Ramage's Devil

Then nearly two hundred men groaned. No, not a groan, it was a sigh, everyone breathing out after holding their breath, and a startled Ramage looked back at Bullivant in time to see him sitting on the deck and then slowly bending backwards, like a carpet unrolling, until he was sprawled flat, his cocked hat lying to one side, the tankard still clasped in one hand and the remains of the brandy spreading a slow stain across the planks of the deck.

Bowen gestured to the Marines, but before he could say anything Ramage had stepped forward. It would matter at a trial who gave the next orders, and although Ramage knew he did not give a damn for himself, the future of the officers could be damaged unless he was careful.

'Bowen, Captain Bullivant seems to have lost consciousness...'

The surgeon knelt beside the man, rolled back an eyelid, loosened the badly-tied stock and stood up again. 'He is unconscious, sir,' he said formally, 'and in my opinion -'

'In your opinion,' Ramage interrupted, 'is he capable of carrying out his duties as captain of this ship?'

'No, sir, under no circumstances. Nor will he be for several -'

'Days?'

'- for several days, sir.'

'Have him taken below to his cabin for treatment,' Ramage said.

Now the formalities were over and, while Bowen called over some Marines, Ramage turned first to Southwick. As a warrant officer, the master was junior to the lieutenants, but he was old enough to be the father, even the grandfather, of any of them, and the bond between him and Ramage could not be measured by normal standards.

As Ramage reached out to shake the old man's hand he was startled to see tears running down the weathered cheeks, although the kindly mouth was smiling. 'Sir... sir... when your head came up the ladder I thought I was dreaming ... where were -'

'We'll exchange news later; now we have work to do!' He shook hands with the lieutenants, Paolo and several of the seamen who rushed up, still hard put to believe their own eyes and anxious to touch him, as though that would make everything a reality. Then he beckoned to Swan, and together they walked aft.

'What a five minutes, sir!' Swan exclaimed. 'You look down the muzzle of a pistol like a man looking in a window. My blood ran cold even though he wasn't aiming at me!'

'He saw five or six of me and wasn't sure which one to shoot at.'

'Even so,' Swan said, 'five to one are not good odds!'

'Well, it's over now. If I hand over the Murex to you and give you orders to rejoin the flagship, can you manage? No one will ever know if you don't feel up to it, so don't be afraid to say.'

'No, sir, thanks but I'll be all right. If you'll just give me the latitude and longitude of the rendezvous.'

'You can sail in company with us. I have to take this ship to the admiral. Do you want some more men?'

Swan shook his head. 'No, sir, so I'll get back to the Murex. What about her Ladyship? Shall I send the cutter back with her?'

'No, we can't spare the time, but as long as you make sure no one else overhears, you can tell her what you saw.'

'Any other message for her Ladyship, sir?'

'Tell her that Southwick, Stafford, Jackson and Aitken - no, just tell her that all the officers and ship's company of the Calypso send her their regards.'

Swan looked puzzled. Ramage could see that the lieutenant was wondering how on earth a captain's new wife could know all the men in his previous ship. 'They saved her life once, Swan. If you have time and if she's agreeable, get her to tell you about it: it'll help you pass the time as we beat back to the Fleet.'

Ramage stood on the fore side of the quarterdeck with Aitken as they watched the Murex brace up the foretopsail yard and then bear away to the rendezvous, the clewed-up courses soon set and drawing.

'Handsome little ships, those brigs,' Aitken said. 'Any nostalgia, sir?' he asked, knowing Ramage had commanded the Triton.

'Yes and no. "Yes" because they are handy - we tacked that one out of the Gullet with only a dozen men, and looking back on it we could probably have made do with eight. "No" because I found it strange being in that particular one, where most of the men had mutinied and handed over the ship (and their loyal shipmates) to the enemy. It's as though treachery rubs off like soot, marking everything and leaving a distinctive smell.'

'Aye, evil has a distinct smell, and all of us can recognize it. In our case it's the smell of brandy.

'It has been bad, eh?'

'Almost beyond belief, sir. We could see no end to it. There's nothing in the Articles of War or the Regulations and Instructions about it. Bowen reckoned medical reasons were the only safe way, but for the first day or so, when the drink wasn't in him, he was bright enough. Cunning and fawning, but shrewd. It seemed to me, sir, that if we took away his command and then he was cunning enough to keep off the liquor for a few weeks before the court-martial, at the trial he could make it all look very different...'

'Yes, that's the danger. When you look at something from different directions, you get different views.'

'And Bowen knew all about the effects of drink. That's how we came -'

Ramage held up a hand to stop him. 'I'm sure the ship's officers didn't conspire against the captain, Aitken, because that's forbidden. As you know, Article XX specifies death as the only punishment for anyone "concealing any traitorous or mutinous practice or design". So don't mention anything resembling conspiracy - the listener immediately becomes guilty as well.'

Aitken grinned. 'I understand that, sir. Well, it's wonderful to have you on board again.'

Ramage nodded and looked across at the Murex, now a couple of miles away. 'I think we can get under way now and rejoin the admiral with the brig. Admiral Clinton is a very puzzled man.'

They walked forward again and Aitken picked up the speaking trumpet. Ramage realized that since he last stood here a couple of months or so ago, as they tacked up the Medway to Chatham, he had married, been to France, escaped capture when the war broke out again, recaptured the Murex brig, and relieved the new captain of the Calypso of his command. What he had not done was try to rescue Jean-Jacques.

'I'm going below to see Bowen and his patient,' he told Aitken. He gave him a folded piece of paper. 'Here is the rendezvous, and you'll sight the fleet before nightfall. Ignore the Blackthorne if she starts making signals - there's no signal in the book to describe what we're doing.'

Below in the great cabin he found Bowen sitting in the chair at the desk while in the sleeping cabin Bullivant, undressed and now in his nightshirt, was breathing heavily in a drunken stupor, his lips flapping like wet laundry each time he exhaled.

Bowen hurriedly stood up as the Marine sentry announced Ramage, who gestured to him to remain seated.

'I'll take the armchair. It's good to see you, Bowen. I wish it was under happier circumstances...'

'Oh, I hope everything will turn out all right, sir,' Bowen said vaguely. 'For the moment we have about an hour before Captain Bullivant recovers consciousness and descends into the hell of delirium tremens.'