So what was he really looking for out on the ocean? Honour and glory, the power over men that came with command, the almost erotic thrill of fear in battle? He was concentrating so hard on giving himself an honest answer that his heel slipped off the edge of a step and he nearly fell, yet even while regaining his balance he knew the answer was 'No' in each case.
What stopped him from asking to go on to half pay (or resigning his commission) and returning to England, to the life of a gentleman, helping Father run the estates and perhaps dabbling in politics? There'd be no discredit in that (except dabbling in politics, and he rejected the idea) nor difficulty in arranging it. The Navy had far too many young lieutenants - at least a quarter of them were always unemployed, haunting the Admiralty or badgering friends with 'interest' to write to the First Lord to get them a berth. He shrugged his shoulders and felt a few more stitches spliting in his coat. Blast the fool who'd sold it him and triple blast his tailor, and whoever made the thread could rot in hell.
He suddenly realized that for some seconds he'd been standing and staring at a dead cat floating in the water, and glanced up to see Maxton holding the boat alongside, his glistening brown face split with a grin of pleasure. Jackson, watching him curiously and probably trying to fathom his thoughts, was at the tiller and the rest of the men who had been with him at Cartagena were manning the oars. All of them were rigged out in new blue shirts and white duck trousers, and were freshly shaven. He climbed in, nodded, and a few moments later the boat was being rowed briskly across the anchorage.
Perhaps if he knew the answer he could leave the sea. But would finding the answer be like finding the Golden Fleece - the very fact of succeeding meant there was nothing more to do with your life: no spur, no goal, no purpose ...?
He turned for one last unhurried look at Gibraltar, and for a moment he was a child again, lying flat on his stomach on a Cornish beach staring up at a great boulder only a few feet away. The houses clustered on the steep sides were tiny limpets; the grey defensive walls studded with embrasures just cracks in the rock lined with sea snails. Was Gianna watching from a balcony of The Convent? He wasn't too sure - they'd parted as both lovers and strangers; there'd been no time for the tranquil minutes which—
He glanced up to see La Providenciaat anchor a hundred yards away. He hoped Sir John would buy her into the service. Even without him forgoing his share of the prize money, the six men now in the boat would each get a few hundred pounds; more than they'd ever earn in a lifetime as seamen.
'She served us well.'
'Aye, sir,' Jackson said wistfully. 'I wouldn't mind having her as a privateer!'
In taking only three days and four nights from Cartagena La Providenciahad made a fast passage in such light winds and Ramage, like the Commissioner, could only pray the Spanish Fleet had been delayed in leaving, then met the same humbugging winds, and found the convoy of seventy transports - if they sailed at the same time - as slow, mulish and stupid as convoys of transports usually were.
But the chances that they'd have a slow passage were slight - the wind had now gone east and was becoming squally, and the wispy clouds beginning to stream westward from the peaks of Gibraltar, like steam from a boiling kettle, were a warning that a strong easterly wind, the Levanter, was already on its way across the Mediterranean. Bringing heavy rain and poor visibility, it was just the wind to let Cordoba's Fleet scurry through the Strait.
As he'd brought La Providenciaround the great craggy Europa Point, close in along Dead Man's Beach and up to Rosia Bay, he'd been startled to see that, with one exception, there wasn't a ship o' war at anchor in the Bay: obviously every available vessel was at sea, either helping Commodore Nelson evacuate the Mediterranean or with Sir John Jervis.
The boat came alongside and the men's grins were wider than ever as Ramage scrambled up the side battens to the trilling of bosun's calls. It was childish, but one of the best things about commanding a ship was being piped on board ...
A few moments later he was returning Southwick's salute and shaking him by the hand while the ship's company, drawn up on deck in two ranks, began a wild, spontaneous cheering that Southwick did nothing to stop.
'Welcome back on board, sir: the Kathleen hasn't been the same without you!'
Ramage blinked and thought irrelevantly of the split seam in his coat. Jackson had been the first to spot the Kathleen at anchor as La Providenciarounded Europa Point, and Ramage had been both delighted and nervous until he'd reached the Commissioner's office and been told the frigate Hotspur had recaptured both the Kathleen and the Spanish frigate towing her into Barcelona, and freed all her crew, who were prisoners in the frigate. His nervousness vanished completely when the Commissioner, after hearing about Cordoba's instructions, had ordered him to resume command and find Sir John 'with all despatch'.
But he hadn't anticipated such a home-coming, for his return to the cutter was just that, and stood open-mouthed at the gangway as the men cheered again and again. By now Jackson and the gig's crew had come on board and were standing to one side, and as Ramage waved to include them the ship's company roared their approval.
Southwick said above the din, 'I think they'd appreciate a few words, sir!'
Ramage jumped up on top of a carronade and held up his hand for silence. He tried to look grim and succeeded: the lean face, hard eyes, the diagonal slash of the scar light against the tan, lips compressed and muscles of the jaw taut, made him look both ruthless and determined.
He held up his hand for silence.
'You must be the most stupid ship's company it’s ever been the misfortune of any man to command,' he said harshly.
The smiles vanished. Every man looked crestfallen, like an errant schoolboy.
'I've tried to kill you with La Sabinaand failed. I thought I'd get a second chance with the two frigates but they turned out to be British. I couldn't be bothered the third time when we met the Spanish Fleet. Now you are so dam' stupid you cheer me when I come back again.'
With that the men began roaring with laughter and, breaking ranks, surged round him, several of them shouting ' 'Ave another go, sir!'
'I'm going to! But this time - and I'm not joking now -we'll probably be playing chase with the Santisima Trinidad.' He paused to let it sink in. 'In case you've forgotten, she carries 130 guns. Once we've dealt with her there'll be six more each of 112 guns, and two with eighty. Then if you've still got any fire left in your bellies, there'll be eighteen more seventy-fours. But don't think there'll be any time for grog after that because you'll still have a few dozen frigates left to bring into Gibraltar or the Tagus!'
If he thought the list would have a sobering effect he was mistaken: the men promptly began cheering again and he glimpsed Southwick rubbing his hands in a familiar way. If every Spanish ship's company had even half their spirit, he reflected, Cordoba's great fleet would be invincible. Even as the men cheered Ramage pictured Cordoba's Fleet leaving Cadiz and joining the French Fleet at Brest for an attempted invasion of England. French troops marching through Cornwall, looting and burning St. Kew Hall, and probably guillotining his father for being both an earl and an admiral. The men fell silent and he realized his thoughts showed in his face. Well, despite the need for secrecy on shore, there was no harm in telling them what it was all about, since they'd be at sea in fifteen minutes.