Ramage & the Renegades (17 page)

“Ready ho!” Ramage bawled into the speaking-trumpet. “Put the helm down!”

He saw the men spinning the wheel the other way again, ready to turn the
Calypso
back in the direction from which she had just come.

“The helm's a'lee! Keep the fore-topsail backed, men!”

The frigate swung back through the wind's eye so that the
Invincible
was almost ahead again.

“Put the helm up!” Ramage roared. “That's it, hold her there hove-to!”

Hurriedly he trimmed the main and mizen sails. The fore-topsail had the wind blowing on its forward side, pressing sail and yard against the mast and trying to push the
Calypso
's bow round to larboard, but the after sails, trimmed normally, were trying to push the bow to starboard.

Ramage gave a few more orders—bracing the fore-topsail yard until it was sharp up, easing the helm slightly, letting fly one of the jibs—until the thrust trying to force the
Calypso
's bow to larboard exactly equalled the thrust on the after sails trying to push it to starboard. Then the frigate was stopped, balanced on the water like a gull, all her sails set but none of them moving her.

Then he prepared to look round at the
Invincible.
Southwick, Aitken, and all the others in the ship not busy with heaving-to the frigate were already staring at her, and Ramage knew he had probably failed: first he had tacked the
Calypso
too quickly, giving the ship of the line plenty of time to bring her other broadside to bear; then he had taken too long to heave-to the frigate on the other tack: instead of stopping the
Calypso
a few ship's lengths in front of the
Invincible,
forcing the great ship into some violent manoeuvre to avoid ramming the frigate and probably sending at least her foremast by the board, it seemed he had left her just room to dodge and fire a raking broadside as she passed.

The distant rolling like thunder finally spurred Ramage to look: he was sure it was the rumble of broadsides but he could not believe that the
Invincible
could be so far away.

Not guns, he realized, but flogging canvas: faced with the
Calypso
suddenly heaving-to, the only way the
Invincible
could avoid a collision was to put her helm hard over and now, as she swung round, not fifty yards from the
Calypso
's bow, every sail in the ship was flogging, the fore-topsail ripping from head to foot.

And the muzzle of every gun in the
Invincible
's starboard broadside was pointing right at the
Calypso.
The
Invincible
was swinging fast and Ramage saw a group of officers on her quarterdeck staring across at the frigate. Then he saw they were in fact staring at Orsini, who was standing on the hammock nettings slowly waving a white sheet.

Suddenly and quite unaccountably angry at the group of men, Ramage ran to the bulwark and climbed up on to the nettings to windward of Orsini. He put the speaking-trumpet to his mouth and screamed: “British ship! The war's over, you numskulls!”

He swung the speaking-trumpet forward. “Come on, men,
sing!
‘Black-eyed Susan!'”

A moment later he was leading two hundred men as they bellowed the words which echoed across the sea to the
Invincible,
gradually bearing away now as she cleared the
Calypso
and slowly trimmed her sails.

“You can stow that sheet now,” he said to Paolo. “Where on earth did you manage to find it so quickly?”

Paolo grinned as he folded it. “Your cabin was nearest, sir; it's from your cot! I'm afraid I tore it as I climbed upon the nettings—”

“Did you, by Jove,” Ramage said, for the moment finding his knees weak. Knowing that the strain was easing he wanted to giggle, and Paolo's apology, coming moments after the boy's signals had probably done more than anything to save the ship, could be enough to start him off.

“L
OOK HERE, RAMAGE, I distinctly heard you call me ‘numskull,'” Captain William Hamilton protested querulously in a broad Scots voice. “‘Numskull,' you shouted, and every one of my officers heard you, too.”

“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 28
^th
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.