Ramage's Devil by Dudley Pope

to hear the man talk such reasonable sense. So, the mutineers were not welcome in Brest.
    â€œBut you are glad to have the ship!” he said.
    The bosun shrugged. “For me, it is of no importance: we have enough ships now—you can see the fleet we are preparing. This brig I do not like. It goes to windward slowly.”
    â€œSurely the mutineers will be rewarded?” Ramage persisted.
    â€œOh yes, they’ll be given a few
livres
each at the château, and thanked. Who knows, if the English navy hear that they get a good reception at Brest, perhaps they’ll bring in some frigates, or maybe even ships of the line!
    â€œWe’ll thank them for their ships,” the bosun continued, topping up his mug from the rum jar, “but I expect we’ll make sure the men leave the country after signing up in neutral ships. The Americans will be glad of them—they speak the same language. And the Dutch and the Danes are always glad to get prime seamen.”
    â€œSo these men that refused to join the mutiny,” Ramage persisted, managing to introduce a complaining whine into his voice, “they won’t be punished? Not executed or flogged?”
    â€œOf course not,” the bosun said impatiently. “They’ll be taken off to the prison at Valenciennes or Verdun or wherever it is that they keep them. The first prisoners of the new war,” he added. “Come on now, let’s drink to thousands more!”

CHAPTER FIVE
    T HE Café des Pêcheurs, halfway along the Quai de la Douane and overlooking the entire anchorage, was aptly named: at least twenty fishermen, most of them in smocks as liberally coated with red ochre as Auguste’s, were playing cards, rolling dice or sipping wine at the tables outside. And arguing. Ramage listened to some of them and was amused by the vehemence that the most innocent of subjects could provoke among these bearded and rough-tongued men.
    They eyed Sarah curiously: few women other than whores ever came to such a café, but because she was with Auguste she was accepted and spared any teasing or coarse remarks.
    For the moment the three men and Sarah were sitting silently, looking across at the
Murex
over on their right hand and
L’Espoir
to their left. Boats were going out to the frigate, unloading casks, and returning empty to the Quai de Recouvrance, on the other side of the Penfeld river. It was from there, Auguste told them, that ships were supplied with fresh water and salt meat and fish.
    The fishermen’s café was a good place to talk. The few people who did not want to play cards or dice naturally went to the tables along the edge of the quay, and Ramage had already noted that no one could get within a dozen feet of their table without being seen, so it was impossible to overhear their conversation. And that, Ramage thought to himself, is just as well …
    â€œ
Alors,
Charles,” Gilbert was saying, hesitating over the name because he was really addressing a formal question to Captain Lord Ramage of the Royal Navy. “What do you think about Auguste’s proposal?”
    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