Ramage's Mutiny (2 page)

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 die 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.
Yet 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 Comète,
” 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 shoe-black. “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 flag captain. 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 twenty-four- or thirty-six-pounders, against the
Calypso
's twelve-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?”