Bullivant was not just senior to all the officers and men of the Calypso; his commission appointing him to command the Calypso, signed by the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, and which he would have read out aloud to the ship's company when he first came on board ('reading himself in'), would have enjoined everyone to obey him, and given warning that they failed to do so 'at their peril'.
Only one thing could save them all from a crazed captain, and that was a more senior officer. There was no signal in the book that Aitken (as the second-in-command) could make to warn the admiral; he could only, Ramage realized, ask for the physician of the fleet and rely on him to declare the captain unfit to command.
That was the only thing unless a senior officer came on board ... and that was why Admiral Clinton had made sure Ramage was higher up the Captains' List than Bullivant. Ramage was senior. A higher link in the chain of command...
Ramage pulled the pistol clear and held it out of sight behind him. All this might be of significance at a court-martial charging that Bullivant was first threatening an unarmed senior officer with a pistol. To this, Ramage realized, Bullivant at the moment had the perfect defence: he did not know Ramage, who was not in uniform, and genuinely mistook him for a Frenchman.
The hell with courts-martial and niggling points of law; this was the Calypso and Renwick had just been told by his captain to order his Marines to shoot Ramage. Now was the time to act, while everyone was paralysed by the outrageousness of the order.
Ramage waited until Bullivant lowered the tankard and then stepped forward.
'Captain Bullivant, I believe?'
'Yes, I am. Listen, Bowen, this dam' fellow speaks passable English!'
'I am Captain Ramage, and I have been ordered by Admiral Clinton to board your ship and satisfy myself on certain matters.'
'Captain Ramage? Absurd. Ramage is on the Continent. Prisoner of Bonaparte. With his new wife. Ramage's, not Bonaparte's. Spy, that's what you are. Rich, Ramage is dam' rich; he wouldn't wear fisherman's clothes. That brig - I ask you, where has she come from, eh? Shoot you and sink her, doing my duty. Says he is Captain Ramage, Bowen, what do you think of that, eh?'
'He is Captain Ramage, sir,' Bowen said loudly and clearly. 'I have served with him for several years, and so have all the ship's officers, and they recognize him too.'
'Well, I don't. I command this ship. Admiralty orders. Have m'commission. I read it out loud when I first came on board. Death, that's what happens if you disobey me -'
Ramage said crisply: 'I have identified myself to you and been recognized by all your officers. Now, I relieve you of your command, Captain Bullivant. You are a sick man. You will go to your cabin and place yourself in the surgeon's care while I take this ship to the admiral.'
Bullivant flung the tankard at Ramage. It spun through the air, spilling a tail of liquor, and crashed against the bulwark. He then lifted the pistol and, his face creasing with the effort of concentration, said carefully: 'You are the Devil dressed ... as a French fisherman ... You want me ... to surrender this ship, Satan ... but I shall shoot first...'
He tried to pull back the hammer with his thumb to cock the pistol but, glassy-eyed, it was obvious that he could probably see at least two, perhaps more, flints. And Ramage, although holding a pistol behind his back, was helpless: he could not shoot a besotted man.
It might work, Ramage thought. Suddenly he realized it was exactly the hint that Bowen was trying to give. He cursed himself for being so slow and turned and said casually to a seaman: 'Jackson, pick up that tankard and give it back to Captain Bullivant.'
Yes, Bowen had the idea; Bowen, of all people, the man who regularly drank himself senseless until Ramage and Southwick cured him by using a ruthlessness neither had thought the other capable of: Bowen would know. Bowen knew - or could guess - what was going on in Bullivant's befuddled mind, and Bowen had already removed the cap of the flask ...
Jackson, holding out the tankard, approached Bullivant, whose face was streaming with perspiration, and said as though unaware that the man was wrestling with a pistoclass="underline" 'Your tankard, sir.'
'Wha'? Wha's that? Oh, tankard, eh? I've got a set like that. No good empty.'
But Bullivant's attention was now on the tankard; he had lowered the pistol but being right-handed was obviously wondering how he could take the tankard. By then Bowen was beside him, holding up the flask.
'I'll fill it for you, sir. Now, Jackson, hold it steady.'
Ramage heard the suck and gurgle of the liquid as it ran from the flask and Bullivant watched with the fascination of a rabbit cornered by a stoat.
'There we are, sir, almost full. I'll have to refill this flask, though. Now, if I take the pistol you'll have a hand free for the tankard, sir...'
In a moment Bullivant was sucking greedily at the tankard while Bowen tucked the pistol inside his coat. He motioned to Ramage and Jackson to keep still.
It was then Ramage realized that every man in the ship seemed to be staring at Bullivant and holding his breath: it was as though there had been complete silence for an hour. Instead, Ramage knew he had been on board only a very few minutes and a frigate lying hove-to made a good deal of noise: canvas slatted, the waves slopped against the hull, the backed foretopsail yard creaked its protest at being pressed hard against the mast. It seemed that all these noises started again when Bullivant began drinking.
But what was Bowen waiting for? There was nothing to stop Ramage ordering Renwick to detail a file of Marines to take Captain Bullivant down to his cabin: he had the authority by virtue of his seniority and, much more important, the confidence of knowing that at the court-martial that was bound to follow, each one of these officers would give evidence of precisely what happened: none would back and fill to save his own skin from possible reprisals from Bullivant's cronies or people over whom Bullivant's father had influence. Aitken, Wagstaffe, Kenton, Southwick, Renwick, Martin, every seaman - they would be only too anxious to tell a court on oath exactly what had happened in these few minutes - and what had happened in the preceding few days. He had led these men in and out of action, he had been wounded several times alongside them, he had saved Jackson's life more than once and Jackson had saved his twice as many times.
Yet why were they all standing there? It was a curious scene, unreal, yet he thought he would never forget it. Bullivant, cocked hat now awry, breeches and white silk stockings stained - from urine rather than brandy, it seemed - and face streaming with perspiration. The eyes closed now, even when he lowered the tankard and took a few breaths ... Bowen quite calm, looking as if he was just waiting for a patient to don an overcoat, Jackson with his sandy and thinning hair tidy as usual, shaven yesterday if not today, and wearing a blue jersey and white duck trousers, Southwick like a jovial bishop unable to avoid listening to a stream of blasphemy, Aitken with colour back in his face and watching Ramage like a hawk, waiting for orders, Paolo the same - in fact Ramage realized the boy was holding a long and narrow dagger which he must have drawn while Bullivant was fumbling with the pistoclass="underline" Paolo's complexion was once again sallow, and although the boy was still balanced on the balls of his feet ready to move quickly, it was clear from his expression he knew he would not now be using the dagger and Ramage knew him well enough to gauge the boy's disappointment. Wagstaffe, Kenton, Martin ... and the seamen, Stafford and Rossi, who were closer than he realized, and he guessed that somehow they had closed in stealthily once they recognized their old captain.