Ramage and the Freebooters

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

More than an hour later a carriage drew away from Government House and headed down the hill. A large trunk on the rack behind contained the body of the butler, while Ramage and Colonel Wilson sat inside, hot and exhausted.

Neither man spoke until the carriage arrived at Fort George, the trunk had been unloaded and taken to the magazine, and they were both sitting in Wilson's office.

Only then did the Colonel—who, since he'd arrived at Government House after an urgent message from Ramage, had simply done what the Lieutenant told him—ask his first question.

'Why didn't we leave a guard over me dam' woman, Ramage? She could be up to some more mischief this very minute!'

'It isn't necessary, sir: she was being blackmailed. The butler was our man.'

'But there must be others: what happens when they find he's missing?'

'The only one that mattered was a gardener: he took the butler's messages to the drummer.'

'What about him, then?'

'He won't trouble anyone,' Ramage said shortly.

'And the drummer?'

'We still have to find him. I know his name but not where he lives. He never goes near Government House, though, and won't be expecting to hear from the gardener until the next signal's to be passed.'

'Sir Jason seemed mightily upset,' Wilson said, not troubling to disguise the satisfaction in his voice.

'Hardly surprising, sir; imagine how it'll look in a despatch to London: the Governor's butler a spy who was blackmailing me Governor's wife's secretary into betraying secrets.'

'Well, I'm not going to gloss over it in my report to the Secretary at War,' Wilson said crossly. 'Ever since the Insurrection I've been convinced mere's been a leakage of information from Government House. When Sir Jason arrived I begged him to change all the servants—that damned butler particularly; I couldn't stand him. But Sir Jason wouldn't hear of it In fact he thought the world of the butler.'

'I wonder what else he discovered over the years and passed on to the French.'

'Beggars the imagination to think of it. Must have been a rich man by now—they'll have been paying him well.'

Ramage shook his head. 'He didn't get a penny.'

'What?' Wilson almost shouted. 'Did he—dammit, you mean to say he played traitor for nothing?'

'No,' Ramage said wearily, for the heat and excitement were taking their toll, 'he wasn't a traitor. No'—he held up a hand hastily to stop Wilson, who seemed likely to explode —'he was a French national. French father, British mother. Spoke bom languages fluently.'

'How d'you know all this?'

'From his daughter.'

Ramage had optimistically hoped that in the excitement no one would ask the question, but mere was no avoiding it.

'Daughter? Who'...' Wilson paused as he saw the misery in Ramage's face. 'Oh, hmm, deuced sorry about that, m'dear fellow. I... How much does old Fishpot know about this?'

'Nothing, sir. I had a long talk with Miss de Giraud while I was waiting for you to arrive. You know as much as Sir Jason because you were there when I told him. And a little more, now.'

'So you and I—and the lady—are the only ones that know?'

Ramage nodded. 'And now you have a duty to do, sir, so...'

'Lookee young Ramage. I've my duty to do, yes. But answer me this honestly—as far as I can make out she was answering your questions openly when you realized that fellow had come into the room with a pistol?'

'Yes—she was anxious to. She'd spent the morning trying to pluck up courage to do away with herself.'

'She told you that?' Wilson exclaimed.

'Yes—you see, I'd asked her to tell me the whole story but she couldn't bring herself to; not starting at the beginning, as it were. She wanted me to ask questions.'

'Right—now you answer two questions for me. Forget any feelings you have for her—don't get embarrassed; I envy you—and tell me if you, as a King's officer, are certain she was telling you the truth all the time.'

'Yes, and apart from that, her answers tally precisely with what we already knew.'

'Very well, Second question—if she hadn't answered your questions, could you have found out about the butler and all that business?'

Ramage shook his head.

'Definitely not After all, we only discovered about her by eliminating everyone else. But the trail would have stopped mere.'

'So in effect she's turned King's evidence: she's helped us trap a spy?'

Suddenly Ramage realized what the old Colonel was driving at.

'Yes, and willingly.' Then, after a moment's thought, he added, 'But from your point of view, sir, since you're responsible for the internal security of the island, you mustn't forget that if she'd committed suicide this morning ...'

'I'm only concerned with what she did; not what she might have done,' Wilson said crisply. 'By the way, what's the Governor proposing to do?'

'His last words to me, while you were seeing the trunk loaded on to the carriage,' Ramage said dryly, 'were that he was going to write a strongly-worded protest to Admiral Robinson and the Admiralty about me.'

'Protesting about what?'

'I don't dunk he was too sure. Probably because I deprived him of his butler...'

Wilson laughed.

'A serious offence. But just one more question about Miss de Giraud: what made her—well, obey her father and give away secrets?'

'Sheer terror. He was a fanatical revolutionary—one of Fedon's right-hand men. During the Insurrection he took her to see some voodoo nonsense—the ritual murder of a negro accused of helping the British, and the negro's wife. It was five hours before they were dead. The drummer who beats the tom-tom was one of the murderers. She was eighteen years old when she saw that. When she went to Government House, her father simply told her if she didn't do what he told her, she'd be handed over to this man. She believed he'd do it—and so do L'

'Did the Governor know she was the butler's daughter?'

'No, nor was the man really a butler. Came from an old French family. Some row at Court and he was exiled. It embittered him, so he was ripe to become a revolutionary. When the war began, he was sent to the West Indies as a spy because of his perfect English, and his daughter, too.'

'Why, isn't the daughter a Jacobin, then?'

'Her mother—she was English, remember—left him years ago in France and took the girl to England. After the Revolution but before the war began the father forced her to go back to France, though she regarded herself as English.'

'And the Governor knows none of this?'

'Not a thing Just that I had to kill his butler because he was a spy, and that the whole thing must be kept secret.'

'Very well, that doses the affair. What do you intend doing now?"

'About the privateers? Frankly sir, my head's still in a whirl: knifing a man accidentally like that leaves a nasty feeling...'

'You'd have an even nastier feeling if he'd shot you, which he obviously intended doing. Don't become one of those people who cheerfully toll a man with a cannon at a mile range but baulk at killing the same man with a sword at one yard.'

'Just as lethal, but less personal. No, I really meant killing him in front of his daughter. Although I think he intended shooting her as well.'

'Upsetting,' Wilson admitted, but without much conviction. 'Now, what else is to be done about the butler?'

'Well sir, to be honest I don't think I've the patience to try to deal with Sir Jason. We'd be unwise to tell him any more than he knows already. If he knew the whole truth he'd probably talk. Or his wife would.'

'Leave that to me,' Wilson said flatly. 'I'll go up and see him. Now for Miss de Giraud—I don't Like leaving her there. A shot through her window... There are plenty of French sympathizers on the island. We don't know how many knew what the butler was doing. Now he's vanished, as far as they're concerned they might get frightened.'

Ramage nodded. 'That's crossed my mind, but------'

'She can stay at my house. My wife likes her and the place is always guarded. I can get her there this evening without anyone knowing. All the servants are soldiers' wives and been with us years.'

'Thank you, sir. Now if you'll excuse me I'd like to get back on board.'

'Fine—leave Sir Fishpot to me. And let's hope we think of a way of smoking out those privateers. Pity the Triton's not a Trojan horse 1'

*

Ramage was drafting a brief report for Admiral Robinson when Jackson knocked on the door and came into the cabin, handing him the throwing knife.

'All cleaned up and re-sharpened, sir. Nasty nick just to one side of the point; must have caught the bone.'

'Probably,' Ramage said, cutting short the American's curiosity. 'Now, how are your lessons going?"

'Maxton says pretty fair, sir. He's softened up that goatskin for the tom-tom and we're using a butter firkin, not a cask. More like the real thing, so he says. It'll be ready in an hour or so.'

'You've got the rhythm right?'

'Yes—leastways, he reckons so, though it's difficult to tell with a Marine drum 'cos the skin's stretched differently.'

'Have you got out of Maxton what that signal was?'

'Yes. They don't beat out words or numbers apparently; just pre-arranged sort of tunes. They all have different meanings.'

'Right. Now listen carefully, Jackson. When you're next practising I want you to say something casually to Maxton. Just say it conversationally, and watch his reaction.'

'I follow, sir: catch him unawares.'

'Exactly. Now I think I know me name of the man who uses the tom-tom and we've got to catch Him, I don't know where he lives, but Maxton probably does. If he does know the man—and you'll have to judge that from his reaction-he's got to tell us. Tell you, preferably.'

'Leave it to me, sir,' Jackson said confidently. 'He's a good lad. Just that the witch doctor put the fear of—well, I don't know what—into him.'

'I understand. Now, this tom-tom fellow is called Josiah Fetch.'

Jackson repeated the name and left the cabin, saying his next lesson with Maxton was due at two o'clock.

Footsteps on the companion ladder and the clump of the Marine sentry's boots as he saluted warned Ramage that Southwick had at last finished his duties on deck.

As the old Master sat down in a chair, tossing his hat on to the settee and running his hand through his bushy white hair, Ramage was surprised how much had happened in the four hours or so he'd been away from the ship. As far as South-wick knew at present they were probably four hours spent drinking rum punches with Colonel Wilson or the Governor.

Briefly Ramage retailed the morning's events, omitting only the father-daughter relationship, and Southwick acknowledged the various episodes with a nod of his head. When Ramage had finished Southwick said slowly:

'Glad you weren't out of practice with that knife of yours, sir. But now this butler's dead we've—well, reached a dead end!'

'As you say, a dead end.'

'Looks as though we'll have to let another schooner sail and shadow her with the Triton, or send off a false signal and hope they take the bait, sailing the Triton instead of a schooner.'

'That'll never work. You know how me privateer schooner can work up to windward. Apart from that, we'd be spotted sailing: the butler, gardener and drummer can't be the only ones involved.'

Southwick sighed. 'I knew there was a catch in all this— told you so, didn't I, sir? As soon as I heard those two frigate captains had failed and you'd been given the job I knew the Admiral was up to something.'

'You don't think I imagined he was selecting me for pro motion do you?' Ramage said sourly.

'Did that Colonel have any ideas, sir?'

'I didn't ask him—hardly his field. All he contributed was a Trojan horse.'

'What do we want horses for?'

Ramage looked so puzzled that Southwick added hurriedly, 'Sorry, sir, is it some special sort of horse?'

Ramage laughed and began to tell Southwick the legend. Suddenly he broke off. 'I'll tell you the rest some other time —I've just remembered something. Have the jolly boat manned—I'll be on shore for a couple of hours.'

*

Wilson was at first sceptical of Ramage's plan because of the danger it involved: it was impossible to guess the odds against Ramage and his men, he protested, but likely they'd be at least three to one.

'Always assume the odds'll be greater than you expect— you'll never be disappointed,' he warned.

But apart from the heavy odds, he finally agreed the plan was for the moment the only possibility. Like Ramage, he was disappointed that Claire de Giraud had no idea where the privateers were based except that it was at one of the islands to the north.

Surprisingly, Wilson had agreed with Ramage that of all the ship-owners to choose, Rondin was the most trustworthy, as well as being the most intelligent. Ramage was even more surprised when Wilson advised that Rondin should be brought to the Fort, instead of Ramage visiting the man's house.

'We don't know who our enemies are,' Wilson declared. 'If anyone sees you going to Rondin's house, who knows what they can guess? But he's in the country today. I'll arrange it for tomorrow morning.'

*

Next morning Wilson's carriage brought a puzzled Rondin to the Fort. He listened attentively as Ramage began by telling him the schooner that sailed two nights earlier had almost certainly been captured.

'I'm not surprised,' he commented. 'The owner was a fool to make the Governor persuade you, and to do it in the midst of a ball... Now, you want ass to do something?'

Ramage liked his direct manner. He did not ask questions; merely listened to what was said, as if sensing he was being told all he needed to know. When Ramage finished outlining what he wanted of the ship-owner, Rondin shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

'You're doing me an honour: to show you trust a man these days is to honour him. But schooners are expensive, and if this one is lost------'

'She's insured,' Wilson interrupted. 'And if we don't catch these blasted privateers you'll probably lose her anyway—and others.'

Rondin nodded. 'She's insured all right, though I imagine the underwriters would quibble if she was lost through being involved in Lord Ramage's plan. Still, that's not why I'm hesitating.'

'Why, then?' Ramage asked.

'I'm a rich man, my Lord. I could lose half a dozen uninsured schooners without worrying too much... No, I'm more worried about you and your men.'

'Me and my men?'

'One doesn't become a successful plantation-owner and ship-owner, my Lord, without weighing up odds and taking a long view. Sometimes I've found it worth taking a short-term loss to make a long-term gain. But you naval officers rarely have the choice: when you sight the enemy you have only two alternatives—to attack or not—and only a matter of minutes to decide.'

Wilson interrupted: 'All that's obvious, if you don't mind me saying so, Mr Rondin.'

'Of course, my dear Colonel; I'm merely mentioning it as a preface to explaining my reluctance.'

Ramage was beginning to share Wilson's impatience.

'If you're reluctant, Mr Rondin, then I can only ask that you keep secret everything you've heard here this morning and we'll approach someone else.'

'You misunderstand me, my Lord: I'm reluctant, but I'm certainly not refusing.'

'Come on, Rondin, explain yourself,' growled Wilson.

'I'll address my remarks to you, Colonel, to avoid embarrassing this young man. You'll remember Admiral Robinson sent two frigates which sailed up and down for a couple of months ... ?'

'Yes, I remember well enough.'

'Well, without meaning any disrespect to the Royal Navy, we still lost schooners. But the two captains were dull-witted men. They regarded their task—at first, anyway—as a simple one. But as the weeks went by with no success, they just regarded themselves as unlucky. They didn't realize it wasn't simple; they didn't revise their original view...'

'Go on, go on,' Wilson said impatiently.

'Very well, I think we can agree they were stupid men. But then we were lucky enough to be sent Lord Ramage who realized from the start it wasn't an easy task because he has the imagination the others lacked. He has moral courage—more than enough, from what I hear—to stand up to his Excellency...'

Rondin had a habit of tailing off his sentences, his voice dropping and giving the impression to his listeners that they had gone deaf.

'I wish the Governor was as terrified of me as he is of the Lieutenant,' Wilson said with a broad grin, 'but do hurry up!'

'Bear with me a moment, Colonel. My only objection is this: privateers carry enormous crews. Any two privateers have four times more men that the whole ship's company of the Triton. You're likely to meet odds of about seven to one. I'd put my money on you and your men at two, perhaps even three to one. But above that...' He turned his thumb down.

'I've already pointed out all this to him,' Wilson said, nodding in agreement.

'I would have bet on that, Colonel,' Rondin said, 'because you're a brave man concerned with the safety of another brave man. No, don't blush like a girl, my Lord; one's either brave or one isn't; it's as simple and as complicated as that. No, just listen to the reasoning of a businessman.

'If you go ahead with your plan you stand perhaps a ten per cent chance of success. That kind of percentage rules out the whole thing from my point of view.'

'But------' Ramage started to protest.

'Listen carefully: no businessman would risk his whole capital for a ten per cent gain. If he loses, he's lost everything; he can't start again. Even a gambler would only risk his whole capital if he had a chance of a hundred per cent gain.'

'But I still don't------'

'No, because you aren't a businessman. Now, to be blunt, you're our only chance of destroying these privateers. Very well, I want you to succeed. Apart from my personal regard for you, my profits will quadruple if the privateers are destroyed—and be quartered if they're not.

'So I'd rather you waited for a better chance of succeeding. If you're killed we can resign ourselves to another six months or a year of losses. That means ruin: we'll have no schooners left. Not a hundredweight of produce can be shipped to England. Grenada will collapse.'

'But there are frigates,' Ramage protested. 'Admiral Robinson------'

'Can do nothing: it's men that matter, not ships,' Rondin said. 'No ship of war is better than her captain.'

Having spent most of his life in the Navy, his contact with men of business had been small, so Ramage was fascinated by Rondin's honesty in weighing personal against business feelings.

Wilson asked bluntly: 'For all that, you'll let us use one of your schooners?' ( 'Of course! But I hope I've persuaded him to wait for a more propitious opportunity.'

Ramage shook his head.

'The big difference between a businessman and a fighting man, Mr Rondin, is that the businessman can rarely surprise his competitors. He gets a higher price for his goods only if he gets to the market first selling something everyone wants.'

'True enough,' Rondin admitted, 'and in wartime the convoy system means all our produce arrives on the English market at the same time, so that overnight scarcity becomes a glut, and prices drop accordingly.'

'Exactly, but a fighting man can often surprise his enemies. I'm hoping surprise will give us a considerable advantage— bringing the percentage down to something more acceptable to an investor!'

Rondin smiled. 'The schooner's yours, my Lord. Now, tell me again exactly what you want me to do.'

*

Jackson and Maxton reported promptly to Ramage on the quarterdeck.

'Well, Maxton, how's your pupil coming along?'

'Fine, sah,' the West Indian said enthusiastically. 'We've made the drum and it's just right. Jacko's been practising. You won't be able to tell the difference.'

Knowing a West Indian's two faults were the habit of saying what he thought the other person wanted to hear, and an incurably optimistic approach to all problems, Ramage said sharply:

'It's not whether I can tell the difference, Maxton, but whether that fellow listening up to the north can.'

Maxton shook his head, as if guessing what Ramage was thinking. 'Even I wouldn't be able to tell the difference, sah.'

'Very well, you've obviously been a good teacher. I appreciate it.'

Maxton looked embarrassed, knowing there was more behind his Captain's words than most people realized.

'Jackson,' Ramage said, 'I want to see you in my cabin in five minutes. Mr Southwick! If you can spare me a minute.'

Down in the stuffy cabin the Master listened with his usual cheerfulness as Ramage described the latest developments, nodding at the prospect of action at last 'M'sword's been getting rusty!' he exclaimed.

'I hope it'll stay rusty,' Ramage said. 'I'll be leading the boarding party and you'll be commanding the Triton.' 'Oh, sir!' Southwick sounded like a disappointed schoolboy. 'The boarding party's really my job. After all,' he added slyly, 'you command the Triton, sir: she's your responsibility...'

'Not if I leave you in command,' Ramage countered.

'Seems to me you're taking advantage of your position, sir,' the Master said in mock protest.

'That's the sole advantage of seniority, Southwick. It starts with the Prime Minister, who bullies the First Lord, who bullies the Commander-in-Chief...'

'Down to lieutenants commanding brigs who bully masters of brigs,' Southwick added.

'Who bully quartermasters of brigs... I can't see what you're complaining about, Southwick!'

'All right, sir,' Southwick said, 'I submit only because I know Admiral Robinson's doing the same thing to you!'

'As good a reason as any.'

There was a knock on the door and the sentry called that Jackson wished to be admitted.

The American came in and stood at attention, shoulders hunched, head bent forward to keep clear of the beams overhead.

'Ah Jackson—how did your conversation with Maxton turn out?'

'Well enough, sir. You see, he was frightened when he began giving me lessons; kept muttering and grunting words I didn't understand, and crossing himself the way Catholics do. But he didn't today, and when I------'

He glanced at the Master and Ramage nodded.

'—when I said I'd heard the best drummer in Grenada was a man called Josiah Fetch, Maxton just swore. Never heard him carry on like that before, sir. Three or four minutes he was, just cussing and blaspheming------'

'Did he cross himself?' Ramage interrupted.

'Never once, sir. When he calmed down I asked what'd put him about so, and he said this man Fetch was the wickedest man in the Caribbean; that he wished him dead.'

Ramage nodded. 'Did you get the impression he'd help...'

'Yes, sir. To be honest—I hope I didn't over-step the mark, sir, but I thought you might have the same idea—I sort of hinted that it shouldn't be too difficult to do him in."

'What did he say to that?'

'Went quiet for a minute or two and his eyes went glassy —you know how I mean, sir. Then he asked if I'd help, and if I reckoned Rossi an' Stafford would join us, I said I knew they would.'

'Does Maxton know where he lives?'

'Yes, apparently he's a sort of witch doctor and terrorizes all the local people, Maxton's father included, and makes 'em pay him so much a week from their crops. Maxton says he was mixed up in the big rebellion a year or so ago.'

'Thank you, Jackson; that's all we need to know. You'd better sound out Rossi and Stafford about this Fetch fellow. Don't go into a lot of detail, though.'

As soon as Jackson left the cabin, Southwick said: 'How many men are you taking, sir?'

'Say twenty. Water and food for forty-eight hours. Swords, pikes, tomahawks and pistols. No muskets—too crowded for them.'

'Twenty? Can't you squeeze in more?'

'I doubt it, but have another twenty standing by when you rendezvous with us. Oh yes, some grenades might be useful—you'd better see to it that half a dozen men know how to use 'em and make sure they've flints and slow matches. And I want false-fires and rockets, at least a dozen of each.'

Southwick had already taken pen and paper and was noting down Ramage's requirements.

'Call for volunteers, sir?'

'No—they'll all volunteer. Just pick twenty steady men for the main party, and another twenty to stand by. Don't leave yourself short of topmen. I'd like Jackson, Maxton, Rossi, Stafford, Evans, Fuller, John Smith the Second... You keep Appleby; you'll probably need him.'

'Although you don't want muskets, sir, there's those half dozen musketoons. They fairly cut a swathe through a crowd o' men.'

Ramage nodded. 'I'd forgotten—yes, we'll take them. One each for Jackson, Stafford, Evans, Fuller and Smith the Second, and you choose the other one.'

'Very well, sir. I'd better make a start on this, and the station bill will have to be changed.'

With that Southwick bustled out, and Ramage took up the pen, jabbed it in the ink, and scribbled a few lines in his daily journal. With so much happening, one day was merging into the next, and he'd need the notes when he came to write his report.

Just before leaving the Fort, the Colonel had given him some advice. Wilson began by pointing out what was already obvious, that Admiral Robinson had given Ramage his orders for a particular reason, because whoever received them was likely to fail, and would be a convenient scapegoat.

It was what followed that surprised Ramage.

'Suppose you don't come out of this alive, m'lad,' the Colonel had said with his usual bluntness. 'I'm the only one in any authority who knows what you're going to attempt tomorrow night. So why don't you write a report to his Excellency explaining exactly what you intend doing and why. You can leave it with me, and I'll deliver it the following afternoon, when it's too late for him to countermand anything—or, for that matter, accidentally reveal anything that's secret.'

Although he'd shrugged off the idea at the time, Ramage had since realized it was sound advice. Well, if he didn't write the report now he never would, because there wasn't much time left. He closed the journal, took out some sheets of note-paper, dipped the pen in the ink and began writing.

Triton, St George Roads, 1st June, 1797 Sir, Having failed to discover the precise whereabouts of the privateers' base by making a reconnaissance in H.M. brig under my command, but having discovered the means by which advance news of the sailing of schooners is passed northwards through the islands to the privateersmen, I am putting into execution a few nights hence the only plan which, upon mature consideration, offers any chance of speedily securing the safety of the schooners upon which the trade of the inland of Grenada so largely depends.

The plan fell into four parts, Ramage wrote, and described it briefly, concluding:

The operation depends for its success upon the amount of surprise that can be achieved. If surprise is lost, the operation will fail since the privateersmen will outnumber the British seamen by a considerable margin. However, this is a factor against which it is impossible to plan in detail.

I am, sir, &c,

Nicholas Ramage,

Lieutenant and Commanding Officer His Excellency Sir Jason Fisher, Knt, Government House,

Grenada.

Calling for his clerk and telling him to copy the letter into the letter book, and make another copy for Colonel Wilson, Ramage then went up on deck, thankful to get into the cool breeze.

*

The next afternoon, by which time, Ramage estimated, the privateers would have unloaded their prize, he went on deck to give orders to Southwick to get under way.

'I have to report that four men have deserted, sir,' South-wick said solemnly.

'Deserted? Who the------'

Southwick laughed at Ramage's dismay.

'The tom-tom, sir—difficult to smuggle something like that on shore. I thought the best thing was to send in the Master's Mate with a boat to fill water-casks. Jackson put the tom-tom in a kitbag and while Appleby turned his back he and Maxton and the other two slipped away. Anyone watching would've thought it was a regular case o' men deserting.'

Ramage felt childishly annoyed: to begin with he'd completely forgotten to arrange for the four men to be landed to carry out their part of the night's work; and he was—he admitted it—jealous that Southwick had, without reference to him, thought up an ingenious way of doing it 'I hope you explained what they're supposed to do,' he said tartly.

Southwick related in detail what he'd said.

'Fine—they didn't forget to take false-fires, I hope?'

'Took three, sir, just in case one gets damp.'

'Hmmm,' Ramage grunted.

Now he had nothing to do he was getting jumpy. Too much depended on too many people doing things upon which other things depended. Jackson was reliable—but had Maxton really trained him with that damned drum? Would the four of them carry out their orders properly? Could Rondin really be trusted, or had he already passed a warning to the privateers?

Was—he forced himself to think about it now, though he'd been avoiding it most of the afternoon—Claire really to be trusted? He felt ashamed at his doubts; but he'd fallen in love with her and that alone might warp his judgement, leading him to wasting men's lives. That worried him more, he admitted, than if she'd been married and he'd cuckolded her hus band while a guest under his roof. And what if the schooner----- 'Everything'll go all right, sir,' Southwick said quietly, sensing Ramage's doubts. 'It's the waiting that plays old Harry with all of us.'

'Not with you,' Ramage said.

'You'd be surprised, sir. I'd sooner be leading a boarding party than trying to conn the Triton round reefs in the dark into some damned bay I've never seen before and where the chart gives no soundings.'

'Better to run the ship aground than get a pike in your stomach.'

'No,' Southwick laughed, 'when you've a stomach the size of mine'—he patted it proudly—'you'd sooner take your chance with a pike than a reef.'

At that moment the clerk came up with Ramage's letters to the Governor and Wilson. Both were plastered with red seals, and Ramage said:

'Have these delivered to the Colonel at the Fort, Mr Southwick, and we'll get under way as soon as the boat returns.'