Ramage's Devil

'You did say "Lord Ramage", didn't you, sir?'

'You said "Lord": I merely said "Ramage". I don't use my title in the Service.'

'No, quite, sir: I remember in the Gazette... It is simply that we did not expect...'

Ramage turned aft towards the companionway, feeling smug at his self-controclass="underline" the temptation of pointing at the unmanned guns and closed ports had been almost irresistible.

Captain Wells had been given post rank late in life: Ramage guessed he was well past fifty, and like his first lieutenant he was plump, and what would have otherwise been a pleasant face with sandy eyebrows was spoiled by eyes too close together.

Now he stood at the bottom of the companionway staring up at the apparent fisherman coming down the steps with all the assurance of a Gascon. Not, Ramage thought to himself, that Captain Wells would know the meaning of 'Gasconade' or its derivation. Nor did Wells know how he was going to get any proof of the extraordinary story that the first lieutenant had just gabbled out.

Wells gave himself time by saying: 'Won't you come in?'

Ramage remembered that his own cabin, couch and sleeping place in the Calypso frigate were larger: the French allowed their captains more room.

Wells gestured towards the single armchair and while Ramage sat down, seated himself at the desk and began taking the cap from an ink bottle.

'Ah ... well now, perhaps you had better report to me in your own words and if you'll speak slowly, I'll write -'

'No reports, written or otherwise, to anyone except the commander-in-chief,' Ramage said flatly. 'My name is Ramage, and I do not have my commission but you can confirm the date from your copy of Steel's List, which I see you have on your desk. I was in France on my honeymoon - you have no doubt seen my wife on the Murex' s quarterdeck - when the war started again. We escaped arrest, saw the Murex being brought in with a French escort and discovered that most of her ship's company had mutinied. The officers and a dozen or so loyal seamen were left on board and my wife and I' - Ramage decided Gilbert and the others would forgive the exaggeration - 'with the help of four Frenchmen overpowered the guards, freed our men, and sailed the ship out of Brest. Then you came along.'

'But look here, I've no proof -'

'You don't need any, Wells,' Ramage snapped. 'Send a dozen of your men over to help those poor souls sail the Murex, and make a signal to the admiral. You'll have fun with the Signal Book. I don't recall anything which quite covers this situation.'

'But Ramage, I can't -'

'Tell the admiral why you can't, Wells, but I'll tell you just one more thing, after which I want a dozen topmen sending down to my cutter and I'll be off to join the fleet. Time, Wells, hours and minutes rather than days: I am desperate to save time.' With that Ramage was out through the door and halfway up the companion way before Wells had time to draw a breath.

He was calling to the first lieutenant to have his boat ready when Wells came up the companionway, took one more look (a despairing look, it seemed to Ramage) and seeing his first lieutenant busy, called to the master to send a dozen topmen down into the boat without waiting for them to collect their gear.

'You will let me have them back?' he called after Ramage, as anxious as any captain to keep prime seamen.

'Yes - as soon as we're hove-to near the flagship. You can escort us down there!'

CHAPTER NINE

Reginald Edward Clinton, knight, vice-admiral of the blue, was a bachelor and, Ramage decided at first sight, every child's idea of what Father Christmas should look like. He was plump and round-faced, the red complexion contrasting with a pair of startlingly blue eyes, which rarely moved. The admiral had a habit of swivelling his whole head when he wanted to shift his gaze. The effect, Ramage decided, was like aiming a gun.

But Admiral Clinton was decisive. He listened to Ramage's story without interruption and then asked a series of questions, starting with those referring to the beginning of Ramage's visit to France and ending with a request for the numbers and rates of the French ships anchored in Brest. After writing down the figures and the state of readiness of each of them, he put the cap back on the inkwell, wiped the tip of his quill pen with a piece of cloth and said casually: 'You captured and then commanded the Calypso, didn't you?'

'Yes, sir. I still do - or did. She was being paid off and laid up at Chatham when I went on leave.'

'Hmm. Well, she wasn't actually paid off - the war was started again. In fact I have her with me. Commanded by a fellow called Bullivant.'

'Edward Bullivant, sir, son of the Navy Board contractor?'

'The same one,' the admiral said, his voice flat. 'What sort of officers did you have?'

'Not one I would change - indeed, sir, not one I would ever want to exchange.'

'Master?'

'A man called Southwick. He'd been with me from the time I was given my first command.'

'And the surgeon?' Clinton asked casually.

'A brilliant man. Used to have a practice in Wimpole Street.'

'Oh? Then why is he now simply a surgeon in a frigate?'

'Drink, sir. Lost all his patients. Came to sea.'

'That explains it all,' Clinton said, obviously relieved.

Ramage quickly decided to risk a snub. 'May I ask what it explains, sir?'

'Well, had a dam' strange signal from her at daybreak. Number 215 over her own pendant.'

Ramage thought for several moments. There were more than four hundred numbered signals in the book and 215 was not one he had ever seen hoisted or heard anyone refer to.

Clinton said: 'Number 215 means: The physician of the Fleet is to come to the Admiral. But hoisted over the Calypso's pendant numbers I assume she is trying to reverse it - asking for the physician of the fleet to go to the Calypso.'

Physician. Ramage realized the significance of the word. Most frigates and all ships of the line had surgeons, but physicians were different. There were between two and three hundred surgeons in the Navy but only three physicians - Dr Harness (who had given his name to a special sort of cask), Dr Trotter (who was a friend of Lord St Vincent) and Dr Travis. One of them would be on board this flagship.

'Why would she be wanting the physician?'Clinton asked, although it was obvious the question was rhetorical.

'The Signal Book, sir,' Ramage said. 'I don't think there is any signal for requesting medical assistance.'

'But why should she need it? Perhaps the surgeon has drunk himself stupid.'

Ramage realized that he had not completed his reference to Bowen. 'I think not, sir: his first ship was the Triton brig, which I commanded, and he stopped drinking.'

Clinton smiled benevolently: he was making allowances for the pride of a young captain.

'Not Bowen, sir- that's the surgeon. He was cured.'

'Who achieved that miracle?' Clinton demanded.

'Well, sir, the master and I saw him through the worst of it. As I said, he's a very intelligent man. A wonderful chess player.'

'Hmm -1 hope he isn't trying to make pawns of us. She has the same officers and ship's company; only Bullivant is new. What do you think is going on?'

Had Bowen started drinking again? Or been injured himself? In that case, Bullivant would have asked one of the other frigates to send over her surgeon.

'Where is the Calypso, sir? I did not see her.'

'Some distance up to the northwest, in company.with the Blackthorne frigate.'

'So she would be close enough to ask the Blackthorne to send over her surgeon?'

'Yes. The Blackthorne is nearer to us and relayed this strange signal. Who the devil would have thought up 215 over a pendant - it's clever, if they really need the physician of the fleet.'