Ramage and the Renegades

'Jacko!' Stafford said as soon as he found the American on deck among the crowd of men who were preparing to hoist a gun out of a port.

'Jacko, you 'eard the scuttlebutt? About the captain?'

The tall, narrow-faced American whose sandy hair was thinning, seemed to freeze. He turned round slowly and stared at Stafford. 'No. He's all right, isn't he?'

The Cockney seaman laughed, not realizing the effect his question had on the captain's coxswain. 'Yus, he's all right - what harm could come to him in London? No, he's bringing the Marchesa down to see us. And his father and mother. Old "Blaze-away" himself!'

'You gave me a scare,' Jackson said, turning back to give orders to the men straining at the rope. 'I thought something dreadful had happened.'

'You don't trust him on his own!'

'I've picked him up unconscious enough times, bleeding like a stuck pig from a sword cut or a bullet, never to take anything for granted.'

'An' he's saved you enough times,' Stafford said, intending to tease.

'Five times up to now,' Jackson said soberly, if I stay with him I may reach old age and see South Carolina again.'

'You don't seem very pleased at the idea o' seein' the Marchesa again.'

'I am. It's just I'm still cold all over from your clumsiness. And his father. What a sailor he was. The Countess must be a remarkable woman, judging from her husband and her son.'

'There's Rossi - hey, Rosey, hear about the Marchesa?'

The Italian seaman looked up. He had no need to ask 'What Marchesa?', but because of the tone of Stafford's voice he suddenly grinned. 'Are they getting married?'

'Nah, nothing like that. But they - she and the captain and his father and mother - are coming down to see the ship tomorrer. Probably coming down specially to see Signor Alberto Rossi, once the pride o' Genoa!'

'Watch out,' Jackson muttered, 'here comes the bosun.'

The two seamen began heaving on the rope while Jackson went to the gun and made sure the cap squares holding the trunnions down on to the carriage had been pulled up and swung back out of the way. He checked that the sling was square, so that as soon as the men hauled down on the yard tackle the gun, weighing nearly a ton, would rise vertically and not damage anything. He went to the port and looked over the side. The hoy was secured alongside; the men in it were waiting patiently for the next gun to be lowered to them and join the five already lying in the bottom of the hoy, wedged with bags of sand so that they could not move.

Stafford gave a shiver as a gust of wind swept down the reach, pushing at the frigate so that she strained at the heavy ropes securing her by the bow to the mooring buoy. 'This east wind - goes right through you. All that time in the West Indies and Mediterranington makes yer blood thin.'

'Mediterranean,' Jackson said, automatically correcting Stafford, who had a remarkable inability to pronounce place names correctly. 'It's the damp in the cold that makes it worse. I'm surprised the captain is bringing visitors with the ship in such a mess. Anyway, how do you know about it?'

'That chap Hodges. He's the first lieutenant's servant while the other fellow's on leave, and 'e 'eard Mr Aitken and Mr Southwick talking about it. An' we're going to have to tiddly up the chair; the rats have been chewing the red baize.'

'Anything to get away from these guns," Rossi said wearily. 'Accidente, twenty men should make light work of hoisting one gun, but they seem to leave the hoist to me.'

Stafford laughed and said: 'You mean to say it's too heavy? A French gun? You ought to be able to lift it up like a baby out of a cradle, without usin' a tackle.'

He helped heave down on the fall and added: "Ere, the Marchesa's goin' ter 'ave a surprise when she sees Mr Orsini. You'd never think he first came on board a shy boy trippin' over every rope in sight and slippin' on every step of a companionway.'

Paolo Orsini had just left the first lieutenant and his head was in a whirl. He had expected to be given a couple of days' leave so that he could visit his aunt and the captain, and of course, the Earl and Countess, at the Palace Street house. He had never thought for a moment that all of them might visit the ship. His aunt knew what a frigate was like because one had brought her to England from the Mediterranean after the captain (and men like Jackson, Rossi and Stafford) had rescued her from a beach in Tuscany, but now she was to visit the Calypso she would see not only the ship in which he served but which he had helped capture. And since then the Calypso had been in action - well, how many times was it? He found he could not remember; his memory was blurred by the time he had been second-in-command to 'Blower' Martin in a bomb ketch, and when he had (all too briefly) commanded a captured tartane.

He had grown a good couple of inches; the sleeves of all his jackets were too short, so that his wrists stuck out like sections of bamboo; the legs of his breeches ended just on his kneecaps, making them very uncomfortable - so much so that most of the time he felt like a hobbled horse, though on watch at night he pulled them down so that the waistband was tight against his hips.

There was no chance of getting on shore and buying new uniforms here in Chatham: he had hinted to Mr Aitken, who had pointed to the shiny elbows and mildewed lapels of his own uniform and said dourly: 'This is ma best - you see what the Tropics did to it!'

The Tropics were a destroyer: leave a jacket hung in a locker for a week and it grew a fine crop of green mildew wherever a trace of food or drink had spilled on it. Leather, whether boots, shoes, belts or scabbards, grew rich yellow and green mildew as fields sprouted new grass and clover. Iron and steel rusted: a sword or dirk left in its scabbard for a few weeks would rust even if coated with grease - the rust seemed to grow beneath the coating. Rope lost its springiness and became dead, apparently from the sunlight, although no one could explain exactly what happened. Sails suffered too; the humidity and constant tropical showers brought on the mildew, while the blazing sun took the life out of the threads so that it was easy to poke a finger through canvas which looked perfectly sound. Even worse, the material was so weak that the stitches securing a patch just ripped it away like a slashing knife. He had seen a patch blown clean out of a sail - and a few moments later the sail itself had split, starting from the hole left by the departed patch. Yes, most interesting, but what the devil was it that the first lieutenant had ordered him to do? Quickly Paolo tried to remember the conversation. Mr Aitken had said he had just received a letter from the captain saying he was bringing the Marchesa and his parents down to Chatham for a visit to the Calypso, and he wished Midshipman Orsini, able seaman Jackson, and ordinary seamen Rossi and Stafford to be available. Then he said they would be coming down by carriage and mentioned the name of the hotel they would use. And the Commissioner of the dockyard was making his yawl available and they would be leaving the jetty of the Commissioner's residence to board the ship at ten o'clock in the forenoon. Then what? The chair! That was it: the red baize needed replacing; and a whip had to be rove on the starboard main yardarm.

The English language was sometimes absurd. On land a whip was something you used on a horse or mule; in a ship it was a small block and a rope. Then there was a block - on land that was a large piece of something, like a block of wood. In a ship a block was what men on land called a pulley. And a sheet! That was the most hilarious of all - on land you found a sheet on a bed, although you could also have a sheet of paper. In a ship a sheet was a rope attached to the corner of a sail to control its shape. A seaman did not 'put' a rope through a pulley, he rove it through a block, or he was ordered to reeve it. Paolo saw the first lieutenant coming up the companionway. Damn, where was the chair stowed? The bosun would know.