Ramage's Diamond (20 page)

He marched back aft to join Southwick, his anger already evaporating. He was glad in a way that the men were pleased with their shooting, but he wanted them to be under no illusion about what the plunging fire of a well-placed and well-manned battery on the top of a cliff could do to a ship of war. The two guns they had just dismounted were probably firing at a ship for the first time.

Southwick was carefully pencilling in the battery's position on the chart and as Ramage bent over to see that a road below the battery went round the back of the hill, to the village of Bourg du Marin, the Master whispered: “Nevertheless, it was good shooting, sir!”

“I'm not denying that,” Ramage muttered. “I just don't want them to think that the fire from Fort St Louis will be like that.”

“Ah,” Southwick said and then, with a sideways glance, added: “It mightn't be so bad in the dark.”

“Quite,” Ramage said coldly. The Master might feel he ought not to have been so harsh with the men, but too much praise was as bad as too little; over-confidence could kill them just as easily as a lack of it. Striking the right balance, that was the Captain's job, and he was finding it hard. A naval officer in wartime had to order men into battle, but it did not follow that he had to shrug his shoulders when they were killed. It was deuced hard work trying to train them so that they had the best chance of surviving, and that was what he had been trying to tell Bowen earlier. A childhood memory came back to him—his father about to give him a beating for some escapade which had ended up with his horse bolting, and saying with genuine sadness: “It's for your own good, boy.”

Southwick was saying something and gesturing at the chart, indicating another headland five miles along the coast to the westward and a mile short of the long stretch of Diamond beach. Realizing that Ramage had been preoccupied, he repeated: “I think that's where we'll find the next one, sir: Grosse Pointe. There'll be nothing along the beach here, the land's too low. Then another one somewhere here, on the headland in front of Diamond Hill. I see they call it ‘Morne du Diamant.'” He peered closely at the chart. “Sixteen hundred feet high. This ridge here must be about five hundred feet. That's where I'd put one if it was up to me.”

“The gunners wouldn't thank you,” Ramage said, pointing to the nearest road, which ran along the back of the Diamond beach and stopped at the bottom of Morne du Diamant, a mile or more short of the peak. “Imagine carrying powder and shot all that way.”

“They'd use donkeys and slaves,” Southwick said. “I can't see French artillerymen exerting themselves.”

“Those fellows back there stood their ground well enough,” Ramage reminded him.

“They didn't know what was coming,” Southwick said contemptuously. “Otherwise they'd have bolted when that second shot caught the wall and ricocheted past their ears.”

By noon the
Juno
had passed Cap Salomon and sheets and braces were being hauled as the helm was put up for the frigate to begin beating into Fort Royal Bay. Southwick had been right, there had been a battery at Grosse Pointe and two guns had fired, but Ramage had not fired back. Dismounted guns could be remounted on new carriages; the Grosse Pointe battery and the one that had fired a single gun from a third of the way up Diamond Hill would have to be destroyed completely. As a result they had been left alone, and Southwick had marked their precise positions on the chart and made neat sketches in the log. The fourth battery had predictably been sited at Cap Salomon: four guns which had fired a dozen shots each as the
Juno
sailed slowly by a mile off, well within range. Not one of the shots landed within two or three cables of the frigate, and the battery was so high there was little danger from ricochets skimming low over the sea.

The frigate had no sooner rounded Cap Salomon than the city of Fort Royal came in sight as the great bay opened up. Built on the northern side, it was only just inside it. The higher buildings showed up white and red in the telescope but with the mouth of the bay nearly four miles wide it was still impossible to make out much detail.

The ship's company had had dinner and were in good spirits; Aitken reported wryly that he had heard much among the men about how they could have knocked out the other batteries, and that the Captain was probably leaving them for the time being, intending to tackle one a week to keep the guns' crews in practice.

Ramage smiled and glanced at the dog-vanes from time to time. The wind was light and from the east, but they were still in the lee of the mountains behind Cap Salomon. Once they came clear of the headland—and the north-going current was giving them a good lift—there should be a good wind all the way up to Fort Royal because the land on the eastern side of the bay was low.

Ramage felt the excitement growing on board the frigate: the men were still at quarters and Jackson, Rossi, Stafford and several other former Tritons were conspicuous for their nonchalance. They had been in action too many times to be impressed by the distant sight of a French port. Young Orsini and Benson were wearing their dirks with all the flourish of fencing masters, eager as ferrets to catch his eye in case there was a message to carry or an errand to perform.

“Mr Aitken, I think we can be sure the Governor of Fort Royal has a list of the Navy so we might as well introduce ourselves. Have our pendant numbers hoisted.”

The First Lieutenant snapped the order to the two midshipmen, who ran to the flag locker, and the men watched the three flags being hoisted. Hearing a curious murmuring, Ramage walked to the quarterdeck rail to look down on the main-deck. The men were grinning and clapping each other on the back, obviously delighted that the flags streaming in the wind were advertising their presence in an enemy port

Ramage walked aft again. It was a small thing, but the men obviously wanted Fort Royal to know that the frigate was the
Juno.
Perhaps that was what Bowen had meant, but pride in their ship was still a poor excuse for firing pistols all over the place.

He suddenly realized that the men and, damnation take it, the lieutenants too, were behaving as though they expected the
Juno
to stay on this tack and storm Fort Louis! He gestured to the First Lieutenant and Master to join him by the capstan, where they could talk out of earshot of the quartermaster and the men at the wheel.

“My intention,” he said heavily, “is to beat into the bay until we get a sight of the Salée River anchorage and can see what vessels are there. After that we will bear away round the south end of the shoal to the east of the city, then bear up again towards the Carénage and Fort St Louis for a sight of the frigates. After that we'll bear away so we can run past the front of the city and out to Pointe des Nègres. By that time I hope to have a complete list of every ship and vessel in the bay that might interest us, with their positions.”

Aitken looked disappointed but the veteran Southwick was obviously puzzled, wondering why the Captain was mentioning anything so obvious.

“I want a good man in the chains with a lead, and another man ready to relieve him,” Ramage added, “and Jackson aloft with a telescope. He's the best man on board for identifying ships. How much water have we over the southern end of the shoal they call Grande Sèche?”

Southwick shook his head. “Only three or four fathoms at the most, sir; we can't risk it. But we should see it clearly and it'll be as good as a row of buoys once we bear away from looking into the Salée River.”

“Very well. By the way, Mr Aitken, you can tell the men what we shall be doing; they seem to be expecting me to tow Fort St Louis back to Barbados and then give them shore leave.”

Once clear of the mountains the wind freshened to a strong breeze. As the
Juno
entered the bay it began veering to the southeast so that the frigate, close-hauled on the starboard tack, was able to clear all the small headlands and shoals on the south side, heading east-north-east to get far enough in so that Pointe de la Rose did not hide the vessels at anchor in the Salée River, which was a deep indentation at the east end of Fort Royal Bay.

The sun was hot and dazzling as it reflected off the sea, and Ramage wished he could have had the awning rigged. The deck was like the top of a stove and his feet throbbed inside his boots. His stock was damp with perspiration, though the fresher breeze was beginning to cool him. The men did not seem to mind—but they did not have to wear a uniform.

“That's Pointe de Boute, sir,” Southwick said, “and you can just see Rose Point beyond. Another mile or so on this tack and we'll be able to see right into the Salée.” He turned and pointed over the larboard bow. “That lighter patch, that's the Grande Sèche.”

Ramage nodded: that was one advantage of the clear waters of the West Indies. With a little experience you could judge the depth of water by its colour in the sunlight. It was a paler blue where Southwick had pointed, which meant only three fathoms or so, but closer to the land it would turn into a light green, which warned of two fathoms or less. The sun had to be reasonably high, however, otherwise the reflection spoiled the navigator's best insurance.

Ramage thought Fort Royal Bay one of the loveliest in the Caribbean. The ridges of the hills and mountains to the north and south made interesting shadows, so that valleys emphasized peaks, while the low land to the east gave it a scale. The city was well-placed, sheltered from the northers of the winter yet pleasantly open to the cooling Trade winds from the east.

A hail from the mainmasthead interrupted his daydreaming as Jackson reported that one frigate was anchored in front of the city with masts stepped and lower yards crossed, and a second frigate was right in the Carénage with yards and topmasts down. Southwick was jotting down notes when Jackson shouted down that he could just begin to see into the Salée anchorage as it came clear of Rose Point.

Ramage swung round to look over the starboard side. The Salée anchorage was backed by mangrove swamps with an island in the middle and a small cay beyond, and within a couple of minutes he could see a dozen or more vessels at anchor, most of them heading to the south-east but a few lying more to the east, showing a local wind eddy. He began counting. Five … six … nine … ten … eleven schooners, low and rakish, and which obviously could be used as privateers. Only the seven largest had sails bent on. Hard to distinguish, but they seemed to be pierced for four guns a side. Those seven could carry a hundred men for a short voyage. There were nine droghers, slab-sided with applecheek bows, unhandy but able to carry a lot of cargo, and that was all. He could now see all of the anchorage where there was enough water for anything larger than a small fishing boat to float. He glanced at Southwick, who nodded and tapped his notebook, repeating the same totals that Ramage had counted. The Master then glanced significantly over the larboard side and Ramage looked across to see that the Grande Sèche shoal was drawing uncomfortably far south.

“We'll bear away if you please, Mr Aitken.” Going to the binnacle and then looking over the bow again he added: “West by north ought to keep us clear.”

Bos'n's calls twittered, men ran to sheets and braces, and the
Juno
wore round until the wind was on the larboard quarter with Fort Royal itself over on the starboard bow. Ramage swung the telescope slowly along the shore, from west to east, finally reaching the grey bulk of Fort St Louis, which now had a large Tricolour streaming from its flagstaff. There was the Carénage and the frigate Jackson had described, stripped except for her lower masts. Had they used her yards and topmasts to start commissioning the one anchored in front of the town? If so, why anchor her out there? Perhaps they reckoned her guns gave the western end of Fort Royal some protection, relying on Fort St Louis to cover the eastern end.

The
Juno
was sailing fast now in an almost flat sea and Ramage watched as the big shoal drew round on to the quarter, leaving deep water right up to the shoal that extended half a mile from the Fort. He wanted a closer look at the frigate, and then that would be enough for today. He looked down at the compass again. “Mr Aitken, we'll wear round. North by west, if you please.”

Again the men braced up the yards and sheets as the frigate came round on to the new course, putting the wind three points on her starboard quarter and Fort St Louis almost dead ahead. Soon Ramage could distinguish details of the buildings right along the shore; then through the telescope he could see that the French frigate was crowded with men. Many were in the ratlines, but he was not sure whether they had been working aloft or had climbed up to get a better view of the
Juno.
Her ports were open but her guns were not run out.

Smoke was drifting away from the Fort and a few moments later he heard the rumble of guns. The range was more than a mile. He turned to Aitken: “Hail Jackson and ask him if he saw the fall of shot.”

The First Lieutenant pointed over the larboard quarter. “I saw five, sir, half a mile away, right in our wake. There! They're firing again!”

Five more shots landed in the position Aitken had pointed out, five pinnacles of water that leapt up as though whales were spouting and then vanished.

“They just reloaded and fired without correcting their aim: not used to firing at a moving target,” Southwick commented. “Another week's work to be done on that frigate,” he added. “They must have three hundred men on board—just look at 'em perched in the rigging, like a lot o' starlings. They could get some of their guns to bear, so as they aren't firing they must be a long way from commissioning.”

“Short of powder, perhaps,” Aitken ventured, but Ramage gestured to the Fort, which had fired yet again.

Jackson hailed from the masthead: “The
Surcouf—
that's the frigate, sir: I just made out the name on her transom when she swung to that gust.”