Ramage & the Saracens by Dudley Pope Read Free Book Online Page A

frigate there!”
    Jackson shrugged his shoulders. “They might have been reporting that they saw a French frigate three days ago—they haven’t much idea about time.”
    â€œâ€˜Ere, this beef died of old age,” Stafford grumbled. “Just look at the colour of it. Boiled mahogany, that’s what it is, and it’s as tough as wood.
    â€œNeeds to spend another day boiling in the coppers. Another week,” he amended, “not another day.”
    â€œSo if there is a French frigate at this island,” said the Frenchman, Gilbert, whose English was almost fluent, “what do you think we are going to do?”
    Jackson waited until he had finished chewing a piece of the beef. “We were piped to dinner half an hour early, and knowing Mr Ramage that was to make sure we had eaten by the time we go into action. So if you ask me, he reckons we’ll find this Frenchman in the next hour or two.”
    â€œAnd then what do we do?” asked another Frenchman, Auguste.
    â€œWe capture it,” Jackson said simply.
    â€œJust like that, eh?” said Gilbert, gesturing towards the bread barge, which Stafford pushed towards him.
    â€œWhy not?” asked Jackson.
    â€œWhat’s a French frigate doing at this island, then?” asked Stafford.
    â€œDamned if I know,” Jackson said. “I’ve never even heard of the place before. Either the Frenchies are capturing the place, in which case half their ship’s company will be on shore, or else they’re repairing damage, in which case they might not be able to get under way.”
    Rossi soaked a biscuit in the juice left on his plate. “After this morning, we deserve something easy. I thought we would be deaded.”
    â€œKilled,” Jackson corrected. “So did I. It’s nice to feel alive.”
    â€œTo tell the truth, I’m surprised there are so many Frenchies at sea. I thought we got most of ‘em at Trafalgar.” Stafford sat back as though he had spoken his share of wisdom for the day.
    â€œI did, too,” Jackson admitted. “But when you come to think of it, there must have been ships at sea in other places, and now I suppose they are making for home.”
    â€œThey’re a bit late,” Stafford said.
    â€œTakes time for the French to get out orders to all the ships: they were probably short of frigates in Toulon to pass the word.”
    â€œI don’t know about French frigates,” Rossi said crossly, “but that beef is the worst we’ve had for a year or two.”
    â€œYus, I reckon the contractor or the Navy Board are getting rid of some old stock. Just our luck to get it.”
    â€œHaving fresh meat every three days while we were in Plymouth has spoiled you,” Jackson said unsympathetically.
    â€œWell, that was one good thing that came out of the Great Mutiny,” Stafford said defensively. “Getting fresh meat from the shore every two or three days made me feel I was living like a lord.”
    â€œLords get fresh meat
every
day,” Jackson said drily. “That’s one of the advantages of being a lord.”
    â€œMr Ramage is a lord but he don’t get fresh meat every day.”
    â€œDon’t be daft, how could he?”
    â€œBeats me,” Stafford said with something approaching a sigh, “why someone like Mr Ramage, the son of an earl and a title of his own, should join the Navy in the first place. ‘Tisn’t as though he was pressed.”
    â€œRuns in the family,” Jackson said. “You know as well as I do his father’s an admiral. If Mr Ramage has a son, I expect he’ll go into the Navy as well. It’s a sort of tradition.”
    â€œYus,” Stafford said sagely, “it’s time he had a family. He made a good choice marrying Lady Sarah. Never could see him marrying the marcheeza.”
    â€œMarchesa,” Jackson corrected without thinking. “No,