Ramage's Diamond (23 page)

As the American hurried forward again, Ramage realized he was still clutching his empty pistols and jammed them into the band of his breeches. They had proved accurate enough, although they were only as effective as the man that held them, and he had used them too late. If he had thought of picking off the two officers a few minutes earlier … if, if, if … Always, after an action, came the ifs, and before dawn he would have thought of plenty more. If he had done this he would have saved a dozen men's lives at the starboard main chains; if he had done that he would have saved a dozen more to larboard. Mistakes he had made—no Marine sharpshooters for example—and probably some which would become apparent within the next few hours. Mistakes that only he might know about, but which had killed men unnecessarily …

The
Juno
was still under way, dragging the schooners along with her, each being held by the grapnels thrown on board the frigate by the confident Frenchmen. Aitken was standing in front of him, his left hand jammed into his jacket, which was buttoned, and a dark stain on his left shoulder. “Baker and the Marine Lieutenant have everything under command down there, sir. About three dozen prisoners with the Marines guarding them. Twenty or thirty Frenchmen dead and as many more wounded.”

“Our own casualties?” Ramage asked quietly.

“About a dozen dead and wounded to larboard, I should think, sir. I have parties going round attending to the wounded, and Mr Bowen has half a dozen men helping him.”

“Very well,” Ramage said soberly, “we were very lucky.”

“Lucky?” Aitken was too startled to say “sir,” and added: “It all worked perfectly!”

Ramage turned back to the quarterdeck rail. Perhaps it had worked out perfectly so far, but none of them realized that up to now they had carried out barely a third of his plan: the hardest part was yet to come.

Two hours before dawn Ramage was weary but still excited. He had questioned the Captain of the larboard schooner for half an hour and by playing alternately on the Frenchman's pride and his fear of what was going to happen now he was a prisoner, had managed to discover what the French had intended.

The two schooners,
La Mutine
and
La Créole,
had been taken over by the French Navy the day before the
Juno
sailed into Fort Royal Bay, and the First Lieutenants of the two frigates had been put in command. Each had forty men taken from the frigates and embarked seventy soldiers from the 53rd Regiment. Their mission, the French Lieutenant had said, was to board the
Juno
simultaneously from each side and take her into Fort Royal. After that the Frenchman would say no more. Ramage guessed that the man had decided it was proper to discuss the operation, but the way he had then refused further information made Ramage suspect him of hiding a great deal more than he revealed.

He had just signalled to the two Marines to take the Frenchman away when Aitken came into the cabin, obviously excited. The moment the Marines and their prisoner had left he said:

“Orsini and Rossi, sir: they've found an Italian among the prisoners who wants to quit the French and serve with us! He's a quartermaster and seems an intelligent fellow.”

“Fetch him in—but I'll talk to Orsini first.”

The midshipman was almost giggling with excitement. He and several seamen, including Rossi, were guarding prisoners, he told Ramage, when Rossi had made some comment in Italian. One of the prisoners immediately spoke—”In the accent of Genoa,” Orsini said, with all the contempt of one who spoke with the clear accent of Tuscany.

“Go on, boy,” Ramage said impatiently. “What did he want?”

“We took him away from the other prisoners—in case any more of them spoke Italian—to see what he wanted. It seems he comes from a village twenty miles from Genoa. When Bonaparte invaded Genoa and renamed it the Ligurian Republic, many able-bodied men were forced to serve in the Army and Navy. They had no choice, this man says.”

Ramage nodded: he could not imagine the French giving able-bodied men any choice. Rossi had been fortunate in quitting the Republic before the French arrived (indeed, Ramage suspected the police were after him). So this prisoner might well have been serving the French against his will and, like Rossi, might prefer to serve in the Royal Navy. Well, he thought grimly, that depends on how much he knows and how much he tells.

“Anyway, sir,” the boy continued eagerly, “this man—his name is Zolesi—told us that the Governor will be very angry that the schooners failed to capture the
Juno:
apparently a convoy is due very soon, and he wants us out of the way.”

Ramage stared at the boy. “‘Very soon'—he said that?” When Orsini repeated the Italian phrase, mimicking the Genoese accent, Ramage said impatiently, “Fetch the man. And bring Rossi.”

Zolesi was a stocky man with fair hair and blue eyes, and Ramage guessed that his forebears were mountain folk. He saluted smartly but Rossi, holding a pistol, watched him warily. He began by speaking to Rossi, expecting he would translate, but the seaman said: “The Captain speaks Italian.”

Ramage, impatient to question Zolesi about the convoy, had first to listen to the man's request to be allowed to serve in the Royal Navy. His story sounded plausible and Ramage noticed Rossi nodding as he described how the French sent naval press-gangs and army squads through the streets, rounding up all able-bodied men.

Finally Ramage interrupted him. There were a few questions, based on what the French Lieutenant had said, which would check the man's reliability.

“You were serving in
La Mutine?
”

“For this operation, sir.”

“Before that?”

“In
La Désirée.
Forty of us were sent to the schooner. And seventy soldiers.”

“What regiment?”

The man's brow wrinkled. “The 53rd Regiment, sir.”

“Who commanded
La Mutine?
”

“The First Lieutenant of
La Désirée.
He was killed, sir.” Ramage nodded. “Is the
Surcouf
ready for sea?”

“Not yet, sir, but they are working hard.”

“And
La Désirée?
”

“Accidente!”
Zolesi exclaimed. “They are short of everything: yards, rope, canvas, wood for repairs, blocks, hammocks—everything!”

“Yet the French expect to commission her?”

“Oh yes, once the convoy arrives.”

“But that has been delayed,” Ramage said, deciding that Zolesi was not likely to lie in this type of conversation, and the Italian's reply was just what he wanted.

“Delayed, sir? But it's expected within a week! A week from today, in fact. Have the British captured it?”

Ramage shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know, but it's not a large convoy anyway.”

“I don't know how big it is, sir, but the French are terrified of something happening to it. That's why the two schooners were sent out to capture this ship.”

“Will they send out more?”

Zolesi shook his head expressively. “No! There was a good deal of trouble over these two. They were privateers and the owners refused to let the Navy use them.” Seeing Ramage's puzzled expression, he added: “The Governor took them over by decree.”

“But why no more attempts?”

“I heard the privateer owners sent a deputation to the Governor, swearing that if he tried to take over any more the owners would sink them first.”

“What did the Governor say?” Ramage asked curiously.

“I heard he was very worried: the owners of the privateers are powerful men in Martinique. Now you have captured these two …” Zolesi stood with his arms spread out in front of him, palms upturned.

Ramage nodded to Rossi and said in English, “Take him away and keep him separated from the others.”

“Can he …” He broke off, obviously worried that Ramage would think him impertinent.

“Keep him apart and see what else he knows about the convoy and the French defences in Fort Royal. And anything more about the other frigate. You can hint that he'll be allowed to enlist—and get the bounty, too!”

By now all the unwounded from the two schooners were being guarded by the
Juno
's Marines. The bos'n and his mates were busy sewing the dead men into hammocks ready for funerals at daybreak, with the gunner cursing that it was going to be a waste of roundshot until Ramage pointed out that there was plenty in the schooners, and it was more appropriate that Frenchmen should be buried at sea with French roundshot sewn into the foot of their hammocks.

Ramage sent for Aitken and Southwick and when they arrived he told them to sit down. The First Lieutenant was holding himself a little stiffly, the result of a bandage Bowen had put on the shoulder to cover a gash from a French pike. Ramage asked if they wanted hot drinks—the galley fire had been lit earlier to give the men a hot breakfast and provide Bowen with the hot water he demanded for the treatment of some of the badly wounded men. When both men refused, Ramage handed Aitken the sick list that Bowen had scribbled out and sent up to him. Nine Junos had been killed, seven seriously wounded and eighteen more had wounds that needed treatment but which allowed them, in an emergency, to go to general quarters.

The First Lieutenant, his face drawn with weariness but his eyes still bright, passed it to Southwick. “The figures are fantastic, sir. That's 139 French dead and wounded as against thirty-four Junos killed or wounded, and eighteen were little more than scratches.”

“Surprise,” grunted Southwick. “That's what did it. Johnny Frenchman was too confident. The French were just standing there in both schooners, a solid mass of men waiting to leap on board. The Junos just leaned over the hammock nettings and fired right down into them!”

“We were damn' nearly too confident, too,” Ramage said. Southwick sniffed. “Well, sir, I'd better report on the schooners. The
Mutine
's foresail is badly torn and the gaffs broken. They dropped the sail in a hurry and the gaff crushed a couple of their own men. The sail's being repaired and the carpenter is fishing the gaff. It's a long break, so it isn't too difficult. Decks cut up with pistol and musket shots, a few shrouds parted— they're already knotted—and she'll be ready to get under way in an hour. The French had forty seamen on board; we can manage with ten.
La Créole
suffered no damage to speak of, except for bullet holes in the deck. She can get under way the moment you give the order. I've chosen the two prize crews, as you told me to. It's just a question of …”

“Exactly,” Ramage said, “who is to command them.”

Aitken nodded. “It'll take a week to sail 'em to Barbados and get our men back—perhaps more.”

“We need not worry about Barbados for the time being,” Ramage said, and both men looked up quickly, obviously puzzled. Ramage decided to tease them for a little longer.

“That Tricolour, Southwick: have Jackson and Rossi finished it yet?”

“No, sir. It's so big. It's taken all the red cloth we have on board including the red baize. I hope you won't be ordering many floggings …”

“You won't regret it,” Ramage said enigmatically. “I hope the other men have finished the smaller Red Ensigns.”

“I forgot to tell you, sir, we have three or four on board we can use, apart from the ones in the flag locker.”

Ramage nodded. “Anyway, we have to decide who is to command the ships.” Southwick gave yet another sniff. It was clear that he considered taking a schooner to Barbados with a prize crew was an easy voyage to be left to the master's mate in one and perhaps the Fourth Lieutenant in the other.

Ramage thought the time had come to stop teasing both the Master and Aitken, but could not resist one last dig.

“I was thinking of putting you in command of
La Créole,
Aitken, and I hope Wagstaffe can manage
La Mutine.
”

The First Lieutenant's jaw dropped, and even though the light from the lanthorn was dim, Ramage saw that he had gone white. He realized that Aitken thought he had failed in his duties during the night's attack and was being put in command of the schooner to get him out of the way to allow another of the lieutenants to be promoted in his place.

Ramage reached out and touched his arm reassuringly. “Cheer up, Aitken. Listen to me for a minute or two and after that you will be perfectly free to refuse the command and stay on board the
Juno.”

Aitken swallowed and tried to smile, while Southwick looked completely puzzled, as though he feared for his Captain's sanity.

“Some time this morning,” Ramage said quietly, “the French Governor in Fort Royal, and the naval commander, will expect to see
La Créole
and
La Mutine
sailing into Fort Royal Bay, escorting the
Juno
with a Tricolour flying above the Red Ensign …”

He paused for a moment to make sure both men pictured the scene.

“On a Sunday morning everyone will be out in the streets cheering and I wouldn't be surprised if the guns of Fort St Louis began firing a
feu de joie.
The schooners will sail up to the anchorage, tack and wear round the
Surcouf
frigate a couple of times to show off. The French prize crew will bring the
Juno
in and prepare to anchor her close to the
Surcouf.
Just imagine the scene with everyone cheering and yelling, the crews of the schooners lining the bulwarks and waving, and the French prize crews on board the
rosbif
frigate
Juno
manning the rigging, singing revolutionary songs, no doubt.”

“But, but sir,” Aitken stammered. “The French haven't captured the
Juno!
”

“No, indeed they have not,” Ramage said quietly, “but the Governor of Fort Royal doesn't know that yet.”