Ramage r-1

by Dudley Pope

  Ramage decided to pass under the Diadem's stern, luff up and anchor farther inshore, to windward of the Commodore's ship - which apart from anything else, would mean that the boat taking him and Captain Laidman to the Diadem would be rowed with the wind aft and they would appear reasonably smart, instead of dripping with spray.

  Laidman looked so miserable that Ramage felt cheered. He wondered how often such a small ship as the Kathleen had arrived in an anchorage carrying one commanding officer to have his trial resumed, and another to have his trial ordered.

  Well, despite Laidman's remarks, Ramage knew he had bungled the rescue: men had been killed unnecessarily, and Commodore Nelson wasn't the man to overlook that. The trouble is, Ramage thought ruefully, the whole blasted operation looked so simple on paper. It was good of Captain Laid­man to say he would give him full credit in his report, but Laidman was already discredited. For this trip, he told him­self bitterly, the Kathleen is carrying a couple of failures ... Apart from all that, Ramage had grave doubts about the wis­dom of leaving the Belette without setting fire to her. He'd suggested it to Laidman as soon as he stepped on board the Kathleen, but the frigate's captain had shaken his head, muttering something about salvaging her. Knowing the Com­modore - according to Probus, anyway — was aware of the extent of the damage, he'd pressed the point; but Laidman had made no reply.

  'Sir...'

  It was Southwick, an anxious note in his voice: Christ, and no wonder: the Diadem was only a hundred yards away, fine on the starboard bow, and he'd been day-dreaming. Every spare telescope in the squadron was probably trained on him. Well, let 'em look: he and Laidman would probably be sent home in the same ship and they could have another look.

  'Stand by to harden in the sheets, Mr Southwick. ...'

  The Diadem's stern was flashing past.

  'Aft those sheets, Mr Southwick! Quartermaster - bring her to the wind.'

  The Kathleen turned under the Diadem's great counter and headed inshore, spray once again flying over the weather bow as she beat to windward.

  'Mr Southwick - haul taut the topping lifts; stand by all sheets and see the halyards clear for running.'

  Ramage had deliberately not looked up at the Diadem as they passed and Jackson, noticing this, said in a quiet voice, 'The Commodore's watching, sir, and some civilians.'

  'Very good, Jackson.'

  Well, let's, hope the Commodore's noticed the Kathleen's lost her topmast and that there are only two guns on the larboard side. Ramage had left all five carronades on the star­board side: the extra weight up to windward helped the ship along.

  'Are you ready, Mr Southwick ?'

  'Aye aye, sir.'

  'Quartermaster, bring her round head to wind!'

  Let's hope the bloody man doesn't shove the tiller over too far and put the ship about on the other tack. No, he was judg­ing it well: the belly in the headsails and main was flattening: the leeches of the jib and foresail began quivering. Instinctively Ramage looked up at the vane on the topmast truck and then realized it was probably floating somewhere in the sea off the Tour Rouge.

  Now all the sails were flapping and seamen were hauling in the sheets. Ramage made a sudden downward movement with his right hand - a movement the seamen at the halyards had been watching for.

  As if all three were one piece of canvas, the jib, foresail and mainsail began to slide down.

  As the jib and foresail reached the bottom of their stays seamen leapt on them to stifle the flogging canvas and secure them with gaskets. Now the great mainsail was down with the gaff on top, and more men were swarming along the boom, folding in the canvas and passing gaskets.

  But half a dozen men in the bow were still watching Ram­age. He was waiting for Jackson, who had moved over to the bulwark on the starboard side.

  'About a knot, sir....'

  Ramage lifted his left hand level with his waist, and could see the men in the bow tensing themselves.

  'She's barely got way on now, sir ... stopped ... making sternway.'

  He chopped his hand down to his side and men in the bow sprang to life. The anchor splashed into the water and the sternway avoided the risk that the cable would foul it. A few moments later Ramage could detect a faint smell of burning being brought aft on the wind as the friction scorched the cable.

  'Signal from the Commodore,' said. Jackson, and, after glancing at the signal book, reported: 'Our number and the Belette's: captains to report on board.'

  Laidman walked over and said: 'Well, m' boy, we'd better go over - 'tisn't very often one reports the loss of one's ship.'

  'Oh, I don't know, sir,' Ramage said in a flat voice, 'I did it only three or four days ago.'

  'Oh? What ship?'

  'The Sibella.'

  'But she's a frigate!'

  'I know, sir: I was the senior surviving officer.'

  ‘What happened to you?'

  'Captain Croucher brought me to trial.'

  'Croucher? Oh yes, in Admiral Goddard's squadron. What was the verdict?'

  'I don't know, sir: the trial was interrupted by the Commodore's arrival. I was then given theKathleen and sent up to you.'

  'Well, it doesn't sound too bad. But - of course!' he exclaimed, 'you're old "Blaze-away’s” son, so Admiral Goddard...

  'Exactly, sir.'

  'Exactly what?' snapped Laidman. 'Don't put words into my mouth.'

  Southwick was waiting near by and Ramage, realizing that as far as Laidman was concerned he had suddenly become potentially more dangerous to Laidman's future than a ship full of the plague, took the opportunity of turning away.

  'Boat's ready, sir,' Southwick reported.

  Ramage turned back to Laidman and repeated the Master's words.

  Once he had climbed down into the boat to go to the Dia­dem, Ramage found that the exhilaration which, without him fully realizing it, had been keeping him alert and active for the last twenty-four hours, with very little food or sleep, had gone, leaving him desperately tired and very depressed.

  Up to then, although the Belette rescue had happened only that morning, it already had an air of unreality about it; almost as though it had never happened: perhaps a well-told tale he'd heard a few months ago. The Sibella affair too, was just a half-remembered dream.

  Now, as Jackson steered the boat for the Diadem and Cap­tain Laidman sat opposite, silent and morose, the whole busi­ness came back into sharp focus, as if he'd made a fractional adjustment to a telescope in his memory.

  There was a thump, and Laidman lumbered to his feet: they had arrived alongside the Diadem and Laidman, as senior, climbed up first.

  At the gangway Captain Towry greeted Laidman and told him the Commodore was waiting.

  To Ramage, he said: 'The Commodore will see you in five minutes.'

  The young lieutenant standing anchor watch looked at Ramage, obviously wondering whether or not to say something, but Ramage was in no mood for small talk and began pacing the other side of the gangway. He barely noticed Captain Laid­man leave the ship.

  Eventually a lieutenant came up and asked: 'Ramage?'

  'Yes.'

  'The Commodore will see you now.'

  The lieutenant led the way. Outside the door to the Commodore's quarters a Marine sentry snapped to attention, and the lieutenant knocked on the door, opened it when someone answered, and stepped inside. Evidently the Commodore was in his sleeping cabin, because without walking through to the great cabin the lieutenant said quietly:

  'Mr Ramage, sir.'

  He turned and signalled Ramage to go in.

  'Ah, Mr Ramage!'

  The voice was high-pitched and nasal, and Ramage was surprised how small the Commodore was: shorter than Gianna, narrow shouldered, face thin - and, he realized with a shock, one eye had a slightly glazed look. Of course, Commodore Nelson had lost the sight of an eye at Calvi only a year or so ago, but the remaining one was sharp enough.

  Nelson might be physically very small, but already Ramage could feel the
strength of the little man's personality: he was taut as a violin string, yet perfectly controlled: his face seemed to betray excitement, yet a moment later Ramage realized the features were in fact quite calm. The man was like a coiled spring.

  The Commodore pointed to a chair at the foot of the small cot.

  'Please sit down.'

  Was he conscious of his size? Ramage wondered. It seemed an obvious move to put Ramage at a disadvantage. Why, incidentally, was the interview taking place in the sleeping cabin?

  'Now, Mr Ramage, why have I sent for you?'

  The question was so unexpected that Ramage looked up quickly, thinking the Commodore was joking; but the single blue eye was frosty and unwavering.

  'Any one of half a dozen reasons, sir,' Ramage said with­out thinking.

  'List them.'

  'Well - abandoning the Sibella ... Trying to carry out the orders to Captain Letts to rescue the refugees.'

  'That makes two.'

  'And - well, Count Pisano's complaint against me; and the trial, sir.'

  'Four.'

  Ye gods, thought Ramage, I've jumped out of the Goddard into the fire.

  'Oh yes, the Belette operation, sir.'

  'And the sixth?'

  'I can only think of five, sir.'

  'Well, now what do you suppose my judgement will be on each of these escapades?'

  His voice now had an icy edge to it and Ramage was tired and utterly defeated. Not because he was frightened, but because of all the captains and junior flag officers in the Mediterranean - in the whole Service in fact - he had been most impressed by what he had heard of Commodore Nelson. He suddenly realized he'd secretly hoped, after the trial was in­terrupted, that if the Commodore only knew all the facts he would clear him of any blame.

  But that cold, almost off-hand tone: Commodore Nelson's manner showed that, at best, he had an unpleasant task ahead of him and did not relish doing it and, at worst, he was taking over where Goddard and Croucher had left off.

  'I don't know what it will be, sir, but I know what it ought to be.' Ramage's voice was bitter and, unintentionally, almost insolent.

  'Go on, then, out with it,' Nelson said impatiently, 'and be brief.'

  'The Sibella - we couldn't fight on, sir, and we couldn't treat the wounded because the surgeon and his mate were killed. She was sinking so fast the French'd never keep her afloat long enough to patch her up. What I did meant medical attention for the wounded, as well as giving the unwounded time to escape in the boats.'

  'The idea of being a prisoner of the French frightened you into escaping after you had surrendered?'

  There was a sneer in the Commodore's voice which made Ramage flush with an anger that he could only just control.

  'No, sir! I didn't surrender myself: I deliberately left the ship before the wounded surrendered her. An officer who allows himself and his men to be taken prisoner when he can escape and serve again ought to be tried as a traitor - well, almost a traitor. It's that kind of a man the - the Articles of War are aimed at.'

  'Well spoken!' said Nelson with an unexpected laugh. 'That occurred to me when I read your report. An excellent report, incidentally, which is already on its way to Sir John Jervis with my covering letter. Now then, what about rescuing the refugees?' _

  ‘We did our best, sir.'

  'What made you risk it with just a gig?'

  The voice was cold again, and Ramage's heart sank.

  'It seemed the lesser of two evils, sir. First, if there was any delay in the rescue, there was the danger the French would capture them. Second, if I tried getting them away, there was the danger we'd run into a gale with an overloaded boat.'

  'So you considered a rescue attempt using the boat offered the refugees the best chance of survival?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Why?'

  ‘Well, if they stayed on shore they might be betrayed by peasants. I couldn't do anything to prevent that. But if I took them off in the boat I was reasonably certain I could weather a gale somehow or other.'

  'Very well. Now for Count Pisano's complaint.'

  'There's nothing much to say, sir. I went back and found his cousin dead, but Pisano doesn't believe that'

  ‘You've no witnesses.'

  'No, sir.. Oh yes, I have, though!' he exclaimed, realizing the Belette operation had driven all thought of Jackson's revelation from his memory.

  Who is he?'

  'The Sibella's cox'n, an American named Jackson. I didn't know he'd seen the body after me. He didn't know of Pisano's allegations and didn't realize he had evidence of any importance. Anyway, sir, the Diadem's arrival interrupted his evi­dence.'

  'When did you find out all this?'

  ‘We were talking on our way up to the Belette.'

  'A conspiracy? No,' the Commodore said, waving a hand to stop Ramage's protest 'I'm not saying you two were conspiring. I'm just pointing out that it could be said. Why do you suppose Count Pisano made the complaint against you?'

  'To cover himself,' Ramage said bitterly. 'If he accuses me of failing in my duty by not going back, everyone forgets to ask him why he didn't go himself.'

  'Not everyone,' Nelson said shortly. 'Now - what about the Belette? You've lost a lot of men?'

  'Yes, thirteen dead and fifteen wounded. An error of judgement on my part, sir.'

  'In what respect?'

  'I decided to rake the Belette and then wear round before her guns could bear.'

  'And—'

  ‘We raked her all right, but I found I couldn't wear round in time: we were raked ourselves by her aftermost guns -1 didn't allow enough for the curve on her quarter.'

  'And what do you think will happen to you now?'

  'To begin with, I imagine the court will reconvene and finish my trial, sir.'

  'You seem remarkably ignorant of the Court Martial Statutes, Lieutenant, and remarkably unobservant.'

  Ramage looked puzzled and the Commodore said, 'Once a court has dispersed, it can never be reconvened. And you have failed to notice that the Trumpeter is not in the anchorage.'

  'Well, I suppose you'll order another trial, sir.'

  'Perhaps. Follow me,' he ordered, walking through the door and into the great cabin.

  Gianna was standing against one of the great stern lights. She was wearing her usual black travelling cloak thrown back over the shoulders to reveal the red lining, and a high-waisted pearl-grey dress. She was watching him anxiously, her lips moist and slightly parted.

  On her left a heavily built man with a short, square beard sat in a chair, clasping a walking stick between his knees. The stick was thick - he must be lame, Ramage thought, and then noticed that the left ankle appeared to be in plaster. The man was handsome, but the finely cut features did not hide that he was hard, tough and possibly ruthless. He was Italian: that much was certain from his face, but the clothes he was wearing - a dark grey coat, yellow waistcoat and pale-grey breeches -were not his, or else he had a bad tailor.

  At that moment Ramage, speechless with surprise, looked at Gianna and saw she was glancing at the man with affection, almost adoration. The man was smiling at her with love in his eyes.

  The shock was, for Ramage, almost physical: this must be a fiance. Where the devil had he come from? Gianna had never mentioned him - yet there was no reason why she should, he thought bitterly.

  The Commodore, apparently blissfully unaware of the tension gripping Ramage, was talking. He'd apparently introduced the seated man, who made an attempt to stand up, but Ramage motioned him to remain seated and walked over and shook his hand. The grip was firm; the smile on the face was friendly and genuine.

  Ramage turned to Gianna, took her hand and lifted it to his lips, and then swung round to face Commodore Nelson without looking at her again.

  The Commodore was obviously in jovial mood: he slapped his knee and exclaimed:

  'How about that, Ramage, eh?'

  Ramage looked puzzled.

  'Bit of a surprise, eh? Dead men
do tell tales after all!’

  The other three were laughing. Was the Commodore one of these blasted practical jokers?

  The Italian said, We have almost met before, Tenente.'

  'You have the advantage of me, sir,' Ramage said coolly.

  Everyone seemed to be talking in riddles. It's Gianna's turn to have a dig now, he thought sourly, involuntarily glancing at her.

  She looked as if he had just slapped her face.

  'Nicholas! Nicholas!'

  She almost ran the four or five paces separating them, and gripped his arm with her left hand. 'It's Antonio! Don't you understand?'

  She was almost in tears. No, he didn't understand, nor did he care about Antonio: he simply wanted to kiss her, but instead gently pushed her away.

  'Antonio, Nicholas! Antonio — my cousin: Count Pitti!

  The cabin slowly began moving round him; in a moment it was spinning and Gianna held him tightly, otherwise he would have fallen. A few seconds later the Commodore and Gianna were helping him to a chair while Pitti, now standing helplessly and leaning on his stick, kept repeating, 'What happened? What is wrong?'

  Ramage saw that exploded face, the shattered bones and remains of the teeth silvery-white in the moonlight, the torn flesh and slopping blood, black and caked in the sand. Yet Pisano had been right: Count Pitti was alive after all. God -no wonder no one believed he had gone back. But Jackson ...

  God damn and blast them all: he dragged himself out of the chair, conscious his brow was wet with cold perspiration, and asked the Commodore:

  'May I return to my ship, sir?'

  Nelson looked puzzled but promptly said: ‘No - sit down.'

  Ramage almost slid into the chair: there was no strength in his knees and tiredness was adding its quota to help fuddle his brain. If only they'd leave him alone.

  Suddenly he realized Gianna was kneeling beside him, talking softly, and the agony and bewilderment in her face stabbed into his consciousness like a dagger.

  'But it is all right now,' she was saying. 'It is all right, Nico - e finito, cara mia!’

  The Commodore interrupted:

  'Mr Ramage has received a shock. My little surprise seems to have misfired and he deserves an explanation. Count Pitti, perhaps you would oblige - and please be seated,' he added, pushing a chair towards him.