Ramage and the drum beat

'I'm feeling cold,' Gianna said. 'I am going to bed.'

Ramage and Antonio kissed her hand, and she called goodnight to 'Mr. Souswick', who gave his customary bow.

When she had gone down below, Antonio asked, 'Do you expect trouble?'

'Well, I can't see what they can do - apart from cast off the tow. That wouldn't help them because we'd obviously wait until daylight and sink 'em.'

'But do you - how do you say - do you "have a feeling"?'

'Yes - probably just a reaction from the excitement.'

'I expect so,' Antonio said. 'Well I'm tired, too, so -buona notte, Nico. This has been a day to remember!'

A few minutes later Ramage suddenly felt weary too and decided to get some sleep in case he was called frequently during the night.

'Mr. Southwick, I'm going below for a couple of hours. Observe the usual night orders. If there's anything suspicious - even the faintest hint - call me. And issue pistols and muskets to the steadiest men, and cutlasses, pikes and tomahawks to the rest'

Ten minutes later Ramage was sprawled fully dressed in his cot in a deep sleep, his two pistols, both at half cock, tucked against the canvas sides.

Jackson had been tired, but as darkness came down an indefinable uneasiness drove away all thoughts of sleep. He watched idly as the Master walked round the deck, speaking briefly to the lookouts amidships and on either bow. The old boy was thorough - at each of the carronades, which had been left run out, he checked the tackles and breeching and made sure the canvas apron covering the lock was secure so the damp night air should not get at the flint. As he came aft he saw the American.

'Well Jackson, a busy day.'

'Aye, sir, and likely to be a busy night, too.'

'You think the Dons'll try something, eh?'

'Well, we would if we were them!'

'Quite so, but that's the difference. Looked a pretty sheepish bunch when I was on board.'

'Hope you're right, sir. Still, if they started something...'

Southwick's grunt indicated he thought the possibility remote, and then he said, 'By the way, Jackson, are you really American?'

'Yes, sir.'

'When were you born?'

'Not sure of the exact date, sir,' Jackson said warily.

'Born English, tho', I'll warrant; before ‘74, when all you folk revolted!'

'Maybe sir. But I'm American now, for all that.'

'You've got a Protection?' Southwick's voice was flat, as though he was stating rather than asking, and Jackson said slowly 'Yes sir. I've got a duly attested Protection.'

'Why haven't you used it, then?'

Jackson shifted from one foot to another. The Master's persistent questioning didn't anger him. Most people were curious, which wasn't surprising since the Protection, signed by J. W. Keefe, Notary Public and one of the Justices for the City and County of New York, certified that Thomas Jackson, Mariner, had been sworn according to law, deposed he was a citizen of the United States and a native of the State of South Carolina, five feet ten inches high and aged about thirty-seven ...

Mr. Keefe further certified that the said Thomas Jackson, being a Citizen of the United States of America and liable to be called in the Service of his Country, is to be respected accordingly at all times by Sea and Land. Whereof an attestation being required, I have granted this under my Notarial Firm and Seal.

That piece of paper, headed by the American Eagle with United States of America in bold type beneath it, meant he could not be forced to serve His Britannic Majesty and, like anyone else possessing one, could get his discharge any time he liked - any time, rather, he could get in touch with an American Consul.

What was more, unlike many in circulation, the Protection was genuine. But Jackson tried to imagine the Master's reaction if he knew he also had another genuine one, attested and signed by a notary but with the spaces for the name and details left blank. It had cost ten dollars - and was worth twenty times as much.

'Well, sir,' Jackson said, after an appreciable pause, 'my own country's at peace, but I don't like missing a good scrap.'

'So you've decided to give us a hand,' Southwick said with a chuckle, and his last doubts about the American disappeared. He'd never questioned Jackson's loyalty - from all accounts he'd saved the lives of Mr. Ramage and the lad and both were obviously very fond of him - but nevertheless Jackson was a Jonathan, and he couldn't forget many American merchants and shipowners were making their fortunes trading with the French.

Southwick's attitude to the rest of the world was uncomplicated and uncompromising: in war, those who were not openly his friends were his enemies. Neutrals were at best a nuisance, always pettifogging about their rights, and at worst a conniving bunch of crooks selling their wares to the highest bidder without regard to the consequences.

Jackson, sensing Southwick was lost in his own thoughts, excused himself and picked up the night glass.

Balancing himself at the taffrail against the Kathleen's uneven roll, he had a long and careful look at the frigate towing astern, blinked his eye to make sure he wasn't mistaken, had another look and hurried over to where the Master was standing.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Southwick jumped down the last three steps of the companionway, snatched the sentry's lantern while hissing at him to make no noise, and ducked his head as he hurried into Ramage's temporary cabin.

'Captain, sir!' he whispered as he shook the cot, and Ramage woke in an instant. Southwick's face, heavily shadowed by the lantern's glow, warned him of danger.

'What is it?'

'The Spaniards, sir. They've got their boat and are rowing towards us, keeping close along the cable.'

'Many in the boat?' Ramage asked as he scrambled out of his cot.

'Seems packed.'

Ramage pulled on his boots, flipping back the little strap over the sheath in the right one to expose the throwing knife.

'They'll row to within twenty yards then swarm up the cable to board us.'

'S'what I thought, sir.'

Ramage picked up his pistols, tucked them in his belt and sat on the swinging cot for a full minute. Then he gave Southwick a string of orders.

'Wake the Count and send him up to me. Tell the Marchesa she's to transfer to this cabin - it'll be dangerous for her with that skylight overhead. Tell the sentries on the Spanish captain's door to lay him out with the flat of a sword if he shouts. Then rouse the watch below. I want all of them waiting at the bottom of the companionway. They're to seize and secure anyone who's thrown down. No pistols or muskets to be fired - I want absolute silence the whole time. Understand? Absolute silence from everyone.'

'Aye aye, sir.'

Southwick hurried off forward and Ramage made his way up the companionway. Only a few patches of stars were showing; high clouds hid the rest.

'Who's here?' Ramage hissed. 'Keep your voices down.'

'Quartermaster, Jackson, and twelve men, sir: four at the tiller, four lookouts, three topmen and the man watching the cable.'

'Right, keep quiet, behave as though you haven't seen anything. Topmen - get forward and stay there for the time being.'

Ramage knelt down and peered through the stern-chase port. He could just make out the boat about forty yards astern. It had twenty or so yards to go before reaching the point where the sagging cable came up out of the water in a gentle curve to the Kathleen's starboard stern-chase port. A gentle curve which would be an easy hand-over-hand climb for nimble seamen.

Jackson appeared in the darkness beside him and after Ramage whispered orders disappeared down the companionway.

Ramage then told the quartermaster and the other men at the tiller: 'No matter what happens around you, don't leave the helm. Keep the ship on course - that's your only concern.'