Ramage's Signal

'But sent our foremast by the board without much effort', Ramage said. 'Steer for the Muscade: I want to be sure Mr Southwick's gig hasn't been stove in.'

Ramage looked round for the man with the broken leg. 'We'll get a seizing on that as soon as possible.'

'Don't you bother 'bout me', the seaman said cheerfully, 'I just want to be far enough away to get a good view of the bang.'

The words were hardly out of his mouth before a great flash like lightning lit every hill and mountain, showing anenormous column of eerily green water mushrooming from where the ships had been and followed a moment later by an echoing thunderclap which made their ears sing and a blast that Ramage thought would burst their eardrums.

For a few moments there was stunned silence and then, as gulls began mewing, Stafford said: 'Blimey, it's raining!'

The sky was clear. Ramage realized that they were being showered by spray from the explosion. And if there was spray -

'Duck!' he shouted. 'Crouch down below the thwarts.' At the same moment he launched himself across the body of the man with the broken leg.

Then pieces of wreckage from the Merle and the French ship of the line began falling from the sky as though an avalanche of trees was sweeping a mountain pass.

Finally it stopped and, with his night vision completely destroyed by the flash, Ramage was thankful for the moon to give him a sense of direction. The men resumed their places at the thwarts and Ramage found that only one couple had let go of their oar, which was quickly fished back on board.

'Right, let's find Mr Southwick and see what he thinks of our firework display.'

'Beats anyfing I ever saw at Vauxhall Gardens', Stafford admitted, 'but I fink I bin permentually deafened.'

'"Permanently"', Jackson corrected automatically. 'No, it'll soon go, more's the pity.'

Southwick and the gig saw the cutter first against the moon and hailed, and five minutes later both boats were lying alongside each other, the two crews exchanging stories.

Southwick scrambled into the cutter. 'I'm sorry, sir, I let you down', he said sheepishly, 'but I swear that reef isn't on the chart!'

'I know it isn't, and it's lucky we both didn't hit it. Anyway, we all overestimated the amount of powder needed!'

'I'm ashamed to say we had the best view, sir', the master said. 'And we knew you had escaped in time because we caught sight of the cutter in the flash. But the water it threw up - it even drifted down to us, and we're to windward. And the wreckage! We could see yards and great baulks of timber landing hundreds of yards away. The splashes showed up in the moonlight.'

'The wreckage missed us', Ramage said thankfully, 'but there were some enormous lumps crashing round. Well, by the time we get to the Calypso I'll be ready for breakfast.'

CHAPTER NINETEEN

By noon the Calypso's surgeon, Bowen, came to Ramage's cabin to report that Palmer, the seaman with a broken leg, was resting comfortably. 'I gave him a drop of medicinal brandy, sir.'

'Ah, so much better than the ordinary sort.'

'Ah, yes indeed; it eases the pain like other spirits, but the seamen taste it so rarely that its effect seems magical', Bowen said with a straight face.

Ramage thought back. How long ago? It had been two or three years since Bowen had joined Ramage's ship and proved to be an alcoholic. A brilliant surgeon, he had had a flourishing practice in Wimpole Street until his patients were scared away by his drinking. Finally an impoverished wreck of a man went to the Navy, the only people who would pay him for practising his profession - and let him buy his liquor duty free ... But by chance Bowen had been sent to serve in a ship commanded by Lieutenant Ramage.

What followed had been desperate for Bowen and thoroughly unpleasant for Ramage and Southwick, but Ramage, having neither the time nor the authority to get rid of Bowen because the ship had to sail at once for the West Indies, was determined that his seamen's lives should not be in the hands of a permanently drunken surgeon. So once at sea he and Southwick had cured Bowen by cutting off his liquor. It had been a dreadful nightmare for them all; for days Bowen had been ravaged by delirium tremens; during the worst hours when they sat with him both Ramage and Southwick had themselves almost seen the imaginary horrors that attacked the struggling, fevered man. And finally it had been all over; Bowen was cured and now never touched spirits; he could sit down to dinner and pass the wine and prescribe medicinal brandy. He viewed the world with a clear eye and, when needed, used a scalpel with a hand that did not tremble.

'Palmer would like to see you, sir.'

'Yes, I was going to call in the sick bay. I see you have no other customers', he said, holding up Bowen's daily report. 'It's amazing how the prospect of action cures costive complaints and rheumatic pains!'

'If we were in action once a week, I could retire and spend my time working out chess problems', Bowen admitted. 'When you go into battle you have so few casualties that you won't get rapid promotion, sir', he added dryly. 'The Admiralty seem to judge a captain's ability and bravery by the size of his butcher's bill.'

'I know', Ramage said evenly, 'that's obvious from the dispatches published in the Gazette and the subsequent promotions. However, if the price of getting the command of a 74 is having a thousand men killed and wounded round me over the years, I'll happily stay with a frigate.'

'Palmer wants to see Jackson as well. He won't tell me why.'

'They're probably friends and Jackson knows where he's hidden his tobacco!'

'It's not that; it's as if he owes both of you money and can't repay it.'

Ramage shook his head, puzzled. 'You're sure that the pain, orthe brandy, has not left him - well, a bit off his head?'

'No, he's sane enough. How did it happen - the broken leg? He's not too sure.'

'If he isn't sure then we'll never know. When we collided with the French 74, her jibboom sent our foremast by the board and somehow Palmer was trapped in the rigging.'

'How did he escape?'

'Some men pulled him out.'

'After the fuses had been lit?'

'Yes, but they had plenty of time.'

'Palmer didn't think so. You and Jackson, I suppose.'

Ramage shrugged his shoulders. 'The rest of the men were already in the boat.'

'The Admiralty might say that when it comes to choosing between the life of one of its best young captains or an ordinary seaman with a broken leg, the captain comes first, sir.'

'Probably', Ramage said dryly, 'but the Admiralty are not responsible for taking the ship into action or the well-being of her men. Come along, we'll get Jackson and then see Palmer.'

Ramage came up on deck to find the launch, pinnace and both cutters streaming astern, and forty or fifty men waiting in the waist of the ship after having been inspected by Southwick.

The master came up to him. 'I wonder how many masters have gone off to start destroying six ships at anchor, sir.'

'Not many. In fact you may be the first, but the gunner and I will be following. What a waste of ships ...'

'At least we know six of the largest are on their way to Gibraltar with Aitken, otherwise I'd be scuttling more', Southwick commented. 'You're definitely keeping the Passe Partout, sir?'

'Yes, she may come in useful. She helps our disguise, too. A French frigate with a tartane in company is just what another French frigate would expect to see.'

'By the way, sir, we know the name of that 74 now. She had it painted on a board at the entry port, and a couple of the men read it. Scipion, sir. Seems a funny sort of name, but they're sure of it.'

'I know the name', Ramage said. 'She's in the French List of Ships. Built at Toulon since the war, I believe. In fact she must be one of their newest ships of the line.'