Ramage's Diamond (27 page)

“That's just it,” Southwick said gleefully, slapping his knee, “all her sails are on board! Sails, clew-lines, bunt-lines, blocks—everything! I reckon they were just about to get them up from the sail room when the best of her men and the First Lieutenant were taken off and sent to the schooners.”

Ramage gave a sigh of relief. “What about provisions, powder and water?”

Southwick dug into his pocket and pulled out a grimy sheet of paper, which he carefully smoothed out. “I don't know what they intended to do with her, sir, but we know they stripped the other frigate to fit her out, and she's provisioned for three months at our establishment. I know the French usually have a ship's company half as large again as us, but …”

“Perhaps they were going to send her back to France.”

“Could be, sir. Anyway the water's fresh, and from what the cooper says the casks were well scoured before they were filled. The powder is very good quality—the gunner says its as good as ours. Salt pork and salt beef, a lot o' rice, fresh bread—I swear it didn't leave the bakery more than a week ago. Not a weevil in it.”

“Have you made an official inventory yet?” Ramage inquired cautiously.

“
Me,
sir?” Southwick asked innocently. “Oh, no, it'd take a week. No, I only had time to have a quick stroll through the ship with the purser, gunner, bos'n, carpenter and cooper. You didn't mention an official inventory. Proper inventories and survey, sir,” he said with an archness that would have done credit to a bishop's wife, “take time: two or three days, at least.”

“In the meantime,” Ramage said, as though talking to himself, “any rogues could go on board and plunder the ship: they could take off provisions, water, powder …”

“And rolls of canvas, firewood, new holystones—she has a score or more unused in the bos'n's store—new leather buckets, a complete set of surgical instruments, a dozen live sheep: oh dear me, sir, there's no telling what they could take if the prize crew weren't keeping a sharp lookout.”

It was a great temptation; the
Juno
could stay at sea for many extra weeks without provisioning; with several tons more fresh water, for instance, she would not have to go down to St Lucia or across to Barbados to fill her casks; the sailmaker would welcome the extra bolts of canvas … But it was risky: the problem would be to account for the extra stores in the
Juno
's books. If she was desperately short of water or powder or provisions, he would be justified in taking what he needed, but Rear-Admiral Davis knew the
Juno
was well-provisioned, so it became a matter of prize-money. Everything on board the
Surcouf
would be valued, including the ship herself, and the
Juno
and her Captain would eventually get their share of the prize-money, as would Rear-Admiral Davis. It would be a considerable amount, and by a bit of good fortune once the Admiral's eighth was deducted the rest would go to the Junos. Every British ship in sight at the time of the capture had a right to a share, but the only other British ships were the two captured schooners manned by Junos.

He would risk it if he could take all the blame, but it would mean involving too many others who would also be brought to trial if the Admiral wanted to make an issue of it. The Master, the bos'n, purser, gunner, at least two of the lieutenants … An idea that had come to him when he saw the Diamond Rock for the first time—and which he had dismissed as absurd almost as soon as it appeared—was gnawing at him again.

“Cheeses, too!” Southwick said as the memory struck him. “Never seen so much cheese in all my days, sir, and tubs of butter. Seems a pity to let all those provisions go to Barbados when all we have to look forward to for a change of diet is goat's meat from the Diamond …”

Ramage jumped up, put a paperweight on the letter he had been drafting, grabbed his hat and said to Southwick: “Come on, we're going for a short cruise in the cutter.”

An hour later the cutter had completed a circuit of Diamond Rock and the men were resting at the oars with the boat drifting twenty yards from a flat, rocky ledge behind which was an enormous cave, its entrance yawning black-mouthed and, as Southwick commented, looking as if a great dragon would emerge at any moment, breathing fire and smoke. There was very little swell as it was too early for the Trade wind to have set in.

“This is the only possible landing place,” Ramage said. “We'll chance it and inspect the big cave—and the others, if we have time.”

Ramage pointed to the ledge. “Put us on shore there,” he told Jackson. “Go in stern first and hold the boat there just long enough for Mr Southwick and me to jump on to the rock, then stand off.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Jackson said. “Rossi and I can give you a hand and Stafford can take the boat out until—”

“Mr Southwick and I can take care of ourselves,” Ramage snapped. “You stay in the boat, and while you're standing off make sure you note any odd rocks: you might be coming back here a few times.”

The men bent to the oars while Ramage and Southwick scrambled across to the stern. “Looks slippery, sir,” Southwick warned. “That green weed …”

A few moments later Ramage jumped, landed safely and turned to give Southwick a hand. “Welcome to the Diamond,” he said, and stood watching for a moment as the oarsmen rowed steadily to get clear.

The Rock towered above them almost vertically. Apart from the wide ledge on which they stood and a flat section beyond, it was a home for goats and precious little else. But the cave was enormous, with several more smaller ones nearby and ones higher up the rock face. Ramage eyed the ledge, which formed a projecting point and gave a little shelter to the cove. A gun mounted here would protect it very well, and the surface of the rock was flat enough to allow for the recoil.

He turned towards the cave and saw Southwick about to enter it, the sheer size of the gaping hole dwarfing him. A moment later the Master vanished. Ramage heard him shouting and began running, thinking he had fallen in the darkness and hurt himself. As he heard the echoes, he realized that Southwick was using his voice to get some idea how far back the cave ran into the Rock. It was like entering an enormous cathedral and as his eyes became used to the darkness he saw the long stalactites pointing down from the roof. Yet the air was dry and it was dry underfoot: he had been expecting it to be dank, the sides running with water and green with moss.

Southwick loomed up beside him. “Big enough to stow a complete frigate,” he said, and there was no mistaking his meaning.

“If anyone could sway a couple of twelve-pounders up to the top of the Rock, they'd need a magazine, and this cave is dry enough,” Ramage murmured, obviously doing little more than thinking aloud. “They'd need a place to store provisions and water. The guns' crews would stand a couple of days' watch aloft while the others were down here; then they'd change over. I don't know how they'd get to the top—rig a jackstay, most probably … It would be easier to work that out from the
Juno,
using a telescope: you can't see a damned thing just staring up from the ledge.”

“There's another ledge on the north side, two thirds of the way up,” Southwick said. “It looks as though something took a big bite out of the rock. I think there's a cave at the back of it. It'd make another fine battery to cover the Fours Channel. A twelve-pounder could probably reach the Grande Anse du Diamant. No ship could sneak through the channel without a gun there giving it a hot time. With a pair of guns right at the top—goodness me, nearly six hundred feet high: just think of the extra range—and plunging fire!” Even in the darkness Ramage sensed the old man's increasing excitement as he went on: “That would give us three guns to cover the channel, and two of those, the pair at the top, can probably fire all round—north, west, south and east. And the lookouts could see all the way down to the southern tip of Martinique! Rig up a mast and they could hoist flag signals which the
Juno
would see while she was up to the north-west. Have to keep out to the west so the Diamond is clear of the land, but just think, a frigate off Fort Royal Bay would know what's going on right down at Pointe des Salines, twenty miles away! Why—”

“Easy now,” Ramage said mildly, “you don't have to convince me: I've had something like this in mind since we first sailed past the place. But don't get too carried away; swaying a pair of twelve-pounders nearly six hundred feet up to the top of this Rock will be more than a morning's work, if it can be done at all.”

They walked out of the cave and stood blinking in the bright sunlight, and then walked along looking into the smaller caves. Southwick kicked at the broad-bladed grass. “The men will like this for making sennet hats.” He pointed to the caves. “The whole place looks like that cheese with holes in it.”

“Gruyère,” Ramage said. “And the big cave is where a mouse had a feast.”

“More likely a rat,” Southwick said. “It's the biggest cave I've ever seen, let alone walked into. Those spiky things hanging down from the roof make it look like a portcullis. I hope none of them drop off!”

They looked into the cave and Ramage turned to seaward and waved to the boat. “Come on, these caves remind me of witches' cauldrons and bats and vampires …”

Back on board the
Juno
Ramage silenced all Southwick's attempts to discuss the Diamond Rock; instead he took him down to his cabin, tossed his hat on to the settee and sat down at the desk. Taking out the pen and ink, he added a single paragraph to the draft of his letter to Admiral Davis.

After calling to the sentry to pass the word for his clerk, he began a letter addressed to “The Agent for Transport and Prisoners of War.” The clerk arrived and was told to take the draft of the letter to Admiral Davis and make a fair copy, and bring it back when it was ready. “Don't waste time copying it into the Captain's Letter Book,” Ramage told him. “Make the entry afterwards from my draft.”

Ramage then finished a brief letter to the Agent, describing how he had landed the prisoners because he was unable to guard them, and saying that he was enclosing a list of their names and the signature of the surviving French commanding officer agreeing that the men should not serve against the British again until the exchange had been regularized. Ramage knew there would be a fuss, but he had covered the point in his letter to the Admiral. The letter to the Agent was a formality to cover the list he was sending.

As he wrote at the desk, Southwick sat back in a chair with ill-concealed impatience. The clerk returned with the fair copy of the despatch and took the draft of the letter to the Agent.

Ramage turned to Southwick. “You remind me of an impatient bridegroom. Baker is probably in his cabin packing his sea chest. Find him and bring him here. Once he's on his way to Barbados we can start making plans.”

The clerk arrived with the fair copy of the letter to the Agent, waited until Ramage had signed it and the despatch, and then took away both letters and the list of prisoners to seal. After wiping the pen and screwing the cap on the ink bottle, Ramage sat back and stared down at the polished grain of the desk top. In the past two days he had not had a moment for real thought. He snatched at ideas as they raced through his mind, rejecting some and adopting others; decisions seemed to arrive already made but without proper consideration. He felt like a clucking hen startled to find it had laid an egg. So far his decisions had been the correct ones, but this was due to good luck rather than judgement. It was only a matter of time, he thought gloomily, before one of the eggs turned out to be bad.

Yes, the present difficulty is Admiral Davis, not the French. Should he have mentioned his plan in the despatch? He sighed and tapped his fingers on the desk top. Should he, shouldn't he, should he … and so it went on. Indecision, indecision … Well, not exactly indecision because he had already signed the despatch without mentioning it, so at least he had decided that much. No, his bother was that, having made the decision, he was starting to question himself. It always happened, and he hated it.

Very well, what are you trying to do, Captain Ramage? You are carrying out Admiral Davis's orders which are simple enough: blockade Fort Royal, preventing any ships from entering or leaving. Splendid, my dear fellow; you have a firm grip on the situation. The new development is that by a stroke of good fortune you have discovered from that boastful French Lieutenant that a convoy (he implied a large one) is due in Fort Royal within a week. A large convoy means a large escort, and “a week” after an Atlantic crossing could mean today or two weeks' time; more, if the convoy met bad weather off Biscay followed by Trade winds.

Go on, Captain Ramage, he jeered at himself, so you had to make a decision: should you send the
Surcouf
to Barbados with a prize crew on board, with one of the schooners to bring the prize crew back, leaving yourself with only the
Juno
(minus the men needed to provide three prize crews) and a schooner to fight off the escorts and capture the convoy—or, at the very least, prevent it from entering Fort Royal Bay? That was the question, and it was a simple one.

The difficulty arises because there is more than one answer. You can hurriedly fit out the
Surcouf,
so that you have two frigates to tackle the convoy, keeping one schooner and sending the other to Barbados with the despatch to raise the alarm, and hope Admiral Davis is still there with the
Invincible
and some frigates, so that he can get under way for Martinique immediately to help tackle the convoy. (Help, he thought to himself: the
Invincible
and a couple of frigates would be more than enough.)

That is one answer but it certainly is not the one that Admiral Davis will expect. It is the right answer, though—with due respect to you, Admiral—because it takes into account the time factor; that the convoy is just as likely to be early as late: one can be damned sure it will not be on time.