by Dudley Pope
"Give me time - he has fifteen years or so advantage on me! Ah, this is Clarges Street."
Just then, Raven stopped the carriage, asked a passerby for directions, and called to Ramage: "We're almost there, sir. The house is this end."
The houses were small but well proportioned. As he reached for his hat and gloves and hitched at his sword, Ramage tried to recall the last time he had seen the admiral. He had been only a commodore then. Yes, Bastia, in Corsica, when Commodore Nelson had given him his first command, the Kathleen cutter. After that he had seen him only in the distance, striding his quarterdeck (a minuscule figure recognizable in the telescope lens only because of his stance) in the brief minutes at the battle of Cape St Vincent before the Kathleen cutter was sunk by a Spanish three-decker.
That battle had brought Nelson a baronetcy. It had also brought Sir John Jervis the earldom (of St Vincent) that he did not deserve but, as father had said, St Vincent had done his best to make it up to Nelson ever since.
The carriage came to a stop. Ramage heard Raven pulling on the brake; then the folding steps clattered down, the door was flung open and a grinning Raven stood waiting to help Sarah down. Grinning, Ramage knew, because Raven, long accustomed to rural life and more used to setting snares than opening carriage doors, was enjoying the sudden change (quite apart from being proud of his new livery of dark blue edged with gold) and delighting in the gold griffin now painted on the door of the carriage Ramage had also inherited from his uncle.
Ramage followed Sarah, then took her arm and led her to the front door, which was suddenly and unexpectedly opened by a small figure in plain uniform, one empty sleeve pinned across his breast, a green shade over his left eye.
"Welcome, Ramages! I heard the carriage and guessed it was you," he explained to Sarah, taking her parasol and putting it in the stand just inside the door. "Follow me, I am the major domo and butler. Lady Hamilton is waiting upstairs with Horatia."
It was the same rather high-pitched and nasal voice with the flat Norfolk accent: the curly hair was greyer. The face was tanned and thinner, too - no doubt about that, but it only emphasized the strong bone structure. The single good eye sharp, the small body (he was shorter than Sarah) as erect as ever, the single hand gesticulating. In a moment, in a brief phrase, he had both welcomed them and set the tone of the meeting with Lady Hamilton and his young daughter: now there would be no uncomfortable pauses, searching for the right word or phrase: here was the same Nelson he had met years ago: a coiled spring. One knew it was under control, but at the same time had no doubts about its latent power.
The drawing room upstairs was large, high-ceilinged and furnished with considerable taste. Sarah, at first not seeing Lady Hamilton, paused at the doorway, intrigued by a pair of urns - urns? No, they were amphorae, and surely that was coral growing on them? Recovered from the sea?
Nelson stopped when he noticed her interest. "Some of the late Sir William's treasures, which he left to me. We have the finest ones down at Merton: perhaps we can lure you and your husband there one day and show them off. Ah, there is Lady Hamilton!"
Sarah saw a small, beautiful and graceful woman rising from a chair in an alcove. Brown and curling hair, a body perhaps now a little plump, a friendly face also now plump, but with the fullness of happiness and contentment.
Nelson introduced them and she said with unfeigned pleasure: "At last, Captain Ramage! Horatio did not tell me you were so handsome. And you have a lovely wife!"
Before Ramage could answer, Lady Hamilton looked down. A vivacious little girl was tugging shyly at her skirt. "Yes, yes. This is the Captain Ramage who wrote all those exciting letters in the Gazette, and this lady is his beautiful wife. May I introduce Horatia?"
It was all done so naturally that Sarah took an instant liking to the woman. Warm, doting on Nelson and their child, well informed apparently, taking an interest in everything that went on round her and - if this room was anything to go by, and it was her house - a woman of refined tastes.
Oh yes, there were stories about Emma Hart (passed on to Sir William by his nephew) who became Nelson's mistress, but Sarah could understand and forgive Nelson's infatuation.
Sarah had twice met his wife, Lady Nelson, and the former Mrs Nesbit (widowed in the West Indies when her Army major husband died of one of those vile tropical diseases) was by comparison a cold and shrivelled person: Sarah could imagine that the warm and spontaneous Nelson would find her chilly, not unresponsive but instead - well, just plain and dull.
He should never have married her, Sarah thought; but from what Nicholas said the young Nelson had fallen in love with a married woman in Antigua - wife of the commissioner at English Harbour, she remembered - and when the couple were sent back to England, a broken-hearted Nelson had then met the young widow Fanny Nesbit on one of the nearby islands. Wasn't she staying with her uncle, who owned a large plantation on Nevis? Sarah had a picture of interfering female cousins plotting to marry Fanny off to the young frigate captain . . . and this was how it all ended up.
Nelson made her comfortable in a chair close to Lady Hamilton, and Sarah found herself talking to an excited Horatia, anxious to display her new pink dress and shoes. Nelson waited until Horatia stopped for a moment (she was explaining that she now had piano lessons and was nearly five years old) and then said apologetically to Sarah: "I am taking your husband to the next room for a few minutes' chat: once we've got that out of the way we can enjoy ourselves!"
What had Nicholas done? Yet the admiral seemed friendly enough. Nicholas had not served under Nelson for several years. She shrugged and then was embarrassed to find that Lady Hamilton had noticed. Would she misinterpret it?
As Ramage turned to follow Nelson from the room, Lady Hamilton said: "The life I lead! My late husband Sir William, when we were at the Embassy in Naples, was forever breaking up conversations by taking away husbands for discreet talks . . . His Lordship, by the way, thinks highly of your husband."
"I'm very glad," Sarah said, "but Nicholas has not served with him for several years."
"Ah, no, but His Lordship has read all the Gazette letters: he has them among his papers. In fact he was reading the one about how your husband rescued all the hostages - and you!- in Italy, and concluded by reading it aloud to Horatia and me. It was enthralling! Fancy finding you, when he thought you were dead! Dead," she repeated, the word obviously reminding her of some incident. "I worry about His Lordship. Do you know, he has been wounded more than twenty times? He lost the arm at Tenerife, the eye in Corsica. At the Nile a splinter nearly knocked his head off and cut his forehead. I think that last battle, Copenhagen, was a miracle: all those dead, and Horatio for once not even scratched!"
Nelson had taken Ramage to the next room, which he obviously used as a study. He gestured to Ramage to sit in a leather-covered armchair beside the unlit fire, and sat in the opposite one. He adjusted his eyeshade - Ramage noticed he had chosen the chair with its back to the window, so that he did not face the light - and said: "Well, you've had a busy few years since I last saw you!"
"And you, sir," Ramage said with a grin. "I am jealous that I was not with you at Aboukir Bay and Copenhagen."
"Ah yes, interesting actions. Hard pounding, against the Danes. It was touch and go. The Danes and the Dutch - we need parity when we fight 'em, unless we use better tactics."
"Tell me, sir," Ramage asked, "did the success of your tactics at the Nile influence you at Copenhagen?"
Nelson laughed and slapped his knee. "You know, young Ramage, it's a strange thing: few people have ever noticed that. The Danes had their ships drawn up outside their capital city just as the French had their fleet anchored in Aboukir Bay - so close to the shore they were sure no ship could get inside them. But the French were wrong, so I won.
"Still, I was sure the Danes would have studied that battle, so when I saw their ships drawn up in a long line outside Copenhagen, I wondered. Had they, I asked myself, really anchored so there was no room betwee
n them and the shore or - and this was my sharpest worry - had they found some answer, in case I did intend to use similar tactics, and had set a trap for me?"
"But," Ramage said, "the Danes didn't seem to have learned any lessons from the Battle of the Nile!" . "No. I talked later to the Danish Crown Prince and to their admiral, Olfert Fischer, and I had the impression they regarded the Nile as a far distant place . . . They didn't seem to understand that tactics apply anywhere, from the Equator to the Arctic. Still, I am more interested in you. That must have been a pleasant shock when you found you had rescued your wife! Tell me, did you think she was already dead?"
Ramage paused, briefly, reliving those long months of not knowing whether the ship taking Sarah to England had been sunk in a storm or captured by French privateers - or even a French national ship. "Yes, sir, I must admit that secretly I thought she was dead. I don't believe in miracles, and it seemed only a miracle could have kept her alive . . ."
Nelson nodded understandingly. "It's the not knowing . . . but anyway, she is safe. And a beautiful woman. You're a lucky fellow. And I hear from your father you've just inherited a fine estate down in Kent. What more can you want, eh?"
"Oh, nothing sir. I have everything."
Nelson smiled knowingly. "Except, of course, that the Calypso frigate is always at the back of your mind, and you wonder what action you are missing at sea ..."
This man can see through a thick plank, Ramage thought. "Well, yes sir, in a way. I'm happy enough at the moment, but I know the feeling will creep in."
"Like mist rising at the foot of those chalky Kentish Downs, eh? Well now, what's wrong with the Calypso?"
"Oh, nothing actually wrong with her, sir: too many months' service in the West Indies and the Mediterranean without shipwrights having a chance to set a few things to rights. Anyway, now she's at Chatham and they are busy with her."
"Doing what exactly?"
"Replacing a sprung bowsprit and jibboom, two topsail yards and all three topgallants; putting in new wood at the taffrail - they found some rot. Some new deck planking in way of the guns - where it had been badly scored by the trucks. New copper sheeting in the hanging magazine; replacing some woodwork in the breadroom . . . Replacing all the copper sheathing forward of the foremast - you know how it becomes paper-thin along the waterline at the stem. . That's about all, sir. New sails, and replacing some of the guns . . ."
Nelson examined the nails of his left hand. "When will she be ready for sea?"
"The last I heard (the day before yesterday), in about two weeks, sir."
"You've still got that same master? What was his name, Southwell, South - ah yes, Southwick?"
"Yes, sir. He'll be flattered that you remember his name."
"Ah, he's a good man. Master of the Kathleen cutter when I put you in command, I remember. I see you make a point of always mentioning him in your Gazette letters. He must be one of the most famous frigate masters in the Service. One of the richest, too," Nelson added. "You've done well with prize money. Have you kept mostly the same ship's company?"
When Ramage nodded, the admiral commented: "They will be wealthy men. Some of your ordinary seamen could probably buy me out," he said without malice. "I haven't had much luck with prize money."
And here we are talking about prize money and I'm almost faint with wondering why you asked me to call, Ramage thought. It wasn't to yarn about old times nor discuss the tactics at Copenhagen, nor display your remarkable memory of men.
Did Nelson sense Ramage's train of thought? He looked up at Ramage and grinned. A boyish grin, one which stripped fifteen years from his lined face. "You wonder why I asked your father to tell you to call on me, eh? Isn't it enough that you meet Lady Hamilton and Horatia?"
"Yes, sir," Ramage said, and added shrewdly, "but they're in the drawing room and we are here!"
"And you, my dear Ramage, have had independent commands for too long. If you had served any time in a fleet, you'd know it's more important to please the admiral than handle your ship well."
"Not in your fleet," Ramage said bluntly, the words spilling out before he could stop them.
Nelson grinned again. "I take that as a compliment. How would you like to serve with me?"
Ramage looked so startled that Nelson laughed. "The idea doesn't seem to appeal to you."
"It isn't that, sir ..." Ramage stammered.
"Had you been serving with me, you might at this moment be tacking back and forth in front of a French or Spanish port, keeping an eye on the Combined Fleets of France and Spain. You find that idea daunting?"
Hellfire and damnation, Ramage thought: if in a dream (the only circumstances in which it could happen) Lord Barham had asked Ramage what appointment he would like, he would have asked to be sent to join Lord Nelson. Now here was Lord Nelson himself (and Ramage knew he was not dreaming) offering him just that job, and his mouth suddenly filled with sand and feet, and the right words disappeared up the chimney.
He grabbed at Nelson's earlier remark. "I'm not used to dealing with admirals, sir: I'm short on tact!"
"You're the son of one of the greatest admirals this Navy's ever had, and if gossip tells stories correctly, you've ignored the orders of most admirals you've ever served under. But, so have I," he admitted with a spontaneous grin. "Well, time is getting short - I expect I'll have to rejoin my fleet within a few days, and I'm a great believer in 'better one volunteer than three pressed men'."
"Me - I'm a volunteer, sir," Ramage said quickly, afraid he had offended Nelson by implying tardiness. "You took me by surprise because my name is near the bottom of the Post List and -"
"And it's not often that an admiral commanding a fleet offers a junior post-captain a chance to join him, eh?"
"Exactly, sir," Ramage took a deep breath. "If we can join you, sir - I mean, if you and the Admiralty approve - we'll have the ship ready for sea in a week and as soon as we can get up to Black Stakes and take on our powder, the Calypso could join you."
"Well spoken," Nelson said quietly. "You'll receive your orders from the Admiralty in a few days. In the meantime, if you can pass the word to your man Southwick, and your first lieutenant, of course, that might speed things up. Southwick knows most of the dockyard tricks. Replacing that copper sheathing is the most urgent job. Just the sort of time they run short of sheathing nails."
Ramage looked carefully at Nelson and then decided to chance it. The admiral had chased the French fleet across the Atlantic and back, and he had seen it evade him and join up with the Spaniards. The Combined Fleet must number thirty-five or more ships of the line, and some of those Spaniards carried more than a hundred guns. Nelson must have fewer than twenty ships, though Lord Barham was rushing out every available 74.
"Is there a chance they'll come out and fight, sir?"
Nelson shrugged, a curiously awkward movement which tugged at the empty sleeve. "The French - well, this fellow Villeneuve is no coward, but there's no telling what orders he gets from Bonaparte, who is a great soldier when fighting land battles but doesn't understand the sea. The Spanish? I don't think their hearts are in it. The French can rouse themselves with all this revolutionary nonsense (quite apart from Villeneuve knowing he'll be punished if he loses an action), but the Spanish . . . they seem to be trying to catch hold of Bonaparte's coat-tails, and that won't turn any captain into a fighting demon."
Nelson readjusted his eyeshade and the movement seemed to signal a change in the topic. "Well, I shall see you at the Royal Exchange tomorrow, when you receive your sword. As I told the Master of Lloyd's Coffee House last week, you ought to have had a dozen swords by now. Let's rejoin the ladies."
As the carriage clattered back along Clarges Street and then swung right into Piccadilly on its way to Palace Street, Sarah said: "I'm proud of you, darling. Lord Nelson thinks you are one of the best frigate captains in the Service, and Lady Hamilton says you are certainly the most handsome!"
Ramage grinned and took Sarah's hand. "That make
s you the luckiest wife in London - or in Clarges Street, anyway! What did you think of His Lordship?"
"The biggest contradiction I've ever met!"
Ramage's forehead wrinkled. "How so?"
"Well, he has an irritating nasal voice, he's obsessed with his health, he's obsessed with Lady Hamilton and wants everyone to accept her, he's so confident of himself he seems a braggart, he has a quick tongue and isn't afraid to use it, he's physically insignificant . . ."
"Yet ..."
"Exactly, yet! He's also one of the most fascinating men I've ever met. He can't help his voice - and one forgets it because of what he has to say. Yes, he's obsessed with his health, but he's been wounded so many times, and losing his right arm and being almost blind in one eye must give him a sense of frustration - in a lesser man it could almost destroy him.
"Lady Hamilton? Well, she's obsessed with him too, but she's thoughtful, understanding, and I for one don't care that she was once Emma Hart, Sir William's nephew's mistress: I'd be pleased to have her among my friends, and clearly she is His Lordship's inspiration.
"He has enormous confidence in himself because he knows what he wants and how to do it - that makes him unique among our admirals at the moment. Your father is about the only other one I can think of. Look what a mess Howe made at the Glorious First of June, and that indecisive fool Mann, and as for Lord St Vincent at his (I mean yours and Lord Nelson's) battle . . .
"What else was there? Oh, yes - the quick tongue. That must upset a lot of the slow-witted and tongue-tied admirals, but I've noticed one thing: a quick tongue usually goes with a quick wit, and a quick wit with a quick brain. Which means that for once we've got the right man commanding the fleet which may have to fight the Combined Fleets of France and Spain. Just think, it might have been St Vincent, or Lord Howe, or - it terrifies me to think of it."
"You must be one of the few wives who could sit with the full Board of Admiralty and make them sit up and listen!"
"Lady Hamilton says more or less the same thing as me."