Ramage’s Mutiny

CHAPTER NINE

Five days later the Calypso was reaching fast to the south-west and just beginning to pitch lazily as she came clear of the lee of Grenada, the southernmost of the Windward Islands. The coast of the Spanish Main was a hundred miles ahead, across the wide channel separating South America from the end of the chain of islands, and soon the frigate would be in the strong west-going current set up by the Atlantic flowing into the Caribbean.

The sun was scorching and the sea a deep yet dazzling blue, but to an untrained eye the only signs that the Calypso was a ship of war were the guns lining her sides: most of her men were sitting or lying in whatever shade they could find while aft four or five of them perched on the taffrail were juggling with fishing lines.

Because it was Sunday all the men were newly shaven with their hair tied in neat queues. This was the day when the ship's company was mustered and the Captain had the men singing some hymns and, once a month, read the Articles of War to them. The order for the afternoon - apart from the men on watch - was "make and mend", a few hours when shirts and trousers could be patched by those energetic with needle and thread. Two men were helping each other cut out a shirt from a piece of cloth, one trying to hold the material flat on the deck while the other snipped away with scissors. Another man was whittling away at a carving of a horse, careful that the shavings fell into a piece of canvas.

Jackson, Rossi and Stafford were on the fo'c'sle, squatting in the shade of the flying jib with their backs against the carriage of a 6-pounder. Three other seamen sprawled on the deck near them and apparently asleep were in fact listening to the conversation.

Stafford, the Cockney locksmith swept up by the press-gang - "a good man lost to the burglin' profession" as he often boasted - had been comparing the beauty of Spanish and Italian women with the English, more especially those from London. Rossi had been putting forward the claims of the ladies of Genoa, while Thomas Jackson, the only American on board, delivered a verdict that the women of southern Europe were usually too fat while those from north were too thin.

"The Marquesa's an exception, " he declared.

"She's the loveliest lady I ever saw, " Stafford admitted. "Don't know why the Captain don't marry 'er."

"Ah, it hardly seems yesterday when we rescued her, " Jackson said nostalgically.

One of the seamen sat up. "When you what?"

"Ah, you Invincibles, you don't know nothing, " Stafford jeered. "You mean to say you've never 'eard 'ow Jacko rescued a queen from under the 'ooves of Boney's cavalry?"

With that the other two sat up. "No, " said one of them, "a real queen? Don't believe it! "

"She's not called a queen but she rules her own country, " Jackson said. "Volterra's the place, in Italy. We were sent in a frigate to rescue her as Boney's troops marched south, only we were sunk and we ended up fetching her off in a boat."

"And she and the Captain - he was only a lieutenant then - went and fell in love, " Stafford added.

"And very nice too, " said one of the new men from the Invincible. "But like you was saying, why ain't they got married?"

"Accidente! " Rossi exclaimed indignantly. "If I marry all the women I love, I have a hundred wives! "

"Where's this lady now, then?" the seaman asked.

"Staying with the Captain's family, " Jackson explained. "His father's got a big estate down in Cornwall."

"I pity her, then, " the seaman commented. "That Cornish lingo: I can't never understand what they'm saying."

"Yorkshire, that's where you come from, " Stafford said accusingly. "An' you talk about a lingo! "

"Lancashire, " the man replied triumphantly. "Shows how much you know! "

"You'd better be learning Spanish, " Jackson said. "We'll need it soon, from what I hear."

"Why we have to go an' chase out a lot o' murderin' mutineers I don't know, " Stafford grumbled.

"Aye, there's a lot you don't know, " the Lancashire seaman said. "There ain't a mutineer left on board the Jocasta; she's full of Spaniards. Three 'oondred or more; that was the scuttlebutt when we left the Invincible, and a narrow entrance to Santa Cruz with three forts an 'oondreds of guns."

"You people measure everything by the "’oondred', " Jackson said dryly. "Mr Ramage always divides the opposition by ten . . ."

"Your Mr Ramage is goin' to be the scapegoat; that's what I 'eard, " another seaman said. "That there Captain Eames is the Admiral's favourite and he made a mess of it without even trying. But your chap is going to be the one that'll be put on the beach with half-pay when the Admiralty hears he's failed. Leastways, that's what I heard, " he added hurriedly. "Seems unfair but there's no tellin' with officers."

"Speakin' of officers, " one of the other seamen said, "the First Lieutenant seems all right."

"One o' the best, " Stafford said emphatically. "Same goes for Wagstaffe and Baker. The new Fourth Lieutenant, Kenton - don't know about 'im, 'e's only been on board a few days."

"This little midshipman - he's a foreigner, ain't he?"

"Foreigner?" Rossi exclaimed. "Accidente, he's Italian. And so am I! "

"I couldn't have guessed, " the seaman said with a grin.

"Mr Orsini - he's the Marchesa's nephew, " Jackson explained. "A good lad. We're proud of him, " he added, giving a gentle warning. "He's a proper terror when we go into action . . ."

"He'll need to be, and the rest of us."

"Sounds to me as though you Invincibles are scared of Santa Cruz, " Stafford said.

"Aye - and rightly so. You'll see."

The Cockney shrugged his shoulders. "Would you attack a Spanish ship of the line wiv a cutter?"

"'Course not! "

"We did, " Stafford said flatly. "Leastways, Mr Ramage did and we was on board."

"You're joking! "

"I 'ain't - ask Jacko and Rosey."

"What 'appened?"

"We was sunk."

"There you are! Must be barmy, your Mr Ramage."

Stafford sighed, as if losing patience with men of such feeble understanding. "The Spaniard was captured - and another ship of the line, too. All because of us. Mr Ramage, rather."

The seaman flopped back on the deck. "Maybe so, but your Mr Ramage is going to 'ave to work miracles at Santa Cruz."

"Look, " Jackson said sternly, "you can stop this 'your Mr Ramage' talk. He's your Captain as well, now. Don't forget the Jocastas mutinied because their captain flogged 'em by the score. I've been with Mr Ramage since afore he got his first command, and he's only ever flogged two men . . ."

"All right, all right. Just wait until you see Santa Cruz, Jacko. It'll make yer blood run cold."

The first sight of the Spanish Main was a distant view of the grey-blue hump of Punta Penas, a hundred miles to the east of Santa Cruz and one of the entrances of the great Gulf of Paria, which separated the island of Trinidad from the mainland.

Southwick shut his telescope with a snap. "A long time since I last clapped eyes on the Dragon's Mouth, " he commented to Ramage. "A good name for it, too: the currents in there are bad, and you can lose the wind in the lee of the island."

Ramage, preoccupied, said sourly: "Well, it doesn't concern us. I think we'll reverse our course until dusk - we don't want to be sighted yet."

Southwick had long since given up trying to guess his Captain's plans: when he was good and ready Mr Ramage would tell him how he proposed cutting out the Jocasta and expect any criticisms or suggestions to be made without hesitation. As he turned away to give the orders to wear the ship and steer back towards Grenada, the Master suspected that at the moment Mr Ramage had no plan.

He bellowed orders that sent men running towards the sheets and braces controlling the great sails. A quick instruction to the quartermaster set the wheel spinning and soon the Calypso was steering north-east on the starboard tack, sailing along her original track.

Mr Ramage was thinking hard but he had no plan: that much was clear to Southwick, who watched him pacing up and down. Then he stopped and stared at the horizon, and rubbed the older of the two scars over his right eyebrow. That confirmed it as far as Southwick was concerned: he rubbed that scar only when he was angry or puzzled, and there was nothing to make him angry.

Southwick watched him as he began walking the quarterdeck again. He was beginning to look like his father: the same easy stride, the wide shoulders, the hands clasped behind his back. His face was maturing too; those brown eyes were more deep-set now and there were tiny wrinkles at the outboard ends of his eyebrows. He was a younger version of his father but with his own sense of humour. He had a disconcerting habit of saying something peculiar with a straight face. If you were not careful you found yourself agreeing before you hauled in what he had said. He had not joked much since the trial of the mutineers, however. It had changed him, but Southwick was hard put to know if it was permanent. He was just the same with the men, he watched all sailhandling with the same sharp eye, he was the same with the officers. Yet Southwick knew he had changed, even if he could not define the difference.

He was beginning to have a suspicion that Mr Ramage was in fact angry. Not with anything on board the Calypso - he was not a man to suffer in silence; if something had made him angry in the ship he would have been quick to say so. He had said very little about the trial, but he had mentioned Captain Wallis's behaviour and how free he had been with the cat. And that could be the reason for the change: Mr Ramage trying to keep control of a deep anger - a resentment, almost - against Wallis.

Mr Ramage had very firm ideas about flogging: he reckoned it ruined a good man and only made a bad man worse. In fact he went further: he was convinced that, except for incorrigible seamen (the kind of men who, on land, would spend a lifetime in and out of jail), if a captain had to resort to the cat-o'-nine-tails the captain was probably at fault.

He was not in a bad mood exactly: he had passed the word that the men could fish from the taffrail and four of them were perched there now, cussing and joking as they hooked and lost fish, all within a few feet of where Mr Ramage marched up and down as though trying to wear a furrow in the deck planking.

Whatever Mr Ramage finally decided to do at Santa Cruz - and there was plenty of time, because for the present he was keeping the Calypso a hundred miles to windward of it - the ship's company was ready. Gunnery drill and sail handling showed that Captain Edwards had sent over good men from the Invincible. Southwick had expected him to take the opportunity to get rid of his worst men, but he had been fair.

So the Calypso was ready for anything; as ready as training and preparation could make her. Down in his cabin was a large-scale chart of Santa Cruz which he had drawn up from various sources. Ironically the best information came from one of the mutineers, who would have been hanged by now: that man had drawn a chart from memory - and it was better than anything available in English Harbour. It showed Southwick that, although he had been guilty of murdering his captain, the man had not been disloyal to his country as he faced the noose. He must have guessed that the information he had about Santa Cruz was vital, but he had not attempted to bargain with it by trying to get his death sentence reduced to transportation, for instance. According to Mr Ramage, the man had been only too glad to help, as though to make amends . . .

"Deck there! Sail-ho, on the larboard quarter! " Ramage and Southwick reached the rail at the same time and put telescopes to their eyes. They could see nothing: the distant ship was below the curvature of the earth but just visible to the lookout perched high up in the mainmast.

Ramage turned to the quartermaster: "Pass the word for my coxswain."

A hail forward brought Jackson running aft to the quarterdeck, where Ramage handed him a telescope taken from the binnacle drawer. "Get aloft and see what you make of her."

Three minutes later, after Jackson had spent a long time balancing himself against the reverse-pendulum movement of the masts as the Calypso rolled, he hailed: "Deck there. She looks like a schooner. She's steering up to the nor'-east on the same course as us. Could be a Jonathan, sir."

Ramage turned to Southwick: "Bear away and run down to her."

A ninety-mile line of scattered and tiny islands, reefs and cays ran parallel to the Main and up to sixty miles north of it. A prudent master leaving La Guaira, Barcelona and Cumana would steer north-west to pass safely to the westward; but if he left Santa Cruz he would instead sail out to the north-east, making sure that the west-going current did not sweep him down to the Testigos, the islands marking the eastern end of the line. He would, Ramage knew, steer for Grenada until, sixty miles or so out from the Main, he could risk bearing away for his destination, but even then he would keep a sharp lookout. Many of the shoals west of Testigos barely showed above water; some of the cays were only a few feet high.

Ramage took off his hat and mopped his face and neck: the heat seemed solid; the breeze filled the sails but seemed to ignore the men on deck. Above him the great yards creaked as they were braced round; the men at the wheel hauled on the spokes as Southwick gave them a course which should intercept the ship they still could not see from the deck.

Southwick put a speaking trumpet to his lips and hailed Jackson: "Masthead there! How is the sail bearing from us now?"

"Two points on our larboard bow, sir."

The master nodded to himself. The schooner with her fore-and-aft rig would be fast on the wind.

The hailing had brought Aitken on deck, blinking in the harsh sunlight, and as soon as Southwick had told him of the sighting the First Lieutenant said to Ramage: "Could she have come from Santa Cruz, sir?"

"She could, and be clawing up to clear the Testigos."

"She might have some more Jocastas on board."

The idea obviously had not occurred to Ramage, and his eyes narrowed. "I'm more concerned with finding out what's happening in Santa Cruz than providing fodder for courts martial."

"Quite, sir, " Aitken understood his Captain well enough not to be offended by the remark: he too imagined vividly the thunder of the Invincible's gun and the hanging figures emerging from the smoke.

Ramage had the telescope to his eye. "I can just make out her mastheads. Have a boat ready for lowering, Mr Aitken. You'll be boarding her. Take six Marines. Mr Southwick, we'll beat to quarters in fifteen minutes' time."

Half an hour later the Calypso was hove-to a hundred yards to windward of the schooner, which had hoisted the American flag, and Ramage watched through his telescope as Aitken and her master talked on deck. After a few minutes the two men went below. The Marines were standing where Aitken had obviously placed them, so the American must be cooperating.

On board the Calypso the guns were run out, the water which had been splashed across the deck was drying quickly on the hot wood of the planking, and the grains of sand sprinkled over it to give the men a good foothold became myriads of tiny mirrors reflecting the sunlight.

The sea had the dark blue, almost mauve, of the tropical ocean; the sky, with the sun high, was a harsher blue, hinting at infinite distance which would be revealed when darkness once again brought back the stars. And all the time the sun beat down on the ship, making the deck planking uncomfortably hot and heating metal until it was unpleasant to touch. But there was enough breeze now to keep the men cool, once they had finished the heavy work of loading and running out the guns.

Ramage walked the width of the quarterdeck swearing to himself that he would not look across at the schooner again until he had made five traverses. Impatience was a tiring and pointless fault, but one he found it very hard to eradicate. One of the few advantages of being made post was that you could indulge yourself more frequently . . . But now Aitken was dealing with the Jonathan, pumping him dry of information about Santa Cruz, with luck.

The William and Henrietta of Boston. Shipowners along the east coast of America were no more imaginative than their counterparts across the other side of the Atlantic. Who was William, and was Henrietta his wife? Or had someone named the ship after his father and mother? He did not give a jot, but speculating about such nonsense passed a few more minutes and by then he had made six traverses of the deck, so he could look again.

He put the glass to his eye. Aitken was on deck again, and folding something and putting it in the canvas pouch he had used to protect the list of known Jocastas from spray. The Marines had not moved and now Aitken was signalling over the side to the boat.

No mutineers! It was as much the wish not to find mutineers as the hope of discovering the latest information about Santa Cruz that was making him impatient for Aitken's return. He did not want to be a member of another court martial trying one of Wallis's victims. Victims was an odd way to think of murderers and mutineers but it was more of a judgment - a diagnosis, Bowen would call it - than an expression of sympathy.

Now the Calypso's boat was clear of the schooner. The William and Henrietta was a graceful vessel, a sweeping sheer lifting to a high bow. She was painted a dark blue with a broad white strake, an unusual colour for an American merchantman: they were usually black or green. Then the headsails, which had been backed, were sheeted home and for a minute or two the William and Henrietta's bow paid off before she gathered way.

Another neutral ship stopped and boarded; another routine dozen-word entry in the log, one of hundreds made every year by ships of the Royal Navy. While Ramage's thoughts roamed, Aitken arrived to stand before him, grinning cheerfully. Startled, Ramage glanced round to see that the boat was already hooked on and ready to be hoisted on board.

Aitken unloaded the pouch. "No mutineers on board, sir, but the master was friendly enough: he left Santa Cruz early yesterday morning and he's bound for St Augustine, in Florida. Cargo of hides - phew, and do they stink! "

Ramage waited with growing impatience. The Captain had to be cool, unruffled, patient, the fountain of wisdom . . . which meant that the Captain could not at this moment tell Aitken to stop rambling and report on Santa Cruz.

"Hides, eh?" he said casually. "Of course, they have a lot of cattle along this coast. Poor quality hides, if I remember correctly: some kind of fly that attacks the skin and causes sores."

"Maybe so, sir, " Aitken said, "but the master tells me they fetch a good price in America."

"Indeed? What other news from our American friend?"

"Nothing, sir. He says he always finds a west-going current of between one and two knots from here all the way up to the lee of Grenada, which is what we'd reckoned anyway."

"Quite."

"And the Jocasta, sir: she's still there and has her yards crossed and sails bent on, but apparently there's barely a hundred seamen on board her now. She was full of troops when he arrived, but they were suddenly taken off and marched inland with some of the town garrison. He reckoned more than five hundred of them altogether. There was a lot of talk of trouble up in the hills at a place called - " he paused and took a piece of paper from his pocket " - called Caripe. I don't know if that's the way to pronounce it. Anyway, there are hundreds of Indians living up in the mountains who are always making trouble for the Spaniards, and they've just massacred the garrison at this place, Caripe. The only troops available to send after 'em were those on board the Jocasta and some of the garrison."

Aitken's voice was flat. Did he understand the significance of the news he was relating? Ramage, not realizing that Aitken was copying him, was far from sure, but he was thankful for those unknown Indians who, revolting for reasons he could only guess at, had as if by magic removed three hundred soldiers from the Jocasta. That was as good as doubling the number of men he had in the Calypso . . . Then he remembered the forts. They were the threat; compared with them the prospect of three hundred more or less on board the Jocasta was of little account. Smile, Ramage told himself; Eames was beaten long before he reached Santa Cruz, beaten by a look at the chart.

"A fortunate coincidence, " Ramage commented. "A pity we can't help our Indian allies."

Aitken nodded as he peered into his canvas pouch. "And then there's this, sir." He took out a large sheet of paper which had been folded twice. "The master copied it for me from the one he uses. He vouches for the soundings because he's taken them himself."

Ramage turned his back to the wind. The paper was a good chart of Santa Cruz and the entrance with the forts marked in, and on the windward side of the large rectangular lagoon at the inner end of the channel was drawn the Jocasta, showing that she was secured fore and aft to buoys.

He handed it back to Aitken. "You'd better give that to Southwick. It's a great deal better than anything we have."

Ramage resumed his pacing. Even a perfunctory look at the new chart did not alter the major characteristics of Santa Cruz: it was still a square lagoon half a mile inland at the end of a channel which began as a narrow slot through the cliffs, although the hills on either side quickly sloped down so that Santa Cruz itself and the land round the lagoon was flat.

The Jocasta was at the eastern end of the lagoon; the town at the western. And high above the middle of the southern side was the Castillo de Santa Fe, taking its name from the high mountain, Pico de Santa Fe, which stood inland like a giant beacon, a landmark visible for twenty miles, though one which Eames's chart neglected to mention.

An American master and a group of Indians: Captain Ramage of the Calypso was finding some improbable allies. He turned to find Aitken waiting to speak to him.

"I forgot to mention, sir, " he began apologetically, "that the American said there is a Spanish guarda costa patrolling the coast. He saw her steering westward as he left Santa Cruz. They caught a Dutch ship smuggling a few weeks ago, so they're on the watch."

Ramage nodded and resumed his pacing. By now the boat had been hoisted on board and was being stowed, men waiting with the canvas cover that kept off the sun in the eternal fight to stop the heat drying out the planking. The Calypso's guns were being unloaded and run in; a headpump was already gurgling as men swabbed down the decks to wash away the sand. The William and Henrietta was a couple of miles away and sailing fast. There was a lot to be said for a schooner rig, Ramage thought; you soaked up to windward like water through paper.

Wagstaffe, who was officer of the deck, came up to report that the boat was secured, the guns run in, and the ship ready to get under way again.

"Carry on, " Ramage said, and went down to his cabin, sending a seaman to tell Aitken and Southwick to report to him with the charts. He slumped down on the settee, pitching his hat on to the desk. He was a hundred miles from Santa Cruz, and had not a single positive idea in his head. He had hoped that after leaving English Harbour a plan would come to mind; that once he was clear of the trial and all the petty irritations inflicted on a ship in harbour, he would suddenly find he had an answer to the problem of cutting out the Jocasta. Instead he had become more certain that it was impossible. The only possible chance was to send in the boats at night; rely on boarding parties creeping along the channel past the forts and seizing the Jocasta and sailing her out. This meant assuming that the Spanish sentries would be asleep.

It also meant he had to wait for a southerly wind - the only wind that would let the Jocasta sail out. But with Santa Cruz surrounded by mountains and hills, one could never be sure from out to sea what the wind direction would be inside the channel: eddies round a hill and gusts rolling down the side of a mountain could change the wind direction in a given spot by ninety degrees. An east wind at the entrance could mean a south wind inside the lagoon. A north wind at the entrance could mean an east wind in the channel. And the Jocasta would have only the survivors of the boarding parties to man her and sail her out under the fire of three forts which, with all the noise going on, would be wide awake and ready to sink the frigate before she was halfway down the channel. The boats could not tow her out, he thought bitterly, since none would survive for long enough . . .

Eames had come and looked at the problem and gone back to tell the Admiral it could not be done. It was not a question of courage; it was a problem of wind directions and the courses that a ship could steer; of the amount of punishment a ship could take from dozens of guns firing down at ranges of a few score yards. Now, thanks to the American chart, there was less risk of grounding on a shoal but that was his only advantage over Eames . . .

If he decided on towing out the Jocasta he had to allow for the fact that the boats (rowed by the survivors, and those not needed on board the frigate) could not possibly tow her at more than two knots, probably less. The channel was half a mile long so it would take a quarter of an hour to get to the entrance, and the forts there could keep up a fire for another fifteen minutes at least after she had reached the open sea, even if it was a dark night. The Calypso could not wait close in to take over the tow: she would be taking a big risk if she tried to help from half a mile out to sea.

It couldn't be done; no amount of talking could change that. Eames would be in the clear although he had not even tried; Captain Ramage would be the man who attempted but failed to carry out the Admiralty's orders. Admiral Davis might even explain away Eames's visit by saying it was a reconnaissance . . .

The sentry at the door called: "Mr Aitken, sir, and Mr Southwick."

The two men came into the cabin, Southwick carrying a roll of charts. Ramage stood up and went to the desk, throwing his hat across to the settee. "Let's have the American chart here."

"It's a good chart, " Southwick said gloomily and shaking his head, "and all it tells us is -" he broke off and shrugged his shoulders. "I can't see how we can do anything without losing both ships."

Aitken was watching Ramage and clearly expected his Captain to smile and contradict Southwick. Instead Ramage looked down at the chart and said: "I can't either. How about you?" he asked the Scot.

“I - er, well, sir, we'll probably lose one ship."

"Ah, there you are, all you Scots are the same, " Southwick said with a sniff. "Too damned mean to lose two! "

"We mustn't be too generous with the King's property, " Ramage chided, and once again Aitken remembered the meeting in Captain Ramage's cabin on board the Juno before the battle off Martinique, when the Captain was facing the prospect of fighting a French squadron with only two frigates. He still had not got used to Captain Ramage's manner, and Southwick's was just as bad. Here they were, faced with impossible orders, and both of them joking. He supposed there was some sense in it. If the Captain and his officers walked round the ship with long faces before a battle, the men would think it hopeless and would not display the kind of reckless bravado that Captain Ramage seemed to inspire with that truly diabolical grin he wore at the prospect of gunfire. Better die joking than grumbling! But with just the three of them in the cabin and a sentry on the door, was it necessary to keep up the play-acting?

At that moment Aitken realized that it was not play-acting: he saw Ramage looking down at the chart and guessed that he had long ago weighed up all the prospects. If the Captain could still laugh and joke after that, then he had every right to expect his First Lieutenant to be cheerful as well. Southwick must have been born with a grin on that chubby red face of his, and with an irreverent attitude towards just about anything that other men took seriously - including going into battle and getting killed.

Southwick jabbed at the chart, running his finger along until it reached the eastern end of the lagoon, near where the Jocasta was moored. "Perhaps we could land men farther up the coast and let 'em attack overland."

"If they didn't break their necks falling over precipices on the way. These are mountains, you know, not hills - they'd be in fine shape after they'd swum out to the Jocasta. They could paddle round her and hurl abuse - their powder would be wet, so abuse would be their only weapon."

"But, sir, " Southwick protested, "there are bound to be boats - fishermen tie 'em up to piers and that sort of thing."

"At night they'd probably be out fishing, but anyway they're small boats. Would you gamble on finding enough little fishing boats - with oars left in them - for two hundred men? Forty boats at least?"

"Well, no, sir, " said Southwick. "Some, though. But you're right about oars: they're all thieves and they certainly wouldn't trust each other enough to leave oars on board."

"You don't think our men could get on board from our own boats, sir?" Aitken asked.

"I'm sure they might, but if they had to tow her out - two knots? More than half a mile to the entrance? Three forts with fifty, thirty-six and twenty-eight guns - a total of a hundred and fourteen with the range barely above two hundred yards?"

"They might sail her out, " Aitken said hopefully.

"Indeed they might. Those would be my orders if there was any guarantee that she's properly rigged and that we could tell from seaward when there's a fair wind in the channel. We know she was originally stripped and her yards sent down. Now we know her yards are crossed and sails bent on. But what of sheets and braces? If I was the Spanish captain, worried about having his ship cut out - don't forget Captain Eames was there less than a month ago - I'd leave reeving sheets and braces until just before I was ready to sail.

"So without being reasonably certain of a fair wind and without being certain she can be sailed, I'm not risking two hundred Calypsos. It wouldn't even be risking, it would sending them to death or captivity."

"But at least you'd have tried, sir, " Aitken protested.

"Yes, but . . ." Now Ramage was smiling. "The 'but' is simple yet important. A dead hero who succeeds is one thing; a dead hero who fails is another. And a dead hero who unnecessarily sent two hundred men to their graves is a knave."

"Quite, sir, " Aitken said quietly, suddenly recalling the almost incredible loyalty that Captain Ramage seemed to inspire in men who had served with him, ranging from Southwick to that flock of seamen led by Jackson. "But we don't have much time, sir. The minute anyone on the coast spots us, they'll pass the word to Santa Cruz."

"Yes, indeed, " Ramage agreed, "and a neutral ship coming into Santa Cruz might sight us: why, we might even be seen by a guarda costa."

"Then, sir . . ."

"This is where the conversation began, " Ramage said, still smiling. "Southwick had just said it was hopeless, and I'd agreed."

"But, sir -" but then Aitken found he had nothing more to say. Southwick slapped him on the back and gave a hearty laugh. "Cheer up - we've all stayed alive up to now and we've a deal of prize money due soon! "

Ramage turned to Southwick. "How does this American chart compare with the others?"

"More soundings, and I suspect the Jocasta's position is more accurately marked. Aitken said the Jonathan skipper showed where he usually anchored if there was no room at the quay - where he's drawn in an anchor. That's only a hundred yards from the Jocasta's stern, and she's secured to buoys and doesn't swing."

"The distances compare well? I mean the scale of this chart is likely to be correct?"

"Yes, sir. See here, now, the channel's a hundred yards wide at the entrance, almost exactly half a mile long, and tapers down a bit to about eighty yards where it meets the lagoon. As you can see, the lagoon is just about rectangular, as though it was an artificial harbour. A mile long from east to west, half a mile wide."

Southwick took the dividers from a rack on Ramage's desk and used them to point at the fort on the inland side of the lagoon. "I reckon this is the one that could cause the most trouble: Santa Fe. It stands three hundred feet up and can cover the channel from one end to the other. One mile from the fort to the entrance.

"Now, these two at the entrance, they've been sited badly. I don't reckon they can fire down the channel towards the lagoon: I'm sure they can only fire to seaward and just cover the channel between 'em."

Ramage looked closely at the drawing. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, you see how that Jonathan fellow sketched in the run of the hills here. Look, this is Castillo San Antonio, on the eastern side of the entrance. Well, that's how it is on Summers's drawing. I reckon the slope of the hill hides the channel from the fort. None of us spotted it then so it was too late to ask. Both charts agree about the hills on the west side, too, so this other fort, El Pilar, was probably built the same way, with the slope hiding the channel."

Aitken said suddenly: "It would make sense, sir: they site Santa Fe to sweep the channel and stop any ships sailing down it, and build San Antonio and El Pilar to cover the seaward approach. I'm no soldier, sir, but I can't see them siting fortresses to stop ships leaving the port! "

"How much of the channel do you reckon they might cover, Southwick?" Ramage asked.

"Maybe half of it: a quarter of a mile."

Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "Towing at two knots, you wouldn't get a rowing boat past them."

"No, sir, " Southwick said lamely. "I was just pointing it out."

"How high would you guess the walls of the fort?"

"Forty or fifty feet, sir."

"I think you'll find that guns mounted that high in either fort would clear the hills . . ."

"Yes, sir, " Southwick admitted, flushing. "I was going on the plan drawn here. Of course, that'd be ground level. Sorry, sir."

"No, you may be right anyway. I'm only going by the fact Summers didn't mention it when I talked to him. He had sharp eyes, that man; considering he drew his chart from memory, he didn't miss much."

He sat down at the desk and motioned the two men to sit down. "Southwick, have a couple of copies made of this chart. It will be a good job for young Orsini. Clean, accurate copies."

"Yes, sir. You have anything in particular in mind?"

Again Ramage smiled. "Some brilliant idea snatched from a passing cloud? No, our only hope is something unexpected, so we may as well be prepared. We might have Aitken row in one night disguised as a fisherman - he can bring us back a nice mackerel or two and report on the town."

"I wouldn't trust him in Santa Cruz with all those beautiful Spanish ladies, sir. Wouldn't trust myself, come to that, " the old Master said, giving a lewd wink.

"What are your night orders, sir?" Aitken said hurriedly. "Anything special?"

"No, we'll reverse our course at sunset and hope we'll be lucky tomorrow. Now, how are these Invincibles settling in?"

"Very well, sir. Another week and you won't be able to distinguish them from the others."

"And Kenton?"

"He's young, sir - and I don't mean that he's only just past twenty. He's supposed to have had good marks when he took his examination for lieutenant, but - well, I wish the Admiral had sent us someone else."

"Don't be too hard on him, " Southwick said mildly. "He's got plenty of spirit! You were a fourth lieutenant once! "

"Aye, " Aitken admitted. "But this Kenton - he hasn't half the head of young Orsini. I can hardly believe that boy has been at sea only a few months."

"Sunset, " Ramage said, "we reverse course at sunset - and hope for some luck by the time we've had our breakfast."