Ramage's Diamond r-7

by Dudley Pope

  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 already 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 hailings 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 str
uck 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, sir - 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?'

  'Yes, sir, he is on leave at the moment: he and his wife had dinner with us a few days ago.'

  'Drink!' the First Lord suddenly exclaimed crossly. 'Doesn't he drink heavily?'

  Knowing that next to officers who married too young, the First Lord most abhorred heavy drinkers, Ramage said hurriedly: 'He did, sir, before he first joined me.'

  'Then what happened?'

  'Well, Southwick - that's the master I requested - and I managed to cure him. He hasn't touched a drop for more than two years now.'

  'By Jove!' the Admiral said. 'Curing the sawbones, eh? Now look'ee, I've just remembered a chaplain . . .'

  He paused for a moment, watching Ramage closely. The captain of a frigate was not required to carry a chaplain unless one applied to join his ship. There were good and bad chaplains. A 32-gun frigate, with a ship's company of only 215 men, rarely provided a chaplain with enough work, even if he gave lessons to the midshipmen, so the captain and ship's company tended to be at the mercy ot the man's quirks, foibles and prejudices. A High Church chaplain soon upset all the Low Church men on board; a Low Church chaplain inevitably ran foul of the Catholics. Ramage had long ago decided that the men's spiritual needs were quite adequately catered for every Sunday morning by a short service conducted by the captain. Some rousing hymns did the men the world of good, and were the captain's best weathercock as far as their spirits were concerned. A contented ship's company sang lustily; a disgruntled crew did little more than mumble, with the fiddler's scraping nearly drowning their voices.

  Lord St Vincent gave a wintry smile before Ramage answered, and said: 'Very well, I'll place him somewhere else. Currying favour with senior officers is not one of your faults, my lad; most young officers just told they're being made post and given a frigate would willingly ship ten chaplains if they thought it'd please the First Lord.'

  'I was thinking of my ship's company,' Ramage said, then realized that he could hardly have made a more tactless remark added: ‘I mean, sir, that -'

  'I know what you mean,' the Admiral said, obviously enjoying Ramage's embarrassment. 'I was a young frigate captain once. I doubt there are any tricks you'll contrive that I don't know about.'

  He had gone on to tell Ramage that the Juno frigate was lying at Portsmouth; that Ramage was replacing a captain removed from his command by sentence of court martial; that the ship's company wanted licking into shape, and that all the officers and midshipmen were being transferred to give the new captain a chance.

  'Discipline had become too slack,' the Admiral growled. 'I can't give you more than a few days to get a round turn on them because Admiral Davis needs a frigate in Barbados to carry out the instructions you will be taking with you.'

  His Lordship was notoriously a man who disliked questions, but Ramage could not resist asking, 'May I take it, sir, that the instructions refer to some - er, some mission for me?'

  'That depends on Admiral Davis. The Juno is to join his command. My instructions for him concern a particular service, but whether he chooses you or one of his own captains is up to him.' His eyes twinkled. 'Nothing to stop him sending off one of his own frigates, and using you and the Juno for convoy work. Plenty of that, you know; very essential work, too, up and down the Windward and Leeward Islands. Just the thing for keeping a ship's company taut: plenty of sail handling, anchoring and weighing ...’

  His Lordship had finally sat back in his chair and said: 'Your father keeps well?'

  When Ramage said that he did, the First Lord commented: 'He will be pleased at your promotion. It hasn't gone unnoticed here that the Earl had never tried to use his interest on your behalf: he left you to earn your promotion. Now you've got it, take care you always deserve it.' His face became stern again. 'I've said this to you before, and so has my predecessor in this office, and I say it again: you've done some good work and you've been devilish lucky. But if you are going to rise in the Service, you've got to stop disobeying or stretching orders. You got away with it half a dozen times or more as a lieutenant, but now you have been made post all that's changed. You are supposed to be a mature and responsible man, and that's how you'll be held to account. Discipline, Ramage; that's what holds this great Service together.'

  He had stood up and held out his hand. As Ramage shook it the old man said: 'I'm no believer in rapid promotion. At each step fewer men are chosen, and it is part of my job to make sure they are the best. This is going to be a long war, and if we are to win it, our captains must be the finest in the world.'

  Ramage had left the Admiralty walking a foot above the ground. A post captain with a frigate! But he had not crossed the cobbled courtyard to pass through the gateway into Whitehall before the exhilaration subsided, and he pictured himself doing convoy work in the
Caribbean, work only slightly less dreary than shepherding Atlantic convoys.

  He picked up the pen and for the next hour wrote rapidly, rarely crossing out. Then he put the pen down and read through the Orders from start to finish. They were longer than he intended, but luckily they were still shorter - crisper, anyway - than many he had read in the past. He would let Southwick go through them before the clerk made a fair copy.

  That put an end to paperwork for a day or two, though there would be a mountain waiting for him on board the Juno. The stores and equipment had to be signed for, certifying that they were on board, quite apart from the papers needed for getting to sea. The whole damned Navy floated on a sea of paper ...

  He went over and picked up the case of pistols. They were not as ornate as Gianna would have liked - though only because she wanted a present that was beautiful as well as useful - but they were splendid examples of the gun-maker's art. Opening the lid he looked at the two guns nestling in their recesses. They were well made, and so were the accessories: the shot mould was sturdy, not something that would rust quickly after constant heating; the flasks were shaped so that they fitted the hand; the lever which was pressed down to let out the right measure of powder fitted the thumb perfectly. He closed the box. He ought to start checking through his clothes; Hanson would have to pack the trunk tomorrow, and he had only the morning to buy anything he lacked.

  A quiet knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and Gianna came into the room, pausing for a moment in shadow. In that moment Ramage went a thousand miles in space and back three years to the time he had first seen her: she had suddenly flung back the hood of her cloak and stood there watching him: candlelight had glinted in hair shining blue-black like a raven's feathers and shown a beautiful face with high cheekbones and large, widely-spaced eyes, a mouth a little too wide and with lips too full and warm for classical perfection. A face that could be coldly imperious or warm and generous. He had thought of Ghiberti's carving of 'The Creation of Eve' on the east doors of the Baptistry in Florence, the naked Goddess with the bold slim body and small jutting breasts . . . But the Eve standing at the door was holding an envelope and even before she spoke he recognized the heavy Admiralty seal on the back.