Ramage's Challenge (r-1) by Dudley Pope

Author:Dudley Pope [Pope, Dudley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adv_history, adv_maritime

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ramage's cabin on board the Calypso had never been so crowded and, he thought, never would the occupants look so strange. At the moment they were all standing and each had his head bent - some to the left, some to the right, some forward so that they seemed to be glowering from under lowered eyebrows, and all looking like bodies cut down from gibbets. Occasionally one of them would forget and, straightening his neck, would bang his head against the low deck beams.

Ramage had purposely left introductions until all the eleven hostages were safely on board. They had marched down the hill from Castello behind Aitken's group; at the beach which comprised Giglio's harbour they were still (as far as an onlooker was concerned) carefully guarded by a few French soldiers and the three men of the King of Etruria's army. And the frigate's two boats had to make two trips to ferry everyone on board.

Ramage had come out with the first boat and gone straight down to his cabin to strip off his gaudy uniform and dress himself once again as a post-captain with less than three years' seniority (revealed by the single epaulet he wore on his right shoulder). It felt strange (and constricting) to be wearing knee-breeches and silk stockings again, and the stock seemed like a hangman's noose about his neck. But the eleven hostages would, he surmised, provide enough problems with precedence and authority for the captain of the Calypso to need all the symbols of authority he could muster.

He had left the hostages waiting on the quarterdeck under the awning, where they seemed happy enough chatting and exclaiming on the sudden change in their fortune. Finally he passed the word for Aitken to invite them all to join him.

The sentry, already given his instructions, formally announced each arrival, and the time he took getting the names and the titles right allowed Ramage to greet them one by one and note who they were.

"Sir Henry Faversham, Admiral of the White, sir," the sentry bellowed.

The admiral came through the door, bent almost double: he was tall and thin, and clearly had not been in a ship as small as a frigate for a long time. Carefully, almost warily, he stood more upright until he was sure he had enough clearance above him.

"Ramage? Ramage, eh, must be Blazey's son? Well, thank you m'boy; very well executed, that operation. Fooled the French, eh? And damn nearly fooled me!"

By that time the next person was being announced, and Ramage excused himself.

"Vice-Admiral the Earl Smarden, sir."

Ramage found that the old Marquis of Folkestone's son looked more like a cheerful and successful farmer than heir to one of the country's oldest marquisates.

"Splendid, Ramage, splendid! I should have recognized you - like your father when he was younger!"

The next person was Vice-Admiral Sir William Keeler, who was one of the most colourless men Ramage could remember meeting. He squeaked his word of thanks and then had to move aside as the sentry announced the first of the two soldiers.

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