Ramage's Signal

'Wait a moment.'

Those bunks were the best places for the prisoners.

'Jackson - we'll tie them to the bunks as Stafford suggested. He and Rossi can do the lashing - the fewer of our men in the guardhouse the better. Have two men leaning in at each window with pistols and tell 'em to shoot to kill at the slightest sign of trouble.

'I'll be inside with Rossi and Stafford; you stay at the door with Mr Orsini - and you'd better hold the lantern', he told the American.

While Jackson passed on the instructions to his men, Ramage gave the French sergeant his orders and stood to one side of the doorway, in shadow but able to see inside, watching as the seven men obediently climbed into their bunks, holding their arms out sideways so that their wrists hung over the edge each side.

Startled by a thudding noise, Ramage discovered that Stafford was cutting lengths of line with his cutlass, using the doorframe as a chopping board, passing each one to Rossi, who was counting in Italian. 'Cinque ... seis ... siete... is enough, Staff.'

Jackson called: 'My men are ready at the windows, sir. But if there's any trouble, do make for the door, sir!'

'I will', Ramage assured him. 'Shooting pistols in a room is fifty times more dangerous than facing a ship of the line's broadside!'

As he walked into the guardhouse, Ramage said to Stafford: 'Secure that plump, bald fellow first. He's the one that shot Wilson.'

The two seamen had one more man to secure when suddenly there was confused shouting on the track immediately outside the guardhouse. Jackson shut the door of the lantern and in the darkness pushed Orsini away from the doorway, out of the line of fire.

Ramage, nearly blinded by the darkness, made for the dark-grey rectangle of the doorway and as he moved tried to distinguish the voices. Obviously a group of Frenchmen from one of the barrack huts was attacking, or the alarm had been raised in the village and the local militia had been called out.

The moment he was outside the door the first thing he heard - indeed he seemed surrounded by it - was a barrage of cursing in the English of a dozen counties or more. New voices, he realized; not the men of Jackson's party.

'Stand fast, all of you!' he bellowed.

In the sudden silence that followed he said: 'This is Captain Ramage's party. Who has just arrived?'

'Sorry, sir, it's Rennick, but we heard a shot and we thought the guards had overpowered you. The lantern was throwing shadows and in the last rush we didn't recognize -'

'Mr Rennick', Ramage interrupted him, 'don't apologize for trying to rescue me! I was careless, which is why you heard the shot and Wilson has a bullet in his shoulder. But you? How about your parties?'

'All five barracks are secured, sir; all the French troops embarked in the two cutters and on their way out to the Calypso.'

'Did you -?'

'And here are all the papers in the camp, sir', Rennick said, handing Ramage a large leather pouch. 'Nothing was destroyed. There's just one officer, and I took the liberty of holding on to him in case you wanted to question him immediately. He's under guard and sitting in your gig.'

'Very well, Rennick, that's excellent: it's been a good night for your Marines, and give them my thanks. Perhaps you'd take over this French guard - we'll ferry them out to the Calypso in the gig, but first I'd like to talk to that lieutenant.'

'The cutters will be back very soon, sir', Rennick said. 'They'll be bringing a half platoon of Marines with them - I didn't know whether or not you'd want a garrison here.'

Ramage realized that the French prisoners had the uniforms he needed. Suddenly his wild idea seemed possible. 'Yes, it's a job for the Marines - but pick small ones: they're going to have to wear French uniforms. We'll strip the prisoners and give them seamen's clothing, and your men will have to get the best fits possible.'

Fifteen minutes later Ramage was scrambling over the bow of his gig as it was held by several seamen: in the last hour or so - he could not guess how long they had been because patches of cloud were now hiding the more obvious star constellations - a slight swell had started.

In the darkness he could see a shadowy figure in the sternsheets, lying awkwardly, sprawled sideways. Rennick reported: That's the French lieutenant. They've got him in handcuffs and leg irons.'

'You can take off the handcuffs. If he tries to escape by jumping over the side, the leg irons will make sure he drowns. Now, you go back and garrison the place with your Marines and take Orsini with you: he will deal with any stray Frenchmen. I'm taking this lieutenant out to the Calypso and I'll be back at daylight, but I'll make sure those French uniforms are sent over for your men.'

'Very well, sir; I'll inspect my guards. There'll be no sleeping sentries at the guardhouse!'

'Make sure Orsini is always within hearing of the guardhouse: if any Frenchman turns up, the sentries must whistle for him and not talk ...'

'Yes, sir', Rennick said patiently, having received his orders several minutes earlier and understanding them thoroughly.

The Marine sergeant pulled the French officer's arms up, pushed the rudimentary key into the lock of the handcuffs, and then gave them a bang with the back of his cutlass to overcome the squeaky stiffness of the hinge.

Ramage saw the lieutenant cringing, obviously assuming that the removal of the handcuffs was a preliminary to removing his head with the same cutlass. Ramage waited while the man sat upright and then said coldly in French: 'Sit quietly and nothing will happen to you.'

'But - who are you? What happened?'

'You will understand soon', Ramage said, wanting to ensure as much surprise as possible when he came to question the man.

CHAPTER FIVE

Ramage turned the lantern over his desk round on its hook so that the dim light fell on the leather pouch which Rennick had handed to him on the beach. Large and made of heavily grained, thick leather, once polished black, it was a relic of the monarchy or, more accurately, a sad representative of the new regime: the royal coat of arms had once been embossed on the flap, but someone had crudely scratched out the gilding of the fleur-de-lys without entirely destroying the pattern, merely disfiguring it.

The pouch was stuffed with papers, many crumpled. Clearly Rennick and his men had been in a hurry when they grabbed everything. Ramage shook the papers out and spread them on the desktop.

He reached out for a slim book, and then for something that looked more like a counting-house ledger.

As soon as he opened the sum book he saw it comprised a dozen pages, perhaps more, and was the key to the semaphore code. The ledger was in fact the daily signal log, each entry signed. The first signal was dated more than a year earlier; the latest had been received 'from the west' and sent on eastward an hour before sunset the previous evening. Each entry was written clearly and gave the name of 'the chief signalman'. There were only two names, so presumably his guess about two watches during daylight was correct, and the senior of each was the 'chief'. The writing was so good that obviously this log was the final copy of a rough log, or they scribbled a signal down on a piece of paper and transferred it to the log after it had been passed on.

He decided to read through the last few days' signals later; for the moment he was more interested in how the semaphore worked. It was an invention of the Ministry of Marine and Colonies, as the first page proudly announced, although the guards at the camp had all been soldiers. Ramage had not seen the lieutenant's uniform because the poor fellow was still dressed in his nightshirt.