Ramage And The Rebels

CHAPTER FIVE

The study of the Governor of Curacao at his residence in Amsterdam was hot The ceiling of toe white - painted room was high, the tall open windows facing west were shaded by jalousies, and the only one on the north wall was open, yet Governor van Someren's clothes were sticking to him, a thick and uncomfortable extra skin. He leaned forward in his chair to let the faint breeze in the room cool his bade, but his feet felt swollen in his boots - and they probably were, although the damned doctor said there was nothing wrong - and his breeches were suddenly tight. Was he putting on weight? More weight, rather; the tailor had only just let out the waist and knee bands of all his breeches, and had several coats to work on.

He was not fat; rather a stocky man of medium height who, now past fifty, was getting plump. He had the high cheek bones and widely spaced blue eyes that would have betrayed him as a Dutchman anywhere, and his eyebrows were white and so thin that his face had an Oriental look about it.

He put down his long - stemmed clay pipe. It was too hot to smoke or, rather, the room was too airless. And the tobacco, a sample of the first of the Main's new crop from some plantation near Riohacha, tasted earthy. Some merchant was going to lose money, judging from the sample sent along to the Governor's palace.

There was a discreet knock on the door and a young Army officer, the cut of his uniform and aiguillettes showing that he was the Governor's chief of staff, came into the room carrying a letter. The British frigate and the other ship, sir. She has sailed through the channel and is coming westward along the coast, about two miles out A messenger has just ridden in. The troop of cavalry keeping abreast the ship will send off a man every fifteen minutes to keep us informed.'

Governor van Someren nodded wearily. His pale blue eyes were bloodshot; the strain was emphasized by his lack of eyebrows, which made the eyes seem unduly swollen. Trouble from the west, Lausser,' he said gloomily, 'and now trouble from the east'

Major Lausser, who not only liked the Governor but respected him, said: This British frigate, sir: she's probably just patrolling.'

'You said two ships.'

The second is small - a schooner, I think the first message called it. We have little to fear from a single frigate, Your Excellency.'

'It's not a single British frigate that concerns me, Lausser, although one should never underestimate a frigate. A frigate is like a cavalry patrol: it can warn you that an army, or a fleet, is approaching.'

Lausser's eyes dropped to the Governor's desk because van Someren was tapping a sheet of paper. 'Our recent history on land - I ignore the sea for now - since we have been the "allies" of the French Directory has hardly been glorious. I was noting down some of it'

He picked up the paper and began reading. 'In the East Indies - we surrendered Malacca to the British in August 1795 and Amboyna and Banda in the spring of '96. In Ceylon we lost Trincomalee in August '95 and Colombo the following spring. The Cape of Good Hope went in September '95 - although the garrison surrendered on the advice of the Stadtholder. And out here . . . what a sorry business: Demerara and Essequibo surrendered in April 1796, Berbice in May, and Surinam in August '99. Not a very inspiring history for the first few years of the Batavian Republic . . . The French have our home country, the British most of our colonies.'

He saw Lausser looking nervously at the door and added bitterly: 'You can open the door wide and let everyone listen: with five hundred revolutionaries and French privateersmen looting the western half of this island in the name of friendship, it is not I who lacks loyalty.'

'But help is coming, Your Excellency. Our frigate is due any day.'

'Any day, any day! That's all I hear. The French could have delayed her. She could have been captured by these damned British; she could still be at anchor in the Scheldt, blockaded. She could be sunk. Who knows, eh? And even when she arrives - then, Lausser? What good are a couple of hundred seamen? They'll only reinforce the brothels. I need a thousand well - trained Dutch soldiers; men who are used to this damned heat and whose loyalty I can rely on.'

There was a tapping at the door, and a smiling young woman came in. 'It's the ship, Papal' she said cheerfully, but a moment later she stopped as both men looked away. 'Is something wrong? Papa! What's the matter?'

'Nothing - apart from these French revolutionaries, my dear. But she is not the Delft, she's a British frigate.'

The girl sat down, carefully arranging the skirt of her blue dress, and keeping her head turned from the two men. She had long, fine golden hair, braided and held up by large tortoiseshell combs which had obviously been fashioned by a Spanish craftsman. After a minute or two she looked up at her father, dry - eyed and obviously in control of herself.

'Why are the British paying us a visit? Who invited them?'

The Governor shrugged his shoulders. 'Not a visit; just a patrolling ship looking into the harbour. She'll pass by, like they always do.'

'And shell see the only ships in it are French privateers!' the girl said bitterly. 'Oh, I am sick of the French; they treat us as the Spanish did. And we lose all our ships to the British - nine over there at Saldanha Bay; another nine ships of the line and two frigates surrendered under Admiral de Winter - '

'But six escaped,' her father interrupted, 'and four frigates!'

'Oh, I know that well enough: you forget Jules was serving in one of them.'

She was now on the verge of crying and her father said soothingly: 'Now, now, Maria, don't upset yourself: Jules will be here any day!'

With that the girl burst into tears and ran from the room. Her father was puzzled. 'What did I say wrong that time, Lausser?'

The ADC was equally puzzled. 'I don't know, Your Excellency. She seemed upset over the French, but it was when you mentioned that her fiance was due that she - er, left the room."

'Yes, yes, that was it: the mention of Jules. It has been a long engagement - although she is the one who keeps putting off the wedding day.'

'Quite, sir,' Lausser said dryly, and deliberately changed the subject. The British frigate will be off Sint Anna Baai in about two hours' time. Shall I tell the commanders of the forts to stand - to in an hour?'

Van Someren nodded. 'I shall watch from here. If the frigate opens fire I imagine she will aim at the forts or the ships, not the Governor's residence.'

Lausser, pleased to see a twinkle in the Governor's eyes, laughed dutifully. 'But where she aims at may not be where she hits, sir.'

'Ill risk that But they'll stay well out: they've learned that our gunners are well trained. Four years ago - before you arrived, Lausser - one came in dose and was becalmed, and we shot away a mast She escaped because the current carried her clear and they could do repairs, but the British Navy learned a lesson.'

He picked up his pipe and put it down impatiently, irritated at being given a present of so much earthy tobacco. He examined a cheroot from a silver box on his desk and returned it with a grunt 'I've been smoking far too much. I think I would like a drink. Ring for the steward, will you?'

Gottlieb van Someren was tired: tired not only because he had had very little sleep in the past two weeks, thanks to the revolutionaries rioting at the western end of the island, but also because he had spent too many years on the island of Curacao: he had been the Governor for three years when, in February 1793, the Dutch had found themselves attacked by France and two years later the Stadtholder and the Prince of Orange had to escape to England while their country was named by the French the Batavian Republic. And Gottlieb van Someren, with his wife and daughter, was left in Curacao as the Governor, the republican king, as it were, of the three islands of Aruba, Bonaire and Curacao. France had control of the Dutch fleet and gave orders to the Dutch officers, many of whom were privately torn between their loyalty to the Stadtholder and the Dutch admirals commanding the fleet Like so many Dutch officers serving in distant places, van Someren had to decide whether or not to serve the new regime: did it constitute disloyalty to the Stadtholder? And like so many others he had decided the wisest thing was to carry on: to resign or flee would, in the case of the islands, risk the French sending out a French governor, or a Dutchman who was a true republican.

His wife hated Curacao; she swore the heat dried up her skin and accepting the French shrivelled her soul, and she was equally convinced that gin, good Dutch sweet gin, was the only medicine that could save her. So for the past four years she had drunk gin when others drank boiled water or wine. She had refused all attempts to send her back to the Netherlands because she hated the French even more than the Tropics. And because her family had in the distant past suffered dreadfully under the Duke of Alva's soldiers, she walked out of the room if a Spaniard entered.

It did not mate a governor's life any easier, yet he had to admit it had some advantages. He had an excuse for having little to do socially with the Spanish - be never had to blame his wife; her dislike was well known. And, he reflected as Lausser ordered drinks to be brought, he must be one of the few governors of any nationality who cared little whether or not he would be dismissed from his post. He had saved some money; he would get his reward if the Stadtholder ever returned from exile in England. For the moment, though, the French seemed - well, omnipotent.

He took out his watch. 'Lausser, don't forget the orders to the forts.'

'I took the liberty of giving them earlier, Your Excellency.'

Van Someren nodded. Lausser was trustworthy and reliable.

and he wished Maria was to marry him, instead of that sharp - eyed young naval officer, Jules, whose sole topics of conversation were republicanism, the latest French victories, and the villainy of William V, the Stadtholder of Holland, and his son, the Prince of Orange, for having fled to England.

For several years, van Someren reflected, deliberately forgetting his prospective son - in - law, he had not only kept his job a Governor, but kept his head on his shoulders (no mean feat for anyone having any dealings with the French government) because he had drifted with the current. No republican could accuse him of disloyalty to the Batavian Republic; vet when the Stadtholder eventually returned to the throne, Governor van Someren had made sure he had clean hands so show. Clean, that is, until now.

There was a faint popping in the distance. Lausser looked up significantly. Those bands of ruffians were close; the musket shots must be from loyal Dutch troops - he had all too few of them - or local people trying to stop the rogues looting their homes.

He picked up the gilt paperknife on his desk and balanced the blade on the index finger of his right hand. For several years he had been able to sit on the fence without finding it too hard to balance. Now, however, he was dangerously poised, as though paying for all those past years. He was the Dutch republican Governor yet at this moment he was likely to lose his governorship (and perhaps his life) to a republican rabble scrabbling their way across the arid island, walking and Daggering, riding stubborn donkeys, drinking raw rum or gin, raping or robbing as the fancy took them. They sang (when they were not too drunk) all the old French revolutionary songs of nearly a decade ago; they behaved as though Curacao was some newly captured British spice or sugar island, not part of the Batavian Republic. They were stirring up the Negroes, telling them to murder their masters in their beds, bum the crops, scatter the salt, break down the walls of the salt pans ...

He took a new clay pipe from the rack on his desk and began to fill it with tobacco. What the devil could he do? The worst of these rogues were French. Admittedly privateers - men, but was it just the desire for loot that had set them off? There had been young Dutch revolutionaries only too eager to listen to them.

"How many of these ruffians do our latest patrols report, Lausser?'

'More than five hundred, Your Excellency. About two - thirds of them are from the French privateers - the ten here in Amsterdam.'

Five hundred. It sounded highly likely because most of the privateers carried extra men to act as prize crews. But why? Revolutionary zeal? Hardly - most privateersmen could barely read or write; they were concerned with loot, not loyalties. The rest must be local revolutionaries, disaffected Dutchmen. The usual rabble.

'What the devil do you think it is all about, Lausser?'

'Robbery, sir. The privateers had little luck against the British - far too many privateers hunting too few prizes. The British frigates are patrolling to the north - many more than usual. I heard that the shopkeepers here stopped credit for most of the privateers some two weeks ago, just before all this started, so they were out of provisions and spirits . . .'

'Oh? I heard nothing of that. A very short - sighted policy, stopping credit. About as sensible in these circumstances as handing over your purse to a highwayman and asking for change. I'm sure that's what started off this - this insurrection.'

'But they had not paid their bills, sir.'

'Quite so,' van Someren said impatiently, irritated by Lausser's lack of imagination, "but they aren't going to make money lying here at anchor, unable to go to sea without provisions. The shopkeepers have always done well out of them up to now: the privateersmen spend freely enough when they do capture something. The prize cargoes are sold here for whatever the merchants will pay. The merchants should welcome them, not cut off credit'

'But they were not paying their bilk, sir,' Lausser repeated, as though shocked at the Governor's more practical attitude.

'You can only threaten privateers when you have a frigate in the harbour, Lausser.'

'Well, sir, one is due.'

'I mean Dutch, not British,' van Someren said, smiling at his little joke. 'In the meantime, we have to prepare our defences against our friends the privateers, thanks to the island's shopkeepers, who may find that their shops will be looted . . .'

The very location of Amsterdam, which made it easy to defend from the sea, made it almost indefensible from attacks overland. The channel to the Schottegat, like a wide but short river leading from the sea to the inland lake, divided Amsterdam in half: on the east side was Punda, the Point, with the Governor's residence overlooking the harbour entrance and waterfront, and defended by the Waterfort.

Otrabanda, 'the other side', was on the west and also had Riffort covering the entrance. But there were no defences covering either Punda or Otrabanda on the landward sides: the forts were no more than long gun platforms formed by wide stone sea walls, buttressed to seaward but open behind.

I can defend Amsterdam against my enemies, van Someren reflected, but I can't defend it against my allies. With two hundred Dutch soldiers and a couple of Negro companies (who had just refused to fight against the French ruffians) he was at the mercy of the rabble. And, into the midst of it all, came a British frigate. Perhaps he should be thankful the Batavian Republic had no other enemies - for the time being, anyway.

'Your Excellency,' Lausser said, a formal note in his voice Dedicating that he considered what he was about to say was important, 'ought the womenfolk to be sent to the forts for safety?'

The Governor held his day pipe by the stem and tapped (he desk with the bowl. 'Safe from whom? That's what I have to decide. If we are protecting them against an attack by the TWO British ships, then we should have them all here in the residence. But if we are protecting them against these drunken republican scoundrels, then perhaps they'd be better off in the forts. In fact, I'd be inclined to evacuate Otrabanda - after spiking the guns, of course - and bring everyone across to concentrate at Punda. And sink the ferries, of course.'

'Can we seize the privateers that are anchored in the channel, sir?'

'I can't risk it. Allowing ten soldiers to take possession of each privateer (and that means they have to row out in their own boats) needs a hundred men, which is all I have for both forts: the other hundred out trying to slow down the republicans will not be back in time. If the privateersmen remaining in the ships put up a fight. ..'

A knock at the door brought Lausser to his feet and he took a letter from a servant. He glanced at the superscription and proffered it to the Governor, who shook his head and gestured to Lausser to open it. 'It can't be good news.'

Lausser unfolded the paper - it was not sealed - and glanced over it. 'From Captain Hartog, sir. The republicans - that's what they are calling themselves, he says - are grouping on the main road half - way between Soto and Sint Willebrordus, about eleven miles from Amsterdam. He thinks that one man, or a committee, has just taken charge, so he expects them to advance much more quickly now. He is falling back on us but so far his casualties are light. He is deliberately conserving his men, he says.'

'Sensible fellow,' van Someren growled. 'Dead men lying among the salt pans won't help us. He understands that he's just fighting a delaying action, doesn't he?'

'Yes, sin he seems to be quite successful.'

'Quite so, quite so. Now, about the women.'

Lausser knew this was the Governor's way of asking his opinion, and he said: 'Waterfort, sir. The republicans are the greatest danger, especially once they start looting shops and getting at the spirits. Keep the women in the residence until the last moment, then send them down to the fort.'

Van Someren nodded. There were perhaps fifty women involved: the rest had fled to friends owning plantation houses at the east end of the island many days ago, at the first sign of trouble, and he was thankful they had taken his advice. The fifty that remained were married to stubborn merchants who refused to have their household arrangements upset (even though in the end it might put the wives in great danger).

Finally the Governor made up his mind: 'Very well, well use Waterfort as the last resort Tell the commander of Riffort — I always forget his name - to be prepared to spike the guns and join the garrison on Punda. They should bring their muskets and as much powder as they can carry, and pitch the rest of the powder into the sea.'

He tapped the desk with his pipe. 'Yes, and get more water taken to Waterfort. With all those extra women - and their children, and probably their husbands - we might get short Get as many casks as you can find filled and rolled out to the Point Food, too.'

By now he was tapping to emphasize each word, and at too' the pipe snapped. He looked at the stem which he was still holding. 'You know, Lausser, we can trust our enemies, the British. Our damned French allies are the danger.'

You can just see the entrance to Amsterdam, now, sir,' Southwick said. 'From this angle the walls of the forts on each side look like a single big one. But the main part of the town - the Governor's residence. Parliament, the market - is this side, which they call the Point The channel cuts the town in half and leads to an inland lake called the Schottegat. And the bay at the entrance, such as it is, they call Saint Anna's.'

'What guns do they have in the forts?' Ramage asked.

Thirty in Waterfort on the Point, when I was last here, but .: has three sides. Eighteen guns on the wall parallel with the coast, six on the first angled section facing south - south - west, and six more on the second, actually covering the entrance. The same guns in Riffort on Otrabanda, the fort on the west side. They're probably 24 - pounders, but I'm not sure.'

'Sixty guns,' Ramage mused. 'But not all of them can be rained on us at the same time?'

'No, sir. As we approach, the dozen guns on the two angled parts of Punda won't bear. But all of those on Otrabanda will. About forty - eight altogether, I should reckon.'

The same as the effective broadsides of two seventy - fours.'

'Yes, sir.'

'And how wide is the channel inside the forts?'

'About two hundred yards.'

'So a ship entering has Waterfort on Punda one hundred yards to starboard and Riffort on Otrabanda a hundred yards to larboard.'

'Exactly, sir.'

Ramage imagined the captain of one of the Dutch guns landing beyond the recoil, trigger line in his hand, and sight ing along the top of the barrel. The Calypso, sailing into Schottegat, would seem enormous, and with the steep - roofed buildings and the fort taking some of the wind she would be making perhaps four knots. The gun captain would give a couple of orders to train left or right - and, unless he was poorly trained or over - excited, he should be able to put a roundshot or a round of grapeshot through whichever of the Calypso's gun ports he chose. Or poke a roundshot through the hull along the waterline like a seamstress stitching the edge of a blanket.

Southwick was looking at him quizzically, his face covered with perspiration from the heat of the sun. 'Not even on a dark night in pouring rain, sir,' he said, shaking his head.

Ramage grinned. 'It's a pity there's never fog in these latitudes.'

The master kept a straight face but he was relieved. Amsterdam was one of the most impossible ports to attack that he had ever seen, and, almost more important, the Dutch were tough fighters. You could panic a Spaniard and bluff a Frenchman, but a Dutchman - no, he was too like the British to do anything but fight man to man. Which wasn't to say Mr Ramage wouldn't attack the place if he felt like it, but the Dutch knew a British frigate and schooner were approaching because Mr Ramage had made no attempt to fly French colours, even though both ships were French - built and it would be easy to fool French privateers, let alone these mynheers. So the garrisons of the two forts would be ready; indeed, at this very moment, with the Calypso and La Creole now in sight of both, they would have their guns loaded and run out ready to fire; magazines would be unlocked and more cartridges and roundshot would be ready . . . The guns could lay down an invisible barrier some two thousand yards offshore and anyone stepping over it would be smashed to pieces by 24 - pounder roundshot by the time the range was down to a thousand yards.

Ramage once again raised his telescope and murmured to Southwick: 'It isn't often you see that flag - look over the two forts and that large building on the Point, the Governor's residence, I suppose. The flag of the Batavian Republic.'

The French seemed to like renaming places. Genoa was now the Ligurian Republic, Holland the Batavian Republic; the Swiss were now inhabitants of the Helvetic Republic, while a group of Italian states round Bologna, Modena and Ferrara were now the Cisalpine Republic. From all accounts giving a new name was not the same as giving them their freedom . . .

Ramage turned to Aitken, who was the officer of the watch. 'Pass at least two miles off Amsterdam,' he said. 'We're being nosy, not provocative.'

Half an hour later they could see right into Amsterdam, neatly cut in half by the channel. Not quite in half, Ramage realized; the main part was on the Punda side - the Governor's residence, Parliament and most of the houses. On the other side, so quaintly called the same in Dutch, Otrabanda, it looked as though the merchants flourished. At the far end, where the small inland lake began, the privateers were lying at anchor. Aitken had counted nine, Southwick eight, the masthead lookouts ten, and Jackson and Orsini, sent up the mainmast at the rush with telescopes, confirmed that there were ten.

Southwick had been as puzzled as Ramage when Jackson had come down again and reported that most of the privateers looked as though they were laid up, or undergoing refits. There was no sign of sails; no squaresail yards were in sight Nor, equally odd, was there any sign of activity on any of the privateers: except for two or three men standing at the rail of one of them, Jackson said, they seemed to be deserted.

Ramage had not known what to expect and for that reason had no plans. He turned to Aitken and said: 'Continue running along the coast. The chart shows two or three bays where privateers could bide. Keep a sharp lookout - we might be able to surprise some of them at anchor.'

With that he went below to his cabin, glad of the shade. He sat down at his desk, reached up for the chart from the rack overhead, and spread it out in front of him. Ten privateers: mat meant the Admiral's information was correct: Amsterdam was being used as a privateers' base. Ten privateers. But they were the only vessels in the harbour. Certainly they could have a dozen prizes anchored in that lake, out of sight, but those privateers looked as though they were laid up. Why should the sails have been taken off? It was easy enough to do, but surprising. There might be a good sailmaker there in Amsterdam who was doing some major repairs on a single privateer's sails - even making new ones, because the Trade winds were hard on sail cloth and the sun and showers rotted the stitching. Would all ten have their sails on shore in the sailmaker's loft at the same time? No, there'd be no point: the sailmaker (at best a couple of men and three apprentices) could not work on ten suits of sails at once, and no privateer would risk having his sails on shore a day longer than necessary. He'd bring the sails over, wait for them to be repaired and take them back. If they were not on shore, then the sails certainly could be stowed below, out of the glare and heat of the sun and rain - not that it rained much on these islands: they existed only because there were wells providing fresh water.

Was it likely, he asked himself, that only two or three privateersmen would come on deck to watch a British frigate and schooner sail across the harbour entrance - something that happened perhaps once in three or four months? Two or three out of - well, more than five hundred men? Where were the rest of them? Some could be on shore, filling water casks or collecting provisions from the chandlers. A few dozen might be out at the salt pans, filling carts or bags with salt to preserve meat Some might be in the brothels - though men and women preferred a siesta at this time of day. But two or three men . . . The privateers were not laid up for lack of targets, surely? He thought of the twenty - four dead in the Tranquil, murdered by the crew of the Nuestra Senora de Antigua. The Marine sentry at the door called out that Mr South - wick wished to see him.

The master looked worried and without any preamble said: 'We're losing a lot of ground to leeward, sir. With these light winds, and the westgoing current, it'll take us a long time to beat back to Amsterdam . . . Leastways, I'm reckoning you want to stay close to Saint Anna's Bay . . .'

It was Southwick's duty to mention such things; as master of the Calypso, the navigation of the ship was his responsibility. But Ramage was angry with himself for reasons beyond his comprehension: certainly he had not been sure what he expected to find here in Amsterdam; he knew now only that those ten privateers, possibly all laid up, made nonsense of his orders. None of these privateers was going to put to sea with two British warships in the offing. And no British warship would get within a thousand yards of the harbour entrance by day or night without being smashed to kindling by the guns of those forts. No bluff or subterfuge could stop them firing.

However, Ramage thought ruefully, it is not a situation that William Foxe-Foote, Vice - Admiral of the Blue and one of the Members of Parliament for Bristol, as well as being 'Commander - in - chief of His Majesty's Ships and Vessels upon the Jamaica Station', could visualize, understand or accept. Particularly understand, and especially accept . . .

Ramage gestured to Southwick to sit down in the armchair that was secured against the ship rolling by a light chain from the underside of the seat to an eyebolt in the deck planking. The master put his hat down beside him and ran his fingers through his hair, which was now matted with perspiration, and the mark of the hatband across the top of his forehead gave him a curiously puzzled appearance.

Have you any idea what these privateers are doing?' Ramage asked.

Southwick shrugged his shoulders and gave one of his prodigious sniffs. 'With respect to Admiral Foxe-Foote, sir, all those privateers look just as if the owners have gone bankrupt. They look just like those old fishing smacks you see abandoned on the saltings along the bank of the Medway. Paint peeling, slack rigging, and one windy night the masts will go over the side. Not that I could see the rigging, of course; just the impression I had.'

Ramage nodded. 'I don't think many of them have been to sea for a month or more.'

'No, sir, at least that. And no one on board any of 'em. I saw maybe two or three men. Shipkeepers? Three men for ten privateers is not many. No, there's something damned odd about it all. Could there be more privateers at Bonaire, or perhaps Aruba?'

'Why?1 Ramage asked. "Why would privateers be at islands where there is no decent harbour? At Bonaire they have to anchor on a sloping shelf. Why be there when Amsterdam is such a perfect harbour? Sheltered from the weather, defended by the forts, provisions and water available . . .'

That's why I'm so puzzled,' Southwick admitted. 1 expected to see half a dozen privateers, perhaps even a dozen, but all ready to go to sea. Perhaps one repairing damage and perhaps another replacing her standing and running rigging - but not ten like that It's - well, almost ghostly, sir; as though yellow fever had killed every man on board as they were at anchor.'

For a moment Ramage thought of Amsterdam being in the grip of an epidemic of something like yellow fever, but plenty of people had been walking on the walls of the forts and in the few streets of Punda and Otrabanda when the Calypso passed. Southwick fluffed out his flowing white hair as it began to dry, making it look like a deck mop. 'Your orders from the Admiral, sir. There's not much you can do about them.'

There are ten privateers in Amsterdam,' Ramage reminded him.

Southwick sat bolt upright. 'But you're not going to try to go in after them, are you, sir?'

Ramage grinned and waved to Southwick to relax in his chair. 'Nor am I going to send in the boats at night: they probably have a chain boom across the entrance that they haul up at sunset But it's going to be difficult to convince the Admiral . . .'

Those privateersmen can't afford to eat, lying there at anchor,' Southwick pointed out. They're all on a share - of - the - prize basis. With no pay, time in port is money lost. The shopkeepers will start wanting cash . . .'

'I've considered all that,' Ramage said mildly, 'but would you sail in one of those privateers with a British frigate and a schooner waiting outside?'

'I might try on a dark night, sir.'

'Come, come,' Ramage chided, 'it's never completely dark in the Tropics.'

'Hungry men get desperate!'

The crew might, but don't forget that every privateer has an owner; and he's not going to lose his ship just because the men are hungry.'

True, but I still don't understand it,' Southwick muttered. 'Why are these beggars laid up here when we know others - Spanish, anyway - are at sea? Think of all the prizes they're missing.'

That's just what I have been thinking about,' Ramage said, 'and the only sensible explanation is that all the privateers - men are on shore doing something as profitable as being at sea, privateering. It obviously isn't selling fresh fruit in the market.'

Southwick slapped his knee, his face wrinkling into a broad grin. 'I hadn't thought of that, sir. I wonder what the devil they tire doing?"

Ramage shrugged his shoulders. That's where I've come to a stop. You can be sure they aren't at a religious festival, nor are they sitting on the walls of the fort with fishing lines.'

'We can blockade the island for a week or two,' Southwick said. 'Catch a few prizes ourselves. Question prisoners . . .'

"That's what I've decided. We have to provoke them into doing something. By "them" I mean the Dutch rather than the French. Capturing a Dutch merchantman as she arrives off Amsterdam could do the job, and stopping all trade between Curacao and the Main might force the Governor to make the privateers sail to drive us oil. As a squadron they might stand a chance in the dark, if the Governor puts on board as many soldiers as he can spare.'

Southwick was brightening: Ramage saw that the prospect of action was cheering him up, having the same effect as an alcoholic sighting a bottle of spirits. Yet sitting there he still looked like a rural bishop, except for his eyes, which took on the glint of the owner of a knacker's yard. He reached for his hat. 'I'll be - ' he broke off as, high above them, a masthead lookout hailed the deck, his voice too faint to penetrate the cabin. They heard Aitken answer, and both Ramage and Southwick made for the door. On deck Aitken, looking puzzled, walked quickly towards Ramage as he reached the top of the companionway.

The lookout reports a lot of smoke several miles inland and we think we can hear occasional musket shots, sir. Very faint, and it might be duckhunters or something. But we can't see the smoke from down here - yet, anyway.'

'Is it new smoke, or something that's been burning for some time?'

Aitken looked crestfallen. 'I forgot to ask, sir.'

He stepped back a few paces and put the speaking trumpet to his mouth, bellowing: 'Aloft, there I'

'Mainmast lookout, sir.'

That smoke - is it a new fire just started or have you only just seen it?'

' 'Snew, sir: increasing now, like houses catching fire. White and black smoke.'

Ramage looked across at the land. The arid flatness of the eastern end of the island was beginning to merge into rolling nils getting higher and higher as they approached the big peak of Suit Christoffelberg, ever - increasing waves suddenly turned 10 stone as they lapped the base of a pinnacle.

He saw a Seek of smoke a moment before Southwick and Aitken pointed and exclaimed. Smoke was common enough among the Caribbean islands: most of them spent more than half the year tinder - dry; the sun's rays concentrated by a broken bottle, a hunter's carelessness with a campfire, the sparks from a charcoal burner's crude furnace - all could, and frequently did, set a hillside ablaze in a fire that only died when the wind dropped at night, or mercifully backed or veered a few points to drive the flames back on themselves. But smoke and the sound of musket shots: that was a very different matter, and he was certain he could hear some distant popping, and Aitken now had the speaking trumpet to his ear, using it intently so that the young first lieutenant looked like a deaf seafarer straining to hear a mermaid singing a siren song from beneath a palm tree on the beach.

The brisk Trade wind was dispersing the smoke; instead of billowing clouds it was more of a haze by the time Ramage could see it from his low vantage point on the quarterdeck and Southwick lumbered over to crouch over the azimuth compass to take bearings. The entrance to Amsterdam, still in sight astern, the peak of Sint Christoffelberg, the next headland to the west, and the smoke. By plotting the first three he would be able to establish the ship's exact position; then drawing in the bearing of the smoke, he would be able to tell Ramage approximately where the fire was burning.

He hurried below with the slate on which he had noted the bearings and was back again within four or five minutes to tell Ramage: "The smoke is coming from somewhere about half - way between the villages of Soto and a place called Sint Willebrordus. About eleven miles west of Amsterdam. Can it be cane fields burning?'

There's no sugar cane on this island. And cane doesn't burn with a popping like muskets. It can only be houses.'

'Deck there! Foremasthead lookout!'

Startled, Ramage, Aitken and Southwick looked forward. The voice, almost disembodied, sounded excited, and Aitken answered: 'Deck here.'

'Sail on the larboard bow, sir, and I think I can see land beyond it. Might be a cloud but the bearing stays the same.'

'What type of ship?'

'Can't tell, sir; she's still hull down below the horizon, but I think she's steering towards us.'

Aitken looked round for Jackson, handed him the telescope and pointed aloft. Without a word the American made for the shrouds and began climbing the foremast Ramage said: 'It can't be land, but he may have seen a cloud hanging over Aruba.'

"What ship is it?' Southwick muttered to himself. 'Probably a cutter from Jamaica with fresh orders from the Admiral. Convoy work, more than likely . ..'

'Beat to quarters,' Ramage told Aitken.

Jackson hailed the deck the moment the drummer stopped beating the ruffles.

'Her hull is only just lifting above the horizon but from the cut of her sails she's a merchant ship. Could be American, sir.'

'Make a signal to Lacey,' Ramage said. 'His lookouts are By the time the signal flags had been hoisted, acknowledged by La Creole and lowered again, Jackson was reporting from the foremasthead that the ship had just tacked, and was obviously bound for Curacao. Aitken had just reported that the Calypso was at quarters when Jackson hailed once more to report that the strange sail was a merchant ship and almost certainly American.

American, and therefore wary of one of the King's ships, because a meeting at sea usually resulted in being boarded and having a Royal Navy officer checking through the ship's company for British subjects, who would be pressed immediately. Ramage pictured the American master groaning at the prospect of losing at least a couple of good seamen from a total of perhaps a dozen. On the other hand, masters of neutral ships were often good sources of information: they visited enemy ports, saw ships of war, and, because they were not taken as prizes, could talk about it afterwards. And the best way of making a master talk was to catch him in the moments of relief after he discovered that none of his men was going to be pressed ... '

The Calypso and the merchant ship were approaching each other fast; within minutes Ramage could see the American's hull above the horizon. Have the guns run out,' he said to Aitken, 'we want to look fierce. Then come below. I have more orders for you.'

Down in his cabin he explained his intentions. The master of that Jonathan is going to curse as soon as he sees the British flag - hell have identified us as a French - built frigate, and to him there'd be nothing out of the ordinary in a French frigate beading west after apparently sailing from Amsterdam. Then suddenly hell realize his mistake.

'So you'll board him and examine his papers. He could have sailed from a port on the Main, Aruba or direct from somewhere in North America. If he has just left an enemy port, I want to know what ships he saw there and what ships he's seen at sea, especially privateers. Dates, positions, courses being steered . . .'

Aitken looked worried. These Jonathans usually don't care to help us much, sir,' he said cautiously.

'No,' Ramage agreed, 'because they've usually just had some of their prize seamen claimed as British and sent down into the boat. But you will make it clear that, providing he co-operates, you will not even ask to see the muster book ...'

'And hell be so relieved . . .'

'Exactly,' Ramage said, 'but of course, if he is truculent, you know what to do.'

Aitken nodded. 'I hope I find a few Scotsmen; we're outnumbered in the Calypso, sir.'

'I want quality, not quantity, Mr Aitken,' Ramage said ambiguously, laughing dryly.

'Aye, sir. I've heard say that the Admiralty tell commanders - in - chief that when they ask for more frigates.'

'I'm sure they do,' Ramage said, 'that's why we make sure of having enough by going out and capturing our own.'

The young Scot gave one of his rare laughs. 'I've never thought of it like that, sir; I wonder how often a frigate and a schooner go out on patrol together manned by the people that captured them?'

'In a year or two we'll have our own fleet. Well charter it to Their Lordships on a share-of-the-prizes basis!'

An hour later Ramage and Southwick waited at the quarterdeck rail. The Calypso was hove - to half a mile to windward of the American ship, which was lying with her sails furled, broadside on to the swell waves and rolling violently. Clearly her master did not trust her spars, rigging and sails enough to risk heaving - to. Shipowners often insisted that once in the Tropics/ their master used old sails as an economy. It was not an economy, of course, because tropical squalls were more sudden and vicious than people living in temperate climates realized; but most shipowners were men who cheerfully spent a guinea to save four pennies and congratulated themselves on the bargain.

The Caroline of Charleston, South Carolina. The moment he had seen the port of registry he had ordered Jackson to join the boarding party, warning Aitken to tell the American seaman what they were trying to discover, and explaining to the puzzled first lieutenant that Jackson had been born in Charleston.

The Caroline from South Carolina: it sounded like the beginning of some lullaby. If she was bound for Amsterdam (there could be little doubt about that) could he use her in some way, a Trojan horse that would get him among those damned privateers?

He could seize the ship and, putting his own men on board, send her into Amsterdam under her American flag. With his officers dressed in old clothes, they could pass themselves off as Americans and deal with all the paperwork with the Dutch authorities. They would, of course, anchor near the privateers. And soon after dark they would board them, set them all on fire, and then sail the Caroline of South Carolina out again, trusting that the Dutch would not fire on her, assuming she was getting dear of the flaming ships and never suspecting or guessing she was the cause.

Ramage shook his head. These were crazy thoughts: the diplomatic rumpus would be enormous; any British officer who used an American ship in this fashion would be court - martialled by the Admiralty and probably jailed; relations between Britain and North America were bad enough already; an incident like that could set off a war. Apart from all that, he thought ruefully, it was an excellent plan.

'Aitken and Jackson are getting ready to go down the ladder, sir,' Southwick reported. 'Ah, that fellow with the wide - brimmed straw' hat, hell be the master. He's shaking hands with Aitken. And with Jackson, too.'

Ten minutes later the boat was alongside the Calypso, and the Caroline, letting fall her sails, was getting under way again to continue her tedious series of tacks to get up to Amsterdam. It was unusual to see a square - rigged ship of her size sailing under the American flag: most of the trade in the West Indies was done with schooners. She was at least painted in the traditional dark green, the colour favoured by slave ships because it matched the mangroves which lined the banks of the rivers in the Gulf of Guinea where the slavers hid.

Aitken hurried over to Ramage, obviously excited, and Jackson, the next man up the side, was grinning broadly. Ramage saw the first lieutenant glancing astern, towards Aruba, and then he was reporting, making an effort to speak clearly.

'It worked just as you expected, sir: I suspect half his men are British. He says a French frigate anchored off Aruba was due to leave for Curasao a few hours after the Caroline weighed. He half expected her to be in sight by now.'

'Has he seen any privateers?'

'No, sir: he commented on it. Normally he sees three or four between the Windward Passage and the Main: they always board him to check his papers. But he did say he has seen more British warships: he wasn't surprised when he. saw us - or so he says. And Jackson was able to have a chat with some of the seamen.'

Ramage looked at the American. 'Well, did you meet any old friends?'

Jackson grinned. 'Not old friends, sir, but I knew one of the men; he was sweet on my sister - when they were both about five years old.'

'What else did you discover?'

'Quite a bit, sir, but it only confirms what Mr Aitken just said. They - the men in the Caroline - met some of the seamen from the French frigate on shore in Aruba. Said they were an undisciplined crowd; they didn't pay much attention to their officers. Called each other "citizen". And they wouldn't pay the Dutch shopkeepers the prices they asked: they just took what they wanted, paid half what was asked, and drew their swords when a crowd gathered.'

Even as Jackson talked Ramage was thinking of the small book in the drawer of his desk: the French signal book. He looked at Aitken. 'You did very well with the Caroline.' He turned to Jackson. 'You, too. Now make a signal to La Creole: I want Mr Lacey to come on board at once.'

An hour later, long after the men had run in the guns and secured' them, put pikes, cutlasses, muskets and pistols back in the arms chests, and swabbed down the decks, Ramage looked round his cabin at the perspiring but eager faces of his officers. He had finished explaining his plan and said to Lacey: 'Have you any questions?' The captain of La Creole had none.

Aitken, however, was worried about darkness. 'Supposing she comes up from Aruba during the night, sir?'

Ramage shook his head. 'With no moon and the risk of cloud, would you choose to make a voyage of forty - eight miles at night, the current foul, when you could time it to make your landfall in daylight?'

'No, sir,' the first lieutenant said apologetically, 'it was a silly question. I'd hope to be about fifteen miles west of the island - west of Westpunt Baai - at dawn. Then if the wind was lighter than I expected I'd be that much later, and there'd be no risk of running ashore in the darkness.'

'And that's where we will be,' Ramage said. 'Well be close to Westpunt Baai, and with the coast trending south - east towards Amsterdam, Lacey will be able to show how La Creole can pull with the bit between her teeth.'

He looked round to see if anyone had more questions, and Wagstaffe said: The privateers in Amsterdam, sir: are we leaving them alone?'

'For the time being, yes, although they won't realize it. Watchers along the coast will be reporting us going westward, but at twilight well turn back towards Amsterdam so that the Dutch lookouts report that we are doubling back.and obviously intend to spend the night off the port - just the sort of trick one would expect. But of course once it's dark well turn back yet again . . .'

'And hope it is not so dark we run ashore,' Aitken said dryly.

'Sint Christoffelberg is twelve hundred feet high,' Ramage said. 'We should be able to see it from five miles off, and Lacey here has only to keep an eye on our poop lantern.'

He stood up and said slowly: 'Remember, gentlemen, that timing is vital. If we see the fish isn't taking the bait, we have to act immediately, otherwise dozens of our men will be killed or wounded unnecessarily.'