Ramage’s Mutiny

CHAPTER ONE

The little dockyard at English Harbour was already bustling, although the sun was only just lifting over the rounded hills to the east. In the West Indies the day began at dawn so that men could do as much heavy work as possible before the sun began to scorch the energy from their bodies.

Ramage eased himself into the rattan chair on the balcony of the Commander-in-Chief's house, glancing down warily as protesting creaks warned that termites were busily and silently chewing their way through the legs to convert the springy wood into little piles of brown powder.

As he relaxed to wait for the Admiral he guessed that today Captain Ramage was far from popular with the dockyard staff. They were all well paid and provided with comfortable houses, and normally enjoyed a quiet life interrupted only twice or three times a year when a frigate came in for a self-refit, using her own seamen to do the work and relying on the dockyard staff for little more than interference.

Now, however, the master shipwright, master attendant, storekeeper and bosun suddenly found themselves responsible for two former French frigates, seven merchantmen and a schooner, all brought into Antigua as Captain Ramage's prizes.

They had orders from the Admiral to help commission one of the frigates within seven days, while the other - which needed careening for repairs to her bottom - had to be ready within three weeks because she was to escort the merchant ships to England. Not only that, but the Admiral was here to make sure the work was completed on time.

Although the Admiral was harrying the dockyard staff without mercy, Ramage had little sympathy for them. They had settled into a way of life where rum was an important part of the day's ritual. While some heathens stopped work at sunrise and sunset and knelt facing the east to say prayers, these dockyard fellows rarely started work but frequently interrupted their leisure to reach for a bottle and top up their glasses.

Ramage had little doubt that a sudden inventory of the dockyard would reveal that they, in combination with the storekeeper, were running a prosperous but illicit business turning the King's stores into ready money, selling rope, sail canvas and paint to merchant ships calling at St John's, the main harbour on the north-western side of Antigua.

Few masters worried about breaking the law and having rope on board that had the "King's Yarn" in it, a coloured thread that showed it had been laid up in one of the Navy's ropewalks and issued only to Navy ships. Most of the rigging in a merchant ship took a coat of Stockholm tar to help preserve it, and that hid the "King's Yarn".

There was corruption in every dockyard and English Harbour was probably no worse than the rest. Because it was small, however, the flaws were more obvious. It comprised only a few stone buildings with grey slate roofs and reminded Ramage of a fifteen-horse stable on the fringe of Newmarket Heath. But what it lacked in size and honesty it made up for in sheer beauty.

It was built at the inner end of a narrow channel which twisted its way like a fjord between ridges of steep hills. The entrance was hard to find and most captains coming in for the first time were thankful for the fortifications on each side, Fort Barclay and the Horseshoe Battery, because the channel did a sharp turn and from seaward there was no hint that ten ships of the line and half a dozen frigates could be safely moored inside, sheltered by the hills from the brisk Trade winds and with cables from their sterns secured to permanent anchors dug in along the beach.

Ramage saw smoke across the channel, beyond the careening wharf, and a few minutes later smelled the sharp tang of hot pitch as seamen stoked up the fire under one of the big cast-iron pitch kettles standing waist-high on a small point, well clear of ships and buildings in case they became overheated and burst into flames. Nearby one of the French frigates, La Comete, was already hove-down at the Carenage Wharf, lying almost on her side like a stranded whale, with several sheets of copper sheathing missing along the rounded turn of the bilge and showing black stripes where carpenters and their mates were perched on a small raft, busy removing damaged planking.

Ramage reflected that barely two weeks ago off Martinique that frigate was doing her best to sink the Juno frigate, which he then commanded. Now she was a prize and instead of being dead or a prisoner he was sitting on the balcony of the Commander-in-Chief's house waiting for orders. These would concern the second French frigate, now anchored farther up the channel in Freeman's Bay. She was the Surcouf, which he had cut out of Fort Royal, and which would be his new command as soon as all the paperwork was completed; one of the fastest and most heavily armed frigates in the Caribbean, and certainly the loveliest: the French had a knack of building graceful ships.

But sitting here now, enjoying the first half an hour's peace and quiet since then, he felt chilled. He had taken terrible risks with his ship and his men, gambling with a recklessness that now appalled him. He had been lucky - the prizes were proof of that - but he had risked lives with less concern than some pallid gambler at Buck's watched a rolling dice with a hundred guineas, at stake. Had there been an alternative? Yes, if he cared for his men he would not have risked cutting out the Surcouf. Vet those same men would have marked him down as a coward if he had left her alone. Was success a justification?

As he considered the grim contradictions he watched two boats pulling away from the Surcouf. They were laden with casks and bound for Tank Bay at the head of the channel, where there was a fresh-water spring. The frigate's sails were hanging down like enormous creased curtains: old Southwick, her new Master, was seizing the opportunity of airing them before the wind came up, part of the everlasting fight against the mildew that needed only a day or two of hot and humid weather to speckle the cloth with black mould and rot the stitching, however much the thread was waxed.

A whiff of mildew as he moved slightly told him that his steward had not aired the coat he was wearing, but it was pleasant sitting here, breeches newly pressed, silk stockings uncreased, shoes shining, sword scabbard polished . . . One thing he missed afloat was sitting comfortably in the fresh air: one was always standing or pacing up and down like an animal in a cage.

The sun was rising quickly now and bringing colour to hills which had been dark with shadow, but all its early pinkness could not disguise the fact that no rain had fallen on Antigua for several weeks. The earth which Nature had spread thinly on the hills was now arid, streaked with brown scars where the coarse grass had withered and grey where jagged rocks jutted out like enormous teeth. This was the time of day, for perhaps five minutes, that always reminded Ramage of a summer sunrise tinting the heather in the Scottish Highlands.

As the sun climbed higher the colours changed, growing harsher. Soon one would notice only the vivid blue of the sky, the hard brown of the hills and the dark green of the mangroves growing in a thick band along the water's edge, the thin red roots twisting like predatory claws. Now the light and shadow caught the cacti scattered over the hills like outrageous artichokes and, every ten yards or so, he could see the single trunk of a century plant sprouting ten or twelve feet high, the yellow blossoms now withering, golden foxgloves past their prime.

Ramage's eye caught the flash of red on Fort Barclay as a sentry turned in the sunlight beside the small stone magazine built on the inland side of the battlements. Now he could see the breeches of the guns gleaming black as the sun lifted the shadows. Twenty-six guns, with a dozen more in the Horseshoe Battery on the other side of the entrance. Ramage wondered if any of them had ever fired against an enemy. It would be a brave Frenchman who tried to force his way in, because there was also the masked battery just at the back of the beach facing the entrance, twenty more guns concealed by sand dunes and shaded by palm trees, poised like a cat waiting in front of a mouse hole in the wainscoting.

At the moment the masked battery covered Admiral Davis's flagship, the 74-gun Invincible, which was lying with her anchors towards the entrance and her stern held by a cable which ran to the beach and was secured to another anchor half buried in the sand, left there permanently for the big ships.

Footsteps behind him brought Ramage to his feet and he turned to find the Admiral and Captain Edwards, who commanded the Invincible, blinking in the sunlight as they came out on to the balcony. The Admiral nodded cheerfully.

"Ha, mornin', Ramage; sittin' here admirin' your prizes, eh? Can't see the cordage for the guineas, no doubt! "

Henry Davis, Rear Admiral and "Commander-in-Chief of His Majesty's Ships and Vessels upon the Windward and Leeward Islands Station", was in a cheerful mood; a condition which Ramage guessed had been brought about by an equally calculating look at the prizes - and the knowledge that a commander-in-chief took an eighth share in the prize money. A young captain might find glory in the gunfire, Ramage thought sourly, but all too often promotion depended on his contribution to his admiral's prize account.

The Admiral gestured to Ramage and Captain Edwards to sit down and lowered himself into a rattan chair with the usual care of anyone who had spent much time in the Tropics and knew of the sabotage which termites wreaked. He passed a bundle of papers to Ramage: "The inventory of the Surcouf and the valuation. I'll buy her in, of course. She's three years old, so £14 a ton is a fair price. Seven hundred tons, which means £9800 for hull, masts, yards, rigging and fixed furniture. I think the Admiralty and Navy Board will approve that."

"And the rest of her equipment, sir?" Ramage asked.

"Normal valuation based on prices at Jamaica dockyard, " the Admiral said briskly. "That's the valuation in England plus sixty per cent - the price they charge merchant ships." He pointed to the papers he had just given Ramage. "The figure is there - about £7500, I think. A total of just over £17, 000 for the whole ship. It'll work out less for La Comete, " he added, waving towards the careened frigate. "She's three years older and damaged. Then you have the schooner and the seven merchantmen. A tidy sum for you and your men. The two frigates bring you nearly £10, 000, with £5000 shared between the lieutenants, master and surgeon . . . Why, the seamen will get £50 each - the equivalent of four years' pay! "

"They earned it, " Captain Edwards commented. "And that doesn't include the merchant ships and head money."

"I know they earned it, " the Admiral said crossly, "and they'll earn it twice over by the time they've carried out the orders I'm preparing for Ramage. Now, " he said impatiently, indicating that the subject of the prize money was closed, "how long before you'll have that Surcouf commissioned?"

Although Ramage had guessed this was the real reason why he had been ordered to report to the Admiral, it was a difficult question to answer. The Admiral had originally promised to shift the ship's company of his last command, the Juno, to his new one, but the Juno had not yet arrived in English Harbour. No doubt Aitken, the First Lieutenant who had been left in command off Martinique when Ramage transferred to the Surcouf with a prize crew, had a perfectly good reason for the delay in reaching Antigua, but in the meantime Ramage was left with only forty men.

So far he had met with nothing but obstruction from the dockyard's master attendant, bosun and storekeeper - who were probably scared stiff in case this sudden influx of work resulted in demands for stores which would reveal their peculations - but this was usual, not worth even mentioning to the Admiral.

"About a week, once I get all my Junos. That's providing we use the French guns, sir. If we shift them and have to get out all the shot -" he broke off as Admiral Davis waved aside the idea. The two navies used different sized shot, but providing the Surcouf carried enough for her next operation it did not matter.

"Provisions?" demanded the Admiral.

"Three months on the French scale, sir, and three months' water."

"Very well. The Juno should be in within a day or two - I can't think what's delayed that young fellow: hope he's not going to be a disappointment. Anyway, a week from the time she arrives, eh?"

His round face was lined, and the thick black eyebrows which jutted out of his brow like small brushes were drawn down, giving him a quaintly fierce appearance, like a truculent shoeblack. "Now, her name. I don't like Surcouf; no need for us to celebrate a dam' French pirate."

"Calypso! " Ramage was startled to find he had spoken the word aloud and hurriedly added: "Perhaps you would consider renaming her 'Calypso', sir."

"Sounds all right, but I've forgotten my mythology. What does it mean, eh?"

Captain Edwards stretched out his legs with the air of a man whose subject had just been reached on the agenda. "When Odysseus was wrecked he was cast up on the island of Ogyvia, where Calypso lived. She was a sea nymph, sir. They - er, they lived together for several years, and when Odysseus eventually wanted to leave and go home, she promised him immortality and eternal youth if he stayed."

"But he refused, wise fellow, " the Admiral commented. "Can think of nothing worse than living forever. Anyway, that's the woman you had in mind, eh Ramage?"

"Yes, sir -"

"Why?" the Admiral interrupted bluntly. "You seemed to have the name ready on the tip of your tongue."

"No sir, I didn't know you intended renaming her. I was thinking yesterday that the Jocasta frigate was rather like Odysseus, only she's held by the Spanish in a port on the Main -"

"Very fanciful, " sniffed Admiral Davis, "but your job will be to get her out."

Edwards grinned. "Zeus ordered Calypso to release Odysseus, sir. Perhaps Ramage had you in mind as Zeus: you give the Calypso frigate orders to release Odysseus - or, rather, the Jocasta frigate."

"It all sounds just as vague and confusin' as Greek mythology always was when I was a boy, " the Admiral grumbled, "but the name sounds right enough. Better than that damned French pirate. Very well, Calypso she is."

"Thank you, sir, " Ramage said politely, turning slightly so that the sun was not in his eyes. It was getting hot now; the heat was soaking through his coat and he had tied his stock too tight: his neck would be raw in places before he could leave the Admiral's house and loosen it.

Admiral Davis was frowning at the back of his sleeve, as though suspicious that the gold braid and lace was really pinchbeck. He seemed almost embarrassed. But Ramage knew that admirals were never embarrassed by anything they had to say to a junior post captain - in his own case one of the most junior in the Navy List. When he left England a few months ago his name had been the last on the List. Since then perhaps a dozen more lieutenants had been made post and their names would now follow his. Promotion was by seniority, which meant being pushed up from below, helped by a high mortality among the names above you on the List: there was nothing like a bloody war to hoist you up the ladder.

Yet Ramage could see that the Admiral was certainly at a loss for words. He now inspected the nails of his left hand, tugged at his chin and finally gestured angrily at his burly flagcaptain. Edwards had obviously anticipated that this would happen, and he turned to Ramage. "The Jocasta, " he said. "You know how she fell into Spanish hands?"

"I've heard only gossip, " Ramage said carefully, guessing this would be his only opportunity of finding out what really happened and realizing that the Admiral could hardly bear to talk about it.

Captain Edwards caught the Admiral's eye, noted the approving nod, and said: "She left Cape Nicolas Mole - that's at the western end of Hispaniola, as you probably know - some two years ago. Captain Wallis commanded her and had orders from Sir Hyde Parker at Jamaica to patrol the Mona Passage for seven weeks with the Alert and Reliance in company.

"After three weeks the Alert sprang a leak and Captain Wallis ordered her back to the Mole. A fortnight later, on a night when the Reliance had been sent off in chase of a suspected privateer, the Jocasta's ship's company mutinied. They murdered Wallis and all his officers and sailed the ship to La Guaira, on the Main. There they handed her over to the Spanish, who refitted her but, as far as we know, never sent her to sea. At present she's in Santa Cruz."

"Did all the ship's company mutiny?"

Edwards shook his head. "She had a complement of some 150 men. We think about a third of them were active mutineers."

"And the rest?" Ramage asked, curious about their fate.

Admiral Davis snorted and slapped his knee. "They're mutineers too! All right, Edwards, I know you don't agree with me, but they did nothing to stop the mutiny, nor did they try to recover the ship, so they're just as guilty."

"Santa Cruz, " Ramage said hurriedly, noticing Edwards's face reddening with suppressed anger, "is it well defended?"

"Well enough, " Edwards said grimly. "The harbour is a large lagoon. The entrance is more than half a mile long and too narrow for a ship to tack. It's a case of 'out boats and tow' if the wind is foul. Forts on each side of the entrance and a third one at the lagoon end of the channel. I have a rough chart ready for you, " he added quickly, as if dismissing the forts.

"How many guns in the forts?" Ramage asked warily.

Edwards shrugged his shoulders. "We can't be sure. Perhaps thirty or forty."

"Altogether?"

"No, " Edwards said uncomfortably, "in each fort."

More than a hundred guns, plunging fire at point-blank range, and the target a frigate being towed past them by men rowing in boats . . . Ramage felt the heat going out of the sun. Most of those guns would be 24- or 36-pounders, against the Calypso's 12-pounders.

"And the Jocasta's in commission, so there'd be her guns as well, " he said, then suddenly realized he was thinking aloud.

"And more than three hundred men on board her, " the Admiral said, his voice carefully neutral. "We - the Admiralty, rather - have received word that she's to sail for Cuba in the middle of July. In four weeks' time."

Ramage now found himself puzzled as well as worried. Captain Edwards's point about Santa Cruz's entrance being narrow and strongly defended had made him think that the Calypso was intended to make a direct attack, which would be another way of committing suicide. But now the Admiral was talking about the Jocasta sailing for Cuba. He almost sighed with relief: his imagination was making him overly nervous; Edwards was being offhand about the forts simply because there was no need to go into Santa Cruz! He looked at the Admiral, who avoided his eyes, finding something of interest at the harbour entrance. "You want me to take her as soon as she sails, sir?"

Admiral Davis shook his head, still looking away. "The Admiralty have ordered her to be cut out of Santa Cruz, " he said tonelessly. "Want to teach the Dons a lesson, I suppose, and they won't risk her slipping through our fingers and reaching Cuba."

Ramage felt the chilly ripple of fear tightening his skin: again he pictured the forts firing at the Calypso as she was towed in, and at both frigates as they sailed out. Was the fear showing in his face? He was thankful that neither the Admiral nor Edwards was looking at him. The perspiration on his brow and upper lip owed nothing to the sun; it was cold, and he wiped it away with what he hoped would seem a casual movement of his hand.

Then he caught a glance exchanged between the two men, and although he could not interpret it he knew there was something strange and underhand about the whole business. It had begun several months ago, when he was on leave in London, a lieutenant enjoying a rest. Then suddenly he had been summoned to the Admiralty, unexpectedly made post and given command of the Juno frigate.

All that had been very flattering; orders were addressed to "Captain Ramage" and it did not matter that his name was at the bottom of the post captains in the Navy List, the most junior of them all. Then he had been sent off to the West Indies in the Juno with urgent instructions for Admiral Davis and orders to put himself under the Admiral's command. He had known nothing about the Admiralty's instructions, except that they concerned some "special service". They had nothing to do with Captain Ramage; he was merely the Admiralty's messenger.

He had since discovered that the "special service" was the recapture of the Jocasta, and that Admiral Davis had chosen his favourite for it, a Captain Eames, and dispatched him to Santa Cruz. The newly arrived Captain Ramage had been given orders appropriate for the most junior captain on the station - to blockade the French port of Fort Royal, Martinique.

From then on, Ramage thought wryly, the Admiral's plans had gone awry. The junior captain had caused the capture of two French frigates, sunk three others, and seized seven merchantmen. The favourite captain, as far as Ramage could make out, had come back from Santa Cruz to report complete failure. Well, war was a massive game of chance; he was prepared to admit that good luck had brought the French convoy into the trap he had set off Fort Royal, and bad luck might have prevented Eames from cutting out the Jocasta. That being so, why was he now sitting on the Admiral's balcony at English Harbour being given orders which were - not to put too fine a point on it - the ones that Eames had already failed to carry out? Eames was a very senior captain; he was sufficiently high in the Navy List that within a year or two he could reasonably expect to be given command of a 74-gun ship.

The reason, he decided coldly, was that Eames had failed. He had failed miserably and the Admiral was hurriedly whitewashing him. He wasn't sending Eames back to try again, nor was he risking any of his other captains; no, he was sending out the newcomer, Captain Nicholas Ramage. A man whose name was the lowest on the post list was supposed to succeed where someone halfway up the list had failed. And failed so badly, Ramage guessed, that everyone on the station was remaining tactfully silent about it.

Suddenly he realized that Captain Ramage was not expected to succeed; he was expected to fail. He saw it as though he had just walked from darkness into a well-lit room. Admiral Davis was protecting one of his favourites and yet, in his own curious way, he was trying to be fair. He felt guilty about it; that explained why he had left Edwards to explain the situation.

A dispatch would soon be on its way to the Admiralty in the next Post Office packet brig describing how Captain Ramage had attacked and seized the convoy off Martinique, and Their Lordships would be pleased that he had captured two frigates. The dispatch would be printed in the Gazette and Captain Ramage's stock would be high.

Admiral Davis's next dispatch would tell Their Lordships how Captain Ramage had tried to cut out the Jocasta from Santa Cruz, and how he had failed. There would be no mention of Eames's earlier attempt; as far as Their Lordships would know, Ramage had been the only one sent on the "special service". Ramage would be the Admiral's scapegoat: it was as simple as that. And, he realized, the one person who would not care would be himself; he would be dead. There could be few survivors from a determined attempt to cut out the Jocasta.

Not only had Eames failed, Ramage reflected bitterly, but he had raised the alarm at Santa Cruz. For the past couple of years, and probably longer, the Spanish garrison had dozed happily in the heat of the sun; the enemy was never sighted and no doubt roundshot rusted in the torrential tropical showers and the carriages of the guns rotted. Then Eames had appeared off the coast and roused the Dons as surely as a prodding stick stirred up a beehive. Sentries would now be alert, rust would be hammered from the shot, and gun carriages repaired. For the next few weeks the Spaniards would be full of bustle and zeal; they would be more than ready for the Calypso frigate . . .

It was unfair, of course, but it was also the Navy. No doubt in the past lieutenants and captains had complained that the First Lord of the Admiralty had favoured young Ramage, giving him orders that allowed him to cut a dash and get his name in the London Gazette with almost monotonous regularity. Still, perhaps he had enough credit at the Admiralty by now so that if he survived a complete failure at Santa Cruz - a big "if" - it would not have a disastrous effect on his career.

What had Admiral Davis just said? The Admiralty wanted to teach the Dons a lesson? Yes, it made good sense; cut out the Jocasta from under their very noses (and hope to find some of the original mutineers still on board, so that they could be hanged for treason as well as mutiny). It would be a warning for any British seaman who might have the thought of mutiny flash across his mind on a wet and windy night; a warning to the Dons for having welcomed a mutinous ship. They seemed not to realize that the spirit of mutiny was like fire - it did not respect flags or frontiers.

Why had Eames failed, Ramage wondered. Driven off by the guns of the forts? Went aground in the channel? Sailed down to the lagoon but found the Jocasta too strongly manned to be able to board her? The Admiral had mentioned three hundred men, twice her normal complement under British command.

He looked up to find both the Admiral and Edwards watching him closely, as if trying to read his thoughts. Or, he suddenly realized, more like fishermen trying to see if the fish had taken the bait.

"Captain Eames, " Ramage said diffidently, "he - er, he met with some difficulty?"

The Admiral grunted, as though the question had given him a sharp and unexpected prod under the ribs. "Completely misunderstood his orders, unfortunately. Came back with valuable intelligence, though. Had to send him straight off on another operation, otherwise he'd be on his way back to Santa Cruz."

Ramage smiled politely and the Admiral smiled back, and then Edwards smiled, and all three of them knew that each understood Eames's role. The failure at Santa Cruz was now Eames's raddled mistress, a shrill harridan who for the rest of his life in the Navy would occasionally look over his shoulder and nag him. Officially no one would talk about her - there would probably be the occasional captain who would gossip, but that couldn't be helped, because Admiral Davis could not hope to keep it a secret for ever - but Eames would always be ashamed; always worried in case someone broke the rules and spoke.

"Yes, we owe Captain Eames a lot for providing valuable information about the entrance, " Admiral Davis said as Edwards unfolded a piece of paper and began smoothing it out. "Edwards has a copy of the chart. Plenty of soundings on it -to seaward, anyway. And the guns - the exact number are marked in. On the two forts at the entrance, anyway . . ." His voice tailed off as he realized that his praise was damning Eames.

"Neutrals, " Edwards said suddenly, obviously intending to break the silence that followed. "Eames said one or two neutral ships go in and out of Santa Cruz every week. Mostly American, These dam' Jonathans seem to get in everywhere with their cargoes of 'notions' and salt fish."

He finished smoothing the sheet of paper and gave it to Ramage. "It's rather a small scale, I'm afraid; Eames's master didn't have time to re-draw it. No need to return it, though: I have a copy."

Ramage nodded. The sketch was small but it was neat and, judging by the distance from the forts at the entrance to the nearest sounding, it damned Eames for a cowardly poltroon. Ramage glanced up and saw that Edwards had read his thoughts on this occasion, but instead of causing embarrassment it seemed to hint at a friendly understanding. In the dim future Edwards might prove to be an ally - or, at least, not an enemy.

"A week, " Admiral Davis said absently. "A week after the Juno comes in. If the Calypso is delayed much longer, I'll have to send you men from the flagship. The Jocasta's due to sail from Santa Cruz in four weeks - not a lot of time, even though the Dons are always late."