Ramage and the Renegades

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Southwick was sitting in the chair by his cot. Ramage's arm felt as though the point of a cutlass blade was still embedded in it. But his right leg - the lower part felt heavy. And painful - especially when he tried to move his foot.

'Good evening, sir,' Southwick said and sniffed. A relieved sniff, Ramage noticed through a haze made up of dizziness, pain - and, he was surprised to discover, hunger.

'Keep absolutely still, sir, while I pass the word for Bowen. He's been very busy.'

Busy - the word chilled Ramage. 'Wait -' the word came out as a croak: his throat was sore. 'Have we lost a lot of men? What happened? All that flame -'

'Easy, sir,' Southwick said reassuringly, pushing Ramage back in the cot. 'Only two men dead, but twenty or more wounded.'

'Oh God.' So he had failed. It had looked so simple. It was so simple. Get the Calypso under way and tack and wear across the Lynx's stern firing raking broadsides until she surrendered. They were firing the third when there was that dreadful flash.

'Let me pass the word for Bowen, sir.' The master went to the door and spoke to the Marine sentry, and when he came back he said, almost accusingly: 'You've lost a lot more blood again. No one realized the quarterdeck had caught it.'

'Why?' Ramage hardly recognized the noise that came out when he spoke.

'Well, young Orsini and I were over the side in the sea, Jackson was unconscious and the two men at the wheel were dead.'

'What were you doing ... in the sea?' His head was spinning; he was spiralling down and down as though caught in a whirlpool, and night had fallen before he came round again, to find Southwick dozing in an armchair, the sleeping cabin lit by a lantern.

His brain was muddled. He had dreamed that Southwick had been swimming in the sea with Orsini. Curiously enough the master's hair was plastered down on his head, as though still damp and sticky from salt water.

Southwick saw that Ramage's eyes were open and jumped up at once to kneel beside the cot.

'Before you pass out again, sir, Bowen wants to know if you're warm enough, thirsty or hungry.'

'Thirsty,' Ramage said, and then repeated it, trying out his voice and finding it was still hoarse but nearer normal. 'Hot soup.'

Then he remembered something. Not only had he dreamed Southwick and Orsini were swimming together, but there was talk of him losing a lot of men. And what was he doing here in his cot anyway?

'What happened?'

Southwick sniffed - had he not just done that? 'You get a warm drink inside you and some food, and I'll tell you what I know. Mr Wagstaffe's in no state to talk at the moment, no more is Jackson, and the other officers weren't on board: they only saw it from the shore...'

'But that terrible flash . . .'

'Yes, yes, sir,' Southwick said soothingly, 'all in good time. Bowen is most anxious you don't get excited.'

'Excited!' Ramage grumbled wearily. 'How can I help it when you won't tell me anything?'

Southwick finally caught the despair in his captain's voice and as he walked to the door to talk to the sentry said over his shoulder: 'Don't you worry, sir. There's nothing to worry about.'

When the master came back, having ordered hot soup, he found Ramage propped up on his right elbow, a wild look in his eye, his hair matted and filled with dust. 'The Earl of Dodsworth,' he muttered, 'something happened to her!'

Southwick looked puzzled. 'She's all right, sir. The hostages were a bit startled, I expect, but that's all.'

'And the rest of the hostages?'

'They're quite safe, sir. There's nothing to worry about. Once you've a pint of hot soup inside you, I'll tell you all I know. And Bowen will be here in a few minutes for a chat about that leg of yours.'

Leg, for God's sake. An arm and a leg. Anything, it seemed, to prevent him getting over to the Earl of Dodsworth. Not that he had any excuse to go over, he told himself. She would have seen the attack and whatever happened next. At the moment she probably knew more than he did.

The sentry's hail told him that Bowen was coming, and even by the dim light of the lantern Ramage could see that the surgeon was exhausted.

'What happened?' Ramage asked. 'Southwick won't tell me a damn thing. Why did we have so many casualties? We oughtn't to have lost a man. Was it because I was knocked out? Did -'

He was running the words together, almost as though he was drunk, and Bowen knelt beside the cot and without answering motioned to Southwick to bring the lantern. Then he pushed up one of Ramage's eyelids, inspected the eyeball for a few moments and then felt the pulse in his right wrist.

'How do you feel, sir?'

Ramage seemed to stir himself at the question. 'I'm all right. The arm is better but why is my right leg so stiff? It doesn't hurt much but I can't use it!'

'Don't try to for a few days: it's bandaged up. I don't think you've broken a bone, but several muscles were wrenched and there's considerable swelling.'

'But what happened?' Ramage, his voice getting stronger, had clearly recovered enough to become angry. Recovered enough, Bowen guessed, to try to scramble out of his cot - and probably fall over as it swung slightly. The cot, being a rectangular box slung low in what was little more than a large hammock, was easily capsized by someone trying to get out to one side without distributing his weight evenly.

A knock on the door and Silkin's voice heralded the arrival of the soup, which Ramage drank from a large mug with ill grace as Southwick supported him. He swallowed it all, refused more, and said to Bowen: 'Well, now tell me.'

'Southwick will tell you the earlier part in a moment. I am treating twenty-three men, apart from yourself, for various kinds of wounds, from widespread contusions to broken limbs. Jackson was hit across the head but should be fully recovered in the next twenty-four hours. Two men are dead - the men at the wheel. An enormous splinter seems to have spun across the deck and cut them down.'

'None of the twenty-three are in any danger, then?'

'No, sir: I've got them all cleaned up and bandaged, and where necessary, splints have been applied.'

'What happened to Southwick and Orsini, then?'

Bowen gestured towards the master, and Southwick said: 'Well, sir, you probably want to hear the whole story. I can tell you most of it; it's just the last part that someone like Stafford will have to tell.

'You remember we were just crossing the Lynx's stern for the third time? I'd said the gunners wanted us to pass farther off, to give them more time to see the target. Then we started firing that third broadside. The first six guns had just fired after I'd said something about "Now round we go again!" and that the grapeshot didn't seem to be doing more harm than a woodpecker -'

'Yes, yes, go on!'Ramage said impatiently.

'Well, that's very nearly the end of the story. There was an enormous flash and bang, and there was just a big ball of smoke where the Lynx had been. What was left of her - lengths of planking, chunks of masts and yards, even bits of bodies - were hurled for hundreds of yards. Scores of big pieces of timber hit us, sir, some coming in almost horizontally like roundshot, some falling on us a few moments later like sleet. But the force of the explosion, sir! It blew me and Orsini off the quarterdeck clear over the bulwarks into the sea. A dozen others were blown over from the maindeck, and we were all swimming round in circles while the Calypso sailed on with no one in command and no one at the wheel.'

It was too much to comprehend, Ramage decided, listening to this story lying in his cot and watching Southwick's suntanned face in the light of a guttering lantern ... 'Well, then what happened?'

'Stafford can best tell you about the ship, because he led a group of men and hove her to. Those of us in the water swam round in the wreckage wondering what would happen next, then we saw the ship heaving-to and suddenly we were being hauled into the two survey boats, which you remember we saw getting away from the beach. As soon as we were all on board they rowed like madmen towards the Calypso, and I saw then that Mr Martin had reached the ship from the Earl of Dodsworth and I guessed he was staying hove-to until our two boats reached him. Mr Aitken was rowing over from the Friesland. I'd guessed Mr Wagstaffe was out of action. To be honest, sir, I thought he'd been killed, along with you: I couldn't see how anyone could live through that explosion unless he was lucky enough to be blown clear over the side.'

'What did happen to Wagstaffe?'

Bowen coughed and took over the story. 'He knows nothing more than you and Jackson about the explosion, sir. You were all knocked out together. But (and this I saw as I ran up on deck; because the action was over, it was easier to start treating men there than carry them below) Stafford was getting some men together. They were stunned from the explosion but very quickly he had them backing the foretopsail.

'Just about that time someone saw a dozen or so men swimming in our wake and reported to me, but there was nothing we could do for the time being - I didn't know how badly hurt were the men lying round on deck. Two dozen looks like four dozen, with all that mess. Oh, then there was the fire, sir, which -'

'Fire!' Ramage exclaimed, lifting himself on his right arm. 'Fire on board this ship?'

'It was soon put out, sir, so rest easy while I tell you about it. Some of the burning debris from the Lynx landed on our sails. The maincourse took fire, but it was furled so some men soon beat out the flames. Fires broke out on the maindeck but all the men knew what to do; every cartridge was tossed over the side, all the larboard broadside was fired off because the guns were loaded, and the deckwash pumps and buckets soon had everything under control without getting up the fire engine.'

'Under control? What else burned?'

'Well, sir, some riggings, gratings, one side of the quarterdeck ladder - that sort of thing. It wasn't a conflagration, so the men could leave it while they did more urgent things. Heave-to the ship, tend to the wounded, look for you, that sort of thing. They were getting worried about you: there was only Jackson, knocked out, and two dead men by the binnacle (which was not even scratched). Then they found you still in your chair - which was just matchwood - lying under the muzzle of the aftermost gun on the larboard side. Apparently your leg was jammed in the wreck of the chair and it was only the back and one leg of the chair that stopped you from falling out through the gunport.'

'So you and Stafford took control?'

'Not me, sir, because I was busy with the wounded. Stafford was splendid. Then the moment the ship was hove-to, Martin and then Mr Aitken managed to get on board - they had been trying to intercept us, but until we hove-to, we were making five or six knots. Anyway, they came on board and Mr Aitken at once took complete command.

'He sent off Martin with the soundings and survey boats to collect the privateersmen prisoners in the five ships - I gather Martin made the prisoners row, threatening to shoot the first man that flagged.'

'So Aitken is in command? Where are we?'

'Mr Aitken is in command, yes sir, and making a good job of it. We are back where we slipped our anchor - Mr Aitken picked up the dan buoy under sail.'

Southwick grunted his approval. 'Made a very good job of it. I thought he'd have used the boats - we have five towing astern by now - but he got the cable on board and sailed the ship up on it while the men heaved in the slack. Couldn't have done it better myself.'

Ramage eased back into the cot again and stared up at the deckhead, the beams appearing to move when the lantern, which Southwick had returned to its hook, swung slightly as the ship gently pitched.

'The Lynx,' he said. 'Did you find any survivors?'

'We sent a boat to look,' Southwick said. 'They found no complete bodies. The water is so clear they rowed around looking for a long time. They could see some of the privateers' guns lying on the bottom a hundred yards apart. We were lucky some of them didn't land on us.'

'I think those privateersmen were lucky,' Ramage said, although he was talking to himself. 'We'd have taken them to England, where they'd have all been hanged. They might have escaped with jail if they hadn't used the passengers as hostages. Tomás and Hart were quite prepared to murder them.'

Southwick reminded Ramage of the privateersmen being held on board as prisoners.

'I'd forgotten those. They probably stand less chance in court than the others actually in the Lynx, because if Tomás or Hart had actually given the word, they would have been the murderers. What happened to Renwick, by the way?'

Bowen shook his head. 'I'm sorry, sir, I forgot to mention him. He's all right now, but he was knocked out by one of the Lynx's half beams; it flew on board, hit the mainmast and then fell on him. He's a trifle sensitive about it, sir; reckons it's an undignified way for a Marine officer to be put out of action!'

'Undignified! His captain nearly went over the side in an armchair!' Ramage burst out laughing at the thought of it, but a moment later was gasping with pain as the spasms of laughter wrenched at his arm and leg.

Once he had his breath back again, he said: 'Well, I suppose that's it. You've no other surprises for me, I presume.'

The two men looked at each other, and seemed reluctant to speak.

'What's the matter?' Ramage was alarmed. Was it about Paolo? He suddenly remembered Southwick had only mentioned him swimming.

'Well, nothing the matter, sir,' Southwick said. 'It's just rather irregular, and I don't know how to tell you.'

Ramage grinned. 'Oh, come on, let's get this report over with!'

'It's not a report exactly, sir. Aitken discussed it all with Bowen and I, and as I knew more about it than the others, I took the responsibility. Well, that's to say I - er, I agreed that -'

'Southwick!' Ramage snapped. 'You sound as though you plan to jilt a blushing maiden.'

'Ah, yes, sir: you remember that lady in the Earl of Dodsworth who cleaned up the wound on your arm?'

Ramage nodded warily. He had asked Southwick earlier if everyone in the East Indiaman was safe and had been assured they were. Now here was Southwick backing and filling, and Bowen looking damned uncomfortable.

'Well, sir, she and her mother have been waiting to see you since soon after we anchored.'

'Waiting? What, you mean you signalled the Earl of Dodsworth when I'd recovered enough to receive visitors?'

'No, sir,' Bowen said firmly. 'They insisted that one of the East Indiaman's boats be lowered, collected every scrap of clean cotton and linen in the ship, and had themselves rowed over to help tend our wounded.

'They spent several hours helping me clean up and bandage the men, then took over the galley and made them soup. They - well, the daughter, because the mother was busy with Wagstaffe - helped me sort out your leg and splint it, sir, and did your arm again. They wore themselves out.'

'Have they gone back to the Earl of Dodsworth now?'

'Not exactly, sir, because they know they'll be able to help me again when it comes to changing dressings and checking that each man is comfortable.'

'Where are they, then?'

'We made up a bed for the mother on your settee, sir, and the lady's resting in the armchair. They're both waiting in your day cabin. Can I show them in now, sir?'