Ramage and the Guillotine

Ramage was too dizzy to stand and they sat him on the deck. Captain Perkins knelt beside him.

'I'm sorry, Ramage; you realize we had no idea -?'

Ramage nodded and regretted it a moment later as his head began spinning again.

'I was just reporting to his Lordship,' Captain Perkins continued, 'and happened to mention the name of the smack. His Lordship - well, he became rather excited and told me I was to send you on board at once!'

Ramage pointed to his torn clothes and unshaven face, but Perkins said: 'His Lordship was most emphatic that I sent you over immediately if in fact you had been on board the smack. I told him you would want to clean yourself up, but His Lordship has already got his lieutenants finding you clothes - ah, here's the master-at-arms. Hurry, man! Don't fumble with those keys!'

Fifteen minutes later a shaky, unshaven and smelly Ramage was waiting in the Admiral's cabin on board the Minerva frigate. Outside the door the sentry suddenly stamped to attention; a moment later the Admiral walked into the cabin, a small, slim man who had no need to bend his head to avoid bumping the deckhead. His empty right sleeve was pinned to his coat; his good eye was bright. He smiled the moment he saw Ramage hurriedly getting up from the chair.

'Ah, Mr Ramage rises from the dead!'

'Good morning, sir; I must apologize for my appearance -'

'Don't apologize; I wanted to see you at once. Hmmm!' He eyed Ramage from head to feet. 'You don't have that furtive look of a jailbird yet - but obviously you haven't been staying in the best hotels! I'm told the knock on the head is not too serious. Ah,' he turned as a tall, heavily built man with a round, cheerful face knocked and walked into the cabin, 'here's Captain Ross. Meet the Calliope's prisoner, Ross; a desperate-looking rogue, you'll have to admit.'

Captain Ross, who commanded the Minerva, gave a friendly grin. ‘The last we heard of you, young man, was your coxswain - what's his name? Jackson, was it? - telling us you were in a French jail and about to be hauled off to the guillotine any moment,'

'Aye,' the Admiral said, 'I'm afraid I anticipated your death, Ramage: I didn't expect the French would let you slip through their fingers!'

'You anticipated ...’ a puzzled Ramage broke off lamely.

'Yes, I wrote a private letter to your father giving him all the news we had. I didn't say you'd been executed, but the inference was obvious. You'd better send word to him at once - give me the letter and I'll see it goes up to London in the Admiralty bag tonight.'

‘Thank you, sir,' Ramage said, 'it was kind of you -'

'Telling a father his son is probably dead is not a kindness, young man; and I expect the Marchesa has shed a tear or two,' he said, adding in a brisker tone: 'Now, sit down and tell me what happened - begin from the time you left me at Dover Castle.'

At that moment Ramage cursed himself for not having considered how he would describe the roles of people like Simpson, Dyson and Louis. Well, Dyson deserved some kind of recognition for his work, even though he was a deserter, and Simpson deserved to have his anonymity preserved: his smuggling activities were a matter between him and the Revenue men.

'Well, sir,' Ramage began hesitantly, 'to get to France I had to enlist the help of some men who - well, who -'

'I know all about that,' Nelson said crisply. 'I anticipated you would, and your coxswain told me. Don't back and fill, man, I don't care if you emptied Newgate and used the prisoners: I'm not a Revenue officer, and the Admiralty is sufficiently satisfied with the result of your work to take a generous view in the matter of rewards - within reason, of course.'

The hint was broad enough, and Ramage described all his activities, without naming Simpson. The Admiral was intrigued by the story of Dyson and commented to Captain Ross: 'Probably best to leave him to carry on smuggling - he won't thank us for clearing him: that would mean a court martial and then a pardon. The Admiralty might make a note of his name, in case he is ever picked up - still,' he said to Ramage, 'have a talk with the man and see what he wants. He's done more work for the country as a deserter and smuggler than he'd ever do as a pressed seaman!'

When Ramage finished his story by explaining why one Marie was now anchored near the Calliope while another was in Folkestone, the Admiral nodded several times. 'The Calliope won't claim her as a prize. Well, you're a lucky fellow. You realize you lived up to your reputation for disobeying orders, I suppose?'

Ramage, startled by the sudden change in Lord Nelson's voice, glanced up quickly, the alarm showing on his face. 'I - well, sir, there -'

'Your orders,' the Admiral said relentlessly, 'were to go to Boulogne and make the best estimate yoii could of the number and type of invasion craft ready for sea and some estimate of their capacity and when they could sail. Is that not so?'

'Yes, sir,' Ramage admitted nervously. 'Very well; if you were given those orders, then you could assume that that was what the Admiralty intended you to do. Am I right?'

'Of course, sir.'

'And what did you do? You had a look round Boulogne and then went off to Amiens, no doubt a nice enough town in peacetime but no place for a British officer in wartime.'

'But sir, Admiral Bruix's dispatch -'

Suddenly the Admiral was laughing. 'Have you ever seen such a long face, Ross? He has a guilty conscience! I'll bet he looked more cheerful when they sentenced him to the guillotine, eh?'

'Not surprising, sir, if I may say so,' Captain Ross said mildly. 'I suspect you frighten him more than Bonaparte did!'

'I don't mind telling you, Ramage, that I had to word my report to the First Lord very carefully, otherwise His Lordship would have jumped on you for disobeying orders. So, remember that as far as Lord St Vincent is concerned, my orders were wide enough to allow your - ah, your visit to Amiens.'

'Thank you, sir,' Ramage said soberly. 'May I -'

'Get yourself cleaned up and report to the First Lord at the Admiralty,' Lord Nelson said. 'I am writing to him this evening and he'll receive the letter before you arrive. It might be a good time to see about further employment. You've done me out of a job - you realize that, don't you?'

Ramage looked flabbergasted. 'But - you're commanding the Squadron, aren't you, sir?'

'I am at the moment, with orders to watch Bonaparte's Invasion Flotilla and make sure it never crosses the Channel, Your sight of Admiral Bruix's dispatches means we have nothing to fear this year - so probably the Squadron for "a Particular Service" will be dispersed.'

'I'm very sorry, sir,' Ramage said apologetically, 'but -'

'I have no regrets; indeed, at the risk of being indiscreet I don't mind admitting, young man, that you've done me a good turn: commanding this Squadron is not my idea of fighting the war. I just sit here, cold, damp and ill, my cough much worse and my eye inflamed ...'

Ramage tried to look sympathetic and Captain Ross glanced away: Lord Nelson's obsession with his health was always in violent contrast with his obsession for fighting the French wherever there was water enough to float a ship. However ill he was, though, the chance of battle always cured him.

The Admiral stood up and smiled at Ramage. Holding out his left hand he said as Ramage shook it: 'Tell Lord St Vincent the story in the same way you told it to me, Amiens and all; and my best wishes to the Marchesa: you are a lucky young man.'