Ramage's Devil

CHAPTER FIVE

The Café des Pécheurs, halfway along the Quai de la Douane and overlooking the entire anchorage, was aptly named: at least twenty fishermen, most of them in smocks as liberally coated with red ochre as Auguste's, were playing cards, rolling dice or sipping wine at the tables outside. And arguing. Ramage listened to some of them and was amused by the vehemence that the most innocent of subjects could provoke among these bearded and rough-tongued men.

They eyed Sarah curiously: few women other than whores ever came to such a café, but because she was with Auguste she was accepted and spared any teasing or coarse remarks.

For the moment the three men and Sarah were sitting silently, looking across at the Murex over on their right hand and L'Espoir to their left. Boats were going out to the frigate, unloading casks, and returning empty to the Quai de Recouvrance, on the other side of the Penfeld river. It was from there, Auguste told them, that ships were supplied with fresh water and salt meat and fish.

The fishermen's café was a good place to talk. The few people who did not want to play cards or roll dice naturally went to the tables along the edge of the quay, and Ramage had already noted that no one could get within a dozen feet of their table without being seen, so it was impossible to overhear their conversation. And that, Ramage thought to himself, is just as well...

'Alors, Charles,' Gilbert was saying, hesitating over the name because he was really addressing a formal question to Captain Lord Ramage of the Royal Navy. 'What do you think about Auguste's proposal?'

While Ramage had sat in the gig telling Sarah what he had learned from his visit to the Murex, Auguste and Gilbert had walked down the road and the fisherman had taken the opportunity to tell Gilbert that he wanted to escape to England: that he and his brother Albert were completely disillusioned by the Revolution and had heard enough from Gilbert to know that England was preferable. But, he had asked, knowing nothing of their plans, hopes and fears, how was he to get there?

Ramage knew that for the moment it boiled down to one single question: did he or did he not trust Auguste, whom he had met only two or three hours earlier?

Obviously Gilbert did - he had known the man from boyhood, long before the Revolution. But Gilbert had been in England for several years. Did he know what Auguste and his brother had been doing here in Brest during those bloody years following the Revolution?

'Tell me, Auguste, were you a fisherman during the Revolution?'

Auguste told him what he and his brother had done: they had smuggled out Royalists, taking them half a dozen at a time, concealed in their fishing boat, southwards to Portugal and safety. They had continued to do that until a few months before Bonaparte signed the Treaty with England - then they had had a running fight with a cutter of the French Navy, finally escaping. 'That was when I collected this,' Auguste said, pointing to the scar on his face.

'Our fishing boat was so badly damaged by gunfire that we guessed we would be betrayed the moment we put into a French port, so we landed our refugees safely on the coast and then we sank our fishing boat and rowed ashore with our little skiff. We came back to Brest a few weeks later, and no one asked questions. But we could not fish any more; instead we grew vegetables on the piece of land our father left us.'

Ramage nodded. The story seemed both likely and straightforward. Sarah suddenly asked: 'What makes you approach my husband because you and your brother want to go to England? Bonaparte's men are hunting us, while you all have proper documents as French citizens. Surely you can steal a fishing boat more easily than we can.'

Auguste looked first at Ramage, unused to having a woman enter a conversation in this way, and noting the nod said: 'Obviously I know you are English and if you, m'sieu, are caught you will be made a prisoner of war. But you do not seem to me - nor you, madame - the sort of person to let yourselves be taken prisoner. I think you are planning to get back to England. Gilbert has said nothing - and his silence,' he added with a grin, 'bears out what I think.'

The man looked a scoundrel: a once handsome rogue. The type of person you did not trust without a lot of checking. Auguste had trusted him and Gilbert and taken them with him out to the Murex, and while they were drinking with the French bosun, Auguste had spotted the trend of Ramage's and Gilbert's questions, and asked some of his own.

If a man trusts you without question, then you can trust him.

Ramage found himself thinking that with the same clarity as if he was reading a printed text. Auguste had got them out to the Murex and back safely: obviously he was a man of ingenuity. At this moment Ramage knew only too well he needed the help of a man of ingenuity who knew his way around Brest.

It was too risky telling Auguste and his brother to come out to Jean-Jacques' château: gendarmes might be suspicious, and later might remember them passing the barrières. Anyway, this café was a good safe spot for what could be only a preliminary chat.

'I have no plans at the moment,' Ramage admitted. 'I have come into Brest now simply to look, and hope to get some - well, inspiration.'

'You can speak freely; I shall not betray you,' Auguste said calmly.

Ramage smiled. 'I would speak freely if I had anything to say. You could betray us in a few seconds by waving to those two gendarmes standing under the trees over there.'

'True, true,' Auguste said. 'Well, let's start by you saying what you want to do. How to do it can come later.'

'That is simple. First I would like to rescue the Count, then I would like to take him and Gilbert back to England.'

Auguste rubbed his nose as he looked carefully at Ramage. 'I am sure you would. But with a force comprising yourself, your wife, Gilbert, Louis and now myself and my brother Albert, you are outnumbered by about three hundred men.'

'Only about two hundred and fifty,' Ramage said dryly. 'But I was simply answering your question.'

'Yes, and I was teasing. But to be serious, your loyalty to the Count is admirable and what I would expect from an English aristo and from Gilbert. However, there is not a chance. The Count and fifty others (all of whom probably realize they are lucky to have escaped the guillotine and regard transportation to Cayenne as an acceptable alternative) are heavily guarded on board L'Espoir. This I can assure you. In fact, at the risk of distressing you, I can tell you that all of them are in irons and will remain so until L'Espoir sails in a few days' time. In fact, you may have guessed that the French government is being particularly cautious about this first voyage to Cayenne in the new war.'

'Is that why boats are taking out water and provisions? I should have thought it would be quicker and easier to bring L'Espoir alongside at the Quai de Recouvrance so that they can load directly from carts,' Ramage said.

'The commandant of the port has orders from Paris to take no risks with these exiles, so he is keeping the frigate at anchor, with other frigates round her. I think he dreams of all the déportés leaping over the side and swimming to the shore, or a British fleet sailing up Le Goulet to rescue them.'

Ramage looked at Gilbert. 'I think you realized there was no way,' he said gently. 'Even with fifty men.'

The Frenchman nodded. 'Yes, but one hopes for miracles. From what I know of you, citizen,' he said, a slight emphasis on the word to indicate he was really using Ramage's title, 'if any man could have done it, you could.'

'Who have we here?' Auguste asked Gilbert, who looked questioningly at Ramage and, when he nodded, leaned across and whispered the name.

The Frenchman turned and looked at Ramage, his eyes bright and his lean face creased into a grin. 'Captain, you are famous in Brest. If only Bonaparte knew ... he'd give me the province as a reward for betraying you.'

'You flatter me,' Ramage said.

'The thought does not seem to alarm you,' Auguste commented.

'You have only to shout to the gendarmes,'Ramage said. 'Mind you your brother would get the land, not you.'

Auguste raised his eyebrows. 'My brother?'

'Yes, because I presume he is your heir. You could shout - but you'd never draw the breath to replace the one that you used, I have a heavy kitchen knife hidden in my right boot.'

Auguste gave a sudden bellow of laughter and slapped his knee. 'Done !' he said, as though he had just concluded a business deal, and Ramage saw the performance was for the benefit of any curious onlooker, but 'Done' meant he had given his word; he was part of whatever Ramage might plan.

'Your interest in the - er, the potato ship. Were you looking for ideas, and did you find any?'

'I was looking. Nothing very certain has come yet. Something is hovering over my head, like a sparrowhawk in the distance.'

'Fifteen prisoners on board her, if you include that rheumatic wreck of a captain. Seven French guards. Five of us, unless you include madame.'

'Include madame and exclude that captain,' Ramage said. 'Five does not sound a very lucky number.'

The Murex, like the Triton and the other 10-gun brigs, was a handsome little ship, although too small to have a graceful sheer like the frigates. Anyway, the French always designed beautiful ships, so it was unfair to compare the Murex with the other vessels anchored in the Roads. He thought of the Calypso, a French frigate which he had captured and, by a stroke of luck, been given to command. In any anchorage she was always one of the handsomest ships.

Did Bonaparte ever wonder at the contradiction that the French built the best ships but could not fight 'em? And how irritating it must be for the little Corsican that usually the British kept the original French names once they captured ships and put them into service! One of the biggest ships in the Royal Navy today was called the Ville de Paris'. One could not imagine the French calling one of their flagships the City of London. And some of the best ships at present in service had been captured from the French and often the names kept - the frigates Perle, Aréthuse, Aurore, Lutine, Melpomène, Minerve, for instance. And the 80-gun Tonnant and the Franklin (which had been renamed Canopus), as well as the 74s Spartiate, Conquérant andAquilon (now called the Aboukir, in honour of the battle in which Rear-admiral Nelson had captured them). Then Le Hoche, guns, had been a little too much for their Lordships at the Admiralty, who had renamed her Donegal, but Le Bellone, guns, had been changed to Proserphine only to avoid confusion with the 74-gun Bellona. La Pallas, 40 guns, had been renamed La Pique, which showed their Lordships had no prejudice against French names! There were dozens more. And of course there were the Spanish and the Dutch ...

He suddenly realized that the two men and Sarah were watching him. Obviously they thought his silence was because he was thinking of daring plans to get them all to England, whereas in fact he had been daydreaming over ships' names.

'Yes,' he said lamely, 'let's say fourteen prisoners on board the Murex and half of them in irons during the day. All of them are put in irons for the night, so the guards can safely sleep.'

Sarah coughed as if asking permission to join in the planning, but she did not wait for anyone to nod encouragement. 'M'sieu Auguste cannot get a fishing boat - one large enough for us to sail to England?'

'No, madame, I regret I cannot. If I could, we would sail tonight. But now the commandant of the port has given fresh orders. All fishing boats with a deck - even a small foredeck - (all except open boats, in other words) must have two armed soldiers guarding them if they are in port for the night. Apparently the order comes from Paris and is the result of the renewal of war.'

'Yes,' Gilbert said, 'Bonaparte realizes that there are hundreds like the Count, and Charles here, who will be trying to escape if they are not already locked up.'

Ramage said: 'But you could get a rowing boat?'

'Yes,' Auguste said cautiously, 'but I do not wish to row to England in one!'

'No, but that means we can always go fishing in Le Goulet.I enjoy fishing and I am sure Gilbert does, too.'

'The port commandant disapproves, though,' Auguste said. He hasn't forbidden it yet, but the sentries on the men of war occasionally fire a musket if they think a fisherman is too close, just as a warning.'

'Any casualties?'

'Not yet.'

Ramage nodded. 'At night a moving boat is a difficult target, and if the fishermen keep a respectable distance...'

'Yes, the sentries are really only warning. And I hear that many captains of ships dislike having their sleep disturbed by random musket shots!'

Ramage nodded again. Firing muskets at anchor would certainly disturb a captain's rest, and half an hour would pass before he received an explanation and dozed off again.

'Gilbert, if you would pay for our wine, I think we had better buy some fruit and vegetables to satisfy the curiosity of the gendarmes at the barrières and bid our friend here au revoir.'

At the château, Louis met them with the news that a friendly neighbour of his wife's parents had told them that L'Espoir would be sailing in three or four days for Cayenne. The Chef d'administration de la Marine at Brest, Citizen Moreau, was rushing everything apparently, because the British declaration of war had taken Paris unawares and the First Consul was anxious to get this group of Royalists and priests on their way to Cayenne before the Royal Navy re-established the blockade of Brest. There was also talk of L'Espoir's decision to beat out directly to the southwestward after leaving Brest, hoping to hide herself in the wastes of the Atlantic once she was out of sight of Pointe St Mathieu.

Ramage thanked Louis for the information. Since they could do nothing about L'Espoir and her sad human cargo, he could only note that the frigate's captain was intending to do what he would have done in the same situation. In fact, L'Espoir stood little risk of being intercepted because Cayenne was so far to the south round the bulge of South America that British ships of war and privateers bound for the West Indian islands would be crossing the Atlantic well to the north of her course. By staying far to the south, L'Espoir might risk getting beyond the belt of Trade winds and run into strong ocean currents, but she was embarking extra provisions and water, probably as an insurance against a long passage. From memory, the Île du Diable, better known to the English as Devil's Island and referred to by the French as 'Cayenne', the name of the nearest town on the mainland, sat precisely on the fifth parallel of latitude, only 300 miles from the Equator, a hot and humid hell on earth.

Louis added, almost as an afterthought, that two gendarmes had called to ask if there had been any sign of the Englishman, but they had been told the agreed story: he had stayed a few days before the Count had been arrested and left, as far as anyone knew, to visit friends somewhere in Provence. Why had the Count not reported that he had strangers staying in the house, as required by State Ordinance number 532, dated 1st Vendémiaire year VI? Louis had shaken his head sadly and told the men that the Count, although a very law-abiding man, had not been living in France at the time of the Ordinance and probably knew nothing about it. But Louis had almost been trapped by his own inventiveness: had the Count had other visitors - not necessarily foreigners, but people 'not normally inhabiting the place of habitation' - staying and whom he had not reported to the préfecture? Louis said he did not know what the Count reported. The gendarmes themselves had said he had not reported the Englishman but for all Louis knew the Count had reported them and the gendarmes had lost the record. At this, Louis related gleefully, the police had been so embarrassed that it was clear that losing papers was not unknown.

Gilbert's comment had been brief and acute: clearly the authorities were not too concerned about the Englishman and accepted that he had moved on. Much more important, they did not realize that he was the Captain Ramage who had played such havoc with their ships in the previous war; if they thought he had been a guest of the Count, then strict precautions would be taken at Brest. This had not been the case, he said with a grin, at the barrières.

Ramage had been momentarily startled by Gilbert's use of the word 'previous', but of course he was right: that war had begun in February 1793 and ended officially with the signing of the Treaty in April last year, 1801. After eighteen months' peace Britain had now declared war, obviously alarmed by French preparations, but it was another war. What would it be called? The last one had gone on long enough, but with Bonaparte in possession of a huge army - it was said that he could mobilize a million men - how the devil could Britain alone (she had fought most of the last war alone) defeat him? The Royal Navy could only fight where there was water enough to float ships.

He cursed his daydreaming; once again Gilbert, Louis and Sarah were watching him and waiting, as though expecting brilliant ideas to spout from his mouth like water from a firehose the moment men started working the pump handles. He shook his head in a meaningless gesture and, taking Sarah's hand, led the way to their rooms. As soon as he had shut the door she poured water from the big jug into the porcelain basin on the washstand.

'I feel dirty from the top of my head to the tips of my toes,' she said, hanging her coat on a hook and beginning to unbutton her dress.

Ramage sank back on the bed, wishing there was an armchair. 'I am weary too. So I shall sit here and watch you undress and then watch you wash yourself from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. It is one of the greatest joys of being your husband. I'm sorry I'm too weary to undress you.'

She slid the dress down and stepped out of it as once again Ramage marvelled at how natural and beautiful she looked in the coarse underwear lent her by Louis' wife. Next she undid the white ribbon - carefully-sewn strips of linen, in fact - of the shift, which was like a long apron, and unwound it.

She smiled at him and watched his eyes as she unbuttoned the bodice and slowly took it off, revealing her breasts in a movement which stopped Ramage's breath for several moments. The breasts seemed to have a life of their own; the nipples, high and large, were dark, like seductive eyes.

Still looking at him, she slid down the frilled knickers and stood naked without embarrassment. Standing naked before your husband for his inspection, she seemed to be saying, was the natural end to a day's journey into the enemy's camp.

'You approve?'

She knew he did but wanted reassuring.

'The left breast... is it not a fraction lower than the right?'

A look of alarm spread across her face as she hurried to the dressing table. The large looking glass originally fitting into the frame was missing and the only one available was the small handheld glass from her travelling bag.

She held it at arm's length, twisting and turning, peering first at one breast and then the other. Then she held the glass to the side, trying to line up the nipples. Finally she put the mirror down in exasperation.

'I can't see them properly!'

Hard put to keep a straight face, Ramage said: 'As you walked, it seemed to me it is actually the right one that's lower. Come over here and let me take a look.'

Then she realized he was teasing. 'Are you too tired to undress yourself?' she whispered.

Ramage nodded. 'I shall have to rely on my wife.'

Gilbert went into Brest the next day to make arrangements with Auguste and returned to say that both the fisherman and his brother would be ready and had begun collecting weapons. So far they had six pistols and shot, two blunderbusses, three heavy daggers, a cavalry sabre and two cutlasses. When Ramage marvelled at such a collection, Gilbert had grinned. The authorities in Paris lacked popularity in Brittany, he said, so that when a drunken soldier flopped asleep into a ditch or a cavalryman riding alone was thrown from his horse and found unconscious, they were usually returned to their barracks alive but always unarmed. Occasional raids on armouries, sudden and unexpected affairs, meant that many of those not entirely in favour of the First Consul's régime had weapons hidden among the beams of old barns or concealed in sacks of grain.

On the second day, while Ramage and Sarah roamed through the great house admiring the architecture and feeling guilty at envying Jean-Jacques because of his present situation, Louis went into Brest. There was no need to take unnecessary risks and arouse suspicions, Ramage had decided, and Louis and his wife passing through the barrières once a week would seem normal enough while Gilbert passing along the road alone in the gig once a day might start a gendarme asking questions.

Many of the rooms of the château were completely bare, stripped by looter's of furniture, carpets, hangings, curtains, and occasionally complete doors. Damaged ceilings showed where chandeliers had been torn down; some staircases lacked banisters.

Yet the house, although almost empty, maintained its dignity. It had none of the delicacy and fine tracery, carefully balanced winds and imposing approaches of many of the châteaux of the Loire and Dordogne. It was four-square, and not concealing its origins - a defended home of the counts of Rennes. The battlements of thick stone were crenellated so that men with crossbows and later muskets could hide behind them and fire down on attackers; the enormous (and original) front door, studded with iron bolts that would blunt and deflect an attacker's axe, was so massive that a much smaller door had been built more recently to one side.

Ramage was staring out of a window, one of scores and now grimy, with paint lifting from the frame in a discreet warning that rot was at work beneath, when Sarah took his arm and said quietly: 'Where are you now?'

He gave a start, and then smiled without turning. 'I was thinking that it's the top of the springs tonight.'

She sighed and shook her head. 'Springs and neaps - I know they're something to do with the moon and the tide, but...'

'A sailor's wife and you don't understand the tides!'

'A sailor's wife who admits she doesn't understand, and expects her all-wise and adoring husband to explain.'

'The sun and the moon both pull the sea. When they are in line, both on one side of the earth or on opposite sides, they pull most and that's when we get the highest high tides, and the lowest low. They are called spring tides. They coincide with the new moon (the moon on the same side of the earth as the sun) and the full (when on the opposite side). When the sun or moon are at right-angles to each other in relation to the earth their pull is weakest and we get the smaller tides which are weaker and called neaps. So the springs are the highest and strongest around new and full moon, and the neaps are the smallest and weakest at first and third quarters.'

'Nothing to do with the seasons then - spring, summer and so on?'

'Nothing at all. It is a full moon tonight so there are spring tides. The highest in terms of sea level but also the strongest in terms of current. When the tide starts to ebb, it will flow out very strongly through the Gullet.'

'And that is important?'

'It would be if you were fishing from a small boat. Why, if you lost an oar you could drift to America!'

'Make sure you take plenty of bait,' she said. 'Am I such a stupid woman that I can't be told what you are planning?'

'I'd tell you if I knew. I'd talk it over if I thought you could help me get an idea. The fact is that L'Espoir sails for Cayenne with Jean-Jacques today or tomorrow and here I am, walking through his empty house, helpless and hopeless.'

'My dear, how can you expect to rescue one man from a frigate?'

Ramage shrugged. 'My men in the Kathleen, the Triton and the Calypso in the past did what people reckoned impossible, and we did it only because to others it was impossible.'

'But your men - the splendid Southwick, and Aitken, Jackson and Stafford: dozens of them - are all in Chatham on board the Calypso. You are' - she gave a wry smile - 'in France on your honeymoon, hunted by the French.'

'Not all the French; only Bonaparte's men.'

'About one in ten thousand are not Bonaparte's men. You won't collect a very big army in Brittany to overthrow him.'

'No,' he admitted. 'But I need very few. I agree we can't save Jean-Jacques, so we have to save ourselves: you and me, Gilbert and Louis (and his wife if she wants to come) and now Auguste and his brother. Five men and one, perhaps two women.'

'We are a long way from England. There always seems to be bad weather in the entrance to the Channel. Why don't we travel overland towards Calais? We'd have only twenty miles or so to row or sail to England, compared with - what, a hundred and fifty to Plymouth?'

Ramage turned and pulled her towards him, and kissed her gently. 'My dear, you are right in one respect: it is a much shorter sea crossing from Calais. But that's what makes it dangerous. The French expect escapers to try to cross there. Every rowing boat is chained up at night. There are big rewards offered - big enough to overcome most scruples. Brest is so far away from England that the French are more casual in the way they guard boats.'

'But they are putting soldiers on board the fishing boats here at night!' she protested.

'Yes, but they are the large ones with fish holds, those large enough to make the voyage to England safely in almost any weather.'

'Are you proposing we all go in a rowing boat?' She was not frightened at the idea but obviously surprised and dismayed.

'No. I'm not proposing anything at the moment, beyond a couple of hours' fishing at night in the Gullet. Auguste is providing a boat for us.'

'Why fishing? You hate fish and fishing. Why the sudden interest?' she asked suspiciously.

'A romantic row in the moonlight so that you can see all the pretty ships at anchor.'

'Most romantic,' she said with a rueful smile. 'We'll have four men as chaperones. Can we hire an orchestra, and perhaps a troupe of wandering minstrels?'