' said one of the others, Will Stafford, whose Cockney accent belied the entry 'America' in the 'Where born' column in the muster book. The entry had probably been made in deference to the fact he had purchased a Protection.

'Yus,' Stafford said almost to himself, 'we must 'ave our rights: we 'adn't oughta bin pressed in the fust plice. Free men we are.' He sucked his teeth, as if appreciating his own declaration of independence, and added 'and that goes fer Nick 'ere, too.'

The rest of the men giggled self-consciously, but Jackson hissed at them, 'For God's sake don't forget it, lads; he is Nick to us now!'

The Spanish officer came back with the captain, a tall, slim young man with black, carefully combed curly hair. Ramage guessed that while his friends called his features aquiline, his enemies said he had a hatchet face.

The man stopped a few paces away, looked them up and down as though they were cattle in a market, and said in perfect English, 'So - men who are traitors to five different countries!'

Jackson quickly asked: 'How so, sir?'

'None of you is English?'

'No, sir.'

'Then by fighting for the English, you betray your own country.'

'We had no choice, sir!' Jackson said so indignantly Ramage knew he'd be believed.

'Why?'

'We was just kidnapped out of our own ships by the English. We had to serve - they'd have hanged us if we didn't.'

'Is that true?' he asked Ramage.

'Aye, sir. These English just come on board, take off the men they want - the best, usually - and that's that.'

'You are American?'

'Aye, sir.'

'But you have a Protection, no?'

'Yes, and I showed it to the officers, but they don't take any notice.'

'But you can insist.'

'S'no good, sir: we all did at one time or another. The only way you can get released is to get on shore somehow and find an American Consul who'll lodge a complaint. Then they have to free you.'

'Why did you not do that?'

Ramage gave what he hoped sounded like a respectfully cynical laugh. 'Never given a chance of going on shore in port, sir. I've been allowed on dry land only twice in two years an' that was for wooding and watering.'

'Wooding and watering?'

'Aye, sir: cutting wood for the cook's boilers, and filling water casks. Always in lonely places.'

'Of course, I understand. Well now, I am sure all of you wish to enter the service of His Most Catholic Majesty?'

'Who?' asked Jackson, with such surprise in his voice it obviously was not feigned.

'My Master, the King of Spain.'

'Well, thank you very much, sir,' Jackson said, 'but we'd all much rather be allowed to go home.'

'Very well,' the Spaniard snapped, annoyed at having lost the chance of getting eight prime seamen. 'You'll be transferred to the flagship. You may eventually wish you'd decided to serve with me.'

With that he went below, leaving Ramage wondering whether it was an idle remark made in a fit of pique or if anything else lay behind the words.

The Spanish admiral sat at his desk in the great cabin and looked closely at Ramage and Jackson. He turned and spoke rapidly to the translator who said,

'His Excellency wishes to know when you last saw British ships of war?'

'Two weeks ago,' said Ramage.

'Where?'

'Off Cape Corse - a frigate.'

With this related to the admiral the translator asked several more question designed to find out where the British Fleet was, sometimes asking Ramage and sometimes Jackson.

Suddenly the admiral asked Ramage, in poor English, 'You seem to be a man of superior intelligence: how many sail of the line and frigates do you think the English have in the Mediterranean?'

Ramage pretended to be counting on his fingers while he thought of an answer. Should he exaggerate to frighten the Spanish admiral back into port, or say fewer, so the Spanish would seek out the British Fleet and thus give Sir John Jervis a chance of trouncing them? Then, remembering that the evacuation of Corsica - which meant protecting large convoys of merchantmen - was Sir John's prime consideration at the moment, he decided to exaggerate.

'Reckon about fifteen ships o' the line, sir. Frigates - I can only guess. 'Bout thirty.'

The surprise showed on the admiral's face: this was bad news.

'Fifteen? Name them!'

Ramage listed all those he knew had been in the Mediterranean and to the Tagus in the past few months, although many had subsequently left again.

'That makes twelve,' the admiral said.

Jackson promptly added three more names, saying he had seen one off Bastia and two off Leghorn less than a month ago.

'Why did you not know of these?' Ramage was asked.

'I was in another ship; I wasn't sent to the cutter' - he could not bring himself to say 'Kathleen' - 'until two weeks ago.'

'Very well. Your cutter - she was taking part in evacuating Corsica?'

Ramage just avoided falling into the trap and answered before Jackson could speak. 'No, sir, we was going to Gibraltar for orders, so I heard at the scuttlebutt: but I never heard any talk of 'vacuating Corsica. Why would they want to do that?'

Jackson was shaking his head, as if equally puzzled.

'You may go,' the admiral said abruptly.

Ramage turned, but Jackson asked:

'Sir, none of us - that is, the ones sent over from the frigate - is English, so will we be set free when we get into port?'

The admiral said pompously, 'We are not kidnappers like the English. If you do not wish to serve the King my Master - and I am told you do not, which is ingratitude since his servants were your rescuers - I will consider your applications.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Ramage. 'We are most grateful. When your ships came alongside, we all guessed we'd be delivered.'

It was spreading the jam thickly, but Ramage could see that profusely thanking the admiral for doing something he had not yet done - had simply said he would consider doing - would ensure his vanity did the rest.

The admiral held up his hand deprecatingly.

'It is nothing. My officers will see you are fed and clothed.'

Ramage gave a clumsy salute, followed by Jackson, and they both left the cabin. They found the other men lounging about on the gangway chatting as best they could with the Spanish seamen. There seemed to be a complete lack of discipline: men were sleeping beside the fo'c'sle guns; others were on the hammocks stowed in the nettings along the top of the bulwarks.

'What's the news, Jacko?' asked the Cockney seaman.

'The admiral—' he caught sight of the translator approaching, and raised his voice slightly '—the admiral has promised that we are free men and we can go on shore as soon as we get to a Spanish port.'

The men gave a cheer and Ramage suspected it was in response to a wink from Jackson, but it was effective: the translator, who was probably the admiral's secretary and clerk, gave an ingratiating smile as he passed, and Ramage knew Jackson's announcement and the men's cheer would be reported back to the admiral.

The main things that interested Ramage now were to discover the strength of the Spanish Fleet and the admiral's plans - both the original one, which presumably would now be abandoned, and the new one taking its place. He'd have plenty of time to see how he'd get the intelligence to Gibraltar...

A glance round the horizon answered the first question: there were exactly thirty-two sail of the line - at least six of them three-deckers - and a dozen frigates (and three or four more presumably over the horizon). The Cockney seaman, Will Stafford, provided some of the other answers, after pointing out that the frigate towing the Kathleen had left the Fleet (to avoid delaying it, Ramage guessed).

'They've been telling us they 'aven't 'ad much luck this cruise, Nick.'

'Is that so?'

'Nah - bin chasin' Old Jarvie all rahn the Medingterraneang, and never did see 'im. They reckon he's too scared to show 'isself.'

'They're right, Will,' Jackson said, conscious two or three Spanish officers had apparently casually walked into earshot. 'Old Jarvie wouldn't want to meet this Fleet.'

'Nah - well, anyway, the admiral's goin' to Carthygeeny for water and vittels, so I reckon 'e'll put us on shore there.'

'Don't care much where it is,' Ramage said, 'as long as we can get a ship home.'

'Aye,' echoed Jackson, 'as long as we can get home.'

Four days later the smell of scorching rope as the anchor cable raced out through the hawse hole drifted back to where Ramage stood on the starboard gangway looking at Cartagena. He could see, even though it was almost dark, that Spain was lucky to have an almost landlocked naval base where Nature provided such high cliffs and mountains as powerful defences against its own onslaught and the attack of enemy fleets.

As usual Ramage dreaded going below. He had no illusions about conditions below decks in a British man o' war in port: the regulation space allocated to every seaman was six feet by fourteen inches: in that space he slung his hammock. A man every fourteen inches. At sea, of course, each man had double that space because most of the ship's company was divided into two watches, arbitrarily called larboard and starboard. Usually a man in the larboard watch slung his hammock next to one in the starboard watch, and since one was always on watch the other had an empty hammock on either side of him. In harbour though, with both watches sleeping, it was a different story, and with the low head-room (usually five feet four inches or less) the whole deck would be packed solid with sleeping, snoring and sweating men (and, all too often, women). The air was frequently so foul the candles guttered in the sentries' lanterns and men woke with a taste in their mouth as if they'd been sucking a copper coin and a headache which affected their sight. But for all that, in a British ship the decks were clean, spotlessly clean, and the bilges were kept fairly sweet by frequent pumping.

But as far as Ramage was concerned, the lower decks of all Spanish men 'o war were worse than the manger of a British ship when it was full of pigs and cattle: they were, as far as he could see, scrubbed but rarely, and pieces of vegetables and particularly tough meat the seamen could not chew were tossed over their shoulders and left rotting in odd corners. And always the reek of garlic - bad enough if you stood too near a Spaniard - grasping you with invisible tentacles if you went below.

Ramage had, therefore, been relieved to hear the outraged complaints of his men the first night on board: Jackson swore he'd never ever had a nightmare in which a ship was so filthy, and Will Stafford swore in his broad Cockney that by comparison the Fleet Ditch smelled like a young maiden's boudoir, even if it did carry most of London's muck and ordure into the Thames. From then on he had always referred to going below as 'visiting the Fleet'.

Jackson came up and said, 'Guess what's for supper.'

'Bean soup.'

'How did you know?'

'Well, we've had it for every meal so far.'

The admiral's secretary called them over and with him was the flagship's first lieutenant, who did not speak English.

'The captain has given orders that you are free to go on shore as soon as a boat is available - as soon as the admiral's suite and certain officers have left the ship,' he said.

'Please thank the captain - and the admiral.'

'Of course. You will all stay at a particular inn for the time being.' He paused. 'It is a condition of your release that you stay at this inn until you leave Spain.'

'Certainly, sir,' said Ramage, 'but how can we pay an inn-keeper's bill? We've no money - the English haven't paid us for months.'

'I know that: I read the ship's books. The admiral has generously given orders that you'll be given the equivalent of the pay owing to you. The lieutenant has the money and I have a copy of the amount due to each of you. I shall give you the copy and you will issue it to the men. This,' he said to Jackson, 'will be agreeable to you and the others?'

'Oh yes, sir,' Jackson said respectfully, 'we all trust Nick.'

'Very well.' He gave Ramage a slip of paper, and spoke to the lieutenant, who handed Ramage a small canvas bag which, from its weight, obviously contained the money, and held out a piece of paper.

'The receipt for the money. You will sign it,' said the translator. 'Come to my cabin. I have a pen there.'

Ramage would have liked to have counted the money to see how much less there was in the bag than stated on the receipt, but decided not to in case it delayed them getting on shore.

An hour later the eight former Kathleens stepped out of a boat on to the quay and followed a Spanish seaman to the inn - a typical crimp's establishment. If it had been at Portsmouth, Plymouth or in the Medway towns, a seaman using it would have been on his guard against the innkeeper seeing him and his mates to bed drunk and calling a crimp (if he wasn't a crimp on his own account) who would then sell the drunken bodies to the skipper of a merchantman short of crew, or if times were hard, to a naval press gang.

The eight of them were given two rooms, and Ramage gathered them all in one of them to issue the pay.

'I signed a receipt for the Spanish dollar equivalent of the pay owing,' he said. 'But there won't be that many dollars in this bag.'

'No,' said Stafford. 'The purser, the officer who gave you the money, and that translator ... That makes at least three of 'em who've already took a reef in it.'

Ramage counted out the coins. Exactly a third of the amount had been abstracted.

'They're as bad as our chaps,' Stafford said bitterly. 'Every - oh, beggin' yer pardon, Nick...'

'Don't worry,' said Ramage, 'I wasn't born yesterday. But everyone has to take a third less than is due to him.'

With that he shared out the money then said, pointing to the door, 'Jackson, just check....'

Jackson whipped the door open, but no one was eavesdropping.

'Right,' said Ramage. 'For a moment I am your captain again and I must tell you that although the Spanish have freed you, you are still subject to the Articles of War: you are still under my command. Now, any one of you can sneak off to the Spanish authorities and reveal who I am. No one can stop you. The Articles of War can hardly be enforced here, so only your personal loyalty can make you obey my orders. Yet we all have a duty to perform, and I for one propose doing it. But I'm not forcing any of you to follow me: all I ask is that those who don't want to come with me - those who wish to stay in Spain or go elsewhere - I want those men to say so now, and do nothing to give me away. As soon as it's safe to do so, I'll free them from their obligations. Now - who wants to go?'

The Portuguese seaman locked shamefaced.

'I haven't seen my family for three years, sir, and the frontier...'

'Very well, you can go.'

'You understand, sir?'

Ramage held out his hand as an indication of his sincerity and the Portuguese gripped it eagerly. 'I promise you, sir, I shall never say anything.'

'I know,' Ramage said.

'Will you have to—'

'Put you down as "Run"? Officially I have to, but I've a bad memory for names, Ferraro. When the time comes it'll be hard to remember who were prisoners and who were taken to the flagship.'

He looked round. 'Anyone else?'

No one moved. It was hard to be sure. Among the remaining six men was there just one crafty enough to realize that by feigning loyalty and discovering Ramage's plan, he'd have useful information to sell to the Spanish for a high price? It was hard to be sure; very hard.

'Very well. Now, all of you go off and get your supper. Go steady with the liquor - remember it loosens tongues: a quart of red wine could put Spanish nooses round all our necks.'

The men trooped off, jingling their dollars, but Jackson stayed behind.

'Well, Jackson, can we trust them all?'

'Every single man, sir - including Ferraro. You can't blame him for wanting to go.'

'Of course not, and I don't.'

'Would it be impertinent if I asked about the plan, sir?'

'You may, but there isn't one yet. Obviously I've got to pass all we can find out about the Spanish Fleet to Sir John as soon as possible. At the moment I don't know how.'

'It's not far to the Rock, sir. We could get horses ...'

'Too dangerous - and too uncomfortable. A long ride and then the risk of crossing to the Rock. If the Spanish didn't shoot us our own sentries would.'

That leaves the sea, sir.'

'Yes,' said Ramage. 'We're sailors, not cavalrymen. Ships don't need sleep or fodder. But I need both at the moment. We'll have a look round the port in the morning and see what it has to offer.'