Ramage's Signal by Dudley Pope

The whole camp is forbidden to civilians; in fact, only a month ago—”
    The man broke off as if realizing he had said too much.
    â€œOnly a month ago what?” Ramage asked sharply.
    â€œI cannot say.”
    â€œYou had better. You can be forced. And I am sure any of your men would be only too pleased to tell us.”
    â€œWell, it was a sad business, but a villager was caught in the camp at night, and according to the regulations—you must realize I had no choice; the regulations are there for me to obey—well, I …”
    â€œHad him shot,” Ramage finished the sentence for him.
    The Frenchman looked at Ramage in surprise. “How did you know—have you read the regulations?”
    â€œNo,” Ramage said quietly, “but I have fought your country for several years.”
    The Frenchman nodded sympathetically. “I have been lucky. My uncle is mayor of a large town in Normandy, and he was able to arrange for me to have this station. I have no knowledge of the sea, you understand?”
    â€œYes, I understand,” Ramage said dryly. “Now, about your job. Describe what you and the garrison did yesterday.”
    Ramage opened the signal log as he asked the question.
    â€œWell, about eight o’clock—”
    â€œNo,” said Ramage, “I want
all
the details. Your sentries …”
    â€œOh yes, there is the guard. One sentry watching the road, to prevent villagers coming in—and, of course, to prevent any of the garrison leaving: they like to go to the village and get drunk and molest the young women. It is dangerous, you understand; the local men try to catch a drunken soldier late at night—then they murder him and steal his musket. Every man must carry a musket if he leaves the camp.”
    â€œTell me, this man you shot,” Ramage said conversationally, “why had he come to the camp?”
    â€œOh, hunting rabbits. He had a ferret, nets and snares. And three dead rabbits.”
    â€œSo he was not spying or stealing French government property?”
    â€œNo—except that rabbits on French government land, which the camp is, are French government rabbits, of course. And anyway, there are the regulations.”
    Ramage felt a chill creeping over him at this stupid, cruel reasoning. “It is a rule of war, is it not, that any enemy not wearing a uniform is treated as a spy and shot.”
    â€œOh yes, indeed,” Louis said eagerly. “There you have it. This man was not wearing uniform, he was caught on French government land, so he had to be shot.”
    â€œBut he was a Frenchman, so not an enemy,” Ramage said.
    â€œNot an enemy like the English, no, but a traitor, which is far worse.”
    Ramage nodded his head judiciously, and then said quietly: “You are on board a British ship-of-war, you are French, we are at war, and you are not wearing uniform …”
    â€œBut, Captain!” Louis protested, “I was—”
    â€œWhatever explanation you have to avoid being shot, I am sure the poacher had one too. You know the regulations. No doubt you have a wife and children—”
    â€œYes, indeed, four children!”
    â€œâ€”and no doubt the poacher had, too.”
    Louis nodded miserably, understanding only too well the parallel Ramage had drawn. “Yes, two children.”
    â€œVery well,” Ramage said crisply, “I want honest and quick answers. You have guards on the track to Foix. Who, in the next week or two, do you expect to visit you from Foix—to come along that track?”
    â€œNo one,” Louis said. “The month’s provisions arrived five days ago, no inspection is due. And now the village knows we shot the poacher, no local people.”
    â€œGood. Now for signals. How does the system work?”
    â€œWell, at daylight the men go on watch, with the chief signalman taking the telescope to the platform on top, and looking at