Ramage's Challenge Read Online Free Page A

peoples had been bound together in years past. Until, in fact, Ferdinand and Isabella drove the Moors out of Granada—their last stronghold in Spain—only a few months before Columbus sailed to discover the New World.
    The Moors had occupied Spain for seven hundred years. How much of their character, habits, and morals had spread to the Spaniards, Ramage wondered. More than the Dons cared to admit, he suspected.
    Looking down at the
Calypso
’s curling wake, Ramage was thankful that she had a fair wind and even more thankful that his preliminary orders from the Admiralty were to “proceed with all despatch” to the Mediterranean, opening his sealed orders only when Europa Point bore northwards.
    Their Lordships were not being overprecise: Europa Point is to Gibraltar what the white cliffs of the South Foreland are to Dover. Much more to the point, he was instructed not to call at Gibraltar. Why? Did the Admiralty know that port admirals delighted in sending off visiting frigates on wild goose chases of their own?
    Or were their Lordships afraid that the contents of their secret orders might be revealed? Yet what in the Mediterranean could be so secret that the port admiral in Gibraltar (or a commander-in-chief, if there happened to be a fleet at anchor there) did not know about it?
    He turned to look forward over the
Calypso
’s bow. The ship was making good time, despite a slack current. Sticking out from the Spanish shore (as though a pedlar was offering him an onion by its stalk) was Tarifa, a small island linked to the Spanish mainland by a causeway. Tarifa had, for centuries, been a sallyport for pirates and privateers who lurked behind its steep cliffs, waiting to pounce on passing merchant ships. It was the southernmost point of Europe, beating Europa Point by five or six miles.
    Well, Ramage admitted, the Pillars of Hercules held many memories for him; it had been the gateway through which, as a young midshipman, he had first passed to see and smell the black smoke of guns in battle and hear the calico-ripping noise of passing round shot. Promotion, fear, opportunity, boredom, excitement … the smell of pines on a hot summer day along the Tuscan coast … Gianna … the excited chatter of Italians … a jumble of experiences … and what were those secret orders going to add to the pile?
    He saw the new officer of the deck come on watch. William Martin, lieutenant and son of the master shipwright at the Chatham yard, must be about 24 by now. What were
his
thoughts on returning to the Mediterranean? His last visit brought him plenty of excitement—and had given the ship’s company a good deal of pleasure, because Lieutenant Martin played a flute as though the instrument was part of his body, and its music, as the sun went down at the end of a clear Mediterranean day, brought cheers from the seamen who, expressing their pleasure rather than mocking, had nicknamed him “Blower.”
    Martin listened carefully as the small, red-haired and freckled lieutenant he was relieving passed on such details as the course to steer, the currents to be expected, and any of the captain’s orders which had not yet been executed. Lieutenant Kenton, who must be the same age as Martin, was the son of a half-pay captain in the navy and, like Martin, was a competent and well-liked officer who had also been in the
Calypso
when she was last in the Mediterranean. In fact, as the sun lit up the Strait, he and Ramage had been reminiscing about the time they had attacked Port’ Ercole with bomb ketches and, in another operation, captured several of Bonaparte’s signal towers dotted along the French coast.
    Now, as Kenton turned away to go below, Martin walked to the larboard side and stared at Gibraltar just coming into sight, and Ramage watched him pick up a telescope to examine the fortifications of Tarifa—a high wall with several towers.
    This was an impressive stretch of