The truly remarkable thing, for which Aitken was thankful, was the change that was coming in the men's attitude. Efficient ships were always happy ships with firm but just captains; men like Captain Herbert Duff, with whom Aitken had once served. Captain Duff had insisted that all his officers had at least one pair of silk stockings - to be worn when going into action. When he heard that the Fourth Lieutenant could not afford a pair, Captain Duff had passed along a new pair as a gift. Silk stockings were not just some quirk on Captain Duff's part; the old Scot had explained in his dry Aberdeen accent that silk made it easier for the surgeon: a leg wound while wearing woollen stockings usually meant that scraps of wool were driven into the wound and often led to gangrene, while silk never did. Aitken shrugged his shoulders at the memory: poor old Captain Duff had been cut in half by a 24-pounder shot that went on to lodge in the mizenmast ... Suddenly he realized a figure was standing next to him and the familiar quiet voice said: 'There's a bad fire in the Master's cabin, Aitken... a good start to a Monday morning, eh?'
It took the young Scot a few moments to switch his mind from Captain Duff's death to the realization that Captain Ramage's promised day had begun early. As he began shouting the sequence of orders that set the calls of the bos'n's mates shrilling he tried to remember everything written in the Captain's Orders under the heading of 'Fire'. They had practised it twice, off Ushant and again off Madeira, and Aitken's mind became a blank as men began running across the deck in the darkness, swarming up from below. But he knew another minute of this and there would be complete confusion unless he began giving specific orders - and there was Mr Ramage standing by the binnacle, the watch in his hand illuminated by the binnacle light.
Aitken snatched at the speaking trumpet beside the binnacle box and began shouting, his broad Scots accent emphasized by the excitement and the trumpet: 'Boarders, engine and firemen to the quarterdeck; look alive there!' He paused a moment and then ordered: 'Boarders to starboard; firemen with your buckets to larboard!'
Ah, at last the Marines had woken up: there was the Marine officer - puffing and blowing, he was much too fat - and making for the poop, where they were to stand under arms. Now Baker, the Third Lieutenant, was waiting beside him, still in his nightshirt with breeches dragged on and his hat jammed askew on his head. And there's a thing, Aitken reflected crossly: the Captain's Orders said the First and Third Lieutenant were to go wherever the fire was and direct operations there, with the Captain taking the conn. But Captain Ramage was just standing by the binnacle and at that moment he turned, as if reading the First Lieutenant's thoughts, and said: ‘Regard me as dead in the fire, Mr Aitken...'
Aitken turned to Baker: 'Find Mr Southwick and go with him to the seat of the fire. It's in his cabin so maybe he's there already. Tell him I'm staying here at the conn. Hurry, man!' He thought a moment and called hurriedly: 'Tell him the Captain died in the fire and I am in command!'
All the other officers and warrant officers should have gone to their proper stations - but had they studied and remembered the Captain's Orders? He weighed up the risk of giving too many orders against the danger of men wandering around having forgotten what they were supposed to be doing, and jammed the speaking trumpet to his mouth.
'Gunner to the magazine ... Bos'n and carpenter to their store rooms . . . Master-at-arms to examine the tiers and then report to me here . . . Carpenter's mates with their mauls and axes to the larboard gangway ...'
What had he forgotten? Where the devil was Wagstaffe, the Second Lieutenant? - he and the Fourth Lieutenant, Lacey, were in charge of the pumps and hoses. He saw the two midshipmen waiting behind him, ready to run errands. He thought for a moment and chose Orsini. 'Run and find Mr Wagstaffe. Ask him how soon the pumps will be ready and whether he has the hoses led down to the Master's cabin yet, and report back to me.'
The boy hurried off and Aitken saw the Captain bend slightly so he could see the face of his watch by the binnacle light. Or was he looking at the compass?
'How are you heading?' Aitken snapped at the quartermaster. As soon as he knew they were still on course he took a quick glance astern to make sure no squalls were sneaking up in their wake and gestured at the other midshipman. 'Benson, find the Surgeon and tell him to report to me here.'
Even before the boy had time to point the First Lieutenant heard Bowen behind him saying gently: 'I did report, Mr Aitken, but you probably did not hear me.'
'Very well,' Aitken said, and realized it was time he had a report from where the fire was supposed to be: he did not want some over-eager idiots chopping away at bulkheads. 'Benson, get down to the Master's cabin and ask the Third Lieutenant for an immediate report!'
The whole business was a disaster; that was the only thing that Aitken was sure about. A good ten minutes must have elapsed since Mr Ramage appeared alongside him in the darkness and a real fire in the Master's cabin would probably have reached the magazine by now, since it was just below, and blown the ship to pieces.
At least the engine was now in place; he could see that much. Head pumps were rigged over the side and hoses were being led across the deck like long twisting snakes. Kinks in them, no doubt; there always were. He glanced aft - there were the Marines lined up with the Lieutenant in front of them. Well, even if he was a fat fellow no one could fault his efficiency.
The head pumps! Damnation, they were rigged over the side: there was not a faint hope their hoses would suck at the speed the ship was going: they should have been led below to the cistern - and had the carpenter started to let water into the cistern ready for the head pumps to pump it up to the tank on the engine? Did Mr Ramage want him to flood the cistern or - he was about to walk over and ask him when he remembered the quiet 'Regard me as dead in the fire . . .'
He looked round hurriedly for a reliable messenger and saw Orsini scurrying towards him. The boy saluted and said excitedly: 'Mr Wagstaffe says the pumps are ready, sir, but Mr Southwick's compliments, sir, and he says the fire is out!'
Aitken managed to stifle a sigh of relief: obviously the Captain had given the Master instructions earlier. He saw the Captain looking at his watch and then waving for him to come to the binnacle. At that moment a horrified Aitken saw the two helmsmen spinning the wheel, bringing the ship round to starboard and up into the wind: already the fluttering of the sails was turning into thundering claps and as the First Lieutenant turned to shout at the two men, Ramage said, his voice loud to make himself heard and holding on to the binnacle box as the ship began to rolclass="underline" 'The tiller ropes seem to have parted, Mr Aitken ... I’ll take the conn.’
By dawn Aitken and the rest of the ship's company were exhausted. One party had no sooner clapped emergency tackles to the tiller as topmen furled the topsail and the great mainsail and foresail were trimmed to get the strain off the rudder, allowing Aitken to report to the Captain that the ship was under control again, than Ramage had ordered the ship to be hove-to, using the tiller tackles, and a cutter hoisted out to starboard, rowed round the ship carrying ten Marines, and recovered on the larboard side.
When that had been done - with the decks still strewn with hoses and the engine sitting by the mainmast, well lashed down and its handles resting like a seesaw - Ramage had told the Second Lieutenant to take the conn. Aitken relaxed and was thankful that while they had been working on the tiller tackles he had remembered to make sure the lookouts were sent aloft just before dawn. He watched Ramage walking forward to the companionway and envied him: no doubt his steward would soon bring him a cup of hot tea.