Ramage & the Rebels Read Free Page B

charts of the Main and discussing the problems with his second-in-command, who had been out here a year or more, before drawing up orders.
    â€œYou want to see me, Southwick?” he asked the Master. “Not me, sir,” the old man said, “it’s the purser. He’s been cast into debt, I think, and wants to talk to you about it.”
    Ramage grimaced. “Very well, send him down in five minutes’ time. And make the signal to the
Créole
for Lacey to come on board.”
    Southwick waited, hoping for some hint of what the
Calypso
was to do, but his curiosity remained unsatisfied because of his own efficiency: all the frigate’s water casks were full, all but one boat were hoisted on board and stowed on the booms, all sail repairs had been completed and the old fore-topsail, worn and chafed beyond repair, had been sent down and replaced with a new one. The ship could be under way in the time it took to hoist in the last boat and weigh the anchors.
    Ramage clattered down the steps of the companion-way, acknowledged the Marine sentry’s salute, and ducked his head under the deck beams as he went into his cabin. He tossed his hat on to the settee, took off his sword and sat at his desk as he took Foxe-Foote’s written orders from his pocket.
    He broke the seal and smoothed the paper, his hands sticky with perspiration. There were the usual clichés, and then came the orders: the Jamaica committee of merchants were complaining that ships plying between Jamaica and the Windward and Leeward Islands (which meant from Antigua down to Barbados) were being attacked by increasing numbers of privateers holding Spanish, French and Dutch commissions. These privateers were apparently using the Dutch islands as the market-place for the cargoes in the prizes they captured.
    However, the Royal Navy frigates patrolling off Cuba, Hispaniola and Puerto Rico, and in the Mona Passage, reported sighting fewer privateers than usual. From this it was apparent that the privateers had retreated southwards right across the Caribbean to the coast of the Spanish Main, and Ramage was to patrol that coast for two months, paying particular attention to the island of Curaçao, “and remove the threat.”
    Ramage sighed, folded the paper and dropped it into the top right-hand drawer of his desk and, after finding his key ring, locked it. They were not the sort of orders one would ever need to refer to again. The more cynical of his brother captains referred to such orders as an “admiral’s awning,” because they were so worded that they sheltered him from any criticism by their Lordships at the Admiralty should anything go wrong.
    He wanted to look over the charts, such as they were, before Lacey came over from
La Créole,
but first there was the purser. Rowlands was an old woman, as quick as a lawyer to spot anything that might be to his disadvantage as the ship’s businessman and prevent him balancing his books. This would “cast him into debt,” as all pursers described making a loss, forgetting that anyone in business was likely to make a loss at some time or another.
    Ramage smiled to himself as he remembered Southwick’s face at the head of the companion-way. The old man’s flowing white hair stuck out from under his hat like a new mop, and the order to make the signal for Lacey had obviously left him wondering what orders the
Calypso
had received. Ramage had decided to tantalize him for the time being, knowing that as soon as Lacey came on board Southwick would, with the ship’s other officers, hear all about it.
    The sentry announced the purser and Ramage called the man in. He was not carrying a handful of papers—that was a good sign. His plump face with bags under the eyes looked mournful (like a village grocer saying farewell to his best customers as he was marched off to the debtors’ jail) but Rowlands always looked like that, the result of the