Ramage and the Renegades

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Colours could now be distinguished, although the sun dipping to the west was already beginning to throw shadows across the near side of the mountains, giving shape and design to apparently smooth peaks. There was some grass on the lower slopes, not many trees and those were evergreens stunted by constant exposure to the trade winds. Although he had only seen paintings of it, Ramage could understand Southwick's reference to the sugarloaf hill being like the famous one overlooking Rio de Janeiro.

'A tiny Antigua,' Aitken said. 'It has that same dried up and wasted look in places, like a deserted Highland hill farm.'

'I'm glad I'm not going to command the garrison,' Ramage said, 'although it seems a good spot for young subalterns dodging gambling debts and the furious fathers of jilted brides!'

He caught sight of small waves breaking on the nearest shore and noted that they showed the Calypso was now less than two miles away. Curious how one had these little mental pictures to help estimate distance when anything was close. At two miles one could see a small building on the beach; at a mile the colour of its roof was distinguishable. A man standing on the beach could be picked out at 700 yards and if he was walking one could spot him at half a mile.

'Pass this southernmost headland about a mile off,' Ramage instructed Southwick. 'That should keep us clear of any reefs. As soon as we round it we'll then stretch along the leeward side of the island under topsails and hope to find an anchorage for the night.'

Aitken came up holding a slate. 'If the highest peak is fifteen hundred feet, sir, I calculate the island is almost exactly two and a half miles long.'

Ramage nodded: the figure coincided with his rough and ready measurement some minutes ago, when he divided the height of the peak into the length of the island and got an answer of nine.

Now the men were at sheets and braces and the quartermaster kept an eye on Southwick, waiting for the order that would begin the Calypso's turn round the narrow southeastern corner of the island. It was, Ramage had to admit, an island with little to recommend it. Rocky - every inch of coast he had seen so far was backed by jagged cliffs - it had patches of green, indicating grass, but the trees were little more than overgrown shrubs. Something of the coast of southern Tuscany, something of the Leeward and Virgin Islands, but nothing of the lushness of Grenada or Martinique. This was not surprising, because it was only just inside the Tropics, receiving the full force of the Atlantic winds and very little rain.

It was a long, narrow island: as the Calypso sailed diagonally across the end he could see it was less than a mile wide. Ah, now the western side was beginning to open up and almost at once Southwick began bellowing a stream of orders to wear ship: for several hours the Calypso had been on the larboard tack, the wind coming steadily over the larboard quarter. Now she was coming round to starboard almost eight points, nearly ninety degrees, to steer - Ramage walked over to the binnacle and looked down at the weather-side compass - northwest.

The creak of yards being braced up, the thump and slam of sails filling again, the grunts of dozens of men hauling on sheets and braces, the cries of bosun's mates, the curses of the quartermaster as the two men at the wheel swung it over too far, making the Calypso bear up a point or two and bringing a glower from the master.

Ramage was relieved to see that although the weather coast was sheer and inhospitable, the lee coast had half a dozen prominent headlands poking seaward into the distance.

Aitken gestured towards them. 'There should be some good bays between them, sir,' he said. Ramage nodded, for a moment puzzled, but as the Calypso surged ahead on the new tack he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts: he had been at sea too long and was imagining things.

'Deck there - foremast here!'

'Foremast - deck!' Southwick answered.

'I saw a small boat beyond the headland, sir! Red it was,' Jackson shouted. 'Then it went behind the cliff.'

Ramage said quickly: 'Just acknowledge: I saw it, too!'

'Very well, keep a sharp lookout!' Southwick said in the usual response to a routine hail.

'What's an open boat doing here, sir?' the master exclaimed.

'From a Brazilian fishing boat, perhaps. Or maybe there is asettlement here after all.'

Even as he said it, Ramage realized the problems mustered behind that one brief glimpse of a boat. A settlement meant people lived here; presumably they, or the country to which they belonged, claimed possession of Trinidade. Most probably it was Portugal, but it could be Spain.

It was a point not covered in his orders; the Admiralty had assumed the island was uninhabited. Yet... Lord St Vincent had, verbally, given what would undoubtedly be the Admiralty's view: ownership of the Ilha da Trinidade was not covered in the Treaty, so Britain could claim it. Any settlers would have to leave; he would take them back whence they came - Brazil, probably.

Aitken said matter-of-factly: 'Probably just fishermen: their vessel anchored in a bay while they get water, and their jolly boat is rowing round looking for lobster to make a nice supper!'

That would be it. Ramage felt sheepish and was thankful he had kept his mouth shut: once again his imagination had outdistanced his reasoning. A fishing boat from Bahia - it was so obvious! At that moment Jackson yelled excitedly.

'Deck there - there's a ship anchored in that first bay!'

Ramage grabbed the only telescope and before he could lift it Jackson was shouting again: 'Merchant ship . . . British colours ... a John Company ship.'

Southwick said: 'Her water's gone bad and she's come here to fill casks!'

'Deck there! I can just make out the stern of another merchant ship, French colours ...'

By now Ramage could see the first ship. Yes, John Company, flying faded but distinctive red and white 'gridiron' colours of the Honourable East India Company, the Union flag in one canton, with horizontal stripes. And now he could make out the stern of the French ship as the headland appeared to slide to starboard with the Calypso's approach, beginning to give a glimpse of the rest of the bay. She was almost as big as the John Company ship and her sails neatly furled, too. A quarterboat was hoisted in the davits and there was another boat streaming astern on its painter.

Ramage found himself listening to the monotonous chant of the depths coming from the leadsman busy in the chains, and picturing the shape of the sea bed. It was shallowing only gradually and the old adage of high cliffs and deep water seemed true. But there could be no rocks or reefs at this end, since these ships had sailed in.

'We'll probably anchor to seaward of those ships,' Ramage snapped, and Southwick hurriedly grabbed the speaking-trumpet and quickly gave orders to clew up the main and forecourses. Almost immediately and as if by magic, because the appropriate ropes were hauled from the deck, the Calypso's two largest sails lost their curves and were hauled up to the yards like window curtains lifted by an impatient busybody.

At once the frigate began to slow down. Earlier, the bow wave curling back from the stem had sounded like water pouring through a sluice gate; now it chuckled happily and at the same time, as the ship reached the sheltered water in the lee of the island, she stopped the gentle pitch and roll. Instead, sailing upright under topsails only and with a soldier's wind, the Calypso was like a cheerful fishwife losing her boisterous gait.

'Foremast here, sir - there's a third ship -'

'Mainmast here - and a fourth!' Orsini yelled, not troubling to hide his excitement.

As they came into view round the headland Ramage examined them carefully through the telescope. 'The third one's British, I can make out her colours. She's in good order; sails neatly furled - too neatly, it seems to me! And the fourth is . . . yes, Dutch. I thought for a moment she was French; the wind plays tricks with her colours.'

'Four ships at anchor in a place like this? What the devils gone wrong?' a puzzled Southwick asked, preparing to give orders to clew up the foretopsail.

'Could be water,' Ramage said. 'If they all called at the Cape and took water from the same place and it later went bad...' Then he shook his head. 'No, it couldn't be that; French and Dutch ships wouldn't call at the Cape - coming from India or Batavia they wouldn't know about the Treaty.'

Aitken said: 'Should I send the men to general quarters, sir?'

Ramage smiled at the Scot's reluctance to abandon wartime routines. 'There are a couple of British ships anchored peacefully in the bay, Mr Aitken!'

'Aye, sir, but it's like walking into a glen twenty miles from the nearest village and finding a dozen men camped there - it gives you a shock and makes you suspicious.'

'Yes, because they're unshaven and you don't know who they are, but these ships have their colours flying.' Ramage looked at the four ships again. 'New colours, too, most of them!'

Southwick sniffed - clearly he disapproved of the whole thing - and inquired patiently: 'Where do you want us to anchor, sir?'

Now the Calypso was almost past the headland and Ramage saw a deep bay was opening up surrounded by cliffs, the northern end formed by a less prominent bluff. The four ships -

'Foremast lookout here, sir - there's a fifth ship, almost hidden by the third and fourth, French flag.'

'Very well. Any -'

'Sixth, sir!' Jackson interrupted from aloft. 'She's close in to the cliffs. Smaller, looks fast, twelve guns. Might be a privateer, from her appearance. Ah, I can just see her colours. British, sir.'

Five merchant ships and a possible privateer, all peacefully anchored. Aformer privateer, Ramage corrected himself.

Well, obviously Trinidade had plenty of fresh water, and equally obviously the Admiralty might know nothing of the island, but it was well known to merchant ships regularly sailing to the Cape, India and Batavia . . . Probably, Ramage thought, if the Admiralty had written to the Honourable East India Company and asked them for details, a delighted John Company would have sent a chart with the watering places marked.

'Mainmast, sir,' Orsini called down. 'The small boat we first sighted - she's going alongside the one we think is a privateer.'

Suddenly Ramage found himself feeling cheerful: with five merchant ships in the anchorage, there would be some entertaining. The John Company ship would have passengers, and John Company masters, well paid, lived well and were often interesting men. The second British ship looked interesting. The Dutch ship was big enough to be one of the Dutch East India Company's fleet. And the Frenchmen, he thought, might not yet know of the peace treaty . . . no, they must, he realized, otherwise they would not be in here peacefully at anchor with British ships. They must all know - but how? The only way the British would know would be for a frigate to have reached the Cape with dispatches. That could have happened. But Dutch and French? Well, they could have met other Dutch and French ships, outward bound. That was obvious, he realized, irritated with himself.

'Anchoring, sir,' Southwick reminded him.

'Ah yes. From the way all the ships are on the south side of the bay, we must conclude there's foul ground on the north side. Two cables astern of the seaward British ship; have her bearing northeast.'

Southwick gave a quick helm order to the quartermaster and bellowed to the men to brace the topsail yards sharp up. Sheets were hauled home and the Calypso turned to starboard, hard on the wind for the last few hundred yards.

'Foretop - quarterdeck: that boat's leaving the privateer, sir.'

'She'll be calling on us: keep an eye on the others - especially the John Company ship.'

'Quite a social life, it'll be, sir,' Aitken said, and Ramage was not sure whether the first lieutenant was pleased or depressed.

'Yes, the first time any of us except Southwick has met a merchant ship in peacetime. We must mind our manners: very proud gentlemen, these John Company masters. Always anxious to put the Navy in its place.'

'Aye, and wealthy, too, sir, so I'm told. Silver cutlery, expensive china, only the best wines, fresh meat nearly every day because they carry so much livestock... Even fresh milk.'

'Unless the cow goes dry. But the luxury is for the passengers: they are paying a great deal of money for a first class passage to or from India.'

'These nabobs can afford it!'

'How I envy them,' Ramage said. 'If he had to go to India even your John Knox would have chosen an Indiaman and fresh milk in preference to a frigate and salt tack!'

'Make no mistake, sir, it's envy in my voice, not criticism.' Aitken said with a grin. 'Now, I'd better give Mr Southwick a hand.'

The master gave him a speaking-trumpet and went down to the maindeck, walking forward to the fo'c'sle where a group of men stood near the cable and bitts while others waited at the anchor, now hanging over the side ready for the order to let go.

Aitken glanced aloft and saw that the topsails were just drawing. Without bothering to look over the side he knew the Calypso was making less than three knots.

As he stood at the quarterdeck rail, deliberately leaving the handling of the ship to his officers, so that they increased their experience, Ramage watched the frigate's supernumeraries. Wilkins, sitting on the hammock nettings, was sketching: he would draw a few brief lines, write some words and tear off the page, stuff it in his pocket and then start work on a fresh sheet. A study for the Calypso's arrival at Trinidade? The five other ships against the harsh grey curve of the cliffs and the five peaks rising high behind them would be a challenge someone like Wilkins could not resist. The surveyors and draughtsmen seemed more interested in the land than the ships: they were probably discussing how they were going to find their way across the ridges, some of which looked very sharp, and up to the peaks. The botanist stood alone but he too was looking from one end of the island to the other - or, rather, what he could see of it as the Calypso glided into the bay, the southern headland and the northern bluff seeming to enclose her like welcoming arms.

Aitken was just shouting the order to back the foretopsail, to bring the Calypso to a stop within a hundred yards or so of the Indiaman, so that when the frigate settled back on the full scope of her cable she would be exactly where Ramage wanted, when Jackson hailed again.

'Foretop - four men in that boat, sir, apart from the oarsmen, and one of 'em is holding up something like a boardingpike.'

'How do you mean - threatening us?' Ramage lifted his telescope but could not for a moment sight the boat.

'No, sir - he's sitting on a thwart with it vertically between his knees. May be just a long stick.'

'Very well. Keep an eye on it - and watch for other boats: they'll be flocking over soon.'

'No one's moved yet, sir. Just a few people on the deck of each ship.'

Kenton, who had been standing to one side, waiting for orders, laughed to himself and then said: 'We surprised everyone and the ladies have rushed below to change into their best dresses and attend to their hair.'

'And you're hoping that some of the nabobs have eligible daughters, eh?'

'They'd have been snapped up by now, sir: Trinidade isn't famous as a place where impoverished lieutenants find rich young ladies to marry!'

Not famous yet,' Ramage said. 'You might start a fashion.'

There was a creak from the foretopsail yard, and then a dull thump as the wind caught the sail on its forward side, pressing the canvas back against the mast, slowing and then stopping the ship.

Southwick was standing on the fo'c'sle, watching Aitken. The first lieutenant's left arm shot up vertically and at once Southwick turned and barked out an order. The heavy anchor dropped into the water with a splash and the cable ran out the hawse with a noise like a hundred galloping cattle. A few moments later the familiar smell of scorched rope and wood drifted aft.

By now the bosun was standing beside the larboard quarterboat, waiting for it to be lowered so that he could be rowed round the ship to give the appropriate signals for squaring the yards, while aloft seamen were furling the courses. The moment the foretopsail had finished its present task of giving the Calypso sternway, putting a strain on the cable and ensuring that the anchor dug itself in, it and the maintopsail would be furled and the jibs neatly stowed at the foot of their stays.

Ramage was pleased that there were ships here for another reason. Aitken had kept the ship's company busy, except during the hottest part of the Doldrums, smartening up the Calypso. Long days without rain and with the sails furled meant that masts and yards could be painted, leather fire buckets polished, capstan painted in blue and white with some of the patterns and the crown on top picked out in gold. He was thankful now that he had bought a few books of gold leaf: they were expensive, but gilt work was always an economy because gold paint did not last and always turned into the colour of grey mud under the twin assault of sea and sun. The Calypso's boats looked new: the hulls were a little darker than sky blue, the top strake white, and the metalwork black. The rowlocks had been picked out with gilt, and the oars were white. It seemed a pity to put the boats in the water: within a few weeks green weed and limpets would be growing thick and fast on their bottoms.

With guests coming on board, and the Calypso's captain and officers paying social calls on other ships, Aitken's work would be seen and admired, and Ramage knew that an ounce of praise from the master of a John Company ship was worth the same from the captain of a 74-gun two-decker.

The lookout on the fo'c'sle shouted: 'Quarterdeck there - boat approaching, sir: a hundred yards on the starboard bow.'

Aitken acknowledged the hail and looked round for Renwick. A glance over the quarterdeck rail showed a Marine sergeant already marching a couple of Marines to take up their posts at the entryports on the starboard and larboard sides once the Calypso was at anchor. The sentry's task was to hail any approaching boat and, from the reply, find out who was in it.

The Marine sergeant, Ferris, had heard the fo'c'sle lookout's hail and marched the two Marines to the starboard side first: officers boarded on the starboard side, and the visitors were almost certainly officers. He halted the two men, detached one amid a volley of orders and a cloud of pipeclay, and then marched the second Marine over to the larboard side.

Aitken looked at the boat with the telescope in the few remaining moments before it was hidden by the frigate's bow. After his inspection he looked grim, shut the telescope and put it away in the binnacle box drawer. He walked over to Ramage. 'I'll meet our visitors, sir; I don't think you'll need to see them.'

Ramage nodded, because no one in the Navy had much time for privateers; in fact he assumed these privateersmen had been cruising well down in the South Atlantic and had only just learned of the new Treaty that put them out of business. Their licence, or letter of marque, to give it the proper name, gave them permission to wage war on the King's enemies (the Republic's enemies if French, of course) providing there was a war on. A hostile act against any ship in peacetime was piracy, and the penalty for piracy was hanging.

As he walked down the ladder from the quarterdeck towards the entryport, Aitken heard the sentry's challenge, and, from beyond the ship, a reply that sounded like a single word, the name of a ship. So the captain of the privateer - the former privateer, he corrected himself - was paying a visit. Probably, he realized, to get news of the Treaty: they would have heard only gossip and hearsay from the merchant ships, and were now seizing the opportunity of having it - officially, as far as they were concerned - from one of the King's ships. After all, hearing that a profitable way of life was now illegal - well, even privateersmen could not be blamed for wanting to have the news confirmed by a reliable source.

'Sir,' the sentry said, obviously puzzled, 'the boat's alongside and they've got a white flag flying - lashed to a boarding pike. They've only just lashed it this moment because I saw a fellow sitting there with a pole, and there weren't no flag...'

Aitken went to the port and looked down at the boat. The bowman had hooked on; a man at the stern was waiting for one of the Calypso's seamen to throw down a sternfast while the bowman waited for a painter.

In the meantime the four men sat in the sternsheets, one of them, a big Negro, holding between his knees the boarding pike with a square of grubby white cloth secured to it.

Aitken noticed that the four men had pistols in their belts,and there were cutlasses in the bottom of the boat, but that was reasonable enough: the Calypso herself had flown false colours in the late war to get herself into a position to attack the enemy - after hoisting her true colours. And privateersmen, he had to admit, would be among the most cautious and distrustful men afloat.

Nevertheless, Aitken wanted an explanation of the flag of truce before anyone stepped on board.

'Why are you waving that truce flag?' he demanded.

'Not waving it,' one of the men answered. 'Holdin' it still.'

'Answer my question.'

'S'bluddy obvious. We want to come on board under a flag of truce.'

'A truce for what? The war's over.'

'Oh - it's true what they tell us, then?'

'I don't know who's been telling you what,' Aitken said, his tone more friendly, 'but Bonaparte signed a treaty of peace with Britain on the first day of last October.'

'That's good news. Can we come on board, then?'

'Of course. What's your ship?'

'The Lynx of Bristol, letter of marque.'

'Former letter of marque,' Aitken said.

'Well, yes, give us time to get used to the idea of peace!'

Aitken laughed and watched as the speaker stood up and reached for the battens.

'I don't rate sideropes, eh?' the man looked up but started climbing.

'You could have been a bumboat selling bananas,' Aitken said sarcastically. 'But we'd have fired salutes and piped you on board, if you'd given us due notice.'

The man looked up as he climbed. 'You didn't give us any notice.'

Aitken stood back several paces, with the Marine sentry to his left, musket at the slope, and Orsini and Martin to his right. He knew that Kenton was on the quarterdeck ready to pass any messages down to the captain, and Southwick would be within earshot. It was quite surprising, he noted ironically, how many seamen now had tasks that kept them amidships where they could watch the Calypso's first visitors since she left the Medway.

The man coming on board was tall and thin; so thin that Aitken had the impression the skin had been shrunk on to his head. The face and head had sharp angles, like a five-sided lantern, and the man was completely bald. Not just bald, Aitken realized, but hairless: the result, presumably, of some illness like malaria. As if in compensation, he had a full sef of perfect teeth, which were only slightly stained from chewing tobacco.

'Jebediah Hart,' he announced, 'master and part owner of the Lynx, schooner."

'James Aitken, first lieutenant, His Majesty's ship Calypso, frigate.'

By now a second man had come on board: as fat as Hart was thin, shorter than Aitken, he had a large and black drooping moustache and thick, bushy eyebrows. His eyes seemed black and flickered round the Calypso's deck, as though expecting a trap.

Hart said: 'I must introduce the mate, Jean-Louis Belmont. Unfortunately he speaks no English.'

Aitken nodded and bowed. The first lieutenant noted that despite the fatness, the man had climbed up the side without getting out of breath. And he was French. Presumably a royalist and a refugee from Bonaparte's regime. He took a risk if ever the privateer had been captured while the war was on: the French would have hanged him at once as a traitor.

The next man on board was small, muscular, with blond hair beginning to turn grey. Unlike the others he wore breeches instead of trousers and had a severely-cut coat of dark green. Aitken was unsure whether meeting him on shore he would mistake the man for a farmer or a rural dean. Unexpectedly he stood to attention, bowed his head, and moved to one side. Hart was busy looking round the ship and did not introduce the man, who did not give his name. Aitken was sure, from his appearance and manner, that he was Scandinavian.

The fourth man to come through the entryport was the big Negro, still carrying the boarding pike, although he had spun it a few times to wind the white flag round it.

Hart turned and said: 'Tomás - he's Spanish; speaks no English.'

'You have a language problem in the Lynx!'Aitken said, but Hart shook his head.

'I've picked up a few words here and there.'

Aitken waited for him to continue, but the four privateersmen stood in a half circle, as if waiting for him to make the next move. The first lieutenant glanced over towards the Lynx as if intending to admire their ship but in fact to see if boats were coming from the merchantmen. No boats had moved; those with their boats made up astern with painters still had them sitting like ducklings behind the mother and the rest of the boats hoisted up in quarter davits or still amidships, stowed on the cargo hatches.

Aitken looked across at Hart, puzzled by what he now recognized as a strange sight. Hart stared back at him and said in a flat voice: 'We want to see your captain.'

'Explain your business,' Aitken said brusquely, 'then I'll see if he has time: he is very busy.'

'What's his name?'

'Ramage, Captain Ramage.'

'Christ,' Hart said in a low voice, 'of all the ones the Admiralty pick it has to be him!'

'You know him?'

'Know of him,' Hart said, 'who doesn't? Well -' he shrugged his shoulders and said something in rapid Spanish to Tomás, who swore, '- fetch him.'

'I don't fetch the captain,' Aitken said stiffly.

'Now you do,' Hart sneered. 'You see those ships?' he gestured at the anchored merchantmen.

When Aitken nodded. Hart said: 'They're all our prizes. Now fetch your precious Mr Lord Ramage.'