Ramage and the Dido (9 page)

‘How many days, sir?’

‘I don’t know. Three or four, I think.’

‘That’s disobeying a direct Admiralty order.’

Ramage glanced at Aitken. ‘So I should put him under an arrest, and apply to the admiral for a court martial?’

The first lieutenant shrugged his shoulders. ‘It would keep him in the ship, and if we have to sail no doubt the admiral can find us another fifth lieutenant. Most admirals have a favourite close under their lee.’

‘Very well. Put him under arrest and confine him to his cabin. I’ll pass the word to the captain of the
Hyperion –
it’s his second lieutenant who is concerned. And a letter to the port admiral asking for a court martial. It’s a lot of trouble, just to save that young fool’s life…’

Admiral Rossiter was in his office, and as soon as he had greeted Ramage he held up a letter. ‘Your orders have arrived from the Admiralty. How is everything progressing?’

‘We need another couple of days, sir; then we’ll be ready to take on our powder. Oh yes, we do have one problem – our new fifth lieutenant.’

Rossiter raised his eyebrows. ‘Why, the last time I saw you, you were waiting for him to arrive.’

‘He was in trouble as soon as he arrived,’ Ramage said shortly, handing over the letter he had written. Rossiter put the letter down and said: ‘Tell me about it.’

Briefly Ramage described the situation, and went on to tell the admiral how Hicks had been staying at the Star and Garter gambling, instead of joining the
Dido.

‘Duelling, eh? I don’t want any duels fought in my dockyard, and I’m sure the Commander-in-Chief would not take kindly to any of his officers duelling. Who has called him out?’

‘The second of the
Hyperion,
sir. I’ve little doubt he had good enough reasons – Hicks admits he has other gambling debts, and as good as admitted to me that he cheated – “taking every advantage that he could” were his words.’

‘If he is court-martialled, he won’t be able to sail with you. In fact, come to think of it, you won’t be able to sail until after the trial. He can’t be tried in less than a week.’

‘The main thing is that I want him confined under an arrest so that he can’t fight the duel tomorrow morning, sir.’

Rossiter shrugged his shoulders. ‘You can keep him under an arrest for a few days and then decide not to press charges…’

‘I don’t want the fellow on board, sir,’ Ramage said bluntly. ‘He’s obviously a bad influence, and as he’s a compulsive gambler, he’s going to come to a sticky end.’

The admiral tapped his desk with Ramage’s letter. ‘I can send him to the guardship and give you another fifth lieutenant,’ he said slowly. ‘I am prepared to do that because I know you have your old ship’s company with you, and obviously it’s an efficient one. This fellow could be the one bad apple in the barrel.’

‘That would be the best way, sir: I don’t want to hang about for a court martial, but I do want to get rid of this fellow.’

Rossiter gestured at the letter Ramage was holding. ‘Why don’t you read your orders?’

Ramage broke the seal and opened the single sheet of paper. The orders were brief and simple: after provisioning for six months and completing the fitting-out of his ship to the satisfaction of the port admiral, Ramage was to sail to the West Indies, placing himself under the command of Rear-Admiral Samuel Cameron, the Commander-in-Chief of the Windward Islands Station at Barbados. Ramage managed to avoid giving a sigh of relief: he had not been told to escort a convoy, the dreariest task he could think of.

‘Well?’ asked Rossiter. ‘To your liking?’

‘Barbados, sir. I always like going back to the West Indies.’

‘Yes, nothing wrong with the place, as long as you avoid yellow fever, malaria and blackwater… You’ve been lucky so far, if my memory serves me. I seem to remember various
Gazette
letters from there.’

‘Indeed, I’ve been lucky,’ Ramage admitted. ‘Both in dodging disease and finding action.’

‘Very well,’ the admiral said briskly. ‘I take it you don’t want to go ahead and bring this fellow to trial as long as I can replace him?’

‘No, sir. I’m very grateful to you.’

Rossiter tore up the letter he was still holding. ‘By the way, you can sleep on shore for another couple of days. Then you’ll be ready to take on powder and sail.’

Ramage arrived on board the
Dido
next morning with Sarah, and was pleased to find that there were three carts alongside the ship and seamen were already busy carefully hoisting on board his furniture, using the stay tackle. The dining table, desk and drawers were packed in straw, which had been tied round the polished woodwork to protect it. The chairs looked as though they were growing out of a cornfield.

Sarah commented on the care that the shop had taken, and Ramage said: ‘Wait until the crockery and cutlery arrives. It’s another shop, and they may not have dealt with a ship before.’

They went to the cabin and a few minutes later sailors arrived carrying the table, having cut off the straw on deck. Ramage indicated where he wanted it put just as more men arrived with chairs. Within a quarter of an hour the rest of the furniture had been carried down and put in its place, and Ramage sat in one of the armchairs. ‘Comfortable enough,’ he told Sarah. ‘You made a good choice.’

‘The owner of the shop wasn’t used to having ladies come in and choose this sort of furniture. He was most concerned when he heard you commanded the
Dido,
and promised to change anything you did not like.’ Sarah laughed and added: ‘I told him that you would like anything I chose – and he was most impressed. At least, I think he was. He may not have believed a word I said!’

The contrast between the pieces of furniture and the two 12-pounders was dramatic. The two barrels of the guns, which seemed to be crouching on their carriages, black and shiny like serpents, were in stark contrast to the yellow and white covers that Sarah had chosen for the settee and armchairs.

Ramage had not been sitting down more than a few minutes before the carpenter arrived, asking permission to fit eyebolts to the deck and the underside of each piece of furniture, so that the light chairs could be attached to stop them sliding about the cabin when the
Dido
rolled in a seaway. Soon the cabin seemed to be full of the carpenter and his mates as they up-ended each piece of furniture and started drilling for the screws to hold the eyeplates. Finally they shackled on the chains and left.

Ramage opened his Journal and dipped his quill in the ink. The page was headed ‘Journal of the Proceedings of his Majesty’s ship — , Captain — , Commander, between the — and the—’

He filled in
‘Dido’
and his own name, and the dates. There were nine columns, each with its own heading, which went from the date to ‘Winds’, ‘Courses’, ‘Miles’, the latitude the ship was in and the amount of longitude made, bearing and distances at noon (they were too far out to sea to give either) and the last column, which was headed ‘Remarkable Observations and Accidents’.

He looked at the pencilled note that Southwick had given him and started filling in the columns. The wind had been north-east, the courses had been south and south-south-west, they had covered 120 miles since noon the previous day, the present latitude was 25° 7’ North, they had stayed in the same longitude, and in the last column he wrote: ‘Weather unsettled and sighted several waterspouts. Fore topgallant badly chafed, sent down and replaced. Exercised ship’s company at great guns.’

And that, he thought as he wiped the quill and put the cap on the ink, was all there was to say for a day in which the
Dido
had ploughed on just approaching the Tropics with a wind that was fitful and a sky heavy with thunderstorms.

The entry did not tell anything of the
Dido.
It did not tell of Ramage’s efforts to train the two hundred or so men that had been taken from the West India and Cape convoys just before she sailed. There was the core of the Calypsos, but there were the new men to be trained in the ways of the Navy. Most of them were good seamen – that was why incoming convoys yielded a good harvest for pressgangs – but they knew little or nothing about gunnery. Few masters of merchant ships bothered to give their men any gunnery training, and few merchant ships carried anything larger than a long 6-pounder.

So on most days since they left the Channel, the Didos had been exercising the guns: running in and running out the big 32-pounders and the 24-pounders, as well as the 12-pounders and the carronades. Every couple of days the men were switched from one calibre of gun to another, so that they soon had experience of them all; every third day the guns were actually fired, filling the ears with the thunder of the explosions and the ship with thick smoke.

The new men were learning quickly. Most of them had got over their resentment at being snatched into the King’s service just when they were expecting to go home on well-earned leave, and most were thankful to find that their new ship had a firm and fair captain whose only quirk, it seemed, was an obsession with gunnery. In general the new men were sensible enough to appreciate that in these early days the enemy was not a French ship of the line ranged up alongside them but the watches held in the hands of the lieutenants, which relentlessly timed their activities.

Ramage closed his Journal, put it in a drawer of his desk, and went outside for a stroll up and down his balcony. He was enjoying the balcony: it was somewhere that he could pace alone with his thoughts with the ship’s wake gurgling away below him and with just the creak of gudgeons and pintles as the rudder was turned by the men at the wheel.

What a rush those last few days in Portsmouth had turned out to be. Apart from getting the extra men – the ship had finally sailed with a complement of 602, twenty-three short of her establishment – it was found that a good deal of the water was bad, so much had to be emptied out and pumped over the side and fresh brought from the dockyard. And at the last moment, thanks to his strong complaints, the dockyard had produced a spare suit of sails, and these had to be struck below to the sail room a matter of hours before they sailed to get the powder on board.

Sarah had finally left – tearfully – for London with Jessop driving the carriage, and Ramage was grateful to Admiral Rossiter for leaving them alone until the last minute. Sarah had finally admitted that she could not bear standing on Portsmouth Point watching the
Dido
disappear in the distance, so she had driven off as the
Dido
left the Camber to take on powder.

Now the ship could be self-contained for six months, able to feed all her men and (he hoped) with enough powder and shot to fight off her enemies. But, he reflected, there was no getting away from the fact that a seventy-four was a big ship. Apart from the ship herself, 200 feet long from figurehead to taffrail, and 275 feet from the tip of her jib-boom to the end of the spanker boom, and weighing about 2,800 tons, 602 men looked to him for leadership, discipline and justice. And yes, he had to be a father to them all, as well, even though some of them – Southwick, for instance – were old enough to be his grandfather. He was the captain, with all that implied. He was responsible for feeding and fighting the ship; he had to make sure that the purser did not cheat, that the gunner looked after the guns, the surgeon the sick, the chaplain their souls, the master the sails and rigging and the first lieutenant the general running of the ship. But, he thought ruefully, if any one of his commission or warrant officers failed, the Admiralty would blame him.

He was thankful that he had managed to get rid of that cardsharping fifth lieutenant, Hicks. If he had stayed on, the wardroom would probably be in an uproar by now; Kenton, Martin and Hill were good men, but there was obviously a limit to what they could stand. However, the new man provided by Admiral Rossiter seemed to be proving satisfactory.

He watched as a Mother Carey’s chicken – known to some as a stormy petrel – flew across the
Dido
’s
stern and turned to fly along her wake. Where did they sleep? There always seemed to be a few in sight. And soon they would be seeing – admittedly only occasionally – his favourite, the tropic bird. Slender and white with a very long forked tail, the tropic bird would fly steadily, never jinking, always in a straight line as though it knew exactly where it was going. But where was that? It was often 1,500 miles to the nearest land, yet the tropic bird flew on sturdily as though it was merely crossing the five miles between two neighbouring islands.

He heard shouting and knew one of the lookouts aloft was hailing the quarterdeck. What had he sighted, so far from land? It could be a particularly large waterspout to windward, so that the officer of the deck could luff up or bear away to avoid it. Although Ramage had never been in a ship hit by a waterspout he had heard many stories about their destructive force: they could rip out masts with the sails still attached, lift anything lying around the deck and suck it up, even take up boats on the booms and hurl them over the side.

Suddenly Aitken’s head appeared at the taffrail and called down: ‘Sir, the foremast lookout reports a sail fine on the starboard bow, and perhaps another one beyond it. Steering on an opposite course to us.’

‘Very well, beat to quarters. I’ll be with you in a moment.’

That was one of the important differences between a frigate and a ship of the line: a frigate could be at general quarters in five minutes, but even with a well-trained crew it took a seventy-four at least fifteen minutes, and that was no time at all with two ships approaching each other at five or six knots: they would cover two and a half or three miles in that time.

He reached the quarterdeck just as the two Marine drummers started clattering away, and the calls of bosun’s mates were twittering below, followed by the raucous shouts of ‘All hands to general quarters!’

‘What can you see?’ Ramage asked Aitken.

‘Just the hint of a sail from down here, sir.’