Ramage And The Rebels

'You read French, My Lord?'

'I do, Your Excellency.'

Ramage took the proffered letter, hard put not to smile at the way each of them observed the courtesies with their titles and reflecting how inappropriate was a naval uniform at a negotiating table. The letter, comprising only a few lines, was from some group that called itself The - Revolutionary Committee of the Batavian Republic in the Antilles', and was addressed to the Governor by name. It said, without any preliminaries, that unless he surrendered Amsterdam by noon on a given date - it used the new revolutionary method of dating which Ramage could never remember - it would be burned down, and the Committee took no responsibility for the safety of the women and children while the men would be treated as traitors.

Ramage folded the letter and went to give it back to the Governor; then he unfolded it again, read the signature, and said to Aitken: 'Make a note of the name "Adolphe Brune, chief of the privateers".' He spelled out the names and then returned the letter to van Someren.

'I trust that decides you,' the Governor said.

"You have about a hundred men, trained troops?'

'Yes, mostly artillerymen.'

'And there are a thousand republicans?' Ramage guessed the figure, curious to see van Someren's reaction.

'Not as many as that We estimate about five hundred at the most. The privateers were all short of men - we guess at a total of three hundred and fifty. There were about one hundred republicans when all this began, but they may have been joined by others, the inevitable - how do you call them? - opportunists. About fifty, we think.'

'All short of weapons and powder, though?'

Van Someren shook his head. 'Unfortunately they have plenty, because each privateer has weapons - muskets, pistols, cutlasses - for at least fifty men, so they can arm five hundred. Before I brought my troops in, patrols were reporting capturing men holding positions with three loaded muskets in reserve beside each of them.'

'How many men are left in the privateers?'

Even as he asked the question Ramage realized that he had made a bad mistake: he had taken no steps to prevent someone from the privateers getting on shore to ride off into the hills and report to Brune that a British frigate had just come into the harbour and her captain was at Government House.

'One or two men in each vessel,' and then, perhaps reading Ramage's thoughts, van Someren added: 'I left sentries concealed who will seize anyone landing to carry the news of your arrival to the rebels.'

Ramage wished he had a pen or pencil to twiddle. Sitting here with his elbows on the table and one hand resting on the other was comfortable but it seemed to stifle coherent thought. Ideas must come through active hands. Clasped hands reminded him of contented parsons and portly priests mumbling things by rote or making embarrassingly obvious remarks in portentous voices. The true artists in this form of activity, he thought sourly, became bishops, and the lords spiritual never found themselves sitting in the residences of governors of enemy islands trying to think what to do next.

'You are satisfied?' van Someren demanded, his voice slowly becoming almost querulous from anxiety as he realized that this English officer seemed far from delighted at the prospect of having the richest Dutch island in the Caribbean surrendered to him. The Dutchman watched carefully. This Lord Ramage sat quite still, like a cat waiting for a mouse. He did not move his hands - nor crack the joints of his knuckles like Lausser. It was impossible to guess what he was thinking: his eyes gave nothing away, sunk beneath bushy eyebrows. He had tapped the table with his left hand when he wanted his lieutenant to make a written note of something but van Someren saw it was always a figure or a name, never a phrase. Obviously he was not a diplomatist because he was concerned only with facts, not phrases.

Whether or not this Lord Ramage eventually accepted the surrender - and it seemed far from sure at the moment - van Someren knew that it was fortunate for Curacao that he was commanding the frigate that suddenly appeared off the port. Had that French frigate come in, she would have provided more than enough men for the rebels to swing the balance: she would have made sure the rebels were left in control of Amsterdam. Which would in turn mean his own arrest and execution. By a miracle, this Ramage had captured her. In fact, having the Calypso anchored in the port almost made up for the fact that the Delft was so long overdue. Thank goodness he was not bothered daily by demands from Maria for news about the Delft. The frigate was due almost exactly six weeks ago, and that was all he knew. Either she is delayed in the Netherlands or she is delayed by storms or calms. Or she has been captured or sunk.

Now Lord Ramage is watching me. Those brown eyes do not miss much. And he is rubbing one of two scars on his forehead, as though a mosquito bite has started itching. The lieutenant suddenly glances sideways at him, van Someren noticed, as though this nibbing of the scar is significant.

'Would you just repeat briefly, Your Excellency, exactly what you are proposing. Slowly, because I want Mr Aitken to write it down, so that we have a record for my admiral.'

Van Someren was almost thankful because for the captain's own sake he ought to have something in writing to show his senior officer - indeed, he would have been much wiser to have demanded a document from the Dutch. Yet, van Someren realized, if surrender terms are agreed and signed, Ramage will have no use for such a document. He thought how satisfying that his English was coming back to him. Talking English and French to Maria when she was a young girl had done wonders for her command of both languages, and he bad to admit it had been good for him, too. Now, to choose the words, words for naval officers, not diplomatists . . .

'As Governor of Curacao, I wish to surrender this island, with all its people, fortifications, troops, stores, vessels and armaments, to His Britannic Majesty - ' he paused when Aitken raised a hand for him to go more slowly - 'in return for His Britannic Majesty's guarantee of protection of the island and its people.'

'A straight exchange,' Ramage said. 'We get the island, you get defended against these republicans. These rebels, rather.'

One has to smile at such bluntness. A diplomatist would have taken five minutes to say the same thing. "Yes, reduced to its simplest terms, that is so.'

'And, Your Excellency, you give your word of honour that the situation in the island is as you have described it?'

'You ask a great deal! I cannot possibly give you my word of honour about that because I have had to rely on the reports of patrols, and they have now been called in. In all honesty I cannot say what the island's position is at this moment I can give you my word - and I do - that what I have told you is truly the position as I understand it.'

One had to be honest with this young man. He was not guileless; far from it. But obviously he had no time for all the tact, vagaries and deceptions normally used by diplomatists: if he accepted the surrender of the island, clearly he wanted to know exactly what obligations it brought him.

'You want a guarantee that the island and its people will be defended by the British?'

'Yes.'

In face of such a simple question one could give only a simple answer and the question and the answer were criticaclass="underline" this Lord Ramage might lack (or spurn) the approach of the diplomatist, but he had a sharp enough mind to distil what really mattered.

And now he is shaking his head. His lieutenant has put down his pen and Lausser gives a muffled sigh which is quite unnecessary and tactless: there is no point in revealing disappointment to this young man. Disappointment! Hardly the word to use when a man shaking his head means your eventual execution, and God knows what treatment of your wife and daughter . . . But one must smile. One must remain cheerful. One must bluff, too.