Ramage (41 page)

Jackson, who had been waiting an opportunity to report, said: ‘All breechings cut on both sides, sir.’

‘That was quick work.’

‘Some of the Belettes gave a hand, sir, but I checked every gun myself.’

‘Very well, stand by here.’

Finally Captain Laidman appeared again at a gun port and climbed down to the
Kathleen.

‘Welcome on board, sir.’

‘Thank you, m’lad: sorry there were uninvited guests on board the
Belette
when you first arrived.’

Ramage laughed. ‘At least you announced them! But if you’ll excuse me, sir–’

Captain Laidman nodded, and Ramage looked round for the Master.

‘Mr Southwick – sheet the jib aback and hoist the foresail.’

As she lay alongside the frigate, the
Kathleen
’s bowsprit pointed at an angle towards the cliffs on which the
Belette
’s bow rested, and Ramage saw the only way to sail out was to let the wind swing the cutter’s bow round while her stern was held against the frigate. That would take her clear of the rocks at the foot of the next headland.

‘Evans,’ he called to the Bosun’s Mate, ‘cut away the for’ard four lines, but hold on to the aftermost two. Pay out and snub if need be, but keep our stern in. Quartermaster, put the helm down.’

By now the jib had been sheeted in aback so that the canvas was as flat as a board. The wind began to push the cutter’s bow round to seaward, but her long, narrow keel diverted some of the effort into a fore-and-aft movement so the
Kathleen
began to move astern.

Ramage glanced aft: the frigate’s stern gallery, looking very battered from the
Kathleen
’s earlier assault, was drawing level with the cutter’s transom. Evans was directing seamen and alternately paying out the grapnel lines to allow for the movement astern, and then snubbing them, to keep the cutter’s stern against the frigate and help lever the bow round.

Ramage watched until the
Kathleen
’s stem was well clear of the outlying rocks ahead. The foresail had by now been hoisted and, like the jib, sheeted aback.

‘Mr Southwick, I’ll have jib and foresail sheeted home, if you please.’

As soon as they started drawing, the
Kathleen
’s sternway would be checked and she would start moving ahead but, without the mainsail drawing, would still pay off to leeward.

‘Quartermaster, tiller amidships.’

A sudden crackling of muskets made him glance up at the cliff: a group of French soldiers were kneeling, muskets at their shoulders. Almost at once the Marines along the
Kathleen
’s bulwarks fired back and the French promptly ducked.

The
Kathleen
heeled slightly as the wind filled the headsails, and gradually started gathering headway.

‘Evans, cut away those lines! Quartermaster, meet her! Mr Southwick, aft the mainsheet!’

Ten minutes later the
Kathleen
was broad-reaching along the coast heading for Bastia, and Ramage handed over the conn to Southwick while he went over to Captain Laidman who had, he realized, been tactfully keeping himself to the lee side of the quarter-deck.

‘My apologies for not giving you a proper welcome, sir: I am Ramage.’

‘Laidman,’ he answered gruffly. ‘Damn’ fine piece of seamanship, m’boy: y’can rely on me to make that clear in m’report.

‘Now, meet m’officers. They’re at your disposal. Use what men you like: you’re pretty short-handed, aren’t you?’

Without waiting for a reply he called over his lieutenants, master and Marine lieutenant, and introduced them.

‘By the way,’ Laidman said. ‘If you can get your galley fire lit, none of us have eaten for some time…’

‘Of course, sir, I’ll see to it.’

Ramage called to Jackson, ‘Tell my steward to arrange some food for the officers.’

He looked round for the Bosun’s Mate. ‘Evans – tell the cook he can have as many hands as he wants from the Kathleens and the Belettes, but I want both ships’ companies to have a meal within an hour.’

Then he walked over to Southwick, who simply held out his hand. Ramage shook it.

‘Thanks. I’m just going below to have a word with the wounded. The galley fire’s being lit. In the meantime, every man on board is to have a tot, but serve two to John Smith the Second!’

Ramage could see the tall spire of Sainte Marie Church sticking up from the centre of the citadel of Bastia, and several seventy-fours were at anchor off the town, among them the
Diadem
, still flying Commodore Nelson’s broad pendant.

The great bulk of Mount Pigno was sharply outlined in the setting sun, but the peak was almost completely hidden by
balles de coton
, the stationary clouds which always appeared with the
Libeccio
. He watched the surface of the sea between the
Kathleen
and the shore for the sudden dark pewtering which was the only warning he’d get that one of Bastia’s notorious squalls had rolled down the mountainside and was roaring out to sea.

Since he had nearly three times the normal complement of seamen on board, Ramage was determined that no one in the whole squadron would be able to fault the way the
Kathleen
anchored.

For the last half an hour, Southwick and Evans had been selecting various men from the
Belette
’s former crew and allotting them stations for sail handling and anchoring. All the men had eaten a good meal, sunk their tot of rum, and cleaned up the ship after the action.

Half an hour earlier the last of the three badly wounded men had died, and Ramage had conducted the first funeral service of his career. Although he had attended dozens without much emotion, he was surprised to find how moving were the sonorous words of the service when one spoke them oneself.

Jackson was watching the
Diadem
in case she should make a signal and Captain Laidman was walking the deck, making little attempt to hide the fact that he was a worried man: in a few minutes’ time he would be accounting to the Commodore for the loss of the
Belette
.

Oh, to hell with it: so far Ramage had deliberately not looked at the terrace of the Viceroy’s residence with his telescope, then decided it was an unnecessary act of self-denial. But no one stood there: he could see the big glass doors were shut, the terrace was bare of the usual tables and chairs. Nor was the Elliot children’s boat moored at the bottom of the garden. The whole place seemed deserted.

The
Diadem
was not more than half a mile away and lying head to wind athwart the
Kathleen
’s course as she sailed in parallel to the coast. If they were going to be ordered to a special berth, a signal should have been made by now.

Ramage decided to pass under the
Diadem’
s stern, luff up and anchor farther inshore, to windward of the Commodore’s ship – which apart from anything else, would mean that the boat taking him and Captain Laidman to the
Diadem
would be rowed with the wind aft and they would appear reasonably smart, instead of dripping with spray.

Laidman looked so miserable that Ramage felt cheered. He wondered how often such a small ship as the
Kathleen
had arrived in an anchorage carrying one commanding officer to have his trial resumed, and another to have his trial ordered.

Well, despite Laidman’s remarks, Ramage knew he had bungled the rescue: men had been killed unnecessarily, and Commodore Nelson wasn’t the man to overlook that. The trouble is, Ramage thought ruefully, the whole blasted operation looked so simple on paper. It was good of Captain Laidman to say he would give him full credit in his report, but Laidman was already discredited. For this trip, he told himself bitterly, the
Kathleen
is carrying a couple of failures… Apart from all that, Ramage had grave doubts about the wisdom of leaving the
Belette
without setting fire to her. He’d suggested it to Laidman as soon as he stepped on board the
Kathleen
, but the frigate’s captain had shaken his head, muttering something about salvaging her. Knowing the Commodore – according to Probus, anyway – was aware of the extent of the damage, he’d pressed the point; but Laidman had made no reply.

‘Sir…’

It was Southwick, an anxious note in his voice: Christ, and no wonder: the
Diadem
was only a hundred yards away, fine on the starboard bow, and he’d been day-dreaming. Every spare telescope in the squadron was probably trained on him. Well, let ’em look: he and Laidman would probably be sent home in the same ship and they could have another look.

‘Stand by to harden in the sheets, Mr Southwick…’

The
Diadem
’s stern was flashing past.

‘Aft those sheets, Mr Southwick! Quartermaster – bring her to the wind.’

The
Kathleen
turned under the
Diadem
’s great counter and headed inshore, spray once again flying over the weather bow as she beat to windward.

‘Mr Southwick – haul taut the topping lifts; stand by all sheets and see the halyards clear for running.’

Ramage had deliberately not looked up at the
Diadem
as they passed and Jackson, noticing this, said in a quiet voice, ‘The Commodore’s watching, sir, and some civilians.’

‘Very good, Jackson.’

Well, let’s hope the Commodore’s noticed the
Kathleen
’s lost her topmast and that there are only two guns on the larboard side. Ramage had left all five carronades on the starboard side: the extra weight up to windward helped the ship along.

‘Are you ready, Mr Southwick?’

‘Aye aye, sir.’

‘Quartermaster, bring her round head to wind!’

Let’s hope the bloody man doesn’t shove the tiller over too far and put the ship about on the other tack. No, he was judging it well: the belly in the headsails and main was flattening: the leeches of the jib and foresail began quivering. Instinctively Ramage looked up at the vane on the topmast truck and then realized it was probably floating somewhere in the sea off the Tour Rouge.

Now all the sails were flapping and seamen were hauling in the sheets. Ramage made a sudden downward movement with his right hand – a movement the seamen at the halyards had been watching for.

As if all three were one piece of canvas, the jib, foresail and mainsail began to slide down.

As the jib and foresail reached the bottom of their stays seamen leapt on them to stifle the flogging canvas and secure them with gaskets. Now the great mainsail was down with the gaff on top, and more men were swarming along the boom, folding in the canvas and passing gaskets.

But half a dozen men in the bow were still watching Ramage. He was waiting for Jackson, who had moved over to the bulwark on the starboard side.

‘About a knot, sir…’

Ramage lifted his left hand level with his waist, and could see the men in the bow tensing themselves.

‘She’s barely got way on now, sir…stopped…making sternway.’

He chopped his hand down to his side and men in the bow sprang to life. The anchor splashed into the water and the sternway avoided the risk that the cable would foul it. A few moments later Ramage could detect a faint smell of burning being brought aft on the wind as the friction scorched the cable.

‘Signal from the Commodore,’ said Jackson, and, after glancing at the signal book, reported: ‘Our number and the
Belette
’s: captains to report on board.’

Laidman walked over and said: ‘Well, m’boy, we’d better go over – ’tisn’t very often one reports the loss of one’s ship.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, sir,’ Ramage said in a flat voice, ‘I did it only three or four days ago.’

‘Oh? What ship?’

‘The
Sibella
.’

‘But she’s a frigate!’

‘I know, sir: I was the senior surviving officer.’

‘What happened to you?’

‘Captain Croucher brought me to trial.’

‘Croucher? Oh yes, in Admiral Goddard’s squadron. What was the verdict?’

‘I don’t know, sir: the trial was interrupted by the Commodore’s arrival. I was then given the
Kathleen
and sent up to you.’

‘Well, it doesn’t sound too bad. But – of course!’ he exclaimed, ‘you’re old “Blaze-away’s” son, so Admiral Goddard…’

‘Exactly, sir.’

‘Exactly what?’ snapped Laidman. ‘Don’t put words into my mouth.’

Southwick was waiting near by and Ramage, realizing that as far as Laidman was concerned he had suddenly become potentially more dangerous to Laidman’s future than a ship full of the plague, took the opportunity of turning away.