Ramage & the Guillotine (31 page)

As the Cockney left the room Ramage's heart began to thud. The game begins … like going into action and waiting for the first enemy gun to fire and drive away the fear. The long wait was nearly over: in the next few minutes he would know if he had the answers to every question the Admiralty could think of, not just those covered by his orders. If he succeeded, the First Lord got a bonus. If he failed—even thinking about it was making his breathing shallow and chilly perspiration was trickling down his spine. His stomach seemed full of a cold liquid churning round. It was not often he could sit quietly in a chair observing his own fear. It was far worse than being on his own quarterdeck while he was taking the ship into action. At sea there were tactics to decide (and sometimes hastily changed at the last moment), sails to be trimmed, orders to be given: with so much to do there was no time to think of fear as such; it crept in, like a misty rain which soaks clothes and chills bodies, unless he was busy. Fear did not get a chance to take a grip on him on a quarterdeck, and the busier he was the more likely it was that someone who did not understand fear would say he was brave. The real test—and one Ramage wouldn't pass—was sitting in a chair and waiting for things to happen over which he had no control. Stafford had gone to get the satchel; he had orders to open it, and then open the seal of a despatch. The only trouble was that Ramage had no control over whether or not the despatch was in the satchel …

Ramage was watching the door so intently that when it swung open suddenly he gave such a start that he bit his tongue. Cursing to himself, he licked a finger to see if he had drawn blood and, after Stafford walked in and tossed the satchel on the table in a gesture which nearly blew out the candle, Ramage decided that he was too tense to watch him open the seal—providing the Admiral's letter was there.

I'll watch him sort the letters, then I'll take my jacket off slowly and hang it up, he told himself; anything to avoid watching the hot spatula sliding under the paper and knowing we've lost everything if Stafford heats the metal a fraction too much. Not everything, of course; with this last despatch it did not really matter so much. The melted seal would not be discovered until the satchel was opened in Paris on Monday morning: but it was still better if the French never discovered that the satchel had been opened …

Stafford selected the right picklock, gave a few wiggles and the flap of the satchel sprang open. Same satchel but someone had been polishing it: the deep scratch below the lock was still there but stained by the polish.

One thickish packet and—one, two … seven … nine … fourteen … fifteen other letters. Only the packet is addressed to the Minister; the rest are for various departments in the Ministry. Stafford is already heating the spatula with a cheery grin as he pulls the packet in front of him, seal uppermost, and runs a hand through his hair. In Stafford it was confidence; in others it might have been mistaken for bravado. The spatula blade was discolouring with the heat and collecting soot … Stafford testing it on the back of his hand and putting it back in the flame, leaving a smear of soot on the skin of his hand. A full minute passed before he tried it again. Then, after a quick movement to wipe the soot on his trousers, he slid the spatula under the packet.

Ramage looked away but he knew he could not stand up and take off his jacket with the nonchalance he had intended. He must stay sitting there; Stafford might want him to hold something. He kept his eyes off the seal and looked at the candle but that was no good—when he looked away there were candle flames all over the place. Back to the seal with the wax turning shiny as the heat gets to it. Is this how a rabbit feels when a ferret is staring at it? Now Stafford is flicking the spatula away and the packet is open, and the look on his face means that everything has gone well.

“There y'are, sir.”

Ramage unfolded it carefully and found five pages. Paragraphs of neat writing and many figures. He reached for the paper, unscrewed the top of the inkwell, but did not bother to check the tip of the quill because it had been all right half an hour ago.

Bruix's report began with all the polite preliminaries: the French might have fought a Revolution but they still clung to the sort of archaic phrases beloved by the Admiralty. And here, Citizen Minister, is the situation of the Invasion Flotilla at the time of writing … Ah, how nice of Bruix! “I have given first the type of vessel and, for convenience of reference, its capacity. Then I have listed the total number ordered by the First Consul, followed by the number actually launched, commissioned, awaiting commissioning or under construction, and finally the deficit at the time of writing.

“The vessels noted as ‘awaiting commissioning,'” Bruix continued, “are those which have been launched but which cannot be completed because we lack masts, sails, rigging and guns. You can see how many vessels are under construction, and although there has not been time to distinguish the precise stage each has reached, I have indicated how many are more than half completed.”

Ramage skimmed through and finally read the last few paragraphs of the despatch in which Bruix acknowledged the Minister's last letter. The shipyards had been told that they would be paid as soon as funds arrived from Paris, but he regretted having to report that it had proved impossible to prevent a number of workmen (“especially skilled shipwrights and carpenters, who can command high wages by working in the cities making and repairing furniture”) from running away. Guards were on duty at the shipyards, but the men were billeted in private homes and it was impossible to keep a watch on them day and night. A proclamation had been read to all the men warning them that they risked conscription.

Bruix took this opportunity of listing once against the deficiency in guns so that the Minister should have, in one despatch, all the facts at his disposal. In view of the Minister's reference to providing funds for the shipyards and wages, Bruix said, he fore-bore from repeating the actual requirements to settle all accounts and wages to date.

Ramage sighed. Now to copy the facts and figures. He turned back to the first page and began writing:

“Flotille de grande especé

“Barges carrying 4,320 men and intended to sail in two divisions. Each barge to carry 50 cavalry, 25 infantry, 3 officers and 2 non-combatants, and a cargo of 27 muskets, 20 bayonets, 200 tools, 1,200 cartridges, 1,500 rations of biscuit, 500 of oats and 500 of bran, 50 horses, 60 saddles and 6 sheep.

“Ordered—54. Launched—23. Of these there were sufficient masts, spars, cordage and sails to complete and commission only 11. Under construction—5 (all less than half completed). Deficit—26.

“Sloops, forming the Second Flotilla, each with a pinnace in company, and carrying a total for the Second Flotilla of 35,964. Each sloop to carry 3 officers of a company, 91 officers and men, 2 officers of a battalion staff, 1 officer of the general staff, 3 gunners, 3 wagoners, 8 surgeons. The cargo to comprise 27 muskets, 20 bayonets, 27 pioneers' tools, 1,200 flints, 12,000 cartridges, 1,200 rations of biscuit, 150 pints of brandy and 4 sheep.

“Ordered—324. Launched—109. Of these, only 69 could be commissioned. Under construction—15 (of which four are more than half completed). Deficit—200.

“Gunboats, to form the Third Flotilla, each with a pinnace in company and carrying 130 men for a total of 56,160 (including 3,456 surgeons). Each gunboat to be armed with one 24-pounder gun and also to carry 1 piece of field artillery and the same cargo as sloops, plus 2 horses, 10 bushels of oats and bran, and 200 rounds of shot.

“Ordered—432. Launched—73. Of these, only 19 have been commissioned. Still under construction—14 (of which 12 are more than half completed). Deficit—345.

“Caiques, forming the Fourth Flotilla. To carry a total of 2,160 men with 216,000 cartridges, 21,600 rations of biscuit, 1,080 rations of brandy and 108 sheep.

“Required—540. Requisitioned, commandeered or captured—127. (Note: only 63 of these have arrived at Boulogne, Calais, Étaples, St Valery or Wimereux. Another 11 have reached Le Havre and Cherbourg. The remaining 53 are in various ports between Antwerp and St Jean de Luz awaiting safe convoy.) Deficit—413.

“Corvettes, forming the Fifth Flotilla, each carrying 40 men for a total of 3,240. These to carry the same cargo as gunboats but no artillery or ammunition.

“Ordered—81. Launched—10. (Note: 27 old corvettes have been refitted but none is less than 25 years old.) Deficit—44.

“Fishing boats, forming the Sixth Flotilla, and to carry 2,160 horses and riders, with a double supply of horses and riders.

“Required—108. Requisitioned, commandeered or captured—108.

“Fishing boats of six different types to form the Transport Flotilla, and intended to carry 3 million cartridges, 1,208 horses, 3,560 officers and men, 1,760 canteen women, and a considerable quantity of other military stores too numerous to list here.

“Required—464. Requisitioned, commandeered or captured: 276. Deficit—188.

“Another Flotilla comprising 100 to 150 large, armed fishing boats have yet to be found,” Bruix wrote. “These are intended to carry 200 horses, 1,000 men, 10,000 rations of biscuit, 10,000 rations each of brandy, oats and bran, and 200 sheep.”

From the preceding figures, Bruix noted, it will be seen the number of men that the vessels ordered or required can carry, 110,324, is less than the required strength of the Army of Invasion (working on a total of 113,474, comprising 76,798 infantrymen, 11,640 cavalry, 3,780 artillerymen, 3,780 wagoners and 17,476 non-combatants), but it is anticipated that each vessel will be able to carry an extra dozen or so men.

“The search still goes on in all ports from Antwerp to St Jean de Luz,” the Admiral added, “for 300 merchant ships of less than seven feet draught and each of which can carry 100 men. Although there had been some success in finding a number, several of these have since been captured by British cruisers and privateers while making for Boulogne.”

Bruix concluded with what Ramage read as a plea to Forfait to make it clear to the First Consul that he had done the best he could with the money, men and materials available, and he continued to doubt the wisdom of trying to make seaworthy those craft built for similar projects in the 1760s: they required a disproportionate amount of men and materials—particularly men, since only skilled shipwrights could be used for that type of work.

Ramage drew a line and then signed his name. Then he put down the pen and screwed the top on the inkwell. He gave a sigh of relief and looked at his watch. It had taken 25 minutes. “Here, you'd better seal this and take it to Louis's room. I hope he remembered to get a fresh loaf!”

“He did, sir, an' he told me he'd slit it ready for up to six sheets of paper. You've only used—” Stafford flicked through the pages, “three. I'll seal them first.” He folded them and ran his thumb nail along the creases to flatten them. Picking up a stick of red wax he glanced at Ramage's signet ring. “Want ter use the seal, sir?”

Ramage shook his head. “Too risky—if that was intercepted and I was caught …”

As soon as the blobs of wax sealed Ramage's letter, Stafford left the room in his usual silent manner, returning to say that it was secure in the loaf.

“Want ter glance at any of these, sir?” He gestured towards the remaining letters.

“No—we've done enough for tonight. Just seal up the Admiral's despatch and get that satchel back under the Lieutenant's bed, so we can get to sleep!”

The job was nearly done. Almost unbelievably, they had succeeded. It remained only for Stafford to reheat the spatula and fix the seal, put all the correspondence back in the satchel, and return it. Ramage decided to lie on his bed to savour the feeling of relief: Stafford needed no help, and Ramage was beginning to feel weak from relaxation of tension and almost unbelievably tired.

The bed creaked, and as he stretched out he realized just how weary he was. Stafford was humming quietly to himself and Ramage watched the shadow of the Cockney's head dancing across the ceiling.

“That's it, me beauty,” Stafford muttered and blew vigorously. “Ah—just as good as the horiginal. In yer go.” Ramage was reminded of a poacher talking to his ferret. There was a click as he turned the lock on the satchel. “Right, that's that, sir; I'll be off darn the corridor.”

Ramage murmured contentedly. Drowsily he wondered if Louis was winning at cards. Tomorrow morning, in a few hours' time, all three of them would be in a carriage rattling along the road to Boulogne, with the report preceding them, safe from interception should they be captured. Jackson and Rossi would be waiting at Boulogne with the
Marie
and Dyson. Curious that a scoundrel like Dyson should eventually do something that made up for all his past crimes. Dare he tell Lord Nelson all about him, so that Dyson would not go through the rest of his life a wanted man? Plenty of time to think about that later; now it was good to sleep knowing that the work was done, and it only remained to escape …

A woman's shrill scream went through him like a dagger. She screamed again and again in desperate fear; then he heard her running along the corridor and down the stairs, still screaming as she went. The landlord's daughter?

He leapt out of bed and grabbed Stafford's spatula, the stick of wax and the remaining bundle of picklocks. Where could he hide them? The screaming had stopped but he could hear thumping below, as though men were coming up the stairs. Stafford had not come back and it was difficult to know what had happened.

Hurriedly he tossed the picklocks, wax and spatula up on top of the canopy over the bed, then dragged off his clothes and pulled on his nightshirt, blew out the candle and hurried to the door, waiting a few seconds before opening it as the first of the men ran past.

It was the Lieutenant with a lantern, followed by Louis and then the landlord.