Ramage and the Freebooters

But more than ten minutes passed before Ramage was certain he had identified the mountain peaks that let them identify the few bonfires on shore as the village of Gouyave, while it took a timed run of fifteen minutes to establish their exact position and discover they were half a mile inshore of the rendezvous. By that time Ramage had the ship cleared for action and the carronades run out, using only the depleted crew.

Southwick's cursing at their slowness was interrupted by a hail from the lookout on the starboard bow:

'Sail ho! A point on the larboard bow, sir; about a couple of cables distant.'

'Very well,' Southwick acknowledged, jumping up on to a carronade with an alacrity which belied his age and bulk.

'No sail set, sir: seems to be just lying there!' the man added.

Again Southwick acknowledged and Ramage said: 'Remember to check why the larboard lookout didn't sight it,' and warned, 'Make sure there's nothing else around.'

The chances of a trap were slight. But it wasn't until all the lookouts spaced round the ship reported nothing else in sight that Ramage ordered Southwick to heave-to a cable's distance to windward of the schooner.

For the past hour the two boarding parties had been kept below, the ship being sailed and cleared for action with the reduced crew. Now Ramage told Appleby to assemble the first party aft. While that was being done, he went down to his cabin, put on his coat, stuffed the two pistols into the top of his breeches, slung a cutlass belt over his shoulder and jammed his hat on his head.

As he took a last look round the cabin he saw a strip of white doth lying on his desk. Cursing his memory he threw his hat on to the settee and tied the strip round his head. Hell, his forehead felt sore; God knows how many times he had rubbed the scar this evening, like a baby sucking its thumb.

Up on deck he found the men grouped aft by the taffrail with Appleby bending over the binnacle light reading out their names from a sheet of paper. Finally, the last of the men answered and Appleby reported:

'All sixteen men present, sir.'

Sixteen? Ramage was puzzled for a moment, then realized the other four were already in the schooner.

And where the devil was the schooner now? He turned and saw her black shape close by to leeward. Even as he looked Southwick hailed it through the speaking trumpet.

'What ship?'

'The Jorum schooner, Mr Southwick, sir, lying to and awaiting orders.'

Ramage almost sighed with relief: Jackson's voice and answering in the pre-arranged manner.

'Ready for the boarding party?'

'Aye aye, sir.'

'How many?'

'No more'n twenty, sir, and even then it'll be a tight fit.'

Southwick swore and from below Ramage heard yells of disappointment from the other twenty men standing by.

'All right, Jackson, I'm sending 'em over now.'

Ramage noted Southwick's confident T. They'd already agreed that the Master took command from the moment the Triton hove-to near the schooner.

The jolly boat which had been towing astern was hauled alongside and ten of the boarding party were ferried over to the schooner. When it returned for the rest Ramage moved over to the ladder and, as soon as the last of the men disappeared over the side, reached out to shake Southwick's hand.

'Best o' luck sir: Hope to see you back on board very soon!'

'Thanks, Southwick. If not, go round St Lucia and just steer east—you can't miss Barbados; but even if you do, you'll soon sight Africa!'

Southwick gave a full-bellied laugh and the men in the boat joined in.

A few minutes later Ramage was scrambling up the lee side of the schooner, followed by the boarders, to be greeted by her Captain, a young white man who introduced himself as James Gorton.

'All of Mr Rondin's instructions have been carried out, sir,' he reported. 'But I daren't jettison any more cargo to make extra room or we'll be floating so light the privateers'd get suspicious.'

'But we can get twenty men in the hold?'

'Yes, sir. Not much room and it stinks o' molasses and is running alive with cockroaches. No rats though—well, not many.'

Ramage saw that the canvas hatch cover had been rolled back and several of the wooden beams covering the hatch had been lifted off. From the hold there was the faint glow of a lantern.

'Right,' Ramage said crisply. 'Let's get my men below out of the way. Corns on, boarders—down you go. Careful with those grenades and false-fires!'

The men moved silently across the narrow deck from the bulwark.

'Jackson?'

'Here, sir!'

Ramage moved forward, followed by the American, to be out of earshot of the schooner's crew, who were gathered around Gorton at the hatch.

'Did everything go off all right?'

'Perfectly, sir. Found Fetch's hut without any tacking back and forth. He was getting drunk with rum.'

'Tie him up?'

'No, sir.'

'What then?'

'There was a fight of it. We left him for dead.'

But Ramage knew, Jackson too welclass="underline" the American's voice was too glib, too well rehearsed. It was the true story, but not the whole one.

'You mean Maxton killed him.'

'Well, that's about the size of it, sir. Can't say I blame him. Never came across such an evil man in my life.'

Ramage sensed that Jackson, who had fought and killed many times, was shuddering at the memory of it.

'What happened?'

'Well, we got to his hut. All round were these horrible dolls with evil faces. Some were made of cloth wrapped round bones—human bones, I swear, shins, thighs and arms. And he had beads and things laid out in circles on the ground, and squares and diamonds. Well, we crept up and then dashed into the hut.'

'How could you see?'

'Bonfire burning—the hut's just a three-sided shelter with a thatched roof. He was just crouching there on his haunches, drinking from a gourd, and when he saw us he asked what we were doing. Maxton—I didn't get time to speak—said he'd come to cut him. That's the word they use for attacking anyone with a knife------'

'I know, I know,' Ramage interrupted impatiently.

'Well, this fellow started cussing him and saying he'd strike him dead and set the loogaroos, or some such thing, on to his family. Maxton said something I didn't understand—defying him, I reckoned—and this fellow said he'd already set the loogaroos on scores of families; and as for white men—he said this to me—well, when Fedding was ruling the island------'

'Fedon,' Ramage corrected. 'The Frenchman who led the rebellion a couple of years ago.'

'Well, when Fedon was alive he'd eaten a white man a day—Fetch, that is—and he knew a wicked white man had sent us now. Maxton asked him what if a white man had, and Fetch picked up a piece of wood—a Y-shaped stick with hair and beads tied to it, and pointed it at me (he'd guessed I was the leader) and said he was going to put the loogaroos on me and my master that very minute. Well, that did it for Maxton: it was so fast I couldn't see exactly what happened, except that suddenly Fetch was falling over backwards and Maxton's knife was in his throat.'

'What about the tom-tom?'

'Ah, that went off a treat,' Jackson said proudly, glad to change the subject. 'We found Fetch's and used that in the end. I thumped away, and three or four minutes after I'd finished we heard another one over to the north begin to beat out the same tune. That was the seven-thirty signal, sir.'

'Good,' Ramage said. 'How was Maxton after that?'

'Funny you should ask that, sir. Very quiet the whole time after the Fetch business. No laughing or joking; hardly answered questions or anything. But he didn't miss anything. Heard the tom-tom before any of us. He was—well, son of all taut, like a backstay in a gale of wind.'