He tapped three times. 'Now, the third question, what to do about the ship of exiles. She's a frigate now armed en flûte. She must look very much like the Calypso. She'll sail like her - except, since she's French carrying exiles, she'll be short of men and will most likely shorten sail at night. And she left the Gullet about thirty-six hours ago.
'What you are to do, sir, brings us back to the devil and the deep blue sea. Well, consider the devil in the shape of the First Lord of the Admiralty and the rest of the Board: they're political appointments. Lord St Vincent was appointed by Addington and will probably be replaced (along with the rest of the Board) by Addington's successor. So that devil can come and go. But now let us look across the deep blue sea ... One day the Prince will be King. He will probably have a long life - they're a long-lived family - and no doubt he inherits the long memory, too.'
He grinned at Admiral Clinton. 'I'll give you my recommendations in writing, sir, but you'll have to take my word for the reasoning behind them.'
'Oh, you're a droll enough fellow,' Clinton said, mellowing slightly. 'Watch out that one day I don't drop you over the side. Ramage, call that nincompoop of a secretary for me: I seem to have a number of orders to write, and I want them all carefully copied into my order book. Especially those intended for you.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
The abominable Bullivant had changed nothing in the great cabin: the desk was polished, the keys were still in the locks of the drawers. The settee was the same as usual, its dark-blue cover not torn or stained. The armchair was unmarked (except by the passing years flattening the springs). The man's possessions had been stowed in his trunks and sent across to the Murex. Yet although he had been on board for only a few days he had left an invisible atmosphere: now Ramage knew how the owner of a house felt standing in a room which had been rifled by a burglar.
He sat down at the desk, jerking open one drawer after another. Nothing had been removed, nothing added. Letter book - that was still here, and he flipped open a few pages. Bullivant had not written any official letters or, more likely, the clerk had not copied them into the letter book. Order book - yes, the Board order giving Bullivant command of the Calypso, followed by the Admiralty order to him to join Admiral Clinton's fleet were here, and so was Clinton's order to Bullivant telling him to place himself under the admiral's command. Nothing else.
The 'Captain's Journal' was here, started the day Bullivant joined the ship, and Ramage put it in another drawer without reading it. Yes, here was the muster book, and an entry indicated the date that Bullivant had joined the ship 'as per commission'. No one had noted that he was replacing Captain Ramage, who was on leave. Now there was a nice point - in noting that Bullivant had gone to the Murex 'by order of the commander-in-chief ', did Ramage now note that Captain Ramage had taken (resumed?) command 'as per commission', thus having taken command twice without ever having (officially) left the ship? Or did he ignore Bullivant's brief command?
Some tedious quillpusher at the Navy Board could worry about that bureaucratic problem, and no doubt the correspondence ensuing would continue for another ten years. He noted that no seaman had been discharged and no new men had joined the ship.
He put the muster book and letter book back in the drawer, and took Admiral Clinton's order from his smock. Soon he would be back in uniform. Several officers in the flagship had offered spare uniform frocks and breeches, stockings, shirts and stocks, but Ramage guessed that his own clothes would still be in the Calypso, and indeed almost the first thing his steward Silkin had reported was that his trunks had been brought up from the hold and all the clothing was being washed or cleaned or ironed with a sprinkling of vinegar to get rid of the musty smell.
He opened Admiral Clinton's two sets of orders and read the second one again. The admiral and Captain Bennett had drawn them up in a hurry, which ensured brevity.
'Whereas I have received information,' Admiral Clinton's orders began, 'that the French national frigate L'Espoir sailed from Brest very recently carrying as prisoners a large group of men and women accused by the French government of disloyalty and sentenced to transportation and exile in Cayenne, you are hereby required and directed to proceed with all possible dispatch in His Majesty's ship Calypso under your command and make the best of your way towards Cayenne and intercept the said French national frigate L'Espoir and free the prisoners and carry them safely to a port in England, reporting at once to my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty the success of your mission ...'
He slid the letter between two blank pages in the order book and put the volume back in the drawer, locking it. It was lucky that Bullivant never bothered to put a key in his pocket - every drawer in this particular desk had a different lock.
The shouting, stamping and scuffling on the deck overhead had finally stopped and Ramage listened for feet clattering down the companion way, to be halted at his door by the Marine sentry, who would then call out the person's identity.
He sat back and sighed with sheer pleasure. It was exciting to be back - he had spent so long in this cabin it seemed like home. Indeed, it was his home. Certainly sitting at this desk dressed as a French fisherman was unusual, but there was no time to wait for Silkin's smoothing iron to finish its work.
Since boarding the ship he had used the first fifteen minutes to listen to Silkin (who regarded his sartorial report as the most important the captain would want to hear) and then come down to the great cabin and read his orders once again. He had done this while Aitken prepared the ship for the next step.
And now there were the footsteps clattering down the companion way, and the clank of a sword hilt held high but not high enough to prevent it catching one of the steps.
The thump of feet and clatter of a musket indicated the Marine sentry coming to attention. Two voices, a question (from the sentry, one he would have had to ask even if the visitor had been his own mother), and a reply.
Then a tap on the door and the sentry's voice: 'Captain, sir - the first lieutenant!'
'Send him in.'
And in came a smiling Aitken, crouching slightly because of the low headroom, his sword held clear with one hand, his cocked hat under his arm.
'Ship's company mustered aft, sir.'
'Aitken' - Ramage stood up and walked towards the young Scot, his hand extended. As they shook hands, Ramage added: 'I'm glad to be back and I'm glad I have the same officers.'
'Thank you, sir. We held our breaths when we heard the British ambassador - Lord Whitworth, I think it is - had left Paris, but when you didn't come back from your honeymoon we guessed that the French had captured you and her Ladyship.'
Ramage gestured down at his smock and trousers. 'You didn't expect to meet me off Ushant in this rig! Well, you should see her Ladyship - she's dressed as a fishwife.'
He led the way up the ladder and out on deck. The Marines were lined up in two ranks against the taffrail; Southwick, the lieutenants and Orsini were at the starboard end of the front file, and the seamen formed the other three sides of the square so that the quarterdeck was a box of men.
Ramage had mustered all the men not through any overweening conceit but, because of that confidence always existing among men who have fought beside each other many times, he knew that they wanted to see him and be reassured.