Ramage's Devil

Except for Travis, the others laughed dutifully: Captain Bennett was only an inch or so over five feet; even his hair, wiry and sitting on his head like a bob major wig, did not come within five inches of the beams.

'Then there's Captain Ramage. Lord Ramage, by rights, but he saves us any possible embarrassment by not using his title. You're a jealous man, otherwise you'd have brought that beautiful wife with you.'

Ramage smiled, not at all certain whether or not the admiral was making a polite joke. 'She has only a fishwife's torn smock to wear, sir, so she decided to wait for a more appropriate occasion.'

Clinton gestured at Ramage's trousers and shirt. 'You'd have made a good pair. I've been a sailor too long to judge a ship by the patches in her sails.'

He looked round at the settee. 'Well, Mr Ramage, perhaps you'd introduce these gentlemen ...'

'Sir, Lieutenant Aitken, the Calypso's first lieutenant. He has served with me in the Mediterranean and the West Indies.'

'Aye,' Clinton told Aitken, 'he's been telling me all about you. What he doesn't know - nor do you - is that I knew all about you long ago.'

He gave a laugh at the look of dismay on the young lieutenant's face. 'Man, you look as though the parson's just accused you of deflowering all the young women in the village. Y'father was another Aitken, master, was he not, and he served with me in the Ramillies, Britannia and this ship, the Culloden, before I hoisted my flag. I owed a lot to y'father and I've kept an eye on you from the day y'went to sea, but you've made your own way without needing a dram of help so I've held m'peace.'

Aitken was obviously startled at this news and stammered his thanks, to be cut short by Clinton. 'Ye've served Mr Ramage very well, and it looks to me as if Mr Ramage feels towards the Aitken family as I do. Still, we all have the rest of our lives to live and,' he added, his voice taking on a friendly warning note, 'a great deal of both good and bad can happen before we go to our graves.'

A sombre silence had fallen over the great cabin and in Ramage's imagination the mahogany of the desk, wine cooler and table seemed to grow darker, but Clinton seemed not to realize the effect he had unwittingly made.

'And you must be the Calypso's surgeon - Bowen, isn't it? You and Mr Aitken have had a worrying time, I imagine. Now, who starts? Perhaps we'd be better starting at the end, then Dr Travis can be about his business.'

Which was another way of saying, Ramage reflected, that Travis would not have to listen to things that he could be questioned about later at a court-martial.

'How did you find the patient?'

'Mr Aitken was justified in signalling for the physician of the fleet, sir. This is no reflection on the medical capacity of Mr Bowen, who I truly believe understands a great deal more about this type of illness than I do.'

'Don't stop man, you've only just started!' the admiral exclaimed impatiently.

'Acting on your orders, I boarded the Calypso frigate as soon as she hove-to near the flagship,' Travis said in a monotonous voice, obviously nettled by the admiral's remarks, 'and I asked Captain Ramage why the ship had made the signal requesting the fleet's physician. He said that the captain of the frigate, a certain Captain William Bullivant, was confined to his cot unconscious and not in a fit condition to exercise command of the ship.'

'Oh, go on, man!'

'Captain Ramage commented to me,' Travis said heavily, 'that the nature of Captain Bullivant's illness was such that not only could he not exercise command, but it led him for long periods to act in a manner prejudicial to the King's business.'

Everyone in the cabin realized that Travis had spoken slowly and with great care a sentence which was carefully phrased, intended not just for the ears of the commander-in-chief but the five or more captains and flag officers who might be forming a court-martial or court of inquiry.

'Did you examine the patient?'

'I was introduced to the ship's first lieutenant and her surgeon, but before discussing the case any further I went below and examined the patient. I have my notes here,' he said, pulling a sheaf of papers from a leather case. The admiral watched for a moment as Travis began sorting them out, and then groaned.

'No, no, Travis, don't start pouring Latin words all over me. I'm just a simple Highlander, not one of your brilliant Edinburgh scholars.'

Travis glared at the admiral, sat up straight in the armchair and put the papers back in his case. 'In words of one syllable, sir, Captain Bullivant was in a drunken stupor. He has been having attacks of - if you'll permit me that Latin - delirium tremens, and he was proposing to have the master, a midshipman and a seaman hanged at sunset.'

Clinton's face paled. It took him only a moment to connect the Bullivant family and the Navy Board, the besotted captain of a frigate and the dangers for junior officers, and another moment to realize that the whole problem had landed in his lap like a haggis sliding away from the carver's knife.

'You can testify about the man's medical condition; you don't know about the hangings.'

'I do, sir,' Travis contradicted, and he said with some precision: 'I confirmed the captain's intentions with each of the three men and my witnesses were Captain Ramage and Lieutenant Swan, the first lieutenant of the brig.'

'Very well, doctor, and thank 'ee. I'm sure you have plenty of work waiting for you.'

'I have that,' Travis said. 'You'll be wanting a written report?'

'I'll talk to you about that later.'

As soon as Travis had left the cabin, Clinton looked at Ramage. 'It was as bad as that?'

'Worse, sir. Bullivant was going to shoot me when I came on board: he reckoned I was Satan, too.'

Clinton permitted himself a wintry smile. 'A pardonable error of identification, some might say.'

Ramage gave an equally wintry smile. 'With a loaded pistol at less than five paces, sir.'

'Too close, too close,' Clinton agreed, and turned to Bowen. 'When do you think the drinking started?'

'Years ago, sir. Secret drinking. As the months pass it takes a glass or two more to produce oblivion. Finally the brain is deranged, although at first not all the time. For a long time the patient probably manages to control his drinking so that he stays this side of delirium, but suddenly he is put under a strain - given the command of a ship, for example. He feels himself inadequate so he has an extra glass or two, or three or four. And he passes over the line into delirium. A few hours later he recovers from that particular attack, craves more drink ... and so it goes on. Fifty glasses are not enough; one is too many.'

'How long will it take to cure this man?'

'That is a question better answered by Dr Travis, sir.'

'I am asking you,' persisted the admiral.

'You won't like my answer, sir.'

'When you reach my age and rank you rarely like anyone's answers about anything, so that's not relevant. You were cured of the same thing.'

'Yes, sir, but the cause - what drove me to drink - was not the same.'

Ramage was pleasantly surprised at the way Bowen was carefully making his points: the admiral was leaning forward, like the close relative listening anxiously for the diagnosis.

'What's the difference? A drink is a drink. One man's body is like another. It's the liver isn't it. Gets damaged?'

'It's really the mind, sir,' Bowen corrected gently. 'It's the mind that starts a man drinking, although the liver eventually kills him. The patient we are concerned with started drinking - in my opinion, of course - because it helped him forget his feelings of inadequacy.'

'Inadequacy? Inadequacy?' Clinton turned the word over like a dog with a bone. 'What did he feel inadequate about?'

'Commanding a frigate, sir. He was also unlucky enough to be given the Calypso.'

'Bowen, you are talking rubbish.'