Ramage and the Guillotine

His head was thudding as if someone was beating it with heavy drumsticks; his body was lying horizontally and swaying, as though suspended between sky and sea. Slowly he forced his eyes open and found himself looking up at the deckhead of a ship. His wrists seemed to be curiously angular and jammed in the pit of his stomach, and then he realized that they were locked in irons. Cautiously he tried to move his ankles, but he was held in leg irons, too. In irons and in a hammock . . .

The effort was too much and he lost consciousness again, and what seemed hours later woke up to the sound of distant shouting: shouting in English; orders for clewing up sails. Another shout echoed through a speaking trumpet and an anchor splashed into the sea and a minute later there was a smell of burning from the friction of the cable running out through the hawsehole.

He tried to sit up but a hand pushed him back in the hammock. He tried to look round, but his head seemed to be stuck in a cloth helmet. 'Who is that?'

'Never you mind,' said a surly voice. 'Just you lie there nice and still.'

'Fetch an officer! I am Lieutenant Ramage!' His voice was little more than a croak.

'And I'm Father Christmas, and I don't want no trouble!'

The man had moved round so that by turning his head slightly Ramage could distinguish a Marine uniform.

'Where are the other prisoners?'

'All secure in irons, except the one with the bad leg: the surgeon's still working on 'im.'

'What's tied round my head?'

The Marine came closer and stared at him curiously. "It's a bandage. You was hit on the 'ead.'

'So I was,' Ramage muttered. 'What ship is this?'

'The Calliope frigate.'

It took a befuddled Ramage a moment to recognize the name because the Marine pronounced it Cally-oh-pee.

'And where have we just anchored?'

"Ere, matey, you want to know a lot for a traitor, don't you! The Downs, that's where we are -' he paused as a boat was hoisted out, 'and that'll be the capting going over to tell Admiral Nelson we 'ad a good night's hunting. They'll have you and your mates 'anging from the yardarm by Monday,' he added without apparent malice. 'Very 'ard on traitors they are.'

'Quick,' Ramage said, trying to sit up and again being pushed flat, 'fetch an officer! Dammit, man, I am a King's officer: tell him Lieutenant Ramage wants to see him urgently!'

'A King's officer, eh?' the Marine said sarcastically. 'Well, all I can see is a face that ain't been shaved fer a week, topped off by a bloodstained rag. Yer clothes is in tatters and yer stink like a farmyard. When did yer last wash?'

Ramage dared not try to sit up again: the sudden thrust back made his head spin. As he tried to think of a way to persuade the Marine to fetch an officer, the man said phlegmatically: 'The sergeant said I was to guard you an' fetch you a clout if there was any monkey business.'

'Didn't he say you were to report when I recovered consciousness?'

'Yes,' the man said patiently, 'he did, but there ain't anyone else 'ere, and I ain't leaving you alone; it's no good you trying that trick on me.'

Pleading, cajoling, bullying: what the devil would work with a man like this?

'Listen, this is extremely urgent. You hail until someone comes. Then send him to tell the officer of the watch that one of the prisoners is Lieutenant Ramage.'

'Ramage, eh,' the Marine said conversationally. 'There was an officer of that name in a cutter called the Kathleen –‘

'Did you serve in her?' Ramage exclaimed.

'No, my mate did. Quite a lad, that Ramage was.'

'But I'm the same one!'

'Ah,' the Marine said, 'then why did you ask me if I served in her? If I did, you'd know, wouldn't you?'

'Damnation, yes I would, but it's almost dark down here and I haven't had a chance of looking at you: every time I try to sit up, you push me down again!'

'You certainly sound like an officer,' the Marine admitted. 'But you was in that French fishing smack, so you can't be.'

Ramage felt like weeping with frustration. 'Look, just hail someone - you'll look a fool if they find you are guarding a British officer!'

'Aye, but I'll look a bigger fool if I start shouting that a man my sergeant says is a traitor is a British officer: I can just guess what my sergeant will say!'

Then Ramage remembered: 'Perkins - that's the name of your captain; stocky man, red face, comes from Devon -'

'Dorset,' the Marine said. 'See, you're wrong again.'

'Don't be stupid! Do you think a French fisherman would speak English like me and know about your captain?'

'Belike he would; you can't trust Frenchies. Anyway, no one says you're French. That Lieutenant Ramage's father was in the Navy - an admiral,' the man said conversationally. 'Served with him once, years ago.'

Ramage tried to control himself. 'I'll tell you about him: then you'll see. My father is Admiral the Earl of Blazey; he's tall with brown eyes and his nickname is "Old Blazeaway." If you tell me where you served with him, I'll tell you the name of the ship.'

'He was a Rear-Admiral then, on the Leeward Islands station.'

'The Phoenix,' Ramage said promptly.

'You're right, too. Now what do I do?' the Marine muttered, clearly overcome by his discovery.

'Hail until someone comes, then pass the word for the officer of the watch.'

'Just my luck to get a duty like this,' the Marine grumbled as he moved out of Ramage's sight and a moment later began bellowing towards the hatch. A seaman must have appeared and was sent off to fetch the sergeant of Marines.

Ramage groaned: the chain of command ...

Finally he found a Marine sergeant looking down at him while the sentry whispered. The sergeant turned on his heel without a word.

'You'll be all right now, sir,' the sentry murmured confidentially. 'One of the best, our sergeant. He was the one what clouted you across the head.'

'I'm glad to meet him,' Ramage said, and closed his eyes.

‘Will you say something, please - sir,' a shrill voice said nervously, and Ramage looked over the edge of the hammock at a young midshipman, who had obviously been sent by the officer of the watch.

'Young man,' Ramage said heavily, 'I am going to say this once, and then you report it immediately to the officer of the watch. I am Lieutenant Ramage, I have been working under the direct orders of Vice-Admiral Lord Nelson, and I was escaping from France in the French fishing vessel which you captured during the night. Now, look lively!'

The boy vanished and the Marine sentry moved close again. 'Don't you fret, sir,' he said soothingly, 'everything'll be all right: we'll have you out of those irons in a minute, but watch that 'ead of yours; if I know the sergeant, he give you a fair old clout!'

Suddenly he sprang to attention and Ramage saw a lieutenant eyeing him.

'Good morning,' Ramage said wearily, 'I'm now saying this for the third or fourth time. I'd be glad if you would report it at once to Captain Perkins.' Once again he described who he was and under whose orders he had been working.

The lieutenant listened, and when Ramage finished he said: 'I'm inclined to believe you; but the captain is with His Lordship at this moment. I'd be grateful if you'd wait a few minutes until he gets back ...'

Ramage could not blame him; even as he told his story he knew it sounded improbable.

'Tell me what happened to the rest of the men in the smack.'

'Oh, they're all in irons. All except the one whose leg or ankle was broken: the surgeon's been attending to him.'

'How many of them?'

'Let me see - there was twenty-seven from the chasse-marée and six from the smack.'

'What happened to the chasse-marée?’

'She sank: when her foremast went by the board it stove in the bulwarks and opened up some planking.'

'And the Marie - the smack?'

'We towed her in; in fact we're just getting her anchored now.’