CHAPTER FIFTEEN

His instructions to Hill had been very exact: he was to take a boat to Fort St Louis with a flag of truce flying from the bow and stern, and he was to offer an exchange of 233 prisoners - the number of Frenchmen in the Alerte for the same number of Britons - thus establishing a credit, but with the firm agreement that none of the Frenchmen would serve again until regularly exchanged. No other terms would be acceptable, Ramage had emphasized, and the French acceptance had to be in writing.

Now three hours had elapsed since Hill left the ship in a cutter. The lookouts had seen his boat arrive at the Fort but since then there had been no sign of movement. Ramage had suggested, if the French accepted the terms, that they should send out a couple of droghers, and the prisoners would be transferred to them: this would save the tedious task of rowing the prisoners ashore.

Finally, soon after noon, when the ship's company had been piped to dinner, a lookout hailed that the cutter was now leaving the Fort. Twenty minutes later an angry Hill arrived on board.

'Not surprisingly, the French are furious at losing the Alerte,'he reported to Ramage, 'and they were determined to take it out on me. First of all I was marched on shore under armed guard and taken to the commandant of the Fort. He kept me waiting half an hour and then took two minutes to say it was a matter for the governor, whose residence is in the middle of Fort Royal. He seemed to think it was up to me to walk there, but I reminded him that we were discussing the fate of 233 of his own people. He then provided a carriage and escort.

'The governor was not too delighted at seeing me, but at least he did listen carefully to my proposals. He said he wanted fifteen minutes to think about them, but he kept me waiting half an hour in an anteroom.'

Ramage interrupted impatiently. 'Get to the point, Hill!'

'Well, sir, he agreed to everything! He's going to send three droghers out later this afternoon - I suggested two, but he insisted on three - under a flag of truce. And I have his agreement to the terms in writing, complete with the stamp of the Republic, "One and Indivisible".'

'Good work,' Ramage said. 'What were your impressions of Fort Royal?'

'The blockade is bothering them. For instance, a wheel came off the carriage before we were a couple of hundred yards from the Fort, and from what the driver said when he went off to get another carriage, everything was just wearing out. The Fort is in a poor state, and the governor's residence needs the attention of carpenters, and a few coats of paint. The people in the street look starved and unkempt, though there's enough fruit growing on the trees.'

Ramage saw Aitken coming on to the quarterdeck and waved to him. 'Hill's foray was successful: the French accept our terms. They are sending out three droghers this afternoon, so we'll be able to get rid of our prisoners.'

'Are you keeping the captain, sir?'

'No. He's a pathetic specimen, anyway: he's a martyr to stomach ulcers, so he tells me, and I suspect he thinks he's going to die.'

'Perhaps he is,' Aitken said unsympathetically. 'Ulcers can kill you just as surely as yellow fever, only they take a lot longer.'

'I'll tell him what you said: he needs cheering up.'

Aitken pointed to the frigate anchored a hundred yards to leeward of the Dido, all her boats hoisted out and lying astern on long painters. 'I can't get over how like the Calypso she is. Except for the paint. I don't know when she last saw a pot of paint.'

'That's a fair indication of how our blockade is bothering them: the Tropics are no place to neglect a ship's paintwork.'

'No. But the Alerte really looks sad, as though no one loves her.'

'Admiral Cameron will love her!' Ramage said. 'He'll soon have her painted up and fitted out with new standing and running rigging. I noticed most of her running rigging was stretched, and the standing rigging is more tar than rope. I had no idea our blockade was hurting them so much.'

'I wonder if that seventy-four is in any better condition,' Aitken speculated. 'Not that I'm suggesting we try to cut her out,' he added hastily.

'I have been trying to make up my mind who to send to Barbados with the Alerte. We seem to be losing so many officers and men in prizes - men, anyway.'

Aitken gestured towards the brig, passing southwards two miles away on one leg of its sweep. 'We could always send the Scourge along as well, and she could bring our people back.'

'That's a good idea,' Ramage said enthusiastically. 'Well, that settles it: Kenton can command her and he can take Orsini. It'll be good experience for them. Twenty men should be enough to handle her. It's only a hundred miles or so, even if they'll be hard on the wind. Now, if you'll be good enough to pass the word to the Alerte that Kenton should be ready to transfer the prisoners to the droghers and then take command. He'll need a chart and his quadrant. Tell him to pick twenty men from among the guards, and pass the word to Orsini too: he'll enjoy the cruise.'

He thought a moment and then added: 'Our boats will help transfer the prisoners to the droghers so that we have them all out of the ship before it's dark.'

'Orders for the Scourge, sir?'

'Oh yes, hoist her pendant number and the signal for the captain. Luckhurst will have his orders written out before he gets here.'

The droghers arrived at three o'clock and anchored to leeward of the frigate, whose boats, along with those from the Dido, quickly transferred the prisoners. Hill had prepared written receipts for the drogher captains to sign, so there was a record of how many prisoners had been handed over to the French.

Soon the droghers were on their way back to Fort Royal, and the Alerte and the Dido hoisted in their boats. Ramage was thankful that part of the operation was over: little did the governor in Fort Royal realize how accommodating he had been . . .

With the Alerte and the Scourge on their way to Barbados, the Dido began to patrol across the mouth of the great bay, from Cap Salomon in the south to Pointe des Nègres to the north, a distance of six miles.

The French seventy-four - she was called the Achille, according to the Alerte's lugubrious captain - stayed in the Carénage, topsail yards sent down on deck and obviously not ready for sea.

'We might just as well be blockading Brest,' Southwick grumbled.

'At least we don't get a westerly gale once a week,' Ramage commented. 'And we don't have an admiral peering over our shoulder.'

'He's not that far away. Who knows what orders the Scourge might bring back?'

'He can't be very upset with us at the moment: he was grumbling to me that he hasn't enough frigates, and we've sent him two already.'

'Wait a week or two and he'll be complaining that we're using up all the stores in Barbados refitting them,' Southwick warned. 'There's no satisfying admirals: you ought to have learnt that by now.'

'You're probably right,' Ramage said. 'Anyway, there are no more frigates around for us to capture.'

'No, but we'll probably build a reef with our own beef bones, sailing up and down here keeping an eye on this fellow. How are we going to winkle him out?'

Ramage shrugged his shoulders. 'I don't know about winkles; he's stuck in there like a limpet. We're going to have to wait until he sails to escort a convoy in - whenever that is.'

'We're going to be heartily sick of this bit of coast by then.'

'As soon as the Scourge gets back she can resume this close watch: we'll spread our wings a bit.'

Down at mess number seventeen, Stafford was making a similar complaint. 'Back and forth, six miles south and then tack, six miles north an' then tack; I tell you, we'll get dizzy afore long.'