Ramage's Devil by Dudley Pope Page B

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.”
    â€œIs 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.
    â€œThe 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.”
    â€œWho 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.”
    â€œYou flatter me,” Ramage said.
    â€œThe thought does not seem to alarm you,” Auguste commented.
    â€œYou 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?”
    â€œYes, 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.
    â€œYour interest in the—er, the potato ship. Were you looking for ideas, and did you find any?”
    â€œI was looking. Nothing very certain has come yet. Something is hovering over my head, like a sparrowhawk in the distance.”
    â€œFifteen prisoners on board her, if you include that rheumatic wreck of a captain. Seven French guards. Five of us, unless you include madame.”
    â€œInclude madame and exclude that captain,” Ramage said. “Five does not sound a very lucky number.”
    The
Murex,
like the
Triton
and the other ten-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.
    Did Bonaparte ever wonder at the contradiction that the French built the best ships but could not fight ‘em? And how irritating it must be for the little Corsican that usually the British kept the original French names once they captured ships and put them into service!