Free Ramage & the Guillotine by Dudley Pope Page B

of thing, and I’m anxious you should understand precisely what information would be of use to me.”
    He picked up Ramage’s pages of notes. “You know we do not want to bring the Channel Fleet round to the Strait of Dover unnecessarily, for fear we frighten Bonaparte. It’s a risk leaving it down to the west, and for that reason it is absolutely vital that I get 48 hours’ warning if the French are going to sail. That will give the Channel Fleet plenty of time to get round.
    â€œThat warning would most probably come first from you. I might hear later from the frigates if they see any unusual activity, but you will be in Boulogne. Use your common sense: don’t pass the word when you’re not really sure—but don’t be overcautious so that you pass the word too late.”
    â€œIf the French saw the Channel Fleet close in off Boulogne, sir,” Ramage began cautiously, “they’d be frightened—”
    â€œExactly! That’s just what I
don’t
want!” Nelson exclaimed. “It’s no good frightening them back to their holes, so that they can attack us again the moment they’ve rested. We must
lure
them
out
and
destroy
them,” he said, emphasizing each word by slapping the table. “We’ve nothing to fear from Bonaparte at sea—so that’s where we can beat him. But he has such a vast army that we don’t stand a chance against him in the field—sheer weight of numbers.”
    By now Nelson’s single eye seemed to be looking at some remote spot beyond Ramage; the little Admiral, as though still trying to persuade ministers and generals (and perhaps some admirals, Ramage thought sourly), said emphatically: “Stalemate—that’s the biggest threat. The moment Bonaparte realizes it’s stalemate he’ll offer us peace, and our wretched politicians will accept it. But any peace treaty with Bonaparte will be as good as a draft on Aldgate Pump—as worthless as a gallon of cold water.”
    He gave a start, as though surprised to find himself in the stark castle room talking to a young lieutenant. “Hmm, I was carried away. My sermon for the day. Now,” he said with his customary enthusiasm, “you’ll very soon be in France. What about those men of yours? Did you give their names to Mr Nepean?”
    â€œYes, sir, three of them. The Secretary said you had spoken to him, and they’ve been ordered up from Portsmouth by the telegraph. They should be here early in the morning.”
    â€œThree?” Nelson frowned. “I thought you wanted more. Still, you’ve probably thought about the danger of marching through the streets of Boulogne with seamen who speak no French.”
    â€œI’ll keep them well hidden sir,” Ramage grinned. “They’ll be my insurance—and messengers, if I need men to bring back reports to you. Smugglers might not be too reliable.”
    The Admiral nodded as he picked up a sealed packet. “Well, Ramage, here are your orders. You have wide discretion: I’ve simply instructed you to proceed in pursuance of verbal orders. Don’t be alarmed; no one is going to say afterwards that you were told to do something you never in fact heard about. I don’t want orders lying around that might compromise your neck in France. And you’ve already received enough verbal orders. Get to France as best you can. If you want a cutter, apply to me. If you want to make your own arrangements, just carry on. I’ll give you a letter so you can draw money.”
    â€œI’ll manage, sir. It’ll probably take me most of tomorrow to make arrangements, but I hope we’ll be on our way tomorrow night and land before dawn the next day.”
    Nelson held out his left hand. “Good luck, m’boy,” he said as Ramage shook hands awkwardly, and he looked away as he said quietly, “I hate giving orders like this—I’d