"And then?"
"Then they fill the trenches in again, sir."
"Start again from the beginning," Ramage said, in despair.
The patrol, Jackson explained, had found the track almost as soon as it started out, and had followed it - not by walking along it, but keeping to the bushes about fifty yards away. It trended south and then one branch went between two high, cone-shaped hills and obviously led to the next bay to the west. The other continued along the valley towards the village.
They'd only just reached the fork - not quite a mile from the beach - when they heard men singing; Negro voices coming from high up, from a saddle between two hills.
Leaving Rossi and Stafford on guard at the fork, Jackson had taken Maxton with him to investigate.
"I found a trail where several men had gone up - several times. Leaves and branches broken off on different occasions. Maxie and I followed this track, sir. About a quarter of the way up the saddle, just off to one side, we found a trench on a flat bit under a calabash tree. Leastways, someone had dug a trench, and filled it in again."
"How big?"
"Big enough for a grave, sir."
"No marker - no stone to mark the head, or cross or anything?"
"No, sir. Anyway we went on up towards the singing. A sort of chanting, like you get when slaves sing as they work. Not very cheerful but musical.
"After another forty yards, on another little flat bit, we found a second trench. Same size, like a grave. This was on the right of the track - the other was to the left. Underneath another calabash tree, too, in the shade.
"Found two more trenches, same size, before we got up very close to the singing. This was actually right on the saddle, where there was a large flat bit and big rocks - twenty feet high, some of them, and plenty of bushes.
"Maxie and I managed to get close. Then I crawled up on a flat-topped rock that stood to one side so's I could look down on them. Two slaves were down in a deep trench digging away with pickaxes, two waited to take a turn, and four more waited with shovels - those long-handled ones.
"An officer stood right over them with three soldiers, and eight more soldiers stood round, and there were a dozen more slaves just standing about waiting.
"The guards weren't very strict. They seemed interested only in the grave. Especially the officer. Not the slaves with the pickaxes; just the hole they were digging; looking down into it."
"Your prisoner," Ramage prompted.
"Oh yes, sir. I saw one of the Negroes walk past the group of guards and - er, relieve himself - by a tree. Then another one used the same place.
"The guards didn't bother to move or watch him, so Maxie and I went round and waited until another came out. Maxie spoke to him quietly from behind a bush - they have a sort of patois. Next thing is the fellow wants to come with us. I guessed the Spanish guards would reckon he'd escaped, and it seemed to me you'd find out more from him than we could ever find out, sir. I had to make my mind up quickly, because it wasn't a chance we'd get again, so I hope I did right, sir."
"You did," Ramage assured him.
"The guards had six muskets between them. The rest had pikes and whips. Muskets not oiled - rust showing. Uniforms torn and dirty and old. Very long whips. The officer a dandy, sir; kept putting a lace handkerchief to his nose. Either got a cold or sniffing perfume."
By now they were approaching the camp and Ramage turned to Maxton.
"What language does this fellow speak?"
"Spanish, sir, and patois."
"Very well, we'll stop here before he sees the camp: I've some questions to ask him."
"He'll help, sir," Maxton said eagerly; an eagerness which Ramage realized was due to the fact the man was coloured, like Maxton. "His name is Roberto, sir."
Ramage motioned to the man.
"You are called Roberto?" he asked in Spanish.
The man gave a wide grin, nodding his head eagerly.
"Whose slave are you?"
"Of the Army, comandante," he said.
"What are you doing in the hills?"
"Digging trenches, comandante."
"That I know. Do you know why? You dig and then you fill them in again."
"Yes, we dig deep, as deep as a man is tall, and as soon as we get to that depth, the teniente orders us to fill it up again. 'Stop!' he says. 'Now fill it up.'"
"And then?"
"Then we go somewhere else and start digging again."
"What are you burying?"
"Burying?" the man repeated in surprise. "Why, nothing, comandante!"
"What are you looking for, then?"
Roberto shrugged his shoulders. "No one knows."
"Someone must!"
"Si, comandante! But not the soldiers or the slaves; only the teniente."
"How many soldiers are there on the island?"
"Those guarding us. I cannot count."
"No more? No garrison?"
The Negro shook his head.
"Where do the soldiers sleep?"
"In the village. Some empty houses. They have three. We slaves live in another one. They lock us in."
"And the teniente?"
"Yes, he has a house. His own."
"With sentries?"
"No, just his two servants. They are soldiers but they are servants, too."
Ramage began to get an idea, but for the moment Roberto could help no more. He stood up and signalled to Maxton.
"Look after him: is he likely to escape?"
"No, sir, he wants to stay with us. He reckons he's escaped from the Spaniards. He's grateful to us."
"Well, keep an eye on him. He could go back and tell the Spanish all he's seen. But don't say anything to him," Ramage added hastily. "Don't put the idea in his head!"
By the time they reached the camp the cooks had prepared a meal, and Yorke suggested they join the St Brieucs. Ramage accepted since he could tell them what little he had just learned. Before going over to the palm-frond shelter he told Southwick, whose relief was limited to having the seamen put away their muskets and start work again.
He found the St Brieucs and St Cast sitting comfortably in canvas chairs which the Bosun had brought from the Topaz, along with a small folding table.
One of the merchantman's stewards whispered to St Brieuc who, with all the aplomb of a host in a vast and elegant dining-room, said with a wave towards the table, "Luncheon is ready. If you will be seated..."
Chairs were moved, St Brieuc said grace, stewards served a hot soup and they began eating. Ramage was just about to speak when the realization of the taste of the soup overcame his preoccupation with the riddle of the graves. He looked across at St Brieuc.
"This is superb. We have the finest cook in the Caribbean, thanks to you!"
"M'sieur le Gouverneur," St Brieuc said with a smile, "I told you this morning how happy we are. That was before our furniture unexpectedly arrived, and before we realized what culinary arrangements had been made for us."
Ramage nodded cheerfully. "I shall be inclined to agree with the first person that says my colony is the best administered in the Empire - British or French!"
"I say so!" Maxine exclaimed, and then blushed at her temerity.
"And I second mam'selle," Yorke said.
"Then I will deliver my report to the Governor's Council," Ramage said, and told them of Jackson's foray and his own interrogation of Roberto.
"These graves," Yorke said. "Are they burying something or looking? Hiding or seeking?"
"Seeking, apparently."
"How can you be sure?"
"The Negro doesn't know what it's all about. He would, if they were burying something."
"Not necessarily. The Spaniards could send the slaves away, put something in the grave, partly fill it, and then let the slaves do the rest."