"Lieutenant Newick has all your copies of the convoy instructions, one for each master, although God knows by now they should know them by heart. Secret signals - I haven't received the latest ones from the Admiralty (who nevertheless are trying to dissuade flag officers from issuing their own). So you'll have to draw up a set. Send them over here for copying - I know your clerk won't be able to make seventy-two copies in time."
Tewtin bellowed a hearty "Come in" when the sentry at the door announced a name, and Newick walked in, holding a bundle of papers and to be met by an angry Tewtin.
"Do you expect Mr Ramage to carry those convoy instructions round as though he's selling copies of the Morning Post? Have them sent down to his boat.
"When you reach flag rank, Ramage," he added, "if you haven't discovered it already, you'll find you're surrounded by dolts. And in my experience so far, the higher the rank the more dolts it attracts."
At that moment Ramage felt he could grow to like Tewtin, who said: "Hold the meeting of the convoy masters the day before they sail. Any earlier, they'll forget all your warnings. And it's just early enough in the hurricane season that all those scoundrels wanting to cadge sailcloth or a topsail yard or cordage can be told there's no time for any of that nonsense: hoist in boats and get the capstans and windlasses turning!"
Ramage sat at the far side of the room on a small dais - in fact a platform used by the auctioneer in Bridgetown when taking bids for whatever luxuries (like armchairs, crockery, cutlery and cloth) the latest convoy from England had brought in. The masters were coming in to Bridgetown's only large hall for the convoy conference, but Ramage knew from experience they were men who could only demonstrate their independence by being late. It was like the old and tedious story of a senior officer keeping you waiting fifteen minutes and unwittingly giving you a good insight into the uncertainty he felt about himself. A confident man had no need to play such silly games.
Southwick sat on his left and Aitken on his right, and in front of Ramage was a pile of twelve-page booklets, each measuring a dozen inches by eight. The title, in small type and neatly displayed between double rules, said: "SIGNALS and INSTRUCTIONS for SHIPS under CONVOY". In tiny type was the announcement: "Printed by W. Winchester and Son, Strand."
"Forty-three of the mules up to now," Southwick growled.
"Don't be impatient, you're going to have their company for weeks ..." Ramage chided as he turned over the first page of one of the booklets. The title was repeated, with the extra explanation: "INSTRUCTIONS explanatory of the SIGNALS".
As Ramage glanced down the seven numbered paragraphs on this first page he felt the all-too-familiar despair. Number III, for instance: "No signals are to be made by the ships under convoy besides those appointed by the Commander thereof." What would happen, in fact, was that proper signals made by the commander (himself) would be ignored and incomprehensible flag signals would be hoisted by mules. Days later it would transpire that the mules were using an old signal book from some past convoy.
The next instruction was almost a mockery: "The ships of the convoy out of their stations are to take advantage of all opportunities, by making sail, tacking, waring, &c to regain the same."
What forbearance (or plain stupidity) the Admiralty had shown in not making it a direct order that unless the weather made it necessary, the mules must not reef at night, or furl topsails, and drop so far astern that by dawn they would be specks on the horizon, just the trucks of their masts showing up in a powerful glass. Or, even worse, they would be below the horizon, and the whole convoy would have to heave-to until noon while they caught up. Well, Ramage thought grimly, if Yorke played his agreed role at this convoy conference, perhaps this time there would be less of all that nonsense.
The next instruction followed on logically: "In case of parting company (which the ships of the convoy are to avoid by all possible means) and being met with by an enemy, the Commanders of the ships are to destroy the rendezvous, these signals, and all other papers whatsoever concerning the destination of the fleet, SEE PAGE 13."
Idly Ramage turned to page 13, although he knew what it said. It began by quoting the Act of Parliament under which it was enacted that "if the Captain of any merchant ship, under convoy, shall wilfully disobey signals or instructions, or any other lawful commands of the Commander of the convoy, without notice given, and leave obtained for that purpose", he was liable to be hauled into the High Court "at the suit of the Crown", and fined up to £500 or jailed for up to a year.
The next section warned a master that he could be fined £1,000 for sailing alone from a port where a convoy was being arranged, and more important, Ramage reckoned, he could be fined £1,000 if he should "afterwards desert or wilfully separate or depart from such convoy without leave obtained from the Captain or other Officer in His Majesty's Navy entrusted with the charge of such convoy . . ."
Ramage noted that the cheapest infringement for a master seeking a bargain was, ironically, for one of the most important tasks falling to a master in time of attack - he would have to pay up to £100 if, "being in danger of being boarded or taken possession of by the enemy", he "shall not make signals by firing guns, or otherwise convey information of his danger to the rest of the convoy, as well as to the ships of war under the protection of which he is sailing; and, in case of being boarded or taken possession of, shall not destroy all instructions confided to him relating to the convoy".
On the final page, a paragraph set by itself in solitary splendour and headed MEMORANDUM said:
All Masters of Merchant Vessels to supply themselves with a quantity of False Fires, to give the Alarm on the approach of an Enemy's Cruizer in the Night; or in the Day to make the usual Signal for an Enemy. On being chased or discovering a suspicious Vessel, and in the event of their Capture being inevitable, either by Night or Day, the Master to cause the Jeers, Ties, and Haul Yards to be cut and unrove, and their Vessels to be otherwise so disabled as to prevent their being immediately capable of making Sail.
Aitken muttered: "I think they're all here now, sir."
Ramage looked up to find the hall now almost full, and if a complete stranger looked at all the masters and tried to guess who they were, the chances are he would choose farmers attending an auction to bid for some well-favoured grazing land.
"Very well, Aitken: bring 'em to the starting post!"
Aitken rapped on the table. "Gentlemen, your attention please, and I introduce the commander of your escort, Captain Ramage."
There was an immediate buzz of conversation, and from what Ramage could hear of the masters in the front row, they were commenting on the name. One of them waved an arm like a schoolboy with a question.
"Is that the Captain Ramage we've read about in the Gazettes!"
"Aye, the very same one," Aitken answered, his Scots accent very pronounced.
At that moment Yorke's voice shouted from the back: "Captain Ramage, eh? Last time I saw you, you were firing across the bow of one of the convoy and then towing a slow ship - nearly towed her under, I recall, with the master crying for mercy from the fo'c'sle."
Ramage stood up and slowly looked round the room. Nearly eighty pairs of eyes were focused on him; their owners were looking at him with interest and, he thought, in some of them there was fear.