While Ramage had sat in the gig telling Sarah what he had learned from his visit to the Murex, Auguste and Gilbert had walked down the road and the fisherman had taken the opportunity to tell Gilbert that he wanted to escape to England: that he and his brother Albert were completely disillusioned by the Revolution and had heard enough from Gilbert to know that England was preferable. But, he had asked, knowing nothing of their plans, hopes and fears, how was he to get there?
Ramage knew that for the moment it boiled down to one single question: did he or did he not trust Auguste, whom he had met only two or three hours earlier?
Obviously Gilbert did - he had known the man from boyhood, long before the Revolution. But Gilbert had been in England for several years. Did he know what Auguste and his brother had been doing here in Brest during those bloody years following the Revolution?
'Tell me, Auguste, were you a fisherman during the Revolution?'
Auguste told him what he and his brother had done: they had smuggled out Royalists, taking them half a dozen at a time, concealed in their fishing boat, southwards to Portugal and safety. They had continued to do that until a few months before Bonaparte signed the Treaty with England - then they had had a running fight with a cutter of the French Navy, finally escaping. 'That was when I collected this,' Auguste said, pointing to the scar on his face.
'Our fishing boat was so badly damaged by gunfire that we guessed we would be betrayed the moment we put into a French port, so we landed our refugees safely on the coast and then we sank our fishing boat and rowed ashore with our little skiff. We came back to Brest a few weeks later, and no one asked questions. But we could not fish any more; instead we grew vegetables on the piece of land our father left us.'
Ramage nodded. The story seemed both likely and straightforward. Sarah suddenly asked: 'What makes you approach my husband because you and your brother want to go to England? Bonaparte's men are hunting us, while you all have proper documents as French citizens. Surely you can steal a fishing boat more easily than we can.'
Auguste looked first at Ramage, unused to having a woman enter a conversation in this way, and noting the nod said: 'Obviously I know you are English and if you, m'sieu, are caught you will be made a prisoner of war. But you do not seem to me - nor you, madame - the sort of person to let yourselves be taken prisoner. I think you are planning to get back to England. Gilbert has said nothing - and his silence,' he added with a grin, 'bears out what I think.'
The man looked a scoundreclass="underline" a once handsome rogue. The type of person you did not trust without a lot of checking. Auguste had trusted him and Gilbert and taken them with him out to the Murex, and while they were drinking with the French bosun, Auguste had spotted the trend of Ramage's and Gilbert's questions, and asked some of his own.
If a man trusts you without question, then you can trust him.
Ramage found himself thinking that with the same clarity as if he was reading a printed text. Auguste had got them out to the Murex and back safely: obviously he was a man of ingenuity. At this moment Ramage knew only too well he needed the help of a man of ingenuity who knew his way around Brest.
It was too risky telling Auguste and his brother to come out to Jean-Jacques' château: gendarmes might be suspicious, and later might remember them passing the barrières. Anyway, this café was a good safe spot for what could be only a preliminary chat.
'I have no plans at the moment,' Ramage admitted. 'I have come into Brest now simply to look, and hope to get some - well, inspiration.'
'You can speak freely; I shall not betray you,' Auguste said calmly.
Ramage smiled. 'I would speak freely if I had anything to say. You could betray us in a few seconds by waving to those two gendarmes standing under the trees over there.'
'True, true,' Auguste said. 'Well, let's start by you saying what you want to do. How to do it can come later.'
'That is simple. First I would like to rescue the Count, then I would like to take him and Gilbert back to England.'
Auguste rubbed his nose as he looked carefully at Ramage. 'I am sure you would. But with a force comprising yourself, your wife, Gilbert, Louis and now myself and my brother Albert, you are outnumbered by about three hundred men.'
'Only about two hundred and fifty,' Ramage said dryly. 'But I was simply answering your question.'
'Yes, and I was teasing. But to be serious, your loyalty to the Count is admirable and what I would expect from an English aristo and from Gilbert. However, there is not a chance. The Count and fifty others (all of whom probably realize they are lucky to have escaped the guillotine and regard transportation to Cayenne as an acceptable alternative) are heavily guarded on board L'Espoir. This I can assure you. In fact, at the risk of distressing you, I can tell you that all of them are in irons and will remain so until L'Espoir sails in a few days' time. In fact, you may have guessed that the French government is being particularly cautious about this first voyage to Cayenne in the new war.'
'Is that why boats are taking out water and provisions? I should have thought it would be quicker and easier to bring L'Espoir alongside at the Quai de Recouvrance so that they can load directly from carts,' Ramage said.
'The commandant of the port has orders from Paris to take no risks with these exiles, so he is keeping the frigate at anchor, with other frigates round her. I think he dreams of all the déportés leaping over the side and swimming to the shore, or a British fleet sailing up Le Goulet to rescue them.'
Ramage looked at Gilbert. 'I think you realized there was no way,' he said gently. 'Even with fifty men.'
The Frenchman nodded. 'Yes, but one hopes for miracles. From what I know of you, citizen,' he said, a slight emphasis on the word to indicate he was really using Ramage's title, 'if any man could have done it, you could.'
'Who have we here?' Auguste asked Gilbert, who looked questioningly at Ramage and, when he nodded, leaned across and whispered the name.
The Frenchman turned and looked at Ramage, his eyes bright and his lean face creased into a grin. 'Captain, you are famous in Brest. If only Bonaparte knew ... he'd give me the province as a reward for betraying you.'
'You flatter me,' Ramage said.
'The thought does not seem to alarm you,' Auguste commented.
'You have only to shout to the gendarmes,'Ramage said. 'Mind you your brother would get the land, not you.'
Auguste raised his eyebrows. 'My brother?'
'Yes, because I presume he is your heir. You could shout - but you'd never draw the breath to replace the one that you used, I have a heavy kitchen knife hidden in my right boot.'
Auguste gave a sudden bellow of laughter and slapped his knee. 'Done !' he said, as though he had just concluded a business deal, and Ramage saw the performance was for the benefit of any curious onlooker, but 'Done' meant he had given his word; he was part of whatever Ramage might plan.
'Your interest in the - er, the potato ship. Were you looking for ideas, and did you find any?'
'I was looking. Nothing very certain has come yet. Something is hovering over my head, like a sparrowhawk in the distance.'
'Fifteen prisoners on board her, if you include that rheumatic wreck of a captain. Seven French guards. Five of us, unless you include madame.'
'Include madame and exclude that captain,' Ramage said. 'Five does not sound a very lucky number.'
The Murex, like the Triton and the other 10-gun brigs, was a handsome little ship, although too small to have a graceful sheer like the frigates. Anyway, the French always designed beautiful ships, so it was unfair to compare the Murex with the other vessels anchored in the Roads. He thought of the Calypso, a French frigate which he had captured and, by a stroke of luck, been given to command. In any anchorage she was always one of the handsomest ships.