Ramage's Challenge r-15

by Dudley Pope

  The middle one of the three rocks was nearly a mile to the south of Maggiore. Small, low and black, it was surrounded by shoals. The third, southernmost of the trio, was also the smallest and lowest, with the usual shoals round it. "Warning," the note added, "overfalls extend south half a mile in a gale." Some ants, Ramage thought sourly, and wondered why the Italians had given them such an innocent name, It was surprising that the Romans had not dubbed them - something like Scylla and Charybdis, the legendary monsters living in caves beside the Strait of Messina, between Sicily and the mainland.

  In fact, Ramage thought idly, the ancient sailors needed to brave legends more than actual tempests. From memory, Scylla was supposed to have six heads, stand twelve feet tall and bark like a dog. Far worse, she had the distressing habit of snatching a man with each of her heads from any ship coming too close (the Strait's toll keeper, in fact!). Meanwhile Charybdis lived on the opposite side of the Strait in her cave hidden by an enormous fig tree. She swallowed all the water in the Strait and then brought it up again, and as she did this three times a day she created a terrible whirlpool, so the wretched sailors navigating the Strait risked either having their heads bitten off by Scylla or being sucked down by Charybdis.

  "Not often that a frigate has so many flag officers on board, sir," Southwick muttered unexpectedly. "Not forgetting the field officers and all the aristocracy. Do the men salute 'em every time they pass on deck, or what?"

  Ramage thought a moment. "Ignore them. I'll have a word with Sir Henry, because when the hostages want fresh air and exercise, if they are all on deck the saluting will just about stop any movement by the ship's company."

  "Just thought I'd mention it," Southwick said.

  "I'm beginning to think you don't like having guests."

  "Three admirals and two generals . . . they'll soon start arguing, you'll see: they always do. Lucky they don't have orders to execute - otherwise we'd be having three councils of war a day. By the end of a week the last council of war would decide they did nothing."

  Ramage laughed at Southwick's bitterness, and then said soberly: "My father's advice when I was made post was: 'Never have anything to do with a council of war: it's a coward's alibi for doing nothing.' "

  "Yes, nervous sailors and soldiers call councils of war while politicians appoint committees. Same thing - spreads round the responsibility (and blame) like a farmer spreading dung. Leaves the same smell, too."

  Ramage saw his steward Silkin appear at the companionway. "Damnation, it's time for dinner. I have to play host to these people. They're such a crowd they make my dining place hot. And the food is hardly the proper fare for flag and field officers."

  "Serve 'em plenty of wine before the first course, sir," Southwick advised. "It makes a sort of pond for the salt tack to float on."

  "That's an old trick," Ramage said. "Start 'em talking and drinking for half an hour and then they don't notice what they're eating."

  Ramage paused at his bed place to wash his hands, went through to the coach to measure a distance on a chart, and then on to the dining place. The cabin was small, almost entirely filled by the dining table, chairs and the mahogany, lead-lined wine cooler.

  The three admirals, two generals, the marquis, two earls and one viscount were already seated, chatting while drinking wine from glasses that Silkin (long since trained in this particular trick) kept filled.

  General Cargill's voice was loudest. "Guile be damned," he was telling Earl Smarden. "Land a hundred well armed men and advance in regular order. Only way against this French rabble. Their officers were butchers and bakers only a few years ago: they can't control their men and don't understand tactics."

  "Most of Bonaparte's best marshals were butchers and bakers a few years ago," Sir Henry said mildly. "They exchanged cleavers and baking tins for batons."

  "And where's it got them?" Cargill sneered.

  "I haven't had a chance of looking at a map of Europe lately, but the last time I saw one it seemed to have got them quite far. All of Europe, for a start."

  "Ah, wait until we can get at them," Cargill said, "we'll soon send them packing!"

  Admiral Faversham shook his head, pretending to be puzzled. "I thought we had been able to get at them - Sir John Jervis and Nelson at Cape St Vincent; Nelson at the Nile and at Copenhagen. For the moment the details of the Army's activities escape me - except of course for Egypt."

  "Don't be absurd, Faversham," Cargill exclaimed hotly, "we can only fight where the Navy carries us!"

  "Probably that fellow Dundas has stopped overwhelming the Admiralty with any more of his silly ideas," Sir Henry said drily. "Our Secretary of State for War is the strongest argument for peace. Ah, Ramage, there you are. How I wish you commanded a ship of the line - a frigate is rather crowded with so many passengers!"

  "Yes, sir," Ramage agreed as he took his seat at the head of the table, "and we'll all wish for a three-decker once we have the ladies on board!"

  As though the comment was a signal for which he had been waiting, General Cargill turned to Ramage and said crossly: "I was just telling Admiral Faversham that this idea of using 'guile' is nonsense. A frontal attack in regular order, that's the only way of tackling these Frenchmen."

  "Oh goodness me, how I agree with you, sir!" Ramage said emphatically, and three startled admirals looked up sharply.

  Cargill took a few moments to recover from his surprise and he then turned to Sir Henry. "You see, Faversham - even he agrees with me."

  Sir Henry was learning, and contented himself with a nod.

  Admiral Keeler said quickly: "I don't think that Ramage quite understood the point you're making, Cargill."

  "Indeed I did, sir," Ramage said politely. "The general said the only way to beat the French - on land, of course - is by a direct frontal attack in regular order because by and large French troops are a rabble. I know nothing of French troops, but I am sure he does: such an opinion must be based on a great deal of experience on the field of battle."

  He paused, and noted how Cargill flushed. No, Ramage decided, the gallant general has not yet smelled powder. He then saw that while Sir Henry idly turned his glass by the stem and appeared supremely bored by the conversation, the other two admirals, the marquis, two earls and the viscount looked alarmed at Ramage's words, and even Lieutenant-General the Earl of Innes seemed uncomfortable, as though only loyalty to the Army stopped him from flatly contradicting Cargill.

  "No, sir," Ramage told Admiral Keeler, "this French rabble that General Cargill so well describes is always met by direct frontal attacks in regular order - the Austrians have been doing it all the time, and I am sure the War Office in Whitehall has it in mind that the British Army will employ the same tactics, once we can fight the French on land."

  "But for God's sake!" Admiral Keeler exclaimed, "the French beat the Austrians every time they meet!"

  "Oh yes, indeed they do, sir," Ramage said dreamily, and Sir Henry stopped twiddling his glass and put it down on the table, the better to concentrate. He was slightly deaf on the left side; he turned so that his right ear would miss nothing.

  "You see, sir," Ramage said to Sir William Keeler, speaking lightly as if telling him the time of breakfast next morning, "there seems to be some misunderstanding about the nature of the enemy. I am a very junior post-captain, and it would not do for me to argue with a general about military affairs. About naval affairs, naturally I am better informed."

  "I should think so!" Sir William snapped. "And you have your orders from the Admiralty."

  "Of course, sir," Ramage said respectfully, "and I am given freedom in the way I carry them out."

  "What the deuce has all this to do with the point I'm making that French troops are a rabble, and we need to make a frontal attack?" asked Cargill.

  "Nothing, sir," Ramage said politely. "I don't think anyone is arguing with your professional views on tactics. Most certainly I wasn't. . ."

  "Then who decided on this 'guile' business?"
>
  "Ah, I think that's where a misunderstanding has arisen. The objective - perhaps some people are not clear about our objective?"

  Sir Henry held up his glass as Silkin came round with the decanter. This young fellow Ramage, he thought, can tie Cargill in knots if he has a mind to, whether the subject is military tactics or wet-nursing a baby. It is a joy to listen to a young man presenting a well thought out argument; it flows smoothly, like this wine. Fortunate indeed, Sir Henry decided, that he had ended up on board a frigate commanded by a fellow like this.

  "I'm in no doubt about the objective," Cargill declared. "Damned obvious what it is. The objective, and the means of achieving it."

  Ramage nodded. "I am glad to hear you saying that, sir," he said, "so we are in agreement."

  "Agreement?" Cargill repeated suspiciously. "Agreement over what?"

  "You're teasing me, sir," Ramage said, "just because I am a sailor, without your military experience."

  Sir Henry recognized his cue. "Well, Ramage, I'm sure the marquis and the other gentlemen would like to hear your views on the objective and the means of achieving it. . ."

  Ramage looked round innocently at the marquis, who nodded vigorously.

  "Oh, in that case . . . well, we are lucky because of course unlike our former Austrian allies, our objective is not the defeat of a French army but the release of several women hostages held by the French army.

  "As long as the helpless role of 'hostage' is borne in mind, obviously there can be no direct frontal attack, otherwise the hostages would be killed out of hand.

  "I think that was where General Cargill was being misunderstood: he was saying that French troops should be attacked from the front, but of course attacking the French troops is the last thing we want to do; after all, we are a band of rough sailors doing our best to rescue a group of women hostages. The wives of several of you gentlemen."

  Neatly done, Sir Henry decided. Ramage was clever enough to see there was no advantage in hacking Cargill down with a cavalry sabre; instead he had slipped in a narrow-bladed stiletto. Now Cargill could not disagree with anything Ramage said without appearing both boorish and foolish.

  Cargill took out a large silk handkerchief and mopped his face. "Hot in here, isn't it. Yes, Ramage, nothing you've said contradicts the canons of military tactics. You've no trained troops, anyway."

  "No, indeed," Ramage said. "If I had, I would of course, with the Earl of Innes' approval, invite you to lead them."

  The earl nodded and turned his face away quickly so that Cargill could not see his relief. He had no wish to assert his authority over Cargill in front of three admirals - he could just imagine the Secretary of State for War's comments when the news reached Dundas's office - but damnation, his own wife was one of the hostages, and no clod like Cargill, who'd never smelled powder, was going to put her life at risk.

  This fellow Ramage had already marched three admirals, two generals, a marquis, a brace of earls, a viscount and a couple of heirs out of Castello at Giglio, signing a receipt for the French commandant with everyone smiling at each other, and not a pistol waved, let alone fired. Call that guile, chicanery, deception or whatever this dam' fool Cargill chose, but by any gentleman's measure it was a fine piece of cool bravery, and if the Earl of Blazey's son could do it again to get the women out safely, then Cargill had better keep out of the way.

  The earl shook his head. Cargill was running true to form - a nouveau riche family had brought him promotion, so Cargill had never bothered to learn soldiering, other than primping in front of a mirror and then stamping and shouting his way round a parade ground. Typical of the man was the way he used a loud and abrasive voice to disguise his ignorance and shout down anyone who tried to argue.

  Young Ramage obviously recognized the type and had cut Cargill down to size without ever raising his voice above a quiet conversational level. In fact Lord Ball, at this end of the table, had been sitting the whole time with his head forward, hand cupped behind his ear, just to hear what Ramage was saying.

  Ramage held up a hand to attract Silkin. "You can begin serving," he said. To the men sitting round the table he said: "Gentlemen, a frigate's fare is of necessity sparse."

  He does not apologize, Sir Henry noted, he just explains. The admiral happened to glance up and accidentally caught the Earl of Innes' eye. The earl's name stood second on the list of lieutenants-general; he would be a field marshal in the next lot of promotions. Cargill's name must be well down a list which included a couple of hundred majors-general. The earl was so much Cargill's superior in rank that the men sitting round the table could be forgiven for thinking Cargill was trying to commit professional suicide. In fact, Sir Henry guessed, the wretched Cargill was sublimely certain that he was making a great impression on Lieutenant-General the Earl of Innes. Come to think of it, he was. He imagined the earl drafting a report to the Horse Guards describing Cargill's conduct. No, it would not be done that way; the earl would simply make a comment, and that would be that. But that was all in the future: the earl could not visit the Horse Guards until all the present problems were solved; until wives were restored to husbands. For a moment he thought of the members of the Board sitting at the long, highly polished table in the Board Room at the Admiralty. They would not be conscious of the ticking of the Thomas Bradley clock just inside the door - a clock which had recorded the time since just after the Restoration. By now there would be a fire burning - and none of the members would recall (if they knew in the first place) that the back of the fireplace comprised a cast iron plate showing the arms of Charles II. Earl St Vincent would be sitting at the head of the table, with the windows overlooking the stables on his left, the fireplace and wall with the chart rollers on the right.

  John Jervis, now first Earl St Vincent, was a very lucky man. Lucky because he had little skill handling a fleet in battle, and his great victory against the combined fleets of France and Spain off Cape St Vincent was due to Nelson, then an obscure commodore, who had the guts to quit the British line to cut off the escaping enemy. But... the idea fluttered along the edges of his memory ... was not young Ramage involved in it? Lieutenant Nicholas Ramage? A cutter - the Kathleen, or some such name. Yes! Ramage had seen that Jervis had not realized the French and Spanish were escaping, and he sailed his cutter across the bows of the leading enemy ship, the San Nicolas.

  The Spanish three-decker sank the Kathleen and, by a miracle, Ramage and many of his crew survived, but the unexpected move delayed the enemy long enough for Nelson in the Captain to quit the line to take advantage of Ramage's action.

  Nelson had been followed by some other captains while Jervis sailed on, unaware of what was going on (or, more likely, unable to gauge its significance). But because the British fleet won the battle, its commander-in-chief received the customary earldom and Sir Jervis took his title from the cape, and Nelson received a baronetcy. Not a knighthood, Sir Henry recalled, which had no outward form, but a baronetcy, which gave him something to sew on the breast of his coat.

  Yes, Nelson is an odd little man, quite out of the run of the usual flag officers. And that, he admitted, was an ambiguous remark because Nelson had put an end to the traditional idea that breaking the enemy's line of battle and capturing a couple of ships was enough to claim victory.

  Yes, Nelson had recently introduced a new fashion at sea, when the complete destruction of the enemy's fleet is the objective: he started at Cape St Vincent, where he had captured three of the four enemy ships taken (leading the boarding parties against two of them); then at the Nile a few years ago, by then a rear-admiral (a promotion which several jealous admirals resented bitterly), he had burned or captured thirteen of the French fleet of seventeen ships. And then had come Copenhagen.

  The man was brilliant, even if his high-pitched voice and high-flown opinions sometimes ruffled feathers. Luckily, Earl St Vincent had been magnanimous enough to accept Nelson's brilliance at St Vincent, and he had been responsible for Nelson being at the Nile and
then Copenhagen. So the taciturn St Vincent, while not approving of Nelson's private life with Lady Hamilton (who did!), recognized him as the Navy's foremost fighting man.

  What the deuce brought on those thoughts? Sir Henry thought back. Oh yes, wives being restored to husbands, and the Board's view.

  Well, the Board's view would be a pale reflection of St Vincent's, since no member of the Board would dare to stand up to the earl, whose pithy, abrupt comments were passed round the Navy like children playing "Pass the parcel". "A naval officer who marries is an officer lost to the Service" - the earl (while still Sir John Jervis) had just about broken Sir Thomas Troubridge's heart with that letter, particularly since St Vincent was wrong and Sir Thomas did not intend to marry.

  So how would the Board (which meant the earl) now regard Ramage's activities over the wives? Sir Henry realized that he too could be heavily involved in any recriminations, and so could Smarden and Keeler, although Keeler gave the appearance of being a trimmer. After a year's close observation of the man, Sir Henry had decided that Keeler would always be on the winning side - until the last moment, when he would make a fatal mistake which would bring him down. Glib, hale-fellow-well-met, quick to ingratiate himself with the wives of superior officers as he struggled to get to the top, Keeler was what Sir Henry privately regarded as a two of clubs: outwardly the same shape and colour as the card on which was printed the ace of spades - but worthless.

  Wives. So if Ramage was delayed in completing the Admiralty orders to rescue the hostages because he was going back for the wives, or if going back meant a failure of any sort, then young Ramage would be done for: the earl would make sure that he ended his days either on the beach on half-pay (not that that would matter: once he succeeded his father he would be a very rich man) or as captain of a transport - the ultimate punishment for someone of Ramage's temperament and calibre.

  As he ate, hardly noticing what it was, the admiral reviewed his thoughts. In the light of what he knew about Ramage's orders, and the views of Earl St Vincent, who had drawn them up, he should persuade Ramage to give up any attempt to rescue the wives: the second party of hostages, in other words. Because Ramage was under Admiralty orders, he could not order him, but by telling him (in writing) that in his view he should leave for Gibraltar at once, that would cover Ramage.