He thought a moment. There was no hurry. Better Jackson made a good job of it. "No, don't rush. Be back by sunset. Draw some rations and water from Mr Southwick."
Twenty minutes later Ramage saw the four men vanish into the low scrub at the back of the beach. Only two of them had muskets; the other two carried cutlasses, with pistols in their belts. It made sense: their task was to look and quit, not stand and fight.
He walked to the frangipani, pulled off several blooms, and went over to the palm-frond shelter in which the St Brieucs and St Cast were sitting.
"From the gardens of the Governor's Palace," he said to Maxine, giving a deep bow as he presented the flowers with an elaborate flourish.
"Please congratulate the gardener en chef," she said. "Oh - the parfum - smell it, Mother!"
St Brieuc said, "Thank you for our palace, too. No palace of stone and marble could be more welcome than this palace of palms!"
"We'll have something better ready for you by this afternoon," Ramage said.
"Believe me, its permanency is not important," St Brieuc said, "since we certainly never even expected to see land again. My wife was just commenting that she has never experienced such a fascinating twenty-four hours as those just past."
Ramage turned to her. "I'm sorry we've had you climbing in and out of wrecks like that, Madame, but it was unavoidable."
"Please do not apologize," she said, "I have enjoyed myself so much. And so has Maxine! This life we do not understand, but that does not mean we are not interested!"
Ramage bowed. "Unfortunately I can't make any promises for the future ..."
"Mr Yorke told me about you deciding against burning the wrecks - I understand completely," St Brieuc said. There was a slight emphasis on the last word; a slight but significant inclination of the head.
Ramage found Southwick keeping the men busy rolling casks up the slope of the beach to the line of bushes, where there was both shade and concealment.
Suddenly a seaman yelled and sat down, clutching his foot. The devil take it, Ramage thought, not more sea urchins! He walked over to the man, looked at the foot and realized Snake Island had prickly pear cactus. Sticking in the man's foot was the land version of the sea urchin: a small green disc with spines radiating from it, like a flattened dandelion clock.
"Just give it a tug," Ramage said. "Mind you don't get the spines in your fingers."
"Aye aye, sir," the seaman said patiently, and Ramage felt he was being reproached for not including the prickly pear in his earlier warning.
By now Appleby was halfway back to the Triton with the raft. The sun was lifting high over the horizon but the breeze had not come up, and Ramage saw there was a chance they would reach the brig before it arrived. If only he could get a raft-load of provisions from the ship early each morning before the wind came up, he could last out here almost indefinitely.
Suddenly a thought struck him. He was loading casks on to a raft, whereas most of them, if they were pitched over the side, would float and eventually end up on the beach by themselves. Fishermen on Snake Island - if there were any - might find them but they would soon spot the wrecks anyway, so there was nothing to lose by pitching at least some of them over the side and letting the waves and current do the work. It was too late today, but as soon as the carpenter's crew had made a proper shelter for the St Brieucs, and a galley, they could make a rough boat which half a dozen men could use to get out to the wrecks each day.
A few minutes before noon, when the heat of the sun made men find shade before they stopped to talk, Southwick reported that the casks of provisions and water had been landed safely and stored at the back of the beach, covered with a topsail to serve as a tarpaulin, and the sail in turn covered with palm fronds to conceal it from prying eyes.
For the spare muskets, powder and shot, the seamen had collected small, flat rocks - there were plenty of them littering the ground - and built what looked like a large oven, between the provision store and the beach, for use as a magazine. It reminded Ramage of the donkey shelters so familiar in Italy. Branches served as roof beams, with canvas over the top, to weatherproof it. The men were now lining the walls and floor with canvas to keep out the damp.
Southwick was particularly pleased with its position; he had chosen it, Ramage was glad to note, midway between the provision store and the beach, so the Marine sentries guarding the store and the beach - which Ramage had decided was to be the place where everyone would live - did not have to march out of their way, and would pass it twice for every once they passed the store.
By designating a flat area at the back of the beach as the living quarters, Ramage was choosing one of the coolest spots around - it faced eastwards, wide open to the Trade winds - and a sudden outcrop of high rock on the west side protected them from the afternoon sun. Both wrecks were in sight and so was the entrance to the main bay, so that no boat or ship could leave or enter without being spotted.
The sun was still almost directly overhead when a Marine sentry came running up to him with a message from his corporaclass="underline" five men were approaching from the west.
"Five?" demanded Ramage.
"Aye, sir, corporal was most definite that I told you five. Not four like left."
"But is it Jackson and his party?"
"Corporal didn't say, sir," the Marine said woodenly. "But they was a long way off."
"Take me to the corporal."
After calling to tell Southwick what he was doing and to stand-to with the seamen, Ramage hurried after the man, striding inland past the new magazine and provision store and then bending to keep below the tops of the bushes. They reached a small hill and the Marine gave a low whistle before scrambling up it. A few moments later Ramage found himself kneeling on the north side looking out over a narrow track that led away to the left and snaked down to enter a valley. Some five hundred yards away five men were walking along the track, making no attempt to conceal themselves. Quickly Ramage searched the ground on either side then, cursing himself for having forgotten to bring a telescope, settled down on his haunches to wait until the men got closer.
"Where are your men?" he asked the corporal.
"Six of them are just there, sir" - he pointed to a spot by the track in front of the hill - "an' we spotted those men some minutes ago, sir. Straightaway I sent the six men to prepare an ambush. They have their orders, sir," he said ponderously. "All good men."
Ramage nodded, but even at this distance the gait of one of the five men seemed familiar: he had the loping walk of Jackson. But five men?
After a couple of minutes the corporal took a deep breath and said, in what he obviously regarded as his official voice: "In my h'opinion, sir, 'tis Jackson returning with his party with another man h'identity h'at present h'unknown."
"I agree," Ramage said mildly. "I hope your men won't ambush him."
But the corporal's sense of humour had vanished years before, probably beaten out of him by the stamping of boots and the slamming of musket butts.
"They will ha'make the challenge, sir, h'and h'upon receiving the ker-rect reply, will h'allow the party to proceed, sir."
"Very well," Ramage said, and felt he had made the sort of reply that would never pass muster on a Marine parade ground.
Jackson's party had a prisoner with them, an old Negro.
"Leastways, not exactly a prisoner," Jackson was careful to explain as they walked back to the camp. "A sort of voluntary prisoner."
"They're common enough in the Caribbean," Ramage said sourly. "But first, is there any sign of a garrison?"
"No, sir. That San Ildefonso is just a small village - twenty-two houses, several collapsed - and almost deserted. Probably a dozen local people. Then there are about a dozen soldiers and twenty Negro slaves. The slaves dig trenches while the soldiers guard them."