Ramage’s Prize

Suddenly Jackson was at his elbow. "Mr Southwick said to wait before we winkle out the packetsmen, sir. Says they've kidnapped the Marchesa."

He was speaking in the dull monotone which Ramage had heard only once or twice before but knew was the warning that the American was sufficiently roused to kill without compunction. We are a pair, Ramage thought sourly; maybe it is the quietness that misleads people.

"Stand by me a moment," he said, and did a quick sum. The Bosun, Harris and three men by the bi

One Triton was dead, one was there at the wheel, two were guarding Harris and one guarding the three packetsmen. Two more were needed as lookouts. That left five Tritons plus Yorke and Wilson. He needed Southwick to handle the ship, and Much would have to act as quartermaster and help at the wheel if it became too much for one man.

Seven men against six packetsmen holding Gia

Very well, try to guess what the packetsmen - the mutineers, rather - pla

Right, six mutineers are down below holding Gia

Their only offensive weapon is Gia

The six of them are probably arguing about that now. Even the most stupid of them must know Gia

Have I forgotten anything? Gia

Ramage walked over to the bi

"Southwick, you have the co

"Now, Wilson: I want you to cover the forehatch with a couple of men. Take musketoons but be careful: I don't want any shooting. They may send up someone to talk with us, but don't let more than one man on deck at a time. Is all that clear? Very well, carry on."

He tapped Jackson on the arm. "Fetch Rossi and tell Maxton to keep a close watch on Harris. If he gives any trouble, he can knock him out, but I want that man kept alive..."

Turning to Yorke, Ramage said quietly, "Have I forgotten anything?"

"Not that I've spotted. I reckon you've got half an hour before those mutineers make up their minds what to do next. Shall we go down and have a chat with the Bosun?"

As Ramage hesitated, Yorke thought: he's a cool one. The Marchesa is down on the messdeck, probably with a mutineer's pistol stuck in her ribs, and he's as calm as if she was still in Cornwall. But he's changed in the last few minutes: now he's as cold and supple as a rapier blade.

Then Ramage looked straight at him and said, "I'm taking Rossi and Stafford down with me. Either the Bosun or Harris are going to talk. It might be-"

"A trifle messy," Yorke interrupted. "I should hope so!"

They found the wounded Bosun lying on the table in the saloon, secured by lines across his chest and hips against the rolling of the ship. The big gimballed lamp swung with the roll of the ship and weird shadows slipped back and forth across the saloon. Bowen was standing over the man's leg, the table holding him against the lee roll.

He glanced up as they came in and Ramage saw his face was dripping with perspiration. "Ah - just too late to lend me a hand. I'm about finished. Then perhaps I can have a couple of men to lift him into a cot; he'll be more comfortable swinging; the rolling makes the leg jerk on this table."

" 'Swinging' is the right word," Ramage said sourly. "Have you stitched him up?"

"Yes, both sides."

"Both sides?"

"Yes, sir; the shot went right through, of course. Missed the bone and the femoral artery: if that had been severed, he'd have been dead in a few minutes. At first I feared it was - the light is bad in your cabin, sir," he explained.

The Bosun groaned, looking up at Ramage. "A drop o' rum, sir, to take the pain away?"

Yorke sniffed. "I can't see you offering the Captain a tot of rum if you'd fired first."

"Oh, I would, sir," the Bosun protested. "And you too, sir."

"Thanks," Yorke said dryly. "But as far as you're concerned, dead men tell no tales, and they don't drink either."

"But I'm not dead, sir."

"Not yet," Yorke said ominously, "and neither are we."

Ramage gri

Ramage moved to stand over the Bosun. "Some more questions," he said. "You might as well answer them now."

The Bosun gave a heart-rending groan. "I'm not in a fit state..."

"You're alive," Ramage said. "That's enough, and be thankful. Now, whose idea was the mutiny?"

The man's eyes darted from side to side of the saloon; his hands gripped the edge of the table. Then he watched the lantern as it swung with the ship's roll. He swallowed several times but said nothing.

Ramage said, "The mutiny has failed. There's nothing to stop you talking."

"I ... I daren't, sir, an' that's the honest truth."

"Why not?"

"They'd do for me!"

Ramage was certain that the man was both terrified and telling the truth. But terrified of whom? Certainly not the ship's officers, since with them he felt safe enough to ask for a tot. Ramage made a quick guess. "Harris is in irons."

"He'll find a way, though," the Bosun muttered. "I know he will."

Ramage nodded significantly to Yorke: they had a definite answer to one question.

"What did Harris intend to do once he had the Marchesa and me as hostages?"