'You can open those addressed to you. Here------' he pushed across the silver paper-knife.
Nervously Ramage slit open the first He recognized the once-folded piece of parchment and his eyes immediately picked out the relevant word—'Lieutenant the Lord Ramage ... His Majesty's brig Triton... willing and requiring you forthwith to go on board and take upon you the charge and command of captain in her... Hereof, nor you nor any of you may fail as you will answer to the contrary at your peril...' It was signed, 'Spencer, Arden, Jas. Gambier'— three of the Lords Commissioners.
His commission! And what a command—a brig! Triton, Triton... ? He searched his memory.
'Ten guns, two years old, fresh out of the dockyard after a refit,' Spencer said.
'Thank you, sir,' Ramage said humbly, holding up the commission. 'I didn't expect quite...'
'I know. Keep your gratitude for a moment: you've another letter to read.'
Unpleasant orders, no doubt He broke the seal and unfolded the paper.
By the Commissioners for Executing the Office of Lord High Admiral of the United Kingdom & Ireland
Whereas by our Commission bearing date this day we have appointed your Lordship to the command of His Majesty's brig Triton, you are hereby required and directed to proceed without loss of time in His Majesty's brig Triton under your command to Rendezvous Number Five off Brest and deliver to Admiral Sir Roger Curtis the packet with which you have already been entrusted. You will men, without loss of time, proceed to Rendezvous Number Eleven, off Cape St Vincent and having ascertained from whichever frigate is stationed there, the posi tion of the squadron under the command of Admiral the Earl of St Vincent, you are to deliver to His Lordship the packet which has already been delivered to you, taking particular care that neither you nor any of your ships company shall inform any other person or persons in Lord St Vincent's squadron of the state of affairs at Spithead.
Upon reporting to His Lordship, you will answer any questions put to you by His Lordship as freely and truthfully as is within your power.
As soon as His Lordship permits you will leave the squadron and proceed without loss of time to the Windward Islands Station and, immediately upon finding Rear-Admiral Henry Robinson or, should he be absent, the senior officer upon the station, and deliver to him the packet of which you are already possessed, and answer any questions put to you as freely and truthfully as lies within your power. You will take particular care that neither you nor your ship's company shall inform any other person in Admiral Robinson's squadron of the state of affairs at Spithead.
You will then place yourself under the command of Rear-Admiral Robinson, or if he is absent, the senior officer upon the station, for your further proceedings.
Given the 16th day of April 1797.
Spencer, Arden, Jas. Gambler.
As he was reading the time-honoured phrases, Ramage knew mere was a 'but'. Giving him command of the Triton brig was obviously the Admiralty's way of privately approving his recent behaviour and equally privately rewarding him for it; but there must be a special reason why he had been selected. The task seemed more appropriate to a frigate commanded by a post-captain.
'Well?' demanded Spencer.
'Seems straightforward, sir.'
'The Triton's at Spithead.'
But every ship of war at Spithead had mutinied: when Admiral Lord Bridport had made the signal to weigh anchor a few days ago, the seamen in some fifteen sail of the line had refused to obey, run up the shrouds and given three cheers. The officers had been sent on shore and ropes had been rove from the foreyardanns, warning that anyone who did not support the mutiny would be hanged.
At this moment, Ramage reflected, the Admiralty which administered the most powerful fleet the world had ever seen couldn't tell a dozen men to row a boat with any hope of its order being obeyed. He laughed involuntarily at the absurdity of it.
Immediately Spencer's hands clenched, the knuckles white.
'You find the fact His Majesty's Fleet at Spithead is in a state of mutiny and complete anarchy a laughing matter, Ramage?'
'No, sir I' he added hastily. 'It's just that I seem doomed to get commands in—er, unusual—circumstances. The Sibella was under attack and sinking when I had to take command as the only surviving officer. My first task after being given my first official command, the Kathleen cutter, was to rescue the crew of a frigate aground and under enemy fire. Then I lost the Kathleen at the Battle of Cape St Vincent. Now—if you'll forgive me for saving so, my Lord—my next command is a brig whose crew has mutinied!'
Spencer smiled and for a moment said nothing. Yes, the lad was like his father. Face on the thin side, high cheekbones, eyes deep-set under thick eyebrows, nose straight, not quite aquiline. By no means handsome but, as his wife had remarked a couple of evenings ago at the ball, there was something about the lad that made him stand out among the hundred or so men present Hard to define why—he wasn't tall; in fact he was quite average. Slim hips, wide shoulders and an arrogant walk. No, Spencer thought, not arrogant as much as confident. Habit of rubbing that old scar over his brow—as he was doing this very minute—when he was worried, find trouble pronouncing the letter V when he got excited—he'd just say 'bwig' for 'brig'.
Spencer forgot the mutiny as he studied Ramage, realizing a lot would depend on the lad's character over the next few weeks. Next few hours, in fact. No, it wasn't the face or the stance, nor the physique or the voice... At that moment Ramage glanced up nervously and Spencer saw that part of it was the eyes. He realized they could express the same menace or defiance as the muzzles of a pair of pistols. And looking into them you could no more guess his thoughts than you could see the lead shot in the pistols' barrels. Yet you didn't see those eyes across the length of a ballroom. What was it then? It was like glancing up at the night sky—a few stars out of the millions visible caught the eye, for no apparent reason. Spencer finally admitted he couldn't define it, though it was clear why Ramage's men were devoted to him: he combined a decisive manner with a dry sense of humour and, like his father, he combined a highly developed, even if arbitrary, sense of justice with an uncontrollable impatience with fools. Well, no harm in that—as long as be never became a member of the Board and had to persuade the rest to adopt some policy they were too stupid to understand.
Realizing he'd been staring at Ramage for some moments, Spencer smiled and asked:
'Why do you think you were chosen to command the Triton and given these orders?'
'I've no idea, sir,' Ramage said frankly.
'Since you've already given the reason yourself without realizing it, I'll tell you—and I'm speaking to the son of an old friend, not to a young lieutenant!
'The Board know full well that to get the Triton under way at Spithead is going to need ingenuity and quick thinking by her commanding officer; perhaps even highly irregular methods which might lead to violence and which, if it resulted in a public outcry, the Board would have to disown.'
He held up his hand to stop Ramage interrupting and continued:
'The Board also know it's easier to persuade fifty seamen than a couple of hundred, so they chose a brig rather than a frigate. Selecting a lieutenant to command her—well, there was only one man known to them who was the junior lieutenant of a frigate when he was rendered unconscious in battle and woke to find himself her commanding officer and behaved with great initiative and bravery; and only one lieutenant who was quick enough to spot that the only way to prevent several Spanish ships of the line from escaping capture was to ram me leading one with the tiny cutter he was commanding.