Ramage & the Renegades (42 page)

Ramage found himself seated exactly opposite Captain Hungerford, with Sarah on his right and Bowen beyond her. On his left was another woman passenger who, had Sarah and her mother remained in India, would have been the most beautiful woman on board the
Earl of Dodsworth,
and she seemed to accept her secondary role with good grace, seating herself as Ramage slid her chair with an ease that most women would envy and a softly breathed warning to Ramage not to hurt his arm.

As soon as everyone was seated, Hungerford rose and took a deep breath. “My lords, ladies and gentlemen: I have three tasks before we begin this dinner. First, for the benefit of our guests, our bill of fare. Pease soup, as you who have voyaged with us so far know very well, is a speciality of this ship and I dare claim it as unique. We have legs of mutton, and can only apologize that it isn't lamb, but our ewes proved barren. There are fowls for those who like white meat, hogs' puddings, hams, duck, pork and mutton pies—” he paused to consult a list “—corned round of beef, mutton chops and potatoes, removed by plum pudding. And port wine, sherry, gin, rum and of course porter and spruce beer.”

Ramage glanced at his officers. Martin and Orsini were glassy-eyed with the prospect and Aitken was obviously hearing John Knox inveighing against gluttony and preparing to ignore him. Southwick had that comfortable smile one associated with Friar Tuck, and was surreptitiously undoing a button of his coat.

Captain Hungerford continued: “So much for what is to be placed before us. I now welcome our guests, only three of whom are known to the majority of you.” With the skill of a man who for years had known that one of the most important tasks of a John Company master was to make the passengers feel comfortable, he then introduced the Calypsos, starting with Ramage and ending with a confident Orsini.

“These are the men to whom we owe first our lives and second our freedom. I believe Captain Ramage (incidentally he does not use his title, so I am being neither familiar nor disrespectful), first boarded this ship in a rather unusual way, and the second time was very very unorthodox—” he paused while the passengers laughed and then cheered and clapped “—so it is my pleasure on behalf of all who voyage in the
Earl of Dodsworth,
to give you our thanks.”

Ramage was aware of some scraping and scuffling behind him, particularly puzzling because some of the passengers were deliberately not looking in that direction while four or five others' curiosity was winning. Aitken, Southwick and his other officers facing into the saloon were openly staring.

He felt Sarah's hand clasp his beneath the tablecloth and press it (reassuringly? sympathetically? affectionately? It was impossible to tell, and a moment later it was withdrawn). Then Captain Hungerford, unable to restrain a grin, said: “If those seated at the other side of this table will turn and face in the direction I am looking …”

Stewards appeared from nowhere to turn the chairs, and as soon as a puzzled Ramage sat down again, facing the length of the saloon with a table to the left and another to the right, he saw in the space between them Wilkins's easel, the one the carpenter had made for him. A green baize cloth covered whatever canvas was on it.

Hungerford said: “Lady Sarah …” and she stood up, as though to perform a role for which she had been prepared, and walked to the easel, standing to one side. “It gives us all great pleasure,” Hungerford continued, “to ask you, Captain Ramage, if you will accept this as a small token of our gratitude. It will show you something which, I am told, you did not actually see for yourself. If you will go up to the easel …”

She was waiting by the easel and watching him, and the look in her eyes seemed to be giving him some secret message he dare not believe. When he was within three or four paces of the easel she leaned across and removed the cloth with the grace of a provocative dancer, and he found himself on the
Calypso
's quarterdeck watching the
Lynx
exploding in a great ball of fire. The painting was so real that in the instant of surprise he nearly flung his arms over his face to protect his eyes from the bulging flame. He looked away and caught her eyes and knew he had not been mistaken those few moments earlier, but there was so much confusion: the
Calypso
's guns spewing smoke and flame, the
Lynx
exploding, Sarah's face so close, and—

Quickly he stepped back, bewildered, and almost at once he saw Wilkins and realized that the artist had given him a few moments in which he could pull himself together. Two steps and he was grasping Wilkins's hand, congratulating him, and there was a sudden uproar of cheering, clapping and the clinking of knives tapping glasses. Then they were all shouting “Speech, speech, speech!” and he turned back to explain to her that for a moment the ball of fire had blotted out everything, and her eyes said yes, she knew, but
noblesse oblige,
and if it helped she loved him, and one day he would know all about that military uniform …

He turned back towards Hungerford. “I don't know what to say.” He stopped and everyone in the cabin realized that he was simply speaking his thoughts aloud. “The beginning was just like that, then it all went black …”

Suddenly he swallowed, stood straight because the deckhead in the saloon was high, and with what seemed to many of the passengers an easy nonchalance, bowed and said: “On behalf of myself and every man in the
Calypso,
I thank you for commissioning, and Alexander Wilkins for recording on canvas, this instant in our lives. I shall always treasure it, and it will hang in my family's house in London so that when in future any of my Calypsos want to come and look at it again, or any of you good people, you have only to knock on the door. I cannot guarantee that I shall always be there because, as you know, I am in the King's sea service, and I fear the present peace will be brief …”

T
HE TWO surveyors came to his cabin next morning with the draft of the new chart of Trinidade and its waters.

With Southwick's help they had determined the exact latitude, and the longitude as close as the
Calypso
's chronometer would allow. Their task, though, was simple enough. White unrolled the parchment and pointed to the numbers representing heights on land and depths in the water.

“We have to name the hills, bays and headlands … We'd like you to choose the first ones, sir! At least, one or two bays have been named already, but …”

Ramage glanced up. “Who named them?”

“Well, sir, the Marquis and his family—and, well, sir, the passengers in the
Earl of Dodsworth!
”

Ramage pulled the chart round and stared at the writing. The bay in which they were anchored had, pencilled in, “Ramage Bay,” while the headland forming the southern corner had been called Ramage Head. The next bay to the west, where the only accessible stream for fresh water ran into the sea, had been called “Calypso Bay.” The beach which the survey teams had used was now “Potence Beach”—a grisly mixture of French and English, since
potence
was French for a gallows.

“What will Lord St Vincent think of me if he sees my name written all over the chart?” he demanded.

“The Marquis, sir,” White said hurriedly, “we mentioned that to him, and it seems he knows the First Lord very well, and had already drafted a letter to him about what you did. Now he's going to say that he insists …”

Ramage sighed. “Well, Mr Dalrymple at the Hydrographic Office can always change them later. Now, let's name the rest. This next bay to the west, we'll call that ‘Rockley Bay,' in honour of the Marquis. This first bay on the north side could well be named after the First Lord. Write them in, White: ‘Rockley' and ‘St Vincent.' We'll leave the next two—some of the Lords Commissioners may have ideas. But this little bay here, at the southern end; I want that named ‘Aitken Bay.' He saved the
Amethyst
and
Friesland.
”

He looked at the chart carefully. Rennick had worked hard at building the batteries and was in the attack on the
Lynx.
The biggest battery, which covered the watering place in what was now to be Calypso Bay, was at the top of a hill which was 1,430 feet high.

“That will be ‘Rennick Battery,'” he said, tapping the place with his finger. “Here, where you have the maize and potato fields marked, just call it ‘Garret's.' The old West Indies hands will likely think it is the name of a sugar plantation!

“Now, we have three batteries left. This one covering the landing beach—Potence Beach, rather—we'll name for Wagstaffe; that one for Bowen; and this one here, covering the northeastern side of the island, for Southwick.”

He paused a minute or two and White coughed. “Orsini, sir: might we suggest the reef just on our larboard side? It is the nearest to where he helped you …”

“Excellent: pencil it in. He'll be so proud.” Probably more proud of that, Ramage thought, than of all of Volterra, if he inherits it. “And this big shoal in Calypso Bay—that's Martin's. Poor Kenton has been left out a good deal, so we'll give him this big shoal of rocks in Rockley Bay.”

White swallowed hard. “I seem to be interfering a lot, but everyone in the gunroom was most anxious that I should ask you if—well …” He stopped, overcome by nervousness.

“Who are they suggesting?”

“Mr Wilkins, sir. He's such a good shipmate, and that painting …”

“I agree entirely,” Ramage said. “Have you any suggestions, or should we change some of these round?”

“No, sir, we know which is his favourite hill: it's this one overlooking this bay; you've seen several of the paintings he's done from there.”

“‘Wilkins Peak,' eh? Good, write it in.”

Aitken followed the surveyors and reported that the last of the casks of fresh water were being hoisted on board. “We've loaded 35 tons, sir, and Kenton tells me that if he'd had the boats and casks, he could have loaded five times as fast.”

“So a large squadron could water here in a matter of hours?”

Aitken made an expansive gesture. “A small fleet in a couple of days. And digging potatoes and harvesting maize at the same time!”

“Very well, then you can start hoisting the boats in. The
Earl of Dodsworth
is weighing tomorrow at nine o'clock. We can start to weigh about ten o'clock. We'll be spending the next six weeks or so in her company, so we can afford to let her get ahead for an hour or two!”

“It'll mean a slow passage for us,” Aitken commented.

“Only if there are light winds. She's a lot bigger than us and can carry more canvas in a blow.”

“Can, sir, but will she?”

“She'll have to if she wants to keep up with us! Don't forget she wants to sail in company with us. We are not under orders to escort her—after all, we are at peace, despite a privateer or two. We're doing Captain Hungerford and John Company a favour …”

“So we could lose her in the night after a week or two,” Aitken murmured.

“We could, but we won't,” Ramage said, and knew that if he was honest he would admit that if he had his way he would bring the Rockleys on board the
Calypso,
just for their peace of mind, and leave the
Earl of Dodsworth
to follow.

Aitken was just leaving the cabin when he turned round. “By the way, sir, Orsini wanted to see you. May I send him down?”

Ramage nodded, puzzled by the formality; normally if Orsini had anything to say he approached on the quarterdeck with a smart salute.

A few minutes later Paolo came into the cabin and stood to attention. The boy was growing quickly, Ramage realized; he had to stand with his head bent to avoid bumping the beams.

“Sit down,” Ramage said, gesturing to the armchair, but Paolo shook his head nervously. He was holding a small canvas wallet, a flat bag suitable for carrying documents. “I'd prefer to stand, sir: this will only take a minute or two.”

Ramage looked up from the chair at his desk. “You sound very serious, Paolo!”

He rarely called the boy by his first name, and then only when they were alone. But at this moment something was obviously troubling him.

“It's the date, sir.”

Ramage frowned and glanced down at his journal, which he had been filling in when Aitken arrived. There seemed nothing unusual about the date: it was not the King's birthday, the anniversary of the Restoration of Charles II, the King's accession or the Queen's birthday, or any of the other dozen or so days when the King's ships fired salutes. Paolo's birthday was some time in August.

“What about the date?”

“It is six months to the day since we sailed from Chatham, sir.”

“Allora!”
Ramage exclaimed, surprised that it was so long, but still puzzled that it had any significance.
“E poi … ?”

Paolo began to undo the two brass buttons holding the wallet closed. “I have a letter for you, sir.”

“A
letter?
”

Obviously Paolo was not going to be rushed. He now had the flap of the wallet open, and he looked up as though this was only another stage in whatever duty he was performing.

“I had to deliver it to you exactly six months after we sailed from England, sir. And that's today, if you would be pleased to refer back in your journal.”

“I'll accept your word for it. Is it so important?”

“I gave my word, sir.”

“Very well,” Ramage said hurriedly, determined not to show any impatience or offend Paolo's prickly sense of honour.

“May I have the letter, then?”

“Yes, sir,” Paolo said, making no move to hand it over. “I have to explain … My aunt gave it to me when I visited her in London at your father's house. She made me promise to give it to you on the exact day.”