'Suppose you don't come out of this alive, m'lad,' the Colonel had said with his usual bluntness. 'I'm the only one in any authority who knows what you're going to attempt tomorrow night. So why don't you write a report to his Excellency explaining exactly what you intend doing and why. You can leave it with me, and I'll deliver it the following afternoon, when it's too late for him to countermand anything—or, for that matter, accidentally reveal anything that's secret.'

Although he'd shrugged off the idea at the time, Ramage had since realized it was sound advice. Well, if he didn't write the report now he never would, because there wasn't much time left. He closed the journal, took out some sheets of note-paper, dipped the pen in the ink and began writing.

Triton, St George Roads, 1st June, 1797 Sir, Having failed to discover the precise whereabouts of the privateers' base by making a reconnaissance in H.M. brig under my command, but having discovered the means by which advance news of the sailing of schooners is passed northwards through the islands to the privateersmen, I am putting into execution a few nights hence the only plan which, upon mature consideration, offers any chance of speedily securing the safety of the schooners upon which the trade of the inland of Grenada so largely depends.

The plan fell into four parts, Ramage wrote, and described it briefly, concluding:

The operation depends for its success upon the amount of surprise that can be achieved. If surprise is lost, the operation will fail since the privateersmen will outnumber the British seamen by a considerable margin. However, this is a factor against which it is impossible to plan in detail.

I am, sir, &c,

Nicholas Ramage,

Lieutenant and Commanding Officer His Excellency Sir Jason Fisher, Knt, Government House,

Grenada.

Calling for his clerk and telling him to copy the letter into the letter book, and make another copy for Colonel Wilson, Ramage then went up on deck, thankful to get into the cool breeze.

*

The next afternoon, by which time, Ramage estimated, the privateers would have unloaded their prize, he went on deck to give orders to Southwick to get under way.

'I have to report that four men have deserted, sir,' South-wick said solemnly.

'Deserted? Who the------'

Southwick laughed at Ramage's dismay.

'The tom-tom, sir—difficult to smuggle something like that on shore. I thought the best thing was to send in the Master's Mate with a boat to fill water-casks. Jackson put the tom-tom in a kitbag and while Appleby turned his back he and Maxton and the other two slipped away. Anyone watching would've thought it was a regular case o' men deserting.'

Ramage felt childishly annoyed: to begin with he'd completely forgotten to arrange for the four men to be landed to carry out their part of the night's work; and he was—he admitted it—jealous that Southwick had, without reference to him, thought up an ingenious way of doing it 'I hope you explained what they're supposed to do,' he said tartly.

Southwick related in detail what he'd said.

'Fine—they didn't forget to take false-fires, I hope?'

'Took three, sir, just in case one gets damp.'

'Hmmm,' Ramage grunted.

Now he had nothing to do he was getting jumpy. Too much depended on too many people doing things upon which other things depended. Jackson was reliable—but had Maxton really trained him with that damned drum? Would the four of them carry out their orders properly? Could Rondin really be trusted, or had he already passed a warning to the privateers?

Was—he forced himself to think about it now, though he'd been avoiding it most of the afternoon—Claire really to be trusted? He felt ashamed at his doubts; but he'd fallen in love with her and that alone might warp his judgement, leading him to wasting men's lives. That worried him more, he admitted, than if she'd been married and he'd cuckolded her hus band while a guest under his roof. And what if the schooner----- 'Everything'll go all right, sir,' Southwick said quietly, sensing Ramage's doubts. 'It's the waiting that plays old Harry with all of us.'

'Not with you,' Ramage said.

'You'd be surprised, sir. I'd sooner be leading a boarding party than trying to conn the Triton round reefs in the dark into some damned bay I've never seen before and where the chart gives no soundings.'

'Better to run the ship aground than get a pike in your stomach.'

'No,' Southwick laughed, 'when you've a stomach the size of mine'—he patted it proudly—'you'd sooner take your chance with a pike than a reef.'

At that moment the clerk came up with Ramage's letters to the Governor and Wilson. Both were plastered with red seals, and Ramage said:

'Have these delivered to the Colonel at the Fort, Mr Southwick, and we'll get under way as soon as the boat returns.'

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Triton had sailed in broad daylight with all the ritual attached to a final departure, including a farewell salute fired in honour of the Governor, and rounded Point Saline. To a casual onlooker or a watchful spy, she was obviously bound for Barbados or Trinidad.

And, as planned, when darkness fell with its usual Tropical suddenness, Ramage had given the order for her to wear round and steer for the rendezvous with Rondin's schooner, the Jorum, at midnight four miles off Gouyave, a small village on the northwest side of Grenada ten miles from St George.

From several minutes before ten o'clock he and Southwick had watched Point Saline for signs of the blue flame of a false-fire. At ten minutes past ten Ramage shut the night-glass with a snap, having taken three bearings.

'Well, Jackson must have done the job. Fetch must be dealt with and the signal passed.'

'Unless they all got drunk—or walked into a trap. Or that Fetch fellow was too smart for them,' Southwick growled.

Since the remark merely emphasized his own unspoken fears and it was unlike the Master to be depressed, Ramage snapped:

'Or the wind might drop and we'll miss them at the rendezvous.'

'It might,' Southwick said, missing Ramage's sarcasm. 'Often does drop at night.'

Ramage made no reply: he'd lose his temper with the old fellow if he wasn't careful. He opened the night-glass again and looked up towards St George.

Over there at this moment, within the circle contained by the telescope's lens, Claire was at Wilson's house and probably making polite conversation with the Colonel's lady; Sir Jason would probably be playing whist—had he found a new butler yet?

Ramage shivered. He'd left his coat in the cabin and although chilly it was not entirely the wind. But he was thinking of Rondin's words. When spoken, the praise and businessman's cold-blooded approach had alternately embarrassed and surprised him But now their significance was sinking in. Rondin had tried to deter him because he thought a better opportunity of destroying the privateers would come along. But Ramage felt instinctively it would be foolish to miss the present one.

Although their spy in Government House was out of action, the privateersmen had too much at stake to shrug their shoulders and go elsewhere. No, they'd quickly set up a new system, and it wouldn't be difficult: someone watching for a schooner sailing, beating a drum for a few moments from a high hill over the harbour—and vanishing into the rain forests until the next schooner sailed. Not as effective a spy as the butler—who obviously found out many other secrets—but equally effective as far as catching the schooners was concerned.

Ramage knew it was his only chance. And all the while Admiral Robinson waited in Barbados. In London the Admiralty, the West Indian Committee and the underwriters would soon be needing scapegoats to placate them. Rondin was right—if one had plenty of time. But Ramage knew time was the only thing he lacked.