by Dudley Pope
“Yes, sir, and I apologize: I was in a hurry when I spoke.”
“I should think you were,” Hamilton said, slightly mollified, and subsided into a chair, his lips drawn back to expose his teeth, reminding Ramage of a hissing snake. His complexion was purplish, his face narrow and the flesh sunken.
“I am 28th on the post list but you, Ramage, who aren’t even named in my copy of the List, regard me as a ‘numskull.’”
“I’ve already apologized, sir: it was said in the heat of the moment. Now, sir, I must inform you that the war is over; we have signed a Treaty with Bonaparte and—”
“Silence!” roared Hamilton, half rising from his chair. “I won’t listen to such nonsense! Here I have a man claiming to be a post captain, but whose name is not in my Navy List, coming on board from a French-built frigate and telling me that Mr Pitt has signed a Treaty with the enemy! Why—”
“I’ve been posted a year, sir; you have been in Indian waters a long time.”
“And we all know captains serving in Indian waters for any length of time go off their heads, don’t we, eh Ramage?”
The man’s voice took on a slightly hysterical note, rising at the end of each sentence and emphasizing his Scots accent. Lowland Scots, Aitken would pronounce with all the contempt of a Highlander.
“I didn’t say that, sir: I’m trying to describe to you the terms of the new Treaty. If you wish to reassure yourself about me, you’ll find me among the lieutenants in the Navy List you have.”
“Ah, but how do I know you really are Ramage?” Hamilton’s thin face now had the cunning look of a horse-coper, and then suddenly he grinned. “Very well, I believe you. Do you speak French?”
Ramage saw the trap. “Very little, sir; a few words.”
“When was the Treaty signed?”
“The early part of October, sir.”
“You tore my fore-topsail,” Hamilton said solemnly. “You must go and inspect it. They’ll have sent it down by now.”
“But sir—”
“Don’t argue. Seeing a torn fore-topsail is part of your training.” He called to the sentry to pass the word for the First Lieutenant, motioning Ramage to remain where he stood.
When the First Lieutenant came into the cabin, Hamilton smiled amiably. “Ah, Todd, Mr Ramage was expressing interest in our torn fore-topsail. Is it sent down yet? Ah, good: please take Mr Ramage to inspect it.”
Ramage followed the obviously bewildered Lieutenant out of the cabin and along the main-deck. The Lieutenant was perhaps thirty years old, obviously once a burly man but now thin, the skin of his face seeming grey beneath the inevitable tan. He walked slightly bent, as though he had a painful stomach ulcer, and so far had not spoken a word.
As they reached the foremast, where one group of seamen were preparing to send up a new topsail while others had begun stretching out the torn one on the deck, ready to repair it, Ramage realized that the Lieutenant had not been present during the first conversation with Captain Hamilton.
“What is your name?” Ramage inquired.
“Todd, sir.”
“Ah yes, I remember Captain Hamilton mentioning it. You’ll be glad to get to Plymouth, I imagine.”
“Yes, sir,” Todd said tonelessly.
“You know the war is over, I suppose?”
“War? Finished, sir?”
The man looked at him like a starving man promised a meal.
“Yes, it’s all finished: the one we’ve been fighting against the French—and the Spanish and the Dutch!”
“My God! So that was why—” Todd stopped abruptly and looked round, as though frightened someone could overhear.
“Bend down and inspect the tear with me,” Ramage murmured. “Now listen carefully. You’ve another two or three days at sea before you reach Plymouth, perhaps more. Ships are coming out of the Chops of the Channel like sheep through a hole in the hedge. Ships of all nations …”
“I understand, sir,” Todd murmured.
“You don’t,” Ramage said. “Captain Hamilton won’t believe me when I tell him peace has been signed.”
“I do understand, sir,” Todd said quietly. “I began to suspect peace had been signed because we saw two British merchant vessels sailing alone. The Captain would not question them, but that was why you didn’t get a broadside. I was certain you were British, so when we had to bear up to avoid hitting you, I pretended to mishear him when he gave the order to fire. I’m still under open arrest …”
Ramage bent down and hauled at a piece of canvas, inspecting the heavy cringle. “Is he mad?”
“Most of the time. Yet he’ll go a couple of days with no trouble: laughing and joking, teasing his steward, an Irishman who stutters.”
“Do you think you’ll get to Plymouth without attacking another ship?”
“Not much chance,” Todd said gloomily. “I’ll warn the lookouts not to see too much: that might save us. Do you think he believed you about the Treaty?”
“No, but he’s watching from the quarterdeck. Come here and inspect this cringle with me. You daren’t confine him, eh?”
“Articles of War,” Todd muttered. “He’s not obviously mad—we officers would be brought to trial and on his good days any court would think he was sane.”
“But supposing you sink a French merchant ship on the way home?”
“That’ll be too bad, sir,” Todd said. “If I confine the Captain, they’ll charge me under Articles Nineteen, Twenty and Twenty-two and Thirty-five; it’ll be mutiny, and the penalty is death. So let him kill a few Frenchmen instead. All I want is to get a berth in another ship.”
Together they hauled a torn section of sail to one side and bent over again, inspecting the tear.
“I’ll give you a letter addressed to the Board Secretary describing how he nearly sank my ship, and another letter outlining your dilemma. Listen carefully, because we must rejoin him in a couple of minutes. The second letter will cover you should you have to confine him: I shall say flatly that in my view he was insane when I saw him and that I’m prepared to give evidence in court to that effect. Obviously I can’t supersede him because I lack the seniority. But I’ll get both letters to you before we part company.”
Todd nodded. “That should do it, sir. Your name’ll carry weight. We’ve read about you in the Gazette.”
“My officers will give evidence, too, if needed. I’ll list them in my letter. And you’ll have copies, too: they’ll be marked. Don’t mix them up.”
“Sit down, sit down,” Hamilton said. “Can I offer you refreshment? I have a good Madeira—shipped some, when we called in. Damned customs fellows will be after me for duty, but it’s worth it. Not many wines travel like a good Madeira.”
Hamilton forgot his offer and Ramage was startled to see that the man, who had changed into another and newer uniform while he and Todd inspected the sail, had his feet encased in carpet slippers. When he saw Ramage looking at them he nodded and tapped the side of his nose with an index finger. “Gunpowder,” he whispered. “These slippers don’t make it explode if I tread on it. Leather-soled shoes would ignite it—and the whole ship could go up in one dreadful explosion.”
“Indeed?” Ramage said politely. “I must get myself a similar pair.”
“Yes, do, my dear fellow. I bought these in Calcutta. Anyone’ll tell you where to go. ‘Captain Hamilton’s slippers wallah’—just ask, they all know. Now, tell me what’s going on in London.”
Ramage thought of his brief conversation with Todd. At the moment Hamilton was changing quickly from sanity to insanity, but it was almost uncanny how he could say something which was quite crazy yet make it sound perfectly normal. The carpet slippers, for instance. There was no reason why a captain on board his own ship should not wear carpet slippers with his best uniform. His explanation would sound quite sane to a landman, and with his perfectly normal behaviour in every other respect, what court martial would believe a witness relating the gunpowder story? Hamilton would only have
to mention corns or bunions and the slippers would seem perfectly normal.
“London—I was asking you about London, Ramage.”
“Oh yes, indeed. Very quiet now—everyone that matters has gone off to France and Italy. A third of the peerage, I’m told.”
“Indeed? Still, they haven’t been able to visit Paris and Florence for years. The ladies want to see the new fashions, I suppose. Still, what’s the news from the Admiralty?”
“Changes, of course. Lord St Vincent is the new First Lord, and there is a new Board.”
“St Vincent? That was Sir John Jervis? What’s he doing at the Admiralty? Pitt must be mad!”
“Mr Pitt is no longer the prime minister,” Ramage said patiently. “Mr Addington has formed the new administration—”
“Addington? I don’t believe a word of it!”
Hamilton stood up and jammed his hat on his head. He stared at Ramage and took a deep breath. “A court martial, Ramage, I shall ask for a court martial on you as soon as I reach England. Plenty of charges; oh, yes, plenty of charges.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Oh yes. Apart from the ‘numskull,’ there will be—now, let me see. Negligently hazarding a King’s ship. That will cover the way you risked the Invincible. The same charge concerning the Calypso. Cowardice, of course—”
“Cowardice?” Ramage exclaimed, hardly believing his ears. “When?”
“You were waving a white flag—surrendering your command to the enemy, and never a shot fired! Articles Twelve and Thirteen, ‘In time of action keeping back,’ and—well, you know the wording well enough.”
“Ah, indeed,” Ramage said, determined to get back to the Calypso before this poor, crazy man did something absurd, like ordering his master-at-arms to arrest him.
“Now, Ramage, let me see your orders.”
“They are sealed orders, sir. I have only general orders to take me south, and then I open sealed orders when south of ten degrees North.”
“Give them to me: I can open them. All things are open to those with faith.”
“They are locked up on board my ship, sir.”
“Then go and unlock them, my boy,” Hamilton said in a perfectly normal voice. “I must inspect them. One doesn’t know what they might say.”
He spoke as though the Admiralty’s orders might contain obscene phrases that Ramage was too young to read.
Ramage nodded agreeably. “Yes, indeed sir, who knows. You may remember that when I first came on board I said the war with France was over—”
“Ah yes, so you did,” Hamilton interrupted. “And if you don’t refer to it again, I shan’t mention it at your trial. But it is a clear breach of one of the Articles of War, number Three to be exact, ‘If any officer shall give, hold or entertain intelligence with an Enemy …’”
Ramage would have agreed, in order not to provoke the man further, but the Invincible still had a couple of hundred miles to sail before she reached Spithead, during which time she could meet and sink a dozen French, Dutch or Spanish ships.
“Sir, I have something to say that I insist is heard by your First Lieutenant and at least one other officer, either the Second Lieutenant or your Master.”
“My dear Ramage, by all means. Tell the sentry to pass the word for them. Now, may I once again offer you refreshment? As I told you, the Madeira is good, but I have spirits, a poor brandy or some of those Dutch East Indies drinks, all spices and perfume: what shall it be?”
Now Hamilton’s voice was that of a good host: a rational man pleased at meeting another of the King’s ships after a long period at sea.
Ramage examined the bottles as Hamilton displayed them, playing for time and trying not to refuse anything until the two officers arrived. A knock on the door and a call from the sentry showed both men had been waiting close by.
As soon as they came into the cabin, Hamilton nodded to Todd and introduced the Second Lieutenant, smiling as though they were all about to sit down to a specially-prepared rijstafel.
“Gentlemen, Mr Ramage couldn’t make up his mind what he wanted to drink, and asked me to send for you.”
Todd glanced at Ramage, knowing that his Captain could not see his face. It was obvious to Ramage that quite apart from Todd, the other Lieutenant too was almost at the end of his rope: they had been serving many months under this mad Captain. He looked at them both and said slowly and carefully: “I have made a statement to Captain Hamilton, and I intend repeating it before the two of you. I want you to remember word for word what I say.”
Before he had time to speak again, Hamilton continued in a conversational tone: “Yes, remember what he says, word for word, and remember the Articles of War, numbers Three, Twelve and Thirteen. I shall be bringing him to trial, of course, and we shall need all the evidence we can get.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Todd said.
“Now,” Ramage continued, “a treaty of peace has been concluded between Britain and France. All hostilities have ceased—”
“Note well what he says,” Hamilton commented. “A clear case of ‘intelligence with the enemy.’”
“—between Britain on the one hand and France, Spain and the Netherlands on the other. Now, repeat that.”
Todd repeated it word for word, with Captain Hamilton beating time with his right hand.
As soon as the Lieutenant finished, Ramage continued: “Ratifications have been exchanged and all fighting anywhere in the world shall cease within five months of that date, which was—”
“It’s absolute rubbish,” Hamilton interrupted, “but humour him: I’ve known these cases turn violent.”
Ramage then took a folded newspaper from his pocket and gave it to the First Lieutenant. “Your Captain has refused to read this. It’s a copy of the Morning Post and reports the exchange of ratifications.”
It had been lucky that there was a copy on board the Calypso: Orsini had used several to pack some crockery he had brought back from London.
Todd nodded as he read and then passed it on to the other Lieutenant. When he was holding it again he said respectfully to Captain Hamilton: “There are various interesting items here, sir. The parliamentary news, for instance. You were worrying about your constituency …”
So Hamilton was a Member of Parliament. He must be one of those Members who occasionally visited Westminster with a sprig of heather in their hair and salt staining the leather of their boots.
“I may not still be a Member,” he said irritably. “The government could have fallen and new elections been called. No letters for nearly a year … who knows what has happened. Still, Lord Spencer will put everything right.”
Before he could stop himself, Ramage said: “I’ve just told you, the present First Lord is St Vincent: Addington became prime minister when Pitt resigned.”
Hamilton looked at him as a hostess might stare unbelievingly at a guest wiping dirty boots on her best Persian carpet. “Addington? St Vincent? You’ll soon be telling me that Jenks is Secretary of State!”
Ramage sighed and took back the newspaper, which referred to Lord Hawkesbury and Otto conducting negotiations. “Captain Hamilton, you will not accept anything I say and refuse to look at this copy of the Morning Post, which refers to negotiations with the French conducted by Jenks. However, I must delay you no longer, sir: I shall make an entry in my log concerning our encounter, note that I informed you in front of your two most senior Lieutenants that the war is over and attempted to show you a newspaper, which I am giving to your First Lieutenant. I must ask you to wait while I write a letter for the Board. I will send it over as soon as it is written.”
“Stop him!” Hamilton said excitedly, “he’s under an arrest!”
Todd did not move and the Second Lieutenant stopped after taking two steps.
Ramage heard Todd ask conversationally: “Should I pipe hands to dinner, sir, or would you prefer that we should get under way first?”
At once Hamilton stopped, his brow wrinkled. “Why are we hove-to?�
�� he inquired.
“We are receiving an extra man from a frigate, sir, a seaman Smith,” Todd said, “and we are waiting for letters.”
CHAPTER TEN
AS THE Calypso stretched southwards towards the invisible lines round the globe marking the Tropics and the Equator, Ramage was surprised to see how many ships were at sea. While tacking across the mouth of the Bay of Biscay from Ushant to the Spanish Cabo Finisterre, still marked on the British charts by the French spelling, it had been easy to guess the ports for which merchant ships had been bound.
Few made for Brest because it was primarily a naval port but several were probably heading for the mouth of the Seine with a following wind, hoping to catch the first of the flood to take them up to Honfleur and Rouen. Three outward-bound had obviously left Bordeaux and were working their way out of the Bay with a steady westerly wind in several long tacks.
As the Calypso sailed down the Spanish and Portuguese coast, just in sight of the high land, they could tick off the ports simply by watching the sails of ships arriving and departing: Vigo and Oporto had been followed by an increase in numbers as they approached Lisbon and the wide but treacherous entrance to the Tagus. Many ships passed inshore as the land trended away to the eastward, curving round from Cape St Vincent to Lagos, the Rio Tinto, Cadiz, Cape Trafalgar and sharply to the Strait of Gibraltar.
“Amazing,” Southwick commented as he replaced his old but carefully preserved quadrant in its brass-cornered mahogany box. “Half a dozen ships always in sight. In the war—surprising how long ago that seems now: all of three months, I suppose—one passed a convoy of a hundred ships, and then saw nothing for a couple of weeks. Now, the same number of ships sailing independently means you’re likely to see seven a day in the Atlantic. Many more along the coasts, of course.”
For young officers like Kenton, Martin and Orsini, Ramage’s
deliberate tack in towards Lisbon and the Tagus had given them not only their first sight of the Portuguese capital—a view which might come in very useful in future because, as Southwick commented, one look is worth two charts—but their first look at local coasting craft.