Ramage

 With that he stood up and began walking up and down the cabin, head and shoulders bent to avoid banging his head.

 'The Commodore told me to explain this to you. First, the French have landed troops about twenty miles up the coast, between Cape Corse and Macinaggio, just south of the Cape.'

'Yes, I know.'

'Oh?'

'The Viceroy...'

 'Hmm. Well, they are advancing towards Bastia. Second, the frigate Belette was on her way round here from San Fiorenzo Bay with news of the landings when she came up with two privateer schooners just off Cape Corse. They were full of soldiers which the Belette's captain guessed they intended landing somewhere round there.'

'When was this, sir?'

‘Yesterday, in the forenoon. Anyway, the Belette chased 'em southward - remember that, always get between the enemy and his objective - and they made a bolt for a little port farther down the coast.'

'Macinaggio?'

'Yes, it's very small and hardly any depth of water. The leading schooner managed to get in but the Belette was inshore of the second one and forced her to carry on southward. The Belette then bore away to get offshore of her, trapping her between the Belette and the coast. A good move, eh?'

'Yes, sir: the shore is as good as another frigate.'

 'Exactly: cuts down the alternatives open to the enemy, Then the Belette caught up with her. What would you have done then - boarded or sunk her?'

'Sunk her, sir.'

'Why?'

'If she was full of soldiers they'd outnumber the boarding party. Not worth risking trained seamen.'

rHmm ... well, the Belette's captain chose to board, but each time she closed the schooner edged inshore, until finally they came up to a small headland with sloping cliffs and a tower on top - the Tour Rouge.'

Ramage nodded.

 'Either the privateer had a very shallow draught, or the French deliberately led the Belette on to an outlying rock or small reef - I don't know which - but anyway the frigate hit, drove over and wrenched her rudder off. Before they could get her under control she'd run up on the rocks just below the cliff and under the Tower.

 'She hit the rocks with her starboard bow and finished up lying nearly parallel with the cliff and almost touching it. The impact sent her masts by the board but they fell against the cliff and ended up like ladders.'

'No chance of towing her off, sir?'

'None at alclass="underline" a rock as big as a carriage and four is sticking up through her starboard bilge.'

 ‘Where do I come into it, then? My orders say to go to her assistance.'

‘ Wait a minute,' Probus said testily. ‘Her commanding officer realized the French troops had probably advanced well past where the ship was stranded; but apparently they hadn't bothered with the Tower, which is in sight of the ship and only three or four hundred yards away.

 'So he sent the Marines up the cliff - they climbed most of the way along the masts - to occupy the Tower; rigged up tackles and managed to sway up a couple of brass six-pounders, powder and shot, food and water; then moved the whole ship's company into the Tower.'

'So I have to rescue them from the Tower.'

'Exactly.'

'That doesn't sound too bad, sir.'

 ‘I haven't finished yet. While this was going on the schooner came back, had a good look, and obviously made all speed for Macinaggio to raise the alarm. One of the Belette's lieutenants and a seaman were sent off to Bastia for help.'

'Where are they now?'

 'The seaman's dead - he fell down a ravine - and the lieutenant is in hospitaclass="underline" his feet are raw and he's utterly exhausted.'

'So I—'

'So you sail before daylight tomorrow with the cutter Kathleen and get the Belettes out of that Tower.'

'Sounds more like a job for soldiers, sir.'

 'Oh, certainly: you can see we've hundreds to spare in Bastia.'

'Sorry, sir: I was thinking aloud.'

‘Well,' said Probus, 'you'd better think better than that. You can take it from me, as far as the Commodore's concerned, you're still on trial.'

 By the time the boat took him over to the Kathleen the sun had dropped below Mount Pigno and Bastia and the anchorage was almost in darkness. Ramage thought of Lord Probus's last words. He'd already a plan in mind for the rescue, and his remark about soldiers - which Probus had taken as lack of enthusiasm - was meant as a joke.

 Towers seemed to be looming large in his life these days: the Torre di Buranaccio, and now the Tour Rouge. Why red? Probably the colour of the stone used to build it. Towers and trials. Did Probus mean he was on trial in the sense the Commodore was trying him out, testing him? Or that he was expected to make a mess of this job as well and so... he deliberately stopped himself thinking any more about it: if he wasn't careful he'd soon think every man's hand was turned against him.

Chapter 20

WILLING AND requiring you forthwith to go on board and take upon you the charge and command of captain in her accordingly; strictly charging and commanding all the officers and company of the said cutter to behave themselves jointly and severally in their respective appointments, with all due respect and obedience unto you, their said captain ... Hereof, nor you nor any of you may fail as you will answer to the contrary at your peril...'

 Ramage finished reading his commission in as loud a voice as he could muster without shouting, the wind whipping the words from his mouth, and rolled up the stiff rectangle of parchment. He looked at the fifty or so men standing in a half-circle round him on the cutter's flush decks. Both he and they had heard a captain 'read himself in' many times before, legally establishing himself as commanding officer; luckily they'd never know his schoolboyish elation now he was doing it himself. Even the sonorous words took on a new significance - particularly the phrase about failing 'at your peril ...'

 Well, they looked an efficient ship's company. The Master, Henry Southwick, was middle-aged and tubby; he had a jolly face and seemed popular and competent, judging by the way the seamen responded when he'd ordered them aft as Ramage came on board. The Master's Mate, John Appleby, was a former midshipman waiting for his twentieth birthday so that he could take his examination for lieutenant. A cutter did not rate a bosun, but the Bosun's Mate, Evan Evans, was a thin and doleful Welshman whose nose, bulbous and purple, obviously had an unerring instinct for pointing into a mug of grog.

 After reading himself in, it was usual for the new captain to make a little speech to the ship's company which, depending on his personality, was full of threats, encouragements or platitudes. Ramage could think of nothing to say, yet the men expected a few words - it gave them a chance to size up their new captain.

 'Well, I'm told you're good seamen. You'd better be, because in a few hours' time the Kathleen's going to try something which'll either give you a good yarn to spin to your children or make 'em orphans.'

 The men laughed and waited for him to continue. Blast, that was supposed to be the end of his speech. Still, now was the chance to explain why they were going to risk their necks: it might well make them work that much faster when the time came. He described how the Belettes were marooned in the Tour Rouge and ended by saying: 'If we don't go and take 'em by the hand and lead 'em home, the French'll make butcher's meat of 'em - and if we make any mistake we'll be put down as "Discharged Dead" - that's if I remember to send the muster book to the Navy Board before I drown.'

 With that the men roared with laughter and gave a cheer - a spontaneous bellow of enthusiasm and amusement. The fools, he thought; already, on no better evidence than flatulent claptrap, they'd put their trust in him. But before sunset tomorrow, if he misjudged a certain distance by as much as a foot, they'd all be dead ... But fools or not, they were willing and loyal, which was all that mattered.