Ramage's Devil

'Clinton? The Scots family?'

'I think so: he speaks with a Scots accent. Why?'

'He was out in the East Indies once and I met him when he called on father. I think he's quite well regarded.'

'Yes, we're lucky he's commanding the Fleet.'

'It hardly matters, surely, if we are going to Plymouth.'

'Dearest, I have no idea whether we'll be sailing for Plymouth or Jamaica or the Cape of Good Hope. All I know is that Admiral Clinton has given me orders which I am carrying out. They should take only a few hours, but' - he softened his voice - 'they concern a ship, men and the sea, so nothing is certain.'

She gave a ghost of a smile, as if to start making up for her earlier tartness. A start, but by no means an acceptance of the fact she was now (for the first time in their brief marriage) very definitely the moon in her husband's life; the Navy was the sun. This was, of course, precisely what the Countess of Blazey had warned her about before the wedding. Sarah admitted to herself that she had thought Nicholas's mother was being too protective (of both of them) when she warned that Navy wives always came second. Well, that had not prevented the Countess's own marriage being a most successful one - the Earl of Blazey, apart from being one of the Navy's finest admirals until falling victim to politics, clearly loved and was loved by his wife.

'Am I allowed to know what Admiral Clinton's orders are?'

'Of course!' he said, snatching at the tiny olive branch which was being inspected rather than proffered. Quickly he explained how the Calypso had hoisted what seemed a bewildering signal. It took longer to explain that there were only three physicians in the entire Navy, while surgeons were numbered in hundreds, but she was intrigued.

'What do you expect to find?'

'I have absolutely no idea; nor has the admiral, which is why he is sending me.'

'But this new captain, Bullivant, what... ?'

'I'm sure he is not going to be very pleased to see me!'

'Why not? I should have thought that -'

He cut her short. 'Just imagine it. The Calypso is not famous but people know about her. I captured her, was put in command, and took her into action several times. All the officers and many of the ship's company would be regarded by a new captain as "my" men because normally he selects his own officers when commissioning the ship - certainly his first lieutenant and midshipmen, and probably the master.

'This wretched fellow Bullivant - I feel sorry for him. He knows that whatever he does, from how he wears his hat to the way he gives orders, everyone on board is comparing him with the previous captain. It can't give him much confidence. He must hate the thought of me - I know I should!'

'You wouldn't, you know: you'd just make sure you did everything better - and quicker, too. You are one of the lucky people who have confidence in themselves.'

Ramage's laugh was bitter. She could never guess the hours before going into action when he had completely lost confidence in himself and his plans, and would have changed them completely but for there being no time or no obvious alternative. Even as late as two nights ago, when he led the four Frenchmen and Sarah to capture the Murex - did she think he had no doubts and fears? Well, perhaps it was better if she (along with everyone who had served with him in the Calypso) thought he had not.

He heard shouting from aloft, and then Swan's question to the masthead lookout. 'Where away? ... You are sure? ... French built from the sheer? Very well, keep a sharp lookout!'

Then the shout from the top of the companionway, 'Captain, sir,' but by then Ramage had given Sarah a hasty kiss and his foot was already on the first step.

Swan repeated the bearing. 'Dead ahead, sir, and the lookout says he sees her well as we lift on the swell waves. Thought I glimpsed her sails for a moment.'

'Strange how helpless one feels without a bring-'em-near,' Ramage commented. 'I should have borrowed one from the flagship.'

'I can't see anyone giving up his glass, even for Captain Ramage,' Swan said jocularly.

'There!' called the master, 'I glimpsed a sail then. That's her, dead ahead!'

CHAPTER TEN

An hour later the brig and the frigate crossed tacks, the Murex passing half a mile ahead.

'No signals flying,' Swan commented.

'So I see. But now we are to windward of her, so hoist her pendant and make number 84.'

Swan snapped out an order to two seamen, who began hoisting the three flags forming the Calypso's pendant numbers, and told two more to hoist eight and four.

'Pass within hail, isn't it, sir?' Swan asked. 'You have the book,' he said apologetically, 'but I'm presuming it hasn't been changed.'

'Yes, but whether or not Captain Bullivant chooses to obey is another question. He might assume a brig is still commanded only by a lieutenant.'

'I think if I was him and a brig tacked across my bow and gave a peremptory order, I'd assume she had a senior officer on board!'

'We'll see,' Ramage said. 'In the meantime, have 173 bent on and ready for hoisting, and have number one gun on the larboard side loaded with a blank charge. There's no need to send the men to quarters: have Bridges and a couple of men do it. Here's the key to the magazine. It was still in the desk drawer.'

Swan was enjoying himself hoisting flag signals with orders for Bullivant, that much was obvious, and his enjoyment revealed more about Bullivant than his earlier comments. Ramage handed him the Signal Book, knowing that the first lieutenant could not remember the meaning of 173.

He quickly leafed through the pages, which were cut at the side with the signal numbers printed in tens.

'Ah,' Swan said, 'a gun and that should produce results!'

'Yes, we'll tack again; they're ignoring 84.'

Ramage saw Bridges and two men running to the forward gun on the larboard side, where seamen in answer to Bridges' earlier shouted order were already casting off lashings.

Out came the tompion; a man held the flintlock in position and hurriedly tightened up the wing nut to clamp it down. The gun was quickly run in and a cartridge slid down the bore and rammed home. The gun was run out again, a quill tube pushed down the vent and priming powder shaken into the pan.

Bridges held up his hand in a signal to Ramage, who was watching the Calypso as she sailed on, approaching their starboard bow.

'Mr Swan, we'll pass very close across the Calypso's bow...' Ramage gestured to the two seamen who had bent on the three flags representing the signal 173, Furl sails.

Ramage watched the Calypso out of the corner of his eye and said to the seamen: 'Leave up the pendant numbers but lower 84.'

By now Swan was bellowing orders and the brig's bow was turning to starboard, canvas slatting, the ropes of sheets and braces flogging, spray flying across like fine rain as the bow sliced the tops off. waves. Then, with Swan giving the word to haul, the yards were braced round and sheets trimmed so the sails resumed their opulent curves. The Murex began to leap through the water again - right across the Calypso's bow.

'Oh, nicely, nicely!' Swan exclaimed. 'Less than half a cable - we'll be able to throw a biscuit on to her fo'c'sle as we pass across her bow!'

'Stand by,' Ramage shouted, and saw the gun captain kneel with his left leg thrust out to one side, the triggerline taut in his right hand.

The Calypso was a fine sight, bow-on and just forward of the Murex's beam. Men were peering over the bulwarks; Ramagethought he saw the lookout at the foremasthead gesturing down to the deck.

'Hoist 173!' Ramage said to the seamen and watched the three flags soaring upwards. He turned forward. 'Mr Bridges, fire!'

The gun spurted flame and smoke, and a moment later came the flat 'blam' of an unshotted gun firing, the standard signal drawing particular attention to a hoist of flags.