well as being 'Commander - in - chief of His Majesty's Ships and Vessels upon the Jamaica Station', could visualize, understand or accept. Particularly understand, and especially accept . . .
Ramage gestured to Southwick to sit down in the armchair that was secured against the ship rolling by a light chain from the underside of the seat to an eyebolt in the deck planking. The master put his hat down beside him and ran his fingers through his hair, which was now matted with perspiration, and the mark of the hatband across the top of his forehead gave him a curiously puzzled appearance.
Have you any idea what these privateers are doing?' Ramage asked.
Southwick shrugged his shoulders and gave one of his prodigious sniffs. 'With respect to Admiral Foxe-Foote, sir, all those privateers look just as if the owners have gone bankrupt. They look just like those old fishing smacks you see abandoned on the saltings along the bank of the Medway. Paint peeling, slack rigging, and one windy night the masts will go over the side. Not that I could see the rigging, of course; just the impression I had.'
Ramage nodded. 'I don't think many of them have been to sea for a month or more.'
'No, sir, at least that. And no one on board any of 'em. I saw maybe two or three men. Shipkeepers? Three men for ten privateers is not many. No, there's something damned odd about it all. Could there be more privateers at Bonaire, or perhaps Aruba?'
'Why?1 Ramage asked. 'Why would privateers be at islands where there is no decent harbour? At Bonaire they have to anchor on a sloping shelf. Why be there when Amsterdam is such a perfect harbour? Sheltered from the weather, defended by the forts, provisions and water available . . .'
That's why I'm so puzzled,' Southwick admitted. 1 expected to see half a dozen privateers, perhaps even a dozen, but all ready to go to sea. Perhaps one repairing damage and perhaps another replacing her standing and running rigging - but not ten like that It's - well, almost ghostly, sir; as though yellow fever had killed every man on board as they were at anchor.'
For a moment Ramage thought of Amsterdam being in the grip of an epidemic of something like yellow fever, but plenty of people had been walking on the walls of the forts and in the few streets of Punda and Otrabanda when the Calypso passed. Southwick fluffed out his flowing white hair as it began to dry, making it look like a deck mop. 'Your orders from the Admiral, sir. There's not much you can do about them.'
There are ten privateers in Amsterdam,' Ramage reminded him.
Southwick sat bolt upright. 'But you're not going to try to go in after them, are you, sir?'
Ramage grinned and waved to Southwick to relax in his chair. 'Nor am I going to send in the boats at night: they probably have a chain boom across the entrance that they haul up at sunset But it's going to be difficult to convince the Admiral . . .'
Those privateersmen can't afford to eat, lying there at anchor,' Southwick pointed out. They're all on a share - of - the - prize basis. With no pay, time in port is money lost. The shopkeepers will start wanting cash . . .'
'I've considered all that,' Ramage said mildly, 'but would you sail in one of those privateers with a British frigate and a schooner waiting outside?'
'I might try on a dark night, sir.'
'Come, come,' Ramage chided, 'it's never completely dark in the Tropics.'
'Hungry men get desperate!'
The crew might, but don't forget that every privateer has an owner; and he's not going to lose his ship just because the men are hungry.'
True, but I still don't understand it,' Southwick muttered. 'Why are these beggars laid up here when we know others - Spanish, anyway - are at sea? Think of all the prizes they're missing.'
That's just what I have been thinking about,' Ramage said, 'and the only sensible explanation is that all the privateers - men are on shore doing something as profitable as being at sea, privateering. It obviously isn't selling fresh fruit in the market.'
Southwick slapped his knee, his face wrinkling into a broad grin. 'I hadn't thought of that, sir. I wonder what the devil they tire doing?'
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. That's where I've come to a stop. You can be sure they aren't at a religious festival, nor are they sitting on the walls of the fort with fishing lines.'
'We can blockade the island for a week or two,' Southwick said. 'Catch a few prizes ourselves. Question prisoners . . .'
'That's what I've decided. We have to provoke them into doing something. By 'them' I mean the Dutch rather than the French. Capturing a Dutch merchantman as she arrives off Amsterdam could do the job, and stopping all trade between Curacao and the Main might force the Governor to make the privateers sail to drive us oil. As a squadron they might stand a chance in the dark, if the Governor puts on board as many soldiers as he can spare.'
Southwick was brightening: Ramage saw that the prospect of action was cheering him up, having the same effect as an alcoholic sighting a bottle of spirits. Yet sitting there he still looked like a rural bishop, except for his eyes, which took on the glint of the owner of a knacker's yard. He reached for his hat. 'I'll be - ' he broke off as, high above them, a masthead lookout hailed the deck, his voice too faint to penetrate the cabin. They heard Aitken answer, and both Ramage and Southwick made for the door. On deck Aitken, looking puzzled, walked quickly towards Ramage as he reached the top of the companionway.
The lookout reports a lot of smoke several miles inland and we think we can hear occasional musket shots, sir. Very faint, and it might be duckhunters or something. But we can't see the smoke from down here - yet, anyway.'
'Is it new smoke, or something that's been burning for some time?'
Aitken looked crestfallen. 'I forgot to ask, sir.'
He stepped back a few paces and put the speaking trumpet to his mouth, bellowing: 'Aloft, there I'
'Mainmast lookout, sir.'
That smoke - is it a new fire just started or have you only just seen it?'
' 'Snew, sir: increasing now, like houses catching fire. White and black smoke.'
Ramage looked across at the land. The arid flatness of the eastern end of the island was beginning to merge into rolling nils getting higher and higher as they approached the big peak of Suit Christoffelberg, ever - increasing waves suddenly turned 10 stone as they lapped the base of a pinnacle.
He saw a Seek of smoke a moment before Southwick and Aitken pointed and exclaimed. Smoke was common enough among the Caribbean islands: most of them spent more than half the year tinder - dry; the sun's rays concentrated by a broken bottle, a hunter's carelessness with a campfire, the sparks from a charcoal burner's crude furnace - all could, and frequently did, set a hillside ablaze in a fire that only died when the wind dropped at night, or mercifully backed or veered a few points to drive the flames back on themselves. But smoke and the sound of musket shots: that was a very different matter, and he was certain he could hear some distant popping, and Aitken now had the speaking trumpet to his ear, using it intently so that the young first lieutenant looked like a deaf seafarer straining to hear a mermaid singing a siren song from beneath a palm tree on the beach.
The brisk Trade wind was dispersing the smoke; instead of billowing clouds it was more of a haze by the time Ramage could see it from his low vantage point on the quarterdeck and Southwick lumbered over to crouch over the azimuth compass to take bearings. The entrance to Amsterdam, still in sight astern, the peak of Sint Christoffelberg, the next headland to the west, and the smoke. By plotting the first three he would be able to establish the ship's exact position; then drawing in the bearing of the smoke, he would be able to tell Ramage approximately where the fire was burning.
He hurried below with the slate on which he had noted the bearings and was back again within four or five minutes to tell Ramage: 'The smoke is coming from somewhere about half - way between the villages of Soto and a place called Sint Willebrordus. About eleven miles west of Amsterdam. Can it be cane fields burning?'
There's no sugar cane on this island. And cane doesn't burn with a popping like muskets. It can only be houses.'
'Deck there! Foremasthead lookout!'
Startled, Ramage, Aitken and Southwick looked forward. The voice, almost disembodied, sounded excited, and Aitken answered: 'Deck here.'
'Sail on the larboard bow, sir, and I think I can see land beyond it. Might be a cloud but the bearing stays the same.'
'What type of ship?'
'Can't tell, sir; she's still hull down below the horizon, but I think she's steering towards us.'
Aitken looked round for Jackson, handed him the telescope and pointed aloft. Without a word the American made for the shrouds and began climbing the foremast Ramage said: 'It can't be land, but he may have seen a cloud hanging over Aruba.'
'What ship is it?' Southwick muttered to himself. 'Probably a cutter from Jamaica with fresh orders from the Admiral. Convoy work, more than likely . ..'
'Beat to quarters,' Ramage told Aitken.
Jackson hailed the deck the moment the drummer stopped beating the ruffles.
'Her hull is only just lifting above the horizon but from the cut of her sails she's a merchant ship. Could be American, sir.'
'Make a signal to Lacey,' Ramage said. 'His lookouts are By the time the signal flags had been hoisted, acknowledged by La Creole and lowered again, Jackson was reporting from the foremasthead that the ship had just tacked, and was obviously bound for Curacao. Aitken had just reported that the Calypso was at quarters when Jackson hailed once more to report that the strange sail was a merchant ship and almost certainly American.
American, and therefore wary of one of the King's ships, because a meeting at sea usually resulted in being boarded and having a Royal Navy officer checking through the ship's company for British subjects, who would be pressed immediately. Ramage pictured the American master groaning at the prospect of losing at least a couple of good seamen from a total of perhaps a dozen. On the other hand, masters of neutral ships were often good sources of information: they visited enemy ports, saw ships of war, and, because they were not taken as prizes, could talk about it afterwards. And the best way of making a master talk was to catch him in the moments of relief after he discovered that none of his men was going to be pressed ... '
The Calypso and the merchant ship were approaching each other fast; within minutes Ramage could see the American's hull above the horizon. Have the guns run out,' he said to Aitken, 'we want to look fierce. Then come below. I have more orders for you.'
Down in his cabin he explained his intentions. The master of that Jonathan is going to curse as soon as he sees the British flag - hell have identified us as a French - built frigate, and to him there'd be nothing out of the ordinary in a French frigate beading west after apparently sailing from Amsterdam. Then suddenly hell realize his mistake.
'So you'll board him and examine his papers. He could have sailed from a port on the Main, Aruba or direct from somewhere in North America. If he has just left an enemy port, I want to know what ships he saw there and what ships he's seen at sea, especially privateers. Dates, positions, courses being steered . . .'
Aitken looked worried. These Jonathans usually don't care to help us much, sir,' he said cautiously.
'No,' Ramage agreed, 'because they've usually just had some of their prize seamen claimed as British and sent down into the boat. But you will make it clear that, providing he co-operates, you will not even ask to see the muster book ...'
