Free Ramage & the Renegades by Dudley Pope

reputation for losing documents. The few hundred yards from the Navy Office in Somerset Place to the Admiralty in Whitehall might well have been a few thousand miles.
    Dalrymple was courteous. Few captains visited his office; usually he saw only masters, who were, officially, responsible for the actual navigation of a ship.
    Yes, he said, he had a map of Trinidade, but not a chart. The map was in fact Spanish, and found on board a prize, which accounted for the Spanish spelling, with the final “e.”
    He went to his chests of drawers, pulled out the one labelled “T,” sorted through some papers and then extracted a rectangular sheet of parchment measuring about two feet by one. He blew dust from it and brought it to the table, where he wiped it again with a cloth.
    â€œYou see, the cartographer—I’d hardly call him a surveyor—was more concerned with drawing the voluptuous cherubs in the corners than details of the island. There’s enough giltwork to cover a ship of the line’s transom!”
    Ramage stared at the map. The island reminded him of a mole. It sat diagonally south-east-north-west, with the northern coast, the back, almost a straight line, with no bays. There were several small anchorages on the south side formed by pairs of peninsulas sticking out like teats hanging down from the belly. He picked up a magnifying glass and began reading the Spanish references to the “A,” “B,” “C” marks on the island itself.
    The latitude and longitude were given, 20°29” South and 29°20” West. There were six hills, looking like sugar loaves in the centre of the island, and someone had pencilled in the heights in feet, the highest being nearly one thousand five hundred feet and the lowest eight hundred and fifty feet. There was a small rivulet of fresh water on the north side and another almost opposite on the south. Three places were marked as possible positions for batteries while another could be a signal station. There was no date on the map; not one depth was shown in the waters round the island.
    â€œWhat date was this drawn?”
    Dalrymple shrugged his shoulders and glanced at Walker, who shook his head. “At a guess from the style and decorations, I’d say about 1700. I suspect a privateersman had thoughts about using it as a base against the Rio de Janeiro and Buenos Aires trade. Or perhaps the Spanish government wanted to keep privateers out. Whoever it was took care against the map falling into the wrong hands.”
    â€œThe lack of soundings?”
    â€œYes, with that kind of detail of the land, normally I would have expected soundings. Someone did not want to encourage visitors.”
    â€œThere must be some dangerous reefs, otherwise the soundings would be of little importance.”
    Dalrymple nodded and said: “I was just thinking that. It’s a rocky island, so one would expect deep water close in, with rocks and foul ground. As you can see, it’s an island the size of Hyde Park put down in the South Atlantic and rarely visited by the King’s ships. The masters of those that have been there did not bother to do any survey work.”
    â€œCan you make a copy of this map?”
    â€œOf course,” Dalrymple said. “I’m sorry we don’t have it ready, but we had no warning. Walker and I do the best we can to prepare charts we think might be needed but you can see those logs …” he pointed to the other table. “Now the war has ended and scores of ships will be laid up, you can imagine how many more logs will be arriving for us to examine.”
    â€œDo you often find anything of consequence?”
    Dalrymple shook his head. “No. The masters with the interest and ability to help us never seem to go anywhere interesting. They spot a fall of rock or a new battery along the French Channel coast, but apart from your Mr Southwick they don’t benefit us