Ramage's Devil (20 page)

Ramage quickly decided to risk a snub. “May I ask what it explains, sir?”

“Well, had a dam' strange signal from her at daybreak. Number 215 over her own pendant.”

Ramage thought for several moments. There were more than four hundred numbered signals in the book and 215 was not one he had ever seen hoisted or heard anyone refer to.

Clinton said: “Number 215 means:
The physician of the Fleet is to come to the Admiral.
But hoisted over the
Calypso
's pendant numbers I assume she is trying to reverse it—asking for the physician of the fleet to go to the
Calypso
.”

Physician.
Ramage realized the significance of the word. Most frigates and all ships of the line had surgeons, but physicians were different. There were between two and three hundred surgeons in the navy but only three physicians—Dr Harness (who had given his name to a special sort of cask), Dr Trotter (who was a friend of Lord St Vincent) and Dr Travis. One of them would be on board this flagship.

“Why would she be wanting the
physician?
” Clinton asked, although it was obvious the question was rhetorical.

“The Signal Book, sir,” Ramage said. “I don't think there is any signal for requesting medical assistance.”

“But why should she need it? Perhaps the surgeon has drunk himself stupid.”

Ramage realized that he had not completed his reference to Bowen. “I think not, sir: his first ship was the
Triton
brig, which I commanded, and he stopped drinking.”

Clinton smiled benevolently: he was making allowances for the pride of a young captain.

“Not Bowen, sir—that's the surgeon. He was cured.”

“Who achieved
that
miracle?” Clinton demanded.

“Well, sir, the master and I saw him through the worst of it. As I said, he's a very intelligent man. A wonderful chess player.”

“Hmm—I hope he isn't trying to make pawns of us. She has the same officers and ship's company; only Bullivant is new. What do you think is going on?”

Had Bowen started drinking again? Or been injured himself? In that case, Bullivant would have asked one of the other frigates to send over her surgeon.

“Where is the
Calypso,
sir? I did not see her.”

“Some distance up to the north-west, in company with the
Blackthorne
frigate.”

“So she would be close enough to ask the
Blackthorne
to send over her surgeon?”

“Yes. The
Blackthorne
is nearer to us and relayed this strange signal. Who the devil would have thought up 215 over a pendant—it's clever, if they really need the physician of the fleet.”

“Or the physician's authority,” Ramage said and then realized that he had inadvertently spoken aloud what was only a random thought.

“What's that you say?” the admiral demanded. “Authority? Medicine is what they want, I'd have thought.”

In for a penny, in for a pound, Ramage thought, and time was passing and he still had to persuade the admiral about
L'Espoir.
“I was trying to see it from the
Calypso
's point of view, sir. Sickness, fractures—all these can be dealt with by a surgeon. I was trying to see what the physician of the fleet had that a surgeon would not have, and medically—with respect—there woud be nothing of consequence. But the physician of the fleet would have
authority.
He would be reporting direct to you, and he could act on your authority …”

“But what the devil does the
Calypso
want to bother me about?” Clinton growled. “I don't care if the second lieutenant has just ruptured himself: that's why she has a surgeon. Can't be scurvy or anything like that—we left Plymouth only a couple of days ago.”

Southwick, Aitken, Bowen, young Paolo, Jackson, Stafford—Ramage felt a great nostalgia. The Admiralty (having no choice) had appointed a new captain to the
Calypso,
but she would always be his ship: he had captured her from the French, refitted her in the West Indies, chosen her new name, taken her into action … He knew every man on board and had promoted most of the officers. Every seaman had been in action with him several times and people like Jackson, Stafford and Rossi had saved his life—and he theirs, for that matter.

“Sir, whatever it is, I'm sure it's serious and unusual. I know Bullivant only by report, but I do know my officers. The first lieutenant, Aitken, thought of the signal: I'm sure of that. He's a very responsible young officer.” He remembered Clinton's slight accent and added: “—and comes from an old Scots family with naval connections.”

Clinton scratched his head, doubtful about something, although Ramage could not guess what. “Let me think about it. Now, are we finished with this
Murex
mutiny business? I want a list of names of the mutineers, of course, and all the loyal seamen, and the warrant and commission officers, who can give evidence against them. The brig's first lieutenant can deal with that. The Navy Board will have the last Muster Book, so they can print up some posters naming these mutinous rascals. They'll have to serve in French and neutral ships, or starve, you'll see, and we'll catch ‘em and stab ‘em with a Bridport dagger, just like we did those villains from the
Hermione.
”

Admirals rarely used slang—at least, Ramage had not heard them—but “Bridport dagger” was very appropriate. Some of the navy's best rope, particularly hemp, came from the Dorset town of Bridport, and hemp was always used for the hangman's noose. The seamen, with their liking for the bizarre euphemism, had soon tied the town, the hemp, the noose and death into one tidy phrase.

“I'll have the list for you, sir, and that rounds off the
Murex
affair, but there is one factor: you remember I mentioned earlier that the Count of Rennes and about fifty other Royalists were being transported by Bonaparte to Devil's Island?”

Admiral Clinton nodded. “Rennes? Isn't he the refugee fellow that has a place in England? Down at Ruckinge, I seem to remember. My place is at Great Chart, and my wife and I met him several times. A friend of the Prince Regent, I think.”

“The same person, sir. He came back to France at the peace. My wife and I were staying with him when he was arrested, as I was telling you, and his valet hid us. I have the valet on board the
Murex
—he's one of the four Frenchmen who helped me retake the ship.”

“The others—are they people like the Count?”

“I don't know who they are, sir, but
L'Espoir
was fitted out in great haste the moment Bonaparte heard that our ambassador was leaving Paris.”

“So we are too late to stop her escaping.
L'Espoir
is on her way to Devil's Island now.”

“She's only a few hours ahead, sir. She left Brest about half an hour ahead of the
Murex
.”

By now Admiral Clinton was lost in his own thoughts and talking to himself. “Takes a frigate to catch a frigate—
en flûte,
you say, so she'll have fewer men and few guns … more guards because of the prisoners … Yes, I'd better spare a frigate: it'd be dashed difficult if the Prince heard that nothing had been done … but if I could take the Count of Rennes back with me … the frigate'd be a prize too, and there'd be my eighth …” He gave a startled jerk, as if surprised to find he was not alone in the cabin.

“Ah, Ramage. Yes, well, just had an idea about that dashed signal from the
Calypso
. You've got those extra men from Wells's frigate, so the
Murex
isn't short-handed now. Supposing you take her and go on board the
Calypso
and see what the devil it's all about. You know the ship so well.”

Ramage nodded and added the part that the admiral had omitted: “It will save you detaching any of your frigates, too, sir.”

“Quite, quite,” Clinton said, as though the thought had never occurred to him. “Give me time to think about the Count of Rennes and
L'Espoir,
so if I have any more questions later you can answer them when you get back from the
Calypso.
”

“If there is any urgency, sir, a situation which I think calls for the physician of the fleet, should I repeat 215 and the
Calypso
's pendant?”

Clinton thought for a moment. “That would also mean that this flagship had to come up to the
Calypso?
”

“Yes, sir. I was thinking only of saving time in a dire emergency.”

“Very well. But look'ee Ramage, you're a sensible fellow. I've read all your
Gazettes.
Bit inclined to go your own way—that wouldn't do if you were serving under me, mind you—but you succeed. So my orders to you—I'll have them put in writing: it'll only take a couple of minutes—are to go on board the
Calypso,
and sort out whatever is the problem. I must hurry to get into position off Brest—from what you say, Bonaparte has several ships he'd like to get out before I arrive to shut the door. Now, wait on deck while I get my dam' fool secretary to write up your orders. Get the
Calypso
's position from Captain Bennett, and anything else you need. Looks as if you'll need to visit your tailor as soon as possible.”

Ramage grinned. “There's a lot to be said for trousers when you're climbing up a ship's side, sir; breeches are tight.”

Clinton said: “Very well. Unless you find it absolutely necessary to hoist 215, you will come up and report to me personally. Use your discretion. I have an odd feeling about this
Calypso
affair … Bullivant must have just been made post … Influence of the father, I suppose …” Again the admiral seemed to drift away in a reverie, and Ramage quietly left the cabin.

Captain Bennett took Ramage into his cabin and unrolled a chart. “The fleet will be here”—he indicated a line thirty miles to the west of Ushant—”and there'll be the usual frigates here, here, here and (providing this odd signal does not mean the
Calypso
has to go back to Plymouth) here. The admiral likes a couple of frigates with him, to investigate strange sail.

“Do you want to note down any latitudes and longitudes?” he asked.

Shaking his head, Ramage said: “I should be reporting back in a few hours. How far do you estimate the
Calypso
is to the north?”

“Well, the
Blackthorne
is in sight of us and the
Calypso
can see her. Say twenty miles. This is a five-knot wind for a brig like the
Murex
—she must have a clean bottom.”

“She's clean,” Ramage said, “but with only a dozen hands I haven't been pressing her!”

“A dozen, eh?”

“And four landmen, only one of whom speaks English!”

At that moment a bespectacled young man came into the cabin after the Marine sentry announced him.

He handed a slim volume and a sheet of paper to Ramage. “A copy of the Signal Book and the admiral's orders, sir: he particularly wants you to read them before you leave the ship.”

Murmuring “If you'll excuse me,” to Bennett, he read the copperplate handwriting and stylized wording. The phrases were dignified, those used by their Lordships and admirals for scores of years. They added up to the fact that whatever happened the man giving the orders took no responsibility for the results, while the man receiving them had no choice … However, in this case Admiral Clinton had obviously consulted Steel's List and found that Ramage was senior to Bullivant, and the orders, which of necessity were phrased with no knowledge of what was the matter, gave Ramage authority “to rectify, make good, issue orders and otherwise do what is required for the benefit of the King's Service in relation to the vessel herein described.”

Ramage folded the orders and tucked the paper down the front of his shirt. “If you'll excuse me,” he said to Captain Bennett and used his pen to sign the receipt for the orders and for the Signal Book which the young secretary had been holding out.

As he climbed down into the cutter he felt himself being pulled in two directions. Up to the north, something strange was happening to the
Calypso,
a ship he had come to love and a ship's company he regarded as his own family. Out to the west,
L'Espoir
was carrying Jean-Jacques and fifty other victims of Bonaparte to Devil's Island, which meant harsh imprisonment probably ended eventually by a quick death from the black vomit.

Ramage watched as the small cutter was hoisted on board and heard Swan preparing to get the
Murex
under way again. The extra dozen seamen would mean the
Murex
could stretch to the northward under courses as well as topsails.

As soon as Swan came aft, Ramage handed him the new copy of the Signal Book. “Have someone sew up a canvas bag and find a weight to put in it. That Signal Book must be kept in the bag and the whole thing thrown over the side if …”

“Yes, sir,” Swan said. “Anyway, now the ship isn't deaf and dumb any longer!”

“We might regret that,” Ramage said. “The admiral will be changing all the signal numbers now the French probably have
Murex
's original book.”

“Oh no, sir, I forgot to tell you. I was on deck when the mutiny started and the Signal Book and private signals were on the binnacle box. I managed to throw both over the side before the mutineers got control of the ship. I'll take an oath on that, sir.”

Ramage sighed with relief but said: “I wish you'd told me that earlier. The admiral is already choosing the number to add to all those in the Signal Book, and drawing up new private signals.”

“Well, I know the penalties for signals, so …” Swan said, and both men knew the phrase usually added to them when they were issued. The new private signals handed over by the admiral's secretary, Ramage noted, had two paragraphs of warning: “The captains and other officers to whom these signals are delivered are strictly commanded to keep them in their own possession, with a sufficient weight affixed to them to insure their being sunk if it should be found necessary to throw them overboard … As a consequence of the most dangerous nature … may result from the enemy's getting possession of these signals, if any officer … fail in observing these directions, he will certainly be made to answer for his disobedience at a Court Martial …”