Ramage and the drum beat

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The drum was beating in rhythm with his heart, the drum would never stop beating, forever sending the ship's company to quarters and to death. Heart of oak, are our men ... Tat-tat-tat, tat, tat-tat ... Ramage tried to scream at the drummer to stop but no words came. The beat was regular and loud: it throbbed in his ears, in his temples, in his chest, and as he twisted his head to get away from it he felt himself spiralling upwards, weightless, dizzy and frightened. He opened his eyes and saw Southwick's blurred face creased with anxiety. Slowly it began to revolve like a top and Ramage shut his eyes again.

'Mr. Ramage!'

'Wha's it, Southwi'?'

'How do you feel, sir?'

'Wha' happen'?'

'You were shot at through a gun port after the San Josef had surrendered.'

Throb, throb, bang, bang; the band round his brow was tight and Southwick's face began to spin again. Ramage clutched his head and felt cloth: strips of cloth wound round like an Indian's turban.

Southwick seemed to be whispering from a long way off. Ramage opened his eyes again to find Southwick's face close, beads of perspiration welling up through the bristles. Southwick unshaven? It was all very puzzling: he wasn't in his cabin in the Kathleen. Ramage started to sit up but Southwick's face spun again.

'Easy sir, easy, you're on board the Irresistible. The Commodore's hoisted his broad pendant in her.'

'But why aren't I—'

'You remember, sir,' Southwick said soothingly, 'you remember we boarded the San Nicolas and then the Captain—'

'Yes, I remember.'

It came back slowly at first, not facts but pictures: the Kathleen steering for that great cliff face that was the San Nicolas; the impact and the cutter dragging athwart the Spaniard's stem; then that mad dash along the San Nicolas's decks; then the Commodore and climbing the San Josef’s main chains and a Spanish officer shouting down they had surrendered. Abruptly the pictures stopped.

'What happened next?'

'Next to what, sir?' Southwick was puzzled.

'After that damn' Spaniard said they'd surrendered?'

'You were shot at through a gun port. They didn't know below that the ship had hauled down her colours. If you'll excuse me a moment, sir.'

With that he bellowed to the sentry at the door. Ramage winced, the pain blotting out Southwick's words.

'You fell, sir,' Southwick continued.

'I'm not surprised.'

'No, I mean you fell into the sea between the two ships.'

'Why didn't I drown, or get crushed?'

'Those two again. Jackson and Stafford. They went down after you.'

'They're mad. No wonder I feel sick. I must have swallowed half the bay of Cadiz.'

'You did, sir. I flung them a rope but it took time to get a turn under your armpits. When they got you on deck we thought at first you'd gone. I've never seen anyone look so dead.'

'You'd better send for those two.'

'Well, if you'd wait a moment, sir.'

Ramage felt too weak to argue.

A knock at the door but the person did not wait for an answer. Ramage tried to turn to see who it was but again his head spun.

'Well, Mr. Ramage,' said the familiar sharp, nasal voice, and the Commodore was standing at the foot of the cot. 'Well, Mr. Ramage, you have a thick head - fortunately!'

'At the moment it feels a bit thin in places, sir.'

'It is, too! Now you'll have two scars on your starboard beakhead, a bullet wound to add to the sword cut. And a good thing, too, the ladies love it. Take my word for it, if you're going to get wounded, a handsome scar they can admire is worth more than the handsomest face in the room! My own little souvenir of the battle, for instance, won't count for much. I have a most unromantically bruised stomach!'

Ramage laughed and felt he had been hit on the head again.

'But seriously, Ramage, only a criminal idiot would have tried to do what you did with the Kathleen. Fortunately for me, the wicked sometimes prosper. You succeeded and I've achieve a little notoriety for having captured two of the Fleet's four prizes.'

'I'm glad, sir.'

'I know you are,' Nelson said warmly. 'But I said notoriety, not credit. I've not yet seen the Commander-in-Chief, and since I acted with as much authority as you did, both of us might be in a scrape. But whatever happens, Mr. Ramage, if it ever lies in my power to render you a service ...'

Ramage was struggling to find a suitable reply when Nelson added, 'And I'm glad to tell you that you'll be sent home in the Lively frigate with Sir Gilbert Elliot.'

'No!' exclaimed Ramage. 'I mean, if you please, sir, I'd prefer to stay with the Fleet!'

'But why?'

'I - well sir, I'd like to see my ship's company are all right.'

'Mr. Ramage,' Nelson said gently and with a smile, 'you have no ship, and therefore no ship's company. And the service is well able to take care of the survivors.'

Ramage felt too weak to explain, and knowing the Commander was right he shut his eyes with weariness and pain.

'I'll call on you again,' the Commodore said sympathetically, and left the cabin.

'What was the butcher's bill?' Ramage asked Southwick several minutes later.

'Incredibly light, sir. Twelve dead. Edwards, the gunner's mate, wasn't seen from just before we hit the San Nicolas - I think a shot from her bow-chaser may have got him - and eleven seamen. Six of those never got on board the San Nicolas and five were killed in the fighting. One of those was Jensen, who was with you at Cartagena, hit by one of the San Josef's sharp-shooters. Only four wounded - yourself, Fuller and two ordinary seamen.'

'We were lucky,' Ramage said soberly. 'God knows, we were lucky.'

'You were careful, sir,' said Southwick.

'Careful?1

'I've been - well, sir, I know it's a bit unusual, but the ship's company asked me to tell you - as discreetly as possible you realize, sir - they appreciate the care you took to lessen the loss of life.'

'If only you—' he exclaimed, then said, 'no, thank them, Southwick. But from the moment we tacked towards the San Nicolas I never expected any of us to survive.'

He took a deep breath. 'That's the care I took,' he added bitterly. 'Instead of more than sixty dead, I killed only a dozen.'

'No, sir, don't take on like that. You aren't fair to yourself. We've got to fight; some of us'll get killed. The men know that. They thought all along after we tacked that they'd be killed. They knew you thought they didn't guess; but they did realize, and they kept cheerful for your sake, sir. And they're right to thank you.'

'I suppose so,' Ramage said. 'But I'm too befuddled—'

The door opened and the chubby and bespectacled surgeon came in. 'Goodness gracious, Mr. Southwick - I must ask you to leave. Our patient looks worn out. Really, really, really! All my work undone by fifteen minutes of chatter, chatter, chatter!'

Southwick looked alarmed and stood up to leave. Ramage winked as the Master turned to the door.

Next day while Ramage fretted in his cot, irritated by the constant attention of the surgeon (who was quick to spot the Commodore's particular interest in his patient), Sir John Jervis's ships were becalmed with the Spanish Fleet still in sight - 'In great disorder,' Southwick reported gleefully.

The day after that the British Fleet spent several hours trying to weather Cape St. Vincent against head winds, and finally Sir John decided to bear away for Lagos Bay, just to the eastward of Cape St. Vincent, and in the evening the Fleet and its prizes anchored.

Ramage, allowed to sit in a chair, had just started writing once again to his father - hard put to read what he'd written in the first letter, which had been soaked in sea water - when Southwick came into the cabin.

'From the Commander-in-Chief,' he said, handing Ramage a sealed letter addressed to Lieutenant Lord Ramage, formerly of His Majesty's late cutter, 'Kathleen'. 'I've signed for it. One's gone to every captain.'

Ramage read the letter and then wondered if it was identical in wording to the others. Not a mention of the Commodore, either by name or the role of the Captain. Nor Captain Troubridge and the Culloden, Captain Frederick and the Blenheim, nor Captain Collingwood and the Excellent.

Dated "Victory, Lagos Bay, 16th February, 1797', it said:

Sir,

No language I am possessed of can convey the high sense I entertain of the exemplary conduct of the flag officers, captains, officers, seamen, marines and soldiers embarked on board every ship of the Squadron I have the honour to command, present at the vigorous and successful attack made upon the Fleet of Spain on the 14th inst. The signal advantage obtained by His Majesty's arms on that day, is entirely owing to their determined valor [sic] and discipline; and I request you will accept yourself, and give my thanks and approvation to those composing the ship under your eommand. I am, Sir,

Your most humble servant,

J. Jervis.

Southwick was watching him closely and said, 'It's going to cause trouble, sir.'

'How do you know? Have you read it?'

'No, sir, not yours; but Captain Martin gave me a sight of his before he read it to this ship's company. He was pretty angry - reckons it's an insult to the Commodore.'

'Well, it mentions no names, so there's no favouritism.'

'No, but I heard by a side wind from the Victory that Sir John's official letter to the Admiralty doesn't mention captains or ships either.'

This seemed so improbable that Ramage grunted his disbelief.

'It's true, sir, the whole Fleet knows by now that Sir John wrote one letter, then Captain Calder read it and, being a spiteful man, said if the Commodore was given any praise it'd encourage others to disobey orders. So Sir John wrote another, mentioning no names at all.'

Calder! Ramage knew at once the story was probably true: it was common knowledge Calder was more than jealous of the Commodore. (And that, he suddenly realized, probably accounted for Calder's hostility towards him: he probably thought he was one of the Commodore's protégés.) Surprising that Sir John didn't see through such spitefulness.

There was a knock on the door and the Commodore himself walked in.

'Sitting up and taking nourishment, eh?'

'Precious little nourishment in this, sir,' Ramage said, waving the letter.

'Oh well, words on paper count less than actions, Mr. Ramage,' Nelson said banteringly. 'In the battle the Prince George expended 197 barrels of powder, the Blenheim 180, the Culloden 170 and the Captain 146. The Captain fired more shot that she would have had on board - when we had no more round or grapeshot for the 32-pound carronades my men began using 9-pound roundshot. But when the official letter is published, I doubt if you'll see the four ships named even once. Yet does it matter, really? Those whose opinions any of us value will soon get to know, and who cares about the rest? Remember, if you don't fret and expect justice, you'll probably hoist your flag eventually and live to a ripe old age!'

'I hope you'll guarantee that in writing, sir!'

'I've just told you not to expect justice! But seriously, Ramage, it's more important to forget the profit and loss account in a battle and think of the total effect on the enemy.'

'I don't see the difference, sir.'

'Well, Sir John's despatch will delight the Press; the politicians will gleefully announce in Parliament that a British Fleet of fifteen sail of the line met twenty-seven Spanish sail of the line, gave them a good trouncing and captured four at no loss to themselves. They won't reveal - won't even realize - the most valuable and significant part of the victory.'

'But—'

'It's the men that matter, Ramage, not ships. The finest and largest fighting ship in the world is useless if her captain and crew are frightened of the enemy. The worst and smallest fighting ship is invaluable if her captain and crew believe they will win. Good heavens man, you tackled the San Nicolas with the Kathleen, didn't you?

'Remember that, and then think beyond the horizon: this is the first battle the Spaniards have fought against us in this war. In sheer numbers they had nearly twice as many ships and twice as many guns - and that doesn't take into account most of their ships were larger. They had the weather gage, and they fought knowing they had Cadiz to leeward as a refuge for refitting. Yet they lost - decisively!'

'And,' Ramage said, 'they lost knowing that their admiral was useless, their broadsides counted for very little and that one British seventy-four boarded and captured one of their eighty-fours and then did the same to a 112-gun ship!'

'Precisely,' Nelson said. 'When the rest of the Spanish Navy hears the details of the battle, there'll hardly be a single man, whether cook's mate or admiral, who won't secretly believe deep inside him - and that's where it matters, that's where the fighting's lost or won - that one British ship equals two Spanish. The first battle of the war has given them indisputable evidence.'

'So from now on,' Ramage said, 'the Dons are likely to feel beaten before they set sail!'

'I hope so!' Nelson said soberly. 'I hope every man, from the King and the Minister of Marine downwards, will think twice before sending the Spanish Fleet to sea - and then order it to stay in port. That'll give us a chance to deal with the French and the Spanish ships a chance to rot.'

The Commodore took an envelope from his pocket, gave it to Ramage, and said he would return later.

Ramage took the envelope but, preoccupied with Nelson's words, did not open it at once. If the Spanish Fleet had reached Cadiz safely (and they might have done but for the gale which blew them out into the Atlantic, allowing Sir John time to catch them as they struggled back) they might have gone on up to Brest, driven off the British squadron blockading the French Fleet and let it out, and sailed for England ...

But they met a gale, then they met Sir John's Fleet. And they lost four ships. Yet at least two of those ships, Ramage realized with a start, would not have been captured by the Commodore unless the Kathleen had delayed the Spanish van by ramming the San Nicolas...

It'd taken him all this time to realize that. Southwick had known and the men had known - he recalled Southwick's message from the Kathleens. But Lieutenant Nicolas Ramage had not known. And yet in a way he had. Not by thinking of it as a complete sequence of events: he hadn't steered the Kathleen for the San Nicolas with the idea of trying to defeat a Franco-Spanish armada against England. He'd done it to slow down Cordoba's van. But, he realized, the greatest archway ever built was made of small bricks and rocks, and each one of them depended on the others, and they all depended on one, the keystone.

He broke the seal of the letter. It was from one of the Admiral's staff. The Lively frigate was leaving for England with the Commander-in-Chief’s dispatches for the Admiralty, and Lieutenant Ramage was to return in her as a passenger if he was well enough to be moved. In view of the fact the frigate was well below her complement, Lieutenant Ramage was to name twenty-five of the best men from among his former ship's company and send them on board with the Master. For Lieutenant Ramage's personal information, the letter added, another frigate was leaving the Fleet shortly for Gibraltar and then returning to England with the Marchesa di Volterra, and if Lieutenant Ramage wished to write...

Which meant, he realized with a joy which drove away all thoughts of the pain in his head, he'd be waiting to welcome her to English soil. And if the Spring arrived at St. Kew before an Admiralty letter bringing him orders, they'd walk together among the blossoms and the fresh green grass, alone for the first time without the threat of urgency of war tapping them on the shoulder.