by Dudley Pope
Ramage ran his index finger along the guard and quickly crooked it round the trigger. ‘No, don’t change it: that is a good idea. What about belt-hooks?’
The gun-maker excused himself and went to the workshop, returning with a case which he put down on the counter and opened. He took out one of the two pistols inside and held it out to Ramage. ‘The same pattern of gun, my Lord, with a belt-hook already fitted.’
Gianna sniffed. ‘I don’t like that wood so much, and anyway, I prefer gold-inlaid mounts.’
‘I prefer silver,’ Ramage said firmly, ‘and this darker wood – cherry, isn’t it? – is more serviceable. Remember the salt air, and they’ll be getting only an occasional wipe with an oily rag. No one is going to spend hours polishing them.’
‘Silver tarnishes,’ Gianna reminded him, ‘gold does not.’
‘Quite so, my Lady,’ the gun-maker said politely, ‘but…’
‘Gold inlay would not look right on this pistol,’ Ramage said firmly, then added in a lighter tone: ‘When I become an admiral you can have Mansfield make me a pair of duelling pistols with as much gold work as you like.’
‘By the time you are an admiral,’ she said crossly, ‘I hope you won’t be depending on pistols for your life. Well, you decide what you want, I’m going to see what the Admiral has chosen.’ She looked at the fob watch hanging on a thin chain round her neck. ‘Don’t forget we still have to visit Mr Prater for your sword.’
When she had walked to the other end of the shop the gunmaker said: ‘A complete refit, sir?’
Ramage smiled ruefully. ‘I lost everything in the West Indies. Since then I’ve been using a Sea Service pistol and a cutlass, but the Marchesa decided to celebrate my promotion with…’
Mansfield grinned conspiratorially. ‘Well, sir, I think you’ll find these pistols are an improvement on the Sea Service! Clumsy brutes, they are.’
‘They have to be: they get dropped on deck and tossed into arms chests, and a seaman’s idea of using a pistol is jabbing the muzzle in the enemy’s belly or fetching him a bang on the head with it.’
The master gun-maker shuddered and changed the subject: ‘I saw Mr Prater the other day when I was down at Charing Cross. He has some lovely blades now. There’s such a call for them these days that he can afford to carry a good stock.’
‘Yes,’ Ramage said gloomily, ‘but I want a fighting sword; a solid blade slung in a shoulder belt. I have a feeling that the Marchesa will try to persuade Mr Prater that a post captain should always wear a dress sword suspended from slings on the waistband of the breeches.’
‘A lot of naval gentlemen wear a broad belt over the right shoulders these days,’ Mansfield said. ‘Outside the waistcoat and under the coat. More practical, I suppose, sir, though I must admit it doesn’t look so smart.’
‘When you’re boarding an enemy ship it’s more important that the scabbard doesn’t get between your legs,’ Ramage said lightly. ‘Now, these pistols…’
‘Ah, well, you have all you need here, my Lord: two powder flasks – note the spring measures work easily, and be careful no one oils the springs: it is quite unnecessary, and a drop of oil in the powder…’ he warned. ‘Wad cutter, shot mould, box for flints – I’ll fill that with a good selection; I have a new supply in from my flint knapper in Sussex – and oil bottle. Here you have the proof certificate from the Gun-makers’ Company – the Proof House on Tower Wharf is a busy place these days, I can tell you! Two keys for the case…’ He picked up one of the pistols and deftly checked it over. ‘Rammer – that is a choice piece of horn.’ He tapped the pointed spiral of the metal at the other end: ‘I’ve made this wormer a little stronger than most.’ He cocked the gun and squeezed the trigger. ‘I think you’ll find that a nice compromise, my Lord; not a hair trigger, but it doesn’t need a wrestler’s grip.’
Ramage picked up the second gun, checked it over and looked at the belt-hook. It was wide and substantial, with just enough spring to slip inside a belt without sticking and yet not bind when drawn in a hurry. More important, the whole gun fitted comfortably in his hand, so that the barrel seemed an extension of his forearm.
‘They’ll do,’ he said, putting the pistol back in the case, ‘and you’d better give me two spare rammers. Hmm…yes, do you have a complete spare lock?’
The gun-maker nodded and, taking an oily rag from his pocket, carefully wiped the metal of both guns before putting them back again. ‘Finger marks,’ he said, ‘they lead to rusting. Are you going to be away a long time, my Lord?’
‘A long time, and I’m going a long way.’
‘The West Indies again, my Lord?’
There was nothing secret about it, so Ramage nodded. ‘Their Lordships like to keep me moving about!’
‘You were in the Mediterranean at one time, were you not, sir?’
‘Mediterranean, Atlantic, West Indies, back to the Atlantic… The Admiralty is changing the pattern by sending me to the West Indies this time, instead of the Mediterranean.’
‘Rust,’ the gun-maker said sorrowfully, ‘that’s my biggest enemy in the West Indies. Some of my gentlemen bring back pistols from the West Indies that are just a useless mass of rust.
‘Yet they only need wiping over with an oily rag every week, and avoid finger marks. Must be a very wet place…’
‘Not so much wet but hot and damp,’ Ramage said. ‘The damp gets into everything – clothes mildew, metals rust, wood rots and tempers fray, too!’
‘It must have its compensations, I suppose; many of my gentlemen seem to like it out there.’
‘Plenty of prizes to be taken,’ Ramage said. ‘We poor naval officers need the prize and head money to pay your prices, my dear Mansfield!’
The gun-maker grinned as he locked the case and gave Ramage the key. ‘Since the Marchesa is buying these for you, my Lord, she’ll probably want you to take them now?’
When Ramage nodded, he said: ‘I will choose some more flints, and I’d like to give you a gross of lead balls which I cast myself. They’re polished and packed in a special box so they don’t get dented. You are staying at Palace Street, sir?’
‘Yes, Blazey House. I leave for Portsmouth on Thursday.’
‘My man will deliver them this afternoon, along with the spare rammers and lock.’
That night Ramage excused himself early and left the family to go to his room. There was much to do before he left for Portsmouth to take up his new command, and he knew that Gianna would be disappointed if he did not spend his last whole day in London in her company.
The table in the small room – he preferred one on the third floor because it was quieter – was covered with the day’s purchases. There was a black japanned speaking trumpet with a braided silk lanyard, the case of pistols and the sword and belt. Prater had started off by taking Gianna’s side in trying to force an ornate sword on him, a wretched affair more suitable for a subaltern in some fashionable regiment that never saw active service, but he had got his own way in the end. There were also two pairs of gold buckles for his shoes. He had always made a point of using pinchbeck while a lieutenant – some captains were touchy about young officers wearing gold – but gold buckles were an economy in the long run, since pinchbeck corroded so quickly.
He put the purchases on the floor. Items of clothing had already been put away in drawers and would soon have to be stowed in a trunk and sent to Portsmouth, but this evening he wanted to catch up with some of his paper work: once he was on board there would be so much more awaiting him that he would soon be swamped.
He put the inkwell, pen and some paper in the middle of the table, retrieved the sand box from the dressing-table, and took his commission from the drawer. It was an imposing document and he delighted in its archaic language, but it had cost him two guineas. He had officially acknowledged receipt of it already, now he had to send the money.
His instructions had arrived that afternoon and they too needed acknowledgement, but most of the evening was going
to be taken up with drafting his ‘Captain’s Orders’. He bitterly regretted not having salvaged his original set when the Triton brig was lost; he had copied those from another commanding officer, adding various items of his own, but now he had to start from scratch.
Drawing up the Captain’s Orders was always a difficult business. They were really a set of standing orders showing how the captain wanted things done on board the ship while he was in command. Most captains had them aleady written down in a little book, which they handed to the first lieutenant soon after they stepped on board. Ramage knew from bitter experience as a midshipman that getting a sight of the book and copying out the details was a matter of urgency for all the ship’s officers since every captain had his own way of doing things, his quirks and idiosyncracies…
Some captains made the mistake of putting too much in the Orders. Others put too little, afraid of committing themselves to some routine, that, in a million-to-one chance, might not meet a particular situation and so leave them open to blame. And some captains, he thought ruefully, sat at tables staring at blank sheets of paper.
He jotted down several headings which covered sail-handling and the day-to-day routine on board, and then he added half a dozen ‘Do nots’. Then he started writing them out in full – knowing that his clerk could make a fair copy when he went on board – and beginning: ‘Captain’s Orders, His Majesty’s frigate Juno, Nicholas Ramage, Captain.’ He glanced at his list of headings, and wrote first: ‘Slovenly evolutions: any evolutions performed in a slovenly manner will be repeated until satisfactorily executed. There will be no unnecessary bailings from aloft or from the deck.’
He had added ‘from the deck’ to ensure that enthusiastic but noisy commission and warrant officers watched their tongues: you could always be certain that a ship was badly run if you heard a lot of orders being bellowed by all and sundry.
‘Captain called: the captain is to be called at daylight; when the course cannot be laid; if a strange sail is sighted; if the weather threatens, or the barometer falls or rises suddenly or excessively.’ He could add that he should be called if land was sighted, or for a dozen other reasons, but the officer of the deck would be quick enough to call the captain in unusual circumstances. And that reminded him: ‘Appearance of land: all appearances of land are to be reported and the Master called at once.’
He glanced at his list and then wrote: ‘Trimming and shortening sails: the officer of the deck should trim, make or shorten sails as required, reporting to me after having done so.’ That made lieutenants use their initiative and judgement; there was no point in an officer rushing to the captain for permission to carry out a routine task.
‘Men’s dress: officers of the deck are responsible for the watch being correctly dressed and in a manner suitable for the climate.’
He reached for the list of headings. He had completely forgotten the section dealing with going into action. And ‘starting’ – that was strictly regulated in any ship he commanded. If the bos’n’s mates could not get the men moving fast enough without hitting them across the shoulders with rattans the fault was more likely to be with the bos’n’s mates – or even the captain – for not having a properly trained and willing ship’s company.
List of clothes: he had forgotten that, too, and he jotted down the items the seamen were expected to have – ‘3 jackets, 2 waistcoats or inside coats, 2 blue and 2 white pairs of trousers, 3 pairs of stockings, 2 pairs of shoes and 2 pairs of drawers.’ He could remember that without any effort, having inspected the clothing of hundreds of seamen since he first went to sea.
Keys – damnation, he seemed to have forgotten everything that mattered. ‘Keys of the magazine and storerooms are to be kept in the possession of the first lieutenant. The magazine is never to be opened without the captain’s permission. Storerooms must never be opened without the knowledge of the first lieutenant and the officer of the deck, and always with a midshipman present. The keys of the spirit, bread and fish rooms and the after hold are to be kept in the care of the Master, one of whose mates is to be the last man out of the hold or room to guard lights and lock the doors and generally take care there is no risk of fire.’
He was slowly getting through the first part. ‘Every day after dinner, and before hammocks are piped down in the afternoon, the decks are to be swept… Whether at sea or in harbour, no lights are to be left unattended in any berth or cabin and only lanthorns are to be used in the tiers… There will be no smoking except in the established place, which is under the forecastle… Spirits are always to be drawn off on deck and never below, and never by candlelight because of the risk of fire… No boats are to be absent from the ship during mealtimes except upon a special service, in which case the captain must first be informed… Every man on board shall be clean-shaven and freshly dressed by 10 o’clock every Sunday morning before being mustered by divisions… Likewise on Thursdays the ship’s company is to be shaved and put on clean shirts and trousers… The ship’s cook, immediately breakfast or dinner is ready, shall bring aft to the captain (or first lieutenant if the captain is not on board) a sample of all provisions being served to the ship’s company… Work done for an officer or warrant officer by any member of the ship’s company must not be paid for with spirits or wine… Officers will draw the captain’s attention to deserving men so that their merits are not disregarded…’
He had been writing for half an hour and, pausing for a few minutes, found himself thinking how remote it all seemed; how distant from this comfortable room and quiet house. These orders were for the conduct of a ship of war, where at any hour of the day or night two hundred or more men could be fighting for their lives against a sudden storm or enemy ships. He was responsible for the ship, down to the last roundshot and length of marline, and for ten score men, from their seamanship to their health. Yet at this moment it seemed remote, and the case of pistols, the sword and scabbard on the floor beside him, seemed as out of place as a dog kennel in a church vestry.
He began wondering what officers the Admiralty would send him. So much depended on luck, even his own promotion to command a frigate. He would probably still be a lieutenant but for the fact that he had had to report personally to the First Lord after carrying out his last mission, which had been a complete success. Lord St Vincent had been so pleased that he had decided to make him post and give him a frigate. Not only that, but he had told him to name his own first lieutenant, something the old tyrant rarely did. It was just Ramage’s bad luck that he had had no name to put forward.
His wary mention that he would be grateful if he could have old Southwick as Master had struck some chord in His Lordship’s memory and he had agreed and at the same time said jokingly that he assumed Ramage was also going to ask for that bunch of scalawag seamen he seemed to manage to drag from one ship to the next.
Ramage knew enough of the Service to realize that by not asking for a particular first lieutenant he had left a vacancy which would be filled by one of His Lordship’s favourites, or a man long overdue for promotion, and that His Lordship was well aware of that when he agreed to let him have Southwick as Master. So Ramage had grinned and said that by chance there were a dozen of those scalawags at Portsmouth and with His Lordship’s approval of course… Lord St Vincent had given one of his dry chuckles and told Ramage to leave a list of the men’s names and their ships with the Board Secretary, Mr Nepean.
There had been a knowing look in the old Admiral’s eye: he was a fine seaman and knew that a young captain who had never before commanded anything bigger than a brig needed an experienced master whom he knew and trusted – and who knew and trusted him. And a dozen prime topmen were far more useful than a smart first lieutenant. A good captain and an experienced master might make up for a slack first lieutenant, but however good the captain and first lieutenant, they could never make up for a bad master. One could sail through an anchored fleet and point to the ships with bad masters…
Lord St Vincent had allowed him to have
Southwick and the dozen men – but then he had settled down to a little bargaining of his own. By tradition the captain chose his own midshipmen, often relatives or sons of friends. With four allowed for every hundred men, Ramage was entitled to a maximum of eight. His Lordship had said, very casually: ‘I suppose you have all the midshipmen you need?’ knowing full well that Ramage had only learned ten minutes earlier that he was being given a frigate. He had only one candidate. A young nephew of Gianna’s had recently arrived in England and been given permission to join the Royal Navy if he could find a captain to take him.
A newly promoted captain would have a dozen applications in as many minutes after it was known outside the Admiralty that he had been given a ship, but so far the news had not travelled outside the First Lord’s office, so Ramage mustered a pleasant smile and said: ‘I have only one at the moment, sire – a nephew of the Marchesa’s. Can I be of service to you?’
It so happened that he could, Lord St Vincent had said with obvious relief. The son of a cousin of Her Ladyship needed a berth – although it was entirely up to Ramage. Ramage nodded his agreement as he remembered Bowen, who had served with him in two ships: a brilliant surgeon who, ruined in London by drink, had joined the Navy but had now been cured. He was an amiable companion. If the First Lord’s wife’s cousin had a problem, now was the time for trading!
‘I should consider it an honour, sir. If the young gentleman will present himself on board at Portsmouth?’
‘Of course, of course; I’ll see to it myself. Much obliged to ye, Ramage – and look’ee, Ramage, make sure you get a round turn on him right at the start.’
‘Aye, aye, sir. By the way, may I make so bold as to request a particular surgeon? The man who was of especial service in the Lady Arabella, sir.’
‘That was the Post Office packet you saved, wasn’t it? Yes, I remember. Very well, then, give Nepean his name. I presume he is in England?’
