Ramage and the drum beat r-2

by Dudley Pope

  Now he was abreast the mainmast. Drifting smoke hid much of the ship and several Spaniards were still standing to their guns and staring at the Captain, oblivious of the Kathleens running past.

  Then Ramage was abreast the boats stowed amidships and running along the narrow gangway, dodging round more Spanish seamen who were still watching the bulk of the Captain, which was too far aft for them to train round their guns.

  He saw a British officer - Edward Berry, just promoted and serving as a volunteer in the Captain - dropping down from the mizzen rigging on to the quarterdeck, a couple of dozen men following him. At the same instant a surge of Spaniards from the larboard side suddenly swept across the quarterdeck almost overwhelming Berry and his boarders.

  The sharp clinking of sword against sword, the popping of pistols and muskets, more smoke, wild shouts - Ramage's own! A Spanish face in his way. The great sword swung and the face disappeared, but before Ramage could recover from the swing another man lunged with a cutlass. Ramage fired his pistol almost without aiming and the man screamed and fell to one side. As a third lunged with a pike Ramage tried to ward him off with the sword and an instant later Stafford's cutlass slashed into the man's side.

  Ramage ran half blinded with excitement but seeing more men jumping on board from the Captain. At last the quarterdeck ladder - and a Spanish officer, backing down it with a British seaman above lunging at him, turned to jump and fell to Jackson's cutlass.

  'Kathleens here!' Ramage bellowed up to the quarterdeck, 'We're the Kathleens!'

  ' 'Bout bloody time!' bawled the seaman and started back up the ladder to rejoin the fighting.

  But pistols were firing in the captain's cabin and instead of going up the ladder Ramage ran under the half deck to find a dozen or more Spaniards shooting aft into the cabin through the closed door.

  Jackson, Stafford and several others had followed him and as Ramage roared 'Kathleens! Come on the Kathleens!' the Spaniards turned, throwing away their pistols and swinging cutlasses and swords. There was no conscious thought, only instinct: parry a stabbing blade here, slice at a screaming Spaniard there, jump back to avoid a lunging cutlass point, sidestep and reach over to parry a wrist-jarring slash which would have split open Jackson's skull. A man in magnificent uniform and garlic-laden breath leapt forward with his sword but before Ramage could parry a blade flashed, the sword dropped from the man's hand and he fell. Glancing round, Ramage just had time to see Jackson grin and realize the Kathleens were standing amid a pile of bodies when the cabin door, riddled with pistol shot, suddenly burst open and a wild-eyed, smoke-begrimed seaman leapt through, cutlass in his hand, pausing a moment before attacking them.

  'We're English!' yelled Stafford. 'Watch 'art, yer crazy loon!'

  The strident Cockney voice stopped the man as effectively as a bullet, but he was flung aside by more men so Stafford repeated his yells.

  Then the Commodore was standing there, hatless, sword in one hand and pistol in another.

  He stared at Ramage for a moment, said with a grin of recognition, 'Ah! At least you obey my orders!' and ran past to get to the quarterdeck ladder.

  Ramage followed but realized the fighting up there had stopped. Berry and his men were already herding the Spaniards over to the starboard side where they could be covered by muskets from the Captain's decks.

  Commodore Nelson spoke a few words to Berry, pointing to the San Josef now lying alongside the San Nicolas, and Berry shouted for his men.

  'Mr. Ramage!' called Nelson, 'I think we'll have that fellow as well!' and began running to the San Josef.

  Without waiting for more orders, Berry's men and the Kathleens made a mad rush across the quarterdeck, the lithe little Commodore among the leaders, The San Josef’s bulwarks were considerably higher than the San Nicolas's and both Ramage and Nelson leapt into the main chains together. Nelson slipped, Ramage grabbed his arm until he regained his footing, and just as they began climbing a Spanish officer appeared above them on the quarterdeck, calling down that the ship had surrendered. Nelson gave a yell of delight and Ramage felt relief. Then there was a sudden flash at the gun port below and Ramage felt himself swirling slowly down, down, down, into a deep black well of silence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The drum was beating in rhythm with his heart, the drum would never stop beating, forever sending the ship's company to quarters and to death. Heart of oak, are our men ... Tat-tat-tat, tat, tat-tat ... Ramage tried to scream at the drummer to stop but no words came. The beat was regular and loud: it throbbed in his ears, in his temples, in his chest, and as he twisted his head to get away from it he felt himself spiralling upwards, weightless, dizzy and frightened. He opened his eyes and saw Southwick's blurred face creased with anxiety. Slowly it began to revolve like a top and Ramage shut his eyes again.

  'Mr. Ramage!'

  'Wha's it, Southwi'?'

  'How do you feel, sir?'

  'Wha' happen'?'

  'You were shot at through a gun port after the San Josef had surrendered.'

  Throb, throb, bang, bang; the band round his brow was tight and Southwick's face began to spin again. Ramage clutched his head and felt cloth: strips of cloth wound round like an Indian's turban.

  Southwick seemed to be whispering from a long way off. Ramage opened his eyes again to find Southwick's face close, beads of perspiration welling up through the bristles. Southwick unshaven? It was all very puzzling: he wasn't in his cabin in the Kathleen. Ramage started to sit up but Southwick's face spun again.

  'Easy sir, easy, you're on board the Irresistible. The Commodore's hoisted his broad pendant in her.'

  'But why aren't I—'

  'You remember, sir,' Southwick said soothingly, 'you remember we boarded the San Nicolas and then the Captain—'

  'Yes, I remember.'

  It came back slowly at first, not facts but pictures: the Kathleen steering for that great cliff face that was the San Nicolas; the impact and the cutter dragging athwart the Spaniard's stem; then that mad dash along the San Nicolas's decks; then the Commodore and climbing the San Josef’s main chains and a Spanish officer shouting down they had surrendered. Abruptly the pictures stopped.

  'What happened next?'

  'Next to what, sir?' Southwick was puzzled.

  'After that damn' Spaniard said they'd surrendered?'

  'You were shot at through a gun port. They didn't know below that the ship had hauled down her colours. If you'll excuse me a moment, sir.'

  With that he bellowed to the sentry at the door. Ramage winced, the pain blotting out Southwick's words.

  'You fell, sir,' Southwick continued.

  'I'm not surprised.'

  'No, I mean you fell into the sea between the two ships.'

  'Why didn't I drown, or get crushed?'

  'Those two again. Jackson and Stafford. They went down after you.'

  'They're mad. No wonder I feel sick. I must have swallowed half the bay of Cadiz.'

  'You did, sir. I flung them a rope but it took time to get a turn under your armpits. When they got you on deck we thought at first you'd gone. I've never seen anyone look so dead.'

  'You'd better send for those two.'

  'Well, if you'd wait a moment, sir.'

  Ramage felt too weak to argue.

  A knock at the door but the person did not wait for an answer. Ramage tried to turn to see who it was but again his head spun.

  'Well, Mr. Ramage,' said the familiar sharp, nasal voice, and the Commodore was standing at the foot of the cot. 'Well, Mr. Ramage, you have a thick head - fortunately!'

  'At the moment it feels a bit thin in places, sir.'

  'It is, too! Now you'll have two scars on your starboard beakhead, a bullet wound to add to the sword cut. And a good thing, too, the ladies love it. Take my word for it, if you're going to get wounded, a handsome scar they can admire is worth more than the handsomest face in the room! My own little souvenir of the battle, for instance, won't count for much. I have a mos
t unromantically bruised stomach!'

  Ramage laughed and felt he had been hit on the head again.

  'But seriously, Ramage, only a criminal idiot would have tried to do what you did with the Kathleen. Fortunately for me, the wicked sometimes prosper. You succeeded and I've achieve a little notoriety for having captured two of the Fleet's four prizes.'

  'I'm glad, sir.'

  'I know you are,' Nelson said warmly. 'But I said notoriety, not credit. I've not yet seen the Commander-in-Chief, and since I acted with as much authority as you did, both of us might be in a scrape. But whatever happens, Mr. Ramage, if it ever lies in my power to render you a service ...'

  Ramage was struggling to find a suitable reply when Nelson added, 'And I'm glad to tell you that you'll be sent home in the Lively frigate with Sir Gilbert Elliot.'

  'No!' exclaimed Ramage. 'I mean, if you please, sir, I'd prefer to stay with the Fleet!'

  'But why?'

  'I - well sir, I'd like to see my ship's company are all right.'

  'Mr. Ramage,' Nelson said gently and with a smile, 'you have no ship, and therefore no ship's company. And the service is well able to take care of the survivors.'

  Ramage felt too weak to explain, and knowing the Commander was right he shut his eyes with weariness and pain.

  'I'll call on you again,' the Commodore said sympathetically, and left the cabin.

  'What was the butcher's bill?' Ramage asked Southwick several minutes later.

  'Incredibly light, sir. Twelve dead. Edwards, the gunner's mate, wasn't seen from just before we hit the San Nicolas - I think a shot from her bow-chaser may have got him - and eleven seamen. Six of those never got on board the San Nicolas and five were killed in the fighting. One of those was Jensen, who was with you at Cartagena, hit by one of the San Josef's sharp-shooters. Only four wounded - yourself, Fuller and two ordinary seamen.'

  'We were lucky,' Ramage said soberly. 'God knows, we were lucky.'

  'You were careful, sir,' said Southwick.

  'Careful?1

  'I've been - well, sir, I know it's a bit unusual, but the ship's company asked me to tell you - as discreetly as possible you realize, sir - they appreciate the care you took to lessen the loss of life.'

  'If only you—' he exclaimed, then said, 'no, thank them, Southwick. But from the moment we tacked towards the San Nicolas I never expected any of us to survive.'

  He took a deep breath. 'That's the care I took,' he added bitterly. 'Instead of more than sixty dead, I killed only a dozen.'

  'No, sir, don't take on like that. You aren't fair to yourself. We've got to fight; some of us'll get killed. The men know that. They thought all along after we tacked that they'd be killed. They knew you thought they didn't guess; but they did realize, and they kept cheerful for your sake, sir. And they're right to thank you.'

  'I suppose so,' Ramage said. 'But I'm too befuddled—'

  The door opened and the chubby and bespectacled surgeon came in. 'Goodness gracious, Mr. Southwick - I must ask you to leave. Our patient looks worn out. Really, really, really! All my work undone by fifteen minutes of chatter, chatter, chatter!'

  Southwick looked alarmed and stood up to leave. Ramage winked as the Master turned to the door.

  Next day while Ramage fretted in his cot, irritated by the constant attention of the surgeon (who was quick to spot the Commodore's particular interest in his patient), Sir John Jervis's ships were becalmed with the Spanish Fleet still in sight - 'In great disorder,' Southwick reported gleefully.

  The day after that the British Fleet spent several hours trying to weather Cape St. Vincent against head winds, and finally Sir John decided to bear away for Lagos Bay, just to the eastward of Cape St. Vincent, and in the evening the Fleet and its prizes anchored.

  Ramage, allowed to sit in a chair, had just started writing once again to his father - hard put to read what he'd written in the first letter, which had been soaked in sea water - when Southwick came into the cabin.

  'From the Commander-in-Chief,' he said, handing Ramage a sealed letter addressed to Lieutenant Lord Ramage, formerly of His Majesty's late cutter, 'Kathleen'. 'I've signed for it. One's gone to every captain.'

  Ramage read the letter and then wondered if it was identical in wording to the others. Not a mention of the Commodore, either by name or the role of the Captain. Nor Captain Troubridge and the Culloden, Captain Frederick and the Blenheim, nor Captain Collingwood and the Excellent.

  Dated "Victory, Lagos Bay, 16th February, 1797', it said:

  Sir,

  No language I am possessed of can convey the high sense I entertain of the exemplary conduct of the flag officers, captains, officers, seamen, marines and soldiers embarked on board every ship of the Squadron I have the honour to command, present at the vigorous and successful attack made upon the Fleet of Spain on the 14th inst. The signal advantage obtained by His Majesty's arms on that day, is entirely owing to their determined valor [sic] and discipline; and I request you will accept yourself, and give my thanks and approvation to those composing the ship under your eommand. I am, Sir,

  Your most humble servant,

  J. Jervis.

  Southwick was watching him closely and said, 'It's going to cause trouble, sir.'

  'How do you know? Have you read it?'

  'No, sir, not yours; but Captain Martin gave me a sight of his before he read it to this ship's company. He was pretty angry - reckons it's an insult to the Commodore.'

  'Well, it mentions no names, so there's no favouritism.'

  'No, but I heard by a side wind from the Victory that Sir John's official letter to the Admiralty doesn't mention captains or ships either.'

  This seemed so improbable that Ramage grunted his disbelief.

  'It's true, sir, the whole Fleet knows by now that Sir John wrote one letter, then Captain Calder read it and, being a spiteful man, said if the Commodore was given any praise it'd encourage others to disobey orders. So Sir John wrote another, mentioning no names at all.'

  Calder! Ramage knew at once the story was probably true: it was common knowledge Calder was more than jealous of the Commodore. (And that, he suddenly realized, probably accounted for Calder's hostility towards him: he probably thought he was one of the Commodore's protégés.) Surprising that Sir John didn't see through such spitefulness.

  There was a knock on the door and the Commodore himself walked in.

  'Sitting up and taking nourishment, eh?'

  'Precious little nourishment in this, sir,' Ramage said, waving the letter.

  'Oh well, words on paper count less than actions, Mr. Ramage,' Nelson said banteringly. 'In the battle the Prince George expended 197 barrels of powder, the Blenheim 180, the Culloden 170 and the Captain 146. The Captain fired more shot that she would have had on board - when we had no more round or grapeshot for the 32-pound carronades my men began using 9-pound roundshot. But when the official letter is published, I doubt if you'll see the four ships named even once. Yet does it matter, really? Those whose opinions any of us value will soon get to know, and who cares about the rest? Remember, if you don't fret and expect justice, you'll probably hoist your flag eventually and live to a ripe old age!'

  'I hope you'll guarantee that in writing, sir!'

  'I've just told you not to expect justice! But seriously, Ramage, it's more important to forget the profit and loss account in a battle and think of the total effect on the enemy.'

  'I don't see the difference, sir.'

  'Well, Sir John's despatch will delight the Press; the politicians will gleefully announce in Parliament that a British Fleet of fifteen sail of the line met twenty-seven Spanish sail of the line, gave them a good trouncing and captured four at no loss to themselves. They won't reveal - won't even realize - the most valuable and significant part of the victory.'

  'But—'

  'It's the men that matter, Ramage, not ships. The finest and largest fighting ship in the world is useless if her captain and crew are frightened of the enemy. Th
e worst and smallest fighting ship is invaluable if her captain and crew believe they will win. Good heavens man, you tackled the San Nicolas with the Kathleen, didn't you?

  'Remember that, and then think beyond the horizon: this is the first battle the Spaniards have fought against us in this war. In sheer numbers they had nearly twice as many ships and twice as many guns - and that doesn't take into account most of their ships were larger. They had the weather gage, and they fought knowing they had Cadiz to leeward as a refuge for refitting. Yet they lost - decisively!'

  'And,' Ramage said, 'they lost knowing that their admiral was useless, their broadsides counted for very little and that one British seventy-four boarded and captured one of their eighty-fours and then did the same to a 112-gun ship!'

  'Precisely,' Nelson said. 'When the rest of the Spanish Navy hears the details of the battle, there'll hardly be a single man, whether cook's mate or admiral, who won't secretly believe deep inside him - and that's where it matters, that's where the fighting's lost or won - that one British ship equals two Spanish. The first battle of the war has given them indisputable evidence.'

  'So from now on,' Ramage said, 'the Dons are likely to feel beaten before they set sail!'

  'I hope so!' Nelson said soberly. 'I hope every man, from the King and the Minister of Marine downwards, will think twice before sending the Spanish Fleet to sea - and then order it to stay in port. That'll give us a chance to deal with the French and the Spanish ships a chance to rot.'

  The Commodore took an envelope from his pocket, gave it to Ramage, and said he would return later.

  Ramage took the envelope but, preoccupied with Nelson's words, did not open it at once. If the Spanish Fleet had reached Cadiz safely (and they might have done but for the gale which blew them out into the Atlantic, allowing Sir John time to catch them as they struggled back) they might have gone on up to Brest, driven off the British squadron blockading the French Fleet and let it out, and sailed for England ...

  But they met a gale, then they met Sir John's Fleet. And they lost four ships. Yet at least two of those ships, Ramage realized with a start, would not have been captured by the Commodore unless the Kathleen had delayed the Spanish van by ramming the San Nicolas...