Ramage And The Rebels

He jabbed a finger down at the lower half of the chart. There you have the island of Curacao, the middle of the three lying just off the Main. There's Bonaire to one side and Aruba the other, but Curacao is the only one that matters. Notice how Curacao is like the centre of a clock - the islands Of St Lucia and Martinique at three o'clock, Guadeloupe, Antigua, St Barts and St Kitts at one o'clock, Puerto Rico and Hispaniola at noon, and Jamaica here way over to the north - west at ten o'clock. And the Main to the south. All British merchant ships sailing between Jamaica to the west and the Windward and Leeward Islands to the east, have to cross these lines radiating from Curacao . . .'

He took a pair of dividers from the rack and opened them up until they measured seven degrees, equal to 420 miles, against the latitude scale. Then he put one point on Curacao and slowly swept the second leg across the chart until the other point finally rested on Grenada, the island at the southern end of the chain. 'You see, only 420 miles to Grenada and the rest of them, Martinique, Antigua, Nevis, St Kitts, no more than 500 miles because of the way they curve round. Puerto Rico, most of Hispaniola - all inside the 420 miles.'

He shut the dividers with a snap. 'Our merchant ships, whether sailing alone or in convoy, are passing east or west no more than four hundred miles north of Curacao. Four hundred miles - that's probably no more than three days' saying for the dullest sailor. Sail on Sunday morning, find a prize on Wednesday, and be back in Curacao unloading the prize by Saturday night. A prize a week at least, and no reason why one privateer should not take three prizes in a day. A hundred men on board to provide boarding parties and prize crews . . . All on a shares - of - the - spoils basis.'

'Aye,' Southwick rumbled, 'making bigger profits than commanders - in - chief.'

Taking more risks, too,' Wagstaffe said, and then glanced nervously at Ramage, who began taking the weights off the chart.

'Lacey - you have a copy of this chart? In fact you'd better go through our chart outfit with Southwick, so you can make copies of anything you don't have. And the French signal book - you have a copy? The one we captured at Martinique, I mean.'

'No, I don't have a copy, sir.'

Ramage turned to Kenton. 'You can help Lacey by making a copy. And Lacey, you treat it like our own signal book: always locked up when not being used, and always in the weighted bag ready to be thrown over the side . . .' He took out his watch. 'Sunset in five hours. Very well, we weigh in three hours - get busy with pencils and paper, gentlemen.'

CHAPTER TWO

The kneeling seaman carefully removed his plaited straw hat and took a soggy, stringy piece of tobacco from the lining, but before he put it in his mouth and began chewing he commented: 'My jaws are getting tired of overhauling this piece: it's the second day, and there ain't much taste left You 'aven't got the lend of a piece, 'ave you, Jacko?' 'Since when have I ever chewed bacca?' 'I know, but you might've 'ad a bit tucked away.' 'Oh yes, as a charm against rheumatism and snake bites.' 'Oh, you're a Yankee misery. Now, 'old the doth still. Cor, the sun's bright You ready with those scissors, Rossi? Wait, let me flatten out that crease. Now, snip away!'

The three men were crouching down on deck, cutting out the pattern of a pair of trousers drawn on a piece of white duck. Alberto Rossi, the Italian seaman from Genoa, snipped carefully, the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips revealing his concentration.

The man in the straw hat Stafford, was a young Cockney for whom the trousers were intended, and who scorned 'slops', the clothing sold by the purser, all of it made to standard patterns. One of the more crushing judgements mat a self - respecting seaman could make of another man was: 'He's the sort o' feller who'd wear pusser's trousers.'

Rossi paused a moment with the scissors and inspected the doth. 'Staff, I think you draw the line too tight here - ' he gestured with the scissors - 'and you might damage yourself. Shall I leave extra cloth?'

Stafford looked at it doubtfully, certain that his pencilled line had been accurate, but Jackson nudged him. 'You pencilled round the outline of the trousers you're wearing but you forgot to allow for the seams.'

The Cockney's face fell. 'So I did; I was concentrating on holding the cloth still - in this wind. All right then; give us an extra 'alf an inch all round, Rosey.'

All three men stopped and looked round as another group of men kneeling nearby started a violent argument and one of them suddenly stood up, waving a ragged piece of doth.

'You bluddy idjit!' he screamed. 'Look wotcher dun I Yer've cut froo two ficknesses, not one, an' took off the other leg! I sedjer coodn't be trusted wiv them bluddy scissors. Ten bob's worth o' cloft, that's whatcher've ruined. Why'ncher go'n sit on the jibboom tossing guineas over the side, heh?'

'As long as they're your guineas it's all the same to me,' the other man answered calmly. 'But you marked it and you held it, and I just cut where you said.'

With another scream of rage the first man flung the piece of cloth down on the deck and jumped up and down on it, shaking his fist. 'You rusty cuttle - bung; oooh you milk - livered jakes-scourer, why—'

"Ere, 'old 'ard,' the man with the scissors interrupted mildly, 'if you go on like that, I shan't 'elp you no more.'

Stafford prodded Rossi. 'Come on, snip away; don't pay no attention to them or you'll be doing the same. Don't forget, arf an inch outside the line.'

Stafford watched carefully and then muttered: ' 'Ere, Jacko, ain't there someone around what'll lend me a chaw of bacca?'

'Pay attention to your trousers, otherwise you'll end up with four legs and no seat, like a broken chair.'

Finally the trousers were cut out and the front section was held up against Stafford, who looked down at it critically. 'Seems all right,' he said doubtfully. 'Wotcher fink, Rosey?'

'Is all right,' the Italian said. 'Sta attenti with the stitches. Not those great big ones you put in a sail.'

' Taint often the bosun catches me for sail mending,' Stafford boasted. 'I volunteered when the foretopsail split yesterday, but that was so's I could get my fingers on a sail needle.'

'I hope you picked a sharp one. Most of 'em are rusty,' Jackson said. They're the ones left on board by the French - poor quality they are. No guts in the metal; they won't hold a point'

'I did get a nice sharp one, but I can't find it now,' Stafford admitted. ' 'Aven't got one I could borrow, 'ave you, Jacko?'

'Bacca, needle - I suppose you've got a reel of thread?'

'Well, not reely; I know Rosey's got some good fred, and I was 'oping . . .'

The Italian glared at him. This cloth we just make the cut. Staff; you buy him from the purser? I wonder. The purser not sell any slops since we leave Antigua, and I don't remember . . .

'Well, I didn't steal it from any of me shipmates,' Stafford declared hotly, 'you know me well enough for that Why, I'm - '

'Accidente! Rossi said sharply. 'I was only going to ask why you didn't take the thread from the purser at the same time, and you need two buttons.'

'I got the buttons all right' Stafford admitted, 'but old Nipcheese didn't get the fred out'

'Old Nipcheese saw you coming,' Jackson commented. 'Not all pursers are daft!'

Homage paused at the forward end of the quarterdeck and looked across the ship. It was a scene being repeated on board every one of the King's ships at sea: Sunday afternoon and 'make and mend', with the men off watch doing just what they wanted. Some dozed in the sun, others mended clothes, while yet more were cutting cloth and stitching, making new trousers and shirts and repairing old ones.