Ramage and the Freebooters (16 page)

With Southwick he inspected the ship’s company and was surprised to see they were smartly rigged out in clean shirts and trousers, hair newly combed and retied in neat queues, and freshly shaven. Then, with their corporal, he inspected the Marines. Their red jackets were spotless, cross-belts stiff with pipeclay, brass buttons and buckles gleamed, their muskets immaculate, the metalwork looking oily but dry to the touch, the woodwork buffed to a high polish.

Ramage then returned to stand just in front of the wheel. A bright sun shone fitfully through broken cloud, the ship was gently rolling and pitching, the tiller ropes creaked as the men turned the wheel a spoke this way and a spoke that to keep the
Triton
on course for the rendezvous with Admiral Curtis’ squadron. His clerk handed him a sheet of paper and a copy of the Articles of War, and the Marine corporal – who was not carrying a musket since his main role for the moment was to be master-at-arms – stood beside the prisoners.

Flogging a man was more than a punishment; it was a ritual, a long and complicated rigmarole that Ramage could not alter or shorten, whatever his personal feelings. And as he stood there, his left hand on the scabbard of his sword, holding the Articles of War in his right, the three prisoners standing to attention in front of him, the sails overhead drawing in the north-west wind and knowing that below, locked in his desk, were secret and urgent letters from the First Lord to three of his admirals, he recalled a letter from his father congratulating him on passing his examination for lieutenant. He couldn’t remember the exact wording but the gist of it was still fresh in his mind.

If you are to be a true leader – a man others follow because he is a natural leader, not just a legal one who has to bolster his authority with his commission and the Articles of War – you will, apart from obeying, have to
give
orders that make you angry and resentful; make you feel that the Articles or the
Regulations
are too inflexible, forcing you to act unjustly or unreasonably.

Do not forget, however, the Articles and the
Regulations
have evolved since the Navy first began. No set of rules can cover every eventuality – otherwise lawyers would be out of business. There
will
be injustices; but when you command your own ship, the crew will be watching you. They know when a shipmate’s punishment is just or unjust. If it is well deserved, neither the man nor the ship’s company will complain. If it is not, they will soon let you know in a hundred small ways. But of this you can be sure: if you show any signs of weakness – then they’ll treat
you
unjustly, and you’ll only have yourself to blame. A weak captain leaves the ship’s company at the mercy of harsh officers. A good captain requires the same obedience from his second-in-command as from the youngest boy on board…

And how right the old man was. Yesterday the ship’s company were mutinous in everything except actually taking over the ship. Last night (but for Jackson and the rest of the group) they’d have done that too. Yet this morning, for reasons he couldn’t explain, there was a completely different atmosphere on board. The men hadn’t been singing or laughing before being piped aft to witness punishment; but – well, he sensed the atmosphere was now fresher, as though some hidden menace and tension had gone.

Perhaps it was more significant that every man had obviously taken particular care with his appearance – they’d all shaved, although it was Tuesday and they were required to shave only twice a week, on Sundays and Thursdays. And there was no order for them to appear in fresh clothes. Certainly they could not wear dirty, but there was a difference between clean and fresh. He was sure it wasn’t a bizarre gesture to the men being flogged; a curious defiance of authority. The men weren’t subtle enough for that.

Everyone was watching him; he’d been staring at the carved crown on the top of the capstan for several seconds – more likely a couple of minutes. He wondered what they’d think if he told them he’d just recalled his father’s advice so that although five minutes ago the prospect of flogging some men nauseated him, he was now going to order the floggings knowing it was both necessary and right.

Suddenly he realized why the atmosphere had changed: the men had known it all the time: three of their number had been caught planning a mutiny and naturally they must be punished.

He felt foolish and inexperienced and hurriedly glanced at the piece of paper, beginning the ritual.

‘William Dyson!’

The master-at-arms stepped smartly alongside Dyson as the man took three paces forward.

‘Aye aye, sir.’

Ramage had been surprised at the man’s appearance – he too was shaved, and dressed in fresh clothes. Now his manner was slightly defiant – no, perhaps not: Ramage admitted he didn’t know the man well enough to be sure.

‘William Dyson, you were charged by the Master with breaking into the breadroom, being drunk and disorderly, fighting and trying to resist arrest.’

To the corporal, Ramage snapped: ‘Seize him up!’

Two Marines put their muskets down on the deck. One picked up a capstan bar lying beside the companionway coaming and slotted it into the capstan head; the other led Dyson the few steps to the capstan. His shirt was stripped off, the thick leather apron was produced and tied over the lower part of his back, his arm were stretched out horizontally along the capstan bar, and within two minutes he was ready for the flogging to begin.

But there was still more ritual.

Ramage opened the Articles of War. For once he was thankful for Article Number Thirty-six, nicknamed the ‘Captain’s Cloak’ and so worded that it could be used to cover any villainy that ingenious seamen might devise.

As Ramage removed his hat, Southwick bellowed: ‘Off caps!’

‘Article number Thirty-six,’ Ramage began in a clear voice, as soon as every man was bareheaded. ‘“All other crimes not capital, committed by any person or persons in the Fleet, which are not mentioned in this Act, or for which no punishment is hereby directed to be inflicted, shall be punished according to the laws and customs in such cases used at sea.”’

Dyson was lucky, since even the drunken night in the breadroom left him open to more serious charges.

‘Two dozen lashes – bosun’s mate, carry out the punishment!’

After twelve lashes – which Dyson bore without a murmur – Ramage signalled for the flogging to be delayed a minute or two, calling to the surgeon, Bowen, to examine the man. If the
Triton
had carried more than one bosun’s mate, another would have taken over from Evans.

The surgeon was obviously at least half drunk and he shambled over. After looking at the cook’s mate’s face and feeling his pulse he stood back and mumbled,

‘Fit for punishment to be continued, sir.’

‘Carry on, bosun’s mate.’

The tails of the cat were bloody and for the last few strokes the bosun’s mate had to run his fingers through them to remove the tangles.

Just before the last stroke was laid on, Ramage said quietly to Southwick: ‘Have some men take him down to the sick berth. The surgeon will be down as soon as I can spare him.’

The bosun’s mate stood back and the corporal reported: ‘Twenty-four, sir.’

‘Very well: cut him down and get him below.’

As the Marines released Dyson’s arms and unstrapped the apron, Ramage glanced at Brookland and Harris. The former was obviously still feeling the effects of the night’s drinking, but Harris, although white-faced, was standing stiffly to attention.

Dyson stood back from the capstan. Suddenly he bent down to pick up his shirt and put it on. Since his back looked like raw liver the movement must have been agonizing, but two Marines, not realizing for a moment what he was doing, stepped forward, the bayonets on their muskets pointing straight at him.

Then, equally unexpectedly, Dyson turned to face Ramage, who groaned inwardly. Oh no, he thought: for God’s sake no insults and defiance: you’ll have to be given another dozen if –

‘Permission to speak, sir?’

Ramage nodded.

‘I want to apologize for my behaviour, sir.’

‘Very well, I accept it,’ he said quietly, knowing that Dyson was referring to the planned mutiny. ‘Now get below and clean yourself up.’

Ten minutes later Brookland was walking forward unaided, his punishment administered, and Harris was seized to the capstan bar. For the third time Ramage read out the wording of the ‘Captain’s Cloak’; once again Evans opened a red baize bag and took out a new cat-o’-nine-tails; once again Ramage said: ‘One dozen lashes. Bosun’s mate, carry out the punishment!’

Once again the swish of the tails flying through the air; once again that noise like a wet towel hitting a baulk of timber; once again a grunt as the blow knocked the breath from a man’s lungs; once again the corporal intoned the number of the stroke.

‘One…

‘Two…

‘Three…’

Then, from aloft, a sudden shout: ‘Deck there!’

As Ramage snapped, ‘Bosun’s mate – wait!’ Southwick yelled, ‘Deck here – what’ve you sighted?’

‘Sail dead ahead, sir. Can just see her t’gallants.’

Southwick looked round for Appleby, gave him the telescope and pointed up the mainmast.

Ramage said to the master-at-arms, ‘Cut him down and get him below, Mr Southwick! Beat to quarters, if you please!’

In time of war, and particularly in this position, every ship was potentially an enemy. For the moment Ramage thought little beyond the fact it meant he was now able to stop, and could later remit, the rest of Harris’ punishment.

‘Have our pendant and the private signal ready, Mr Southwick,’ he said quite unnecessarily.

Southwick was already bellowing orders and the men were already running to their stations. The little drummer began thumping his drum with more eagerness than skill; the corporal hurriedly slashed at the seizings round Harris’ arms, eager to resume his other role as a Marine; and the Marines themselves still standing to attention, obviously uncertain whether they should obey the drum or wait for their corporal’s orders.

Ramage saw the surgeon lurching towards the companionway and called to him to attend to Dyson, Brookland and Harris. But the man did not pause, leaving Ramage unsure whether he had heard or understood but already decided that the surgeon was his next problem – if the ship ahead was not a French sail of the line.

Whatever she was, she was to leeward and Ramage dare not lose the advantage of being both to windward and being between the ship and the English coast. He ordered Southwick to bear up, and while men ran to the sheets and braces and the Master stood by the helmsmen, Ramage looked up at Appleby perched high in the mast and steadying himself against the roll of the ship, which at that height was exaggerated by the inverted-pendulum swing of the mast. The master’s mate hailed that she had three masts, was heading north-east and ‘looked large’.

Ramage called to Jackson, pointed aloft and in a moment the American was on his way up the ratlines. Although Appleby’s eyesight was good he hadn’t Jackson’s experience in identifying ships.

Considering it was the first time they had done it since he’d been in command, Ramage noted the ship’s company had gone to quarters quickly without the excited nervousness that caused delays: the guns’ crews were ready with rammers, waiting only for the powder to be brought up from below; the deck was already running with water and several men were sprinkling sand, so that bare feet would not slip and no stray grains of powder could be ignited by friction.

It was time for Ramage to go down to his cabin and check once again the day’s private signals – the secret challenge and reply by which ships of the Royal Navy could distinguish friend from foe.

The signals, kept in a locked drawer in his desk, comprised several pages held together by a heavy slotted lead seal which had been squeezed together so the slot closed tightly along the left-hand edge of the sheets. That alone indicated their importance, and a warning on the first page, twice underlined, said captains were ‘strictly commanded to keep them in their own possession, with sufficient weight affixed to them to insure their being sunk if it should be found necessary to throw them overboard’. And, it added, any officer disobeying would be court-martialled because ‘consequences of the most dangerous nature to His Majesty’s Fleet may result from the Enemy’s getting possession of these Signals’.

The signals themselves were simple to understand, listing the flags to be flown from the foretopmasthead and the maintopmasthead, and the flags to be flown as a reply by the other ship. Since both signals were given it did not matter which ship challenged first.

The important thing was the date. Only ten challenges and replies were listed, and the final figure in the date was the one that mattered. In the first column headed ‘Day of the Month’, were, one beneath the other, the figures I, II, 21 and 31. Below that was a second group, 2, 12, 22 and followed by 3, 13, 23 and so on until it reached 10, 20, 30. Beside each group were the flags to be flown on those dates – and on this occasion the Navy used civil time, the new day beginning at midnight.

Since it was the 20th day of April Ramage ran his finger along the last set of figures, ‘10, 20, 30’. Beside them it gave the first signal to be flown and the flags forming the reply.

After locking up the signals Ramage went back on deck, where Southwick was waiting.

‘Pendant over red and white at the main; white with blue cross at the fore. The reply is pendant over blue white blue at the main; blue white red at the fore.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Within a few moments he had several seamen busy bending the flags on to the appropriate halyards ready for hoisting, and then Jackson called down that he thought the ship was a British frigate.

Swiftly her sails lifted above the horizon as she sailed up over the curvature of the earth towards the
Triton
; soon Ramage could see her hull coming into sight.

‘Hoist the challenge, Mr Southwick!’

Suddenly the long, triangular-shaped pendant and the red and white flag soared up the mainmast, and the single white flag with a blue cross was being hoisted at the foremast.