The three admirals, after meeting with Ramage in the great cabin, agreed that Port' Ercole was the likeliest place: likely on several counts. Ramage showed them the original rough chart which Southwick had drawn for the bomb ketches' attack and which had ever since remained rolled up in the chart rack fitted to the deck beams above the desk.
The three of them remembered their brief stay at Orbetello, and they exclaimed when Ramage showed how the northern causeway led to Santo Stefano while the southern curved round to Port' Ercole.
Then Ramage pointed out the forts, built by the Aragonese even earlier than the fortezza at Santo Stefano. "Forte della Stella, along this track, some distance south of the port, is still in good condition and habitable. In fact it almost certainly has a French garrison because it commands the approach to the port. Then up here -" he indicated the larger fort built high on a hill on the causeway side, north of the port, "- there is Forte di Monte Filippo. Tho' which Filippo that is I don't know. Probably not the second, who built the Santo Stefano fortress, because I'm sure these two were built much earlier."
Lord Smarden (who, Sir Henry had told Ramage, had been on his honeymoon when war broke out again: his first wife had died several years ago and his second wife, younger than anyone had expected, was "a delightful woman") jabbed a finger on the chart, indicating Forte della Stella.
"This is quite a way beyond the port. Doesn't that rule it out as a prison for hostages - after all, it means carrying provisions a long way?"
"Of the two, sir, with respect, I'd rather put my money on it. As you can see, there's a rocky islet just offshore there. That's Isolotto, and the Forte della Stella covers the channel between it and Argentario. For that reason alone the French would garrison it. And given the way they commandeer people's donkeys and mules, I don't think carrying more provisions would bother them. The fort obviously has water from a well - they all do."
"Why not Forte di Monte Filippo?"
"Well, in the attack with the bomb ketches which Sir Henry mentioned, we showed the French it wasn't much good for defending the port. I think they'd now rely on Forte della Stella, and also La Rocca, which is a half-hearted sort of fort just here, right above the actual entrance to the port."
Lord Smarden nodded. "Well, this seems to be your country. I'm a fox-hunting man, Ramage, so I'll regard myself as your guest - and riding one of your horses, too!"
Ramage nodded to acknowledge the compliment and then said: "But I don't want to raise any false hopes, gentlemen. Forte della Stella is built above steep cliffs which run all round the coast of Argentario. La Rocca is on cliffs right above the port; Forte di Monte Filippo - well, as its name shows, it is built on a mountain."
"But none of these so-called mountains are very high," Sir William Keeler protested. "It isn't as though we have to storm up sheer cliffs."
"No, sir, monte often means just a steep hill. But -" he glanced at Sir Henry, "- we shan't be 'storming' anywhere."
"How the deuce are you going to rescue 'em, then?"
"They are hostages, sir," Ramage said patiently. "The point about hostages is that those who have them can use them as bargaining counters."
"I know that!" Sir William said crossly. "I learned the King's English before you were born."
The sneer was very apparent, but Ramage ignored it. "If we 'storm' anywhere, or if we try anything but a surprise attack, sir, the French will use the hostages as - well, hostages. Either we shall be told to go away or the hostages will be killed, or they will be killed anyway and even if we successfully capture wherever they are held, the only thing we can do -" he paused, so that his words would hit Sir William like a blow, "- is to give them a decent burial."
"You don't have to put it so crudely, Ramage. After all, the French aren't holding your wife as a hostage."
Before he could stop himself Ramage said bitterly: "No, they've probably killed her."
"Tell us," Admiral Faversham said, badly shocked but anxious to discover what had happened. "You must remember we've had no news since the war began. We don't want to distress you unduly but - well, didn't you marry the Marquis of Rockley's daughter?"
Using the fewest words possible, Ramage told how he and Sarah had been on their honeymoon in France when the war unexpectedly broke out again, and how they had escaped from Brest in the Murex brig to join the Fleet as coincidentally it arrived to blockade Brest once again. The three admirals were appalled to hear that the Murex had been carried into Brest earlier and handed over to the French by her mutinous crew.
"Much as I hate hearing of our men mutinying," said Sir Henry, "at least you stopped the French gaining a brig. And those French seamen of yours dressed up as soldiers who brought us out of Castello, are the same Frenchmen who helped you to take the brig? 'Pon my soul, Ramage, either you have the luck of the devil or you know how to choose people." The admiral paused a moment and realized he had made a tactless blunder. "Your wife, Lady Sarah - you know for sure that the Murex was sunk?"
"The brig could have been captured, sir. But we haven't heard a word about prisoners being taken. With my wife was a post-captain who'd been commanding this ship temporarily, and of course the prize crew taking the Murex to England. Their names haven't been mentioned in the exchange lists sent from Paris . . ."
Sir William looked at Ramage. "My apologies. Fact is, we're all on edge, hearing nothing for more than a year." He suddenly realized that it was worse for Ramage. "I hope you have news soon. This uncertainty - it's like a tumour, it just grows and grows."
"Yes, sir, I know, and perhaps I was being too emphatic about the need for surprise. But the way we marched you all out of Castello, signing a receipt for the commandant. . ."
"It was the only way, but will it work again?" Admiral Faversham asked. "Of course the decision is up to you. Perhaps you've already decided?"
Ramage looked round at the three admirals. He saw three desperately worried husbands, and knew they represented five more. In rank any of the admirals could be the commander-in-chief of the Fleet on a foreign station where Ramage was serving but now, as they watched him, they were anxious husbands. For now, it was easier to think of them as husbands rather than admirals because none would try to override the Board's orders to him, and in a year or two he could find himself serving under any one of them. Tact did not come naturally to Ramage, and he knew it. Good manners, yes; he had learned them as a child and they came naturally, like saying "please" and "thank you", and standing when a woman came into the room, and eating bread with his left hand and so on. But tact - well, often words were spoken before Ramage realized that they had turned into bricks the moment they left his mouth.
"Gentlemen, we looked for you in Pitigliano and Santo Stefano and finally found you in Giglio without having any clearly defined plans, apart from our group of make-believe hostages. We hoped to get you out by guile, but we couldn't rule out violence.
"One of my men was shot in the arm while discovering you were not in Santo Stefano. I said guile or violence but violence was going to be the last resort. We knew we were after hostages who were men, not women. I had in mind that if there was any shooting, most of you would probably escape in the confusion."
Sir Henry looked at the other two admirals and then at Ramage. "Now you have just found out something the Admiralty didn't know, or didn't mention in your orders: that there are several women to be rescued."
"Exactly, sir. Like you, the women don't expect to be rescued, so they'll be startled, they'll be encumbered by bulky dresses, and," he added ruefully, "no woman can leave a room she's lived in for a long time without running back for some valuable she's forgotten."
"You've obviously been thinking about all this," Sir Henry commented. "And you've just described my wife!" He saw the expressions on the faces of the other two admirals. "All wives," he added, "except Lady Sarah. I've just this moment remembered how you first met her - rescued her and her parents and many other people from renegades and pirates at an island off the Brazilian coast. Don't give up hope, Ramage."
"No sir. That and memories are all I have." He thought for a moment. He was not in the mood for Major-General Cargill's crude manners or the two young men's enthusiasm. In fact, apart from Sir Henry he really wanted nothing to do with the freed hostages: he wanted no personal pleas or objections or suggestions to affect his decisions.
That the hostages might be in Port' Ercole - yes, it was a guess, but a good one. The answer seemed plausible. The second guess (or choice: the word "guess" carried a hint of a gamble) was exactly where the hostages were imprisoned. This time there was no clue from the Pitigliano commandant. The fortresses were the most likely and, of the two, della Stella seemed the obvious one. But he knew there were some big private houses in the hills behind Port' Ercole. Surely the Borghese family owned much of the land round the port, and they would have one or two houses there. Houses big enough to hold a dozen or so hostages and their guards? Italian houses have big rooms and high ceilings, and all too often shutters take the place of glass in the windows - in winter such houses were not used. Large rooms, balconies, houses designed for occasional summer living by wealthy people casual about their possessions - they would hardly make secure prisons for important hostages. Did that rule out the big houses? Not really - the French guards, with muskets and swords, could terrorize women prisoners: they might well have made two or three of the older ones responsible for the conduct of the rest - made them hostages for the good behaviour of the others . . .
"Guile," Lord Smarden said, trying to prompt Ramage into discussing his ideas. "You can hardly dress up your seamen as women!"
"No sir," Ramage said as Sir Henry gave his fellow admiral a withering look, "but I might ask for volunteers from among people with grey hair to dress up as old women - long black dresses, and baskets, shawls over the head - to make reconnaissances." He was looking at Smarden's grey hair and Sir Henry said at once: "I'm sure Lord Smarden would be the first to step forward."
"I appreciate that, sir," Ramage said, keeping a straight face, "and it would take only an hour or so to train him to walk with that shuffle that comes from worn shoes and bunions."
Lord Smarden looked embarrassed but could not avoid nodding and saying without enthusiasm: "Of course, of course."
"However," Ramage said, "Lord Smarden is right; it obviously has to be guile. If they're not at Forte della Stella, we go on to the other fort, without raising an alarm. If we have no luck there we must try a few big houses. It could take a couple of days - nights, rather, with our party hiding during the day."
"What about the ship?" Sir Henry asked.
"So far the French at both Santo Stefano and Giglio seem quite happy to accept her as French - not surprising, since she is French built - and there's no co-operation between the Navy and the Army."
"So now we sail for Port' Ercole?" asked Sir Henry.
"It'll only take a few hours. I want to arrive at night. If we arrive in daylight, the port or garrison commandant probably feels obliged to come out at once to greet us, but if he wakes up in the morning and sees us already at anchor and bustling about our daily business, he's more likely to put off coming out: he usually has to commandeer a local rowing boat which will be covered in fish scales, so he prefers to wait for one of our boats to come on shore . . . And if none comes by noon he'll take his usual siesta, and before he knows it another day has passed, and the ship has been there so long there's no need for a visit."
Sir Henry nodded his agreement. "I must say you seem to know these people, Ramage. I'd never realized just how much the siesta is an important part of their day until they took me as a hostage. I'd always thought it a waste of time. Now - I suppose it's advancing old age and the heat at noon, but I see its advantages."
"Indeed, sir, and it's a splendid time to make a reconnaissance before any night operations, whether serenading a sweetheart or looking for hostages."
"Haven't had much experience of either so far," Sir-Henry admitted ruefully, "but now we seem to be combining both!"
By noon the wind had backed to the south and was coming up in fitful gusts, with the air beginning to turn sultry. The day had started off with the sky blue and cloudless, and it had stayed like that until after the landing party were back on board with the freed hostages, but then it had slowly, almost imperceptibly, become hazy. Ramage and Southwick, meeting on the quarterdeck, had looked knowingly at each other.
"It's a scirocco all right, sir," Southwick said and Ramage took a telescope from the binnacle box drawer to look across the strait to the top of Monte Argentario.
"There they are," he said, "the balls of cotton streaming to leeward of the peak of Argentario." The clouds, the cotton balls, he remembered, were always the outriders of a scirocco, reliable warnings which were useful because the glass usually gave none.
Southwick gave a disapproving sniff. "We don't want a three-day scirocco blow now," he grumbled. "The seas will fairly pound the cliffs below Forte della Stella. It's the worst wind for Port' Ercole."
"If it's a regular scirocco, either we'll move round to the north of Giglio and find a lee," Ramage said, "or go over to Argentario and anchor where we were before. That's fairly sheltered."
He took a chart - a copy of the one in the rack over his desk - from the binnacle drawer and opened it. "Of course, we could use the scirocco to get up to the north and inspect these other islands ... yet I put my faith in Port' Ercole. But if we do go north, we must keep an eye on these." He tapped a finger on three rocks drawn in a line almost midway between Argentario and the headland of Punta Ala. "The Formiche di Grosseto."
"Odd name," Southwick commented, "and a damned odd place to find a few odd rocks sticking up in the open sea like..." he paused, trying to think of a simile.
"Like ants," Ramage said. "That's what 'formiche' means. And they're damn' hard to spot on a dark night! Still, this bit of headland points at 'em, even if it is low. It's the mouth of -" he examined the chart closely, "- yes, the river Ombrone. Sandy beach with pine forests behind. And a couple of useful towers. The one on the north side of the river is round and reddish. Hmm, a note here says it is called either 'San Carlo' or 'San Rocca'."
"Yes, I remember that one," Southwick said, recalling when he had copied the original chart from another owned by a fellow master. "Apparently it was called 'San Carlo' on a captured Italian chart, but it's 'San Rocca' on English ones."
"Well, it's round and it's red, so it shouldn't be too hard to recognize, and the next one, just as far south of the river as the red one is north, is square and high up, Torre Collelungo. And - your writing, Southwick, is abominable -"
"Hold hard, sir," protested the master. "That chart's had a few showers of spray over it since I copied it!"
"- there's a third tower half a mile away, Torre Castel Marino, circular, ruined. Also on a hill - and presumably its guns could once cover the whole beach south of the river."
Southwick looked over Ramage's shoulder. "More towers along the coast to the south," he said. "Those Spaniards certainly did a great deal of building while they owned this part of Tuscany."
Ramage ran his finger along the line showing the coast. "Yes, it's beginning to get rocky as you come south towards the Argentario causeways. This promontory is high, four hundred feet, with a square tower on top of it, Torre di Cala Forno. And look here to the southeast, two more. Torri dell' Uccellina. Curious that the two of them should be named together. The northern one, your note says, is tall and red, and the other short and grey."
Ramage put a finger on the Formiche di Grosseto and then squinted at the towers. "Horizontal sextant angles using San Carlo and Collelungo, or either tower and the mouth of the Ombrone river if you could distinguish it, or Collelungo and Cala Forno, or - why, it's a navigator's dream," he said teasingly, "you should be able to find the Formiche as easily as your own nose."
"I would, if I could see any of those dam' towers, but you can be sure that if the need ever arises it'll be a pitch-dark night with blinding rain - or scirocco haze cutting visibility to less than a mile!"
Ramage grinned at the old master. "If the idea makes you so nervous," he said, "we'll stay away from the ants!"
"I should think so," Southwick grunted. "No one in his right mind approaches dangers unnecessarily."
"Of course not," Ramage agreed, and could not resist adding, "especially with a nervous navigator. Still, the choice doesn't always rest with us."
Southwick did not rise to the bait. "All good navigators are nervous," he declared. "A confident navigator is usually a fool who knows immediately the name of the shoal he's just hit."
Ramage nodded his agreement. The Formiche, he saw, were certainly an odd collection of three rocks - they looked like three large pebbles tossed into the sea by a wilful Nature. Three rocks, almost islets, in a straight line stretching north-west and south-east for less than two miles. There was a note written at the bottom of the chart describing them. The northernmost, Formica Maggiore, was the largest and highest rock: whitish-looking from a distance and thirty-two feet high. Near it was a rocky shoal with only - hmm, only nine feet of water over it. A good spot for small fishing boats, no doubt, but shallow enough to tear the bottom out of a frigate. And south of Formica Maggiore yet another shoal stretched out for three hundred yards or so, an invisible trap for the unwary.
The middle one of the three rocks was nearly a mile to the south of Maggiore. Small, low and black, it was surrounded by shoals. The third, southernmost of the trio, was also the smallest and lowest, with the usual shoals round it. "Warning," the note added, "overfalls extend south half a mile in a gale." Some ants, Ramage thought sourly, and wondered why the Italians had given them such an innocent name, It was surprising that the Romans had not dubbed them - something like Scylla and Charybdis, the legendary monsters living in caves beside the Strait of Messina, between Sicily and the mainland.
In fact, Ramage thought idly, the ancient sailors needed to brave legends more than actual tempests. From memory, Scylla was supposed to have six heads, stand twelve feet tall and bark like a dog. Far worse, she had the distressing habit of snatching a man with each of her heads from any ship coming too close (the Strait's toll keeper, in fact!). Meanwhile Charybdis lived on the opposite side of the Strait in her cave hidden by an enormous fig tree. She swallowed all the water in the Strait and then brought it up again, and as she did this three times a day she created a terrible whirlpool, so the wretched sailors navigating the Strait risked either having their heads bitten off by Scylla or being sucked down by Charybdis.
"Not often that a frigate has so many flag officers on board, sir," Southwick muttered unexpectedly. "Not forgetting the field officers and all the aristocracy. Do the men salute 'em every time they pass on deck, or what?"
Ramage thought a moment. "Ignore them. I'll have a word with Sir Henry, because when the hostages want fresh air and exercise, if they are all on deck the saluting will just about stop any movement by the ship's company."
"Just thought I'd mention it," Southwick said.
"I'm beginning to think you don't like having guests."
"Three admirals and two generals . . . they'll soon start arguing, you'll see: they always do. Lucky they don't have orders to execute - otherwise we'd be having three councils of war a day. By the end of a week the last council of war would decide they did nothing."
Ramage laughed at Southwick's bitterness, and then said soberly: "My father's advice when I was made post was: 'Never have anything to do with a council of war: it's a coward's alibi for doing nothing.' "
"Yes, nervous sailors and soldiers call councils of war while politicians appoint committees. Same thing - spreads round the responsibility (and blame) like a farmer spreading dung. Leaves the same smell, too."
Ramage saw his steward Silkin appear at the companionway. "Damnation, it's time for dinner. I have to play host to these people. They're such a crowd they make my dining place hot. And the food is hardly the proper fare for flag and field officers."
"Serve 'em plenty of wine before the first course, sir," Southwick advised. "It makes a sort of pond for the salt tack to float on."
"That's an old trick," Ramage said. "Start 'em talking and drinking for half an hour and then they don't notice what they're eating."
Ramage paused at his bed place to wash his hands, went through to the coach to measure a distance on a chart, and then on to the dining place. The cabin was small, almost entirely filled by the dining table, chairs and the mahogany, lead-lined wine cooler.
The three admirals, two generals, the marquis, two earls and one viscount were already seated, chatting while drinking wine from glasses that Silkin (long since trained in this particular trick) kept filled.
General Cargill's voice was loudest. "Guile be damned," he was telling Earl Smarden. "Land a hundred well armed men and advance in regular order. Only way against this French rabble. Their officers were butchers and bakers only a few years ago: they can't control their men and don't understand tactics."
"Most of Bonaparte's best marshals were butchers and bakers a few years ago," Sir Henry said mildly. "They exchanged cleavers and baking tins for batons."
"And where's it got them?" Cargill sneered.
"I haven't had a chance of looking at a map of Europe lately, but the last time I saw one it seemed to have got them quite far. All of Europe, for a start."
"Ah, wait until we can get at them," Cargill said, "we'll soon send them packing!"
Admiral Faversham shook his head, pretending to be puzzled. "I thought we had been able to get at them - Sir John Jervis and Nelson at Cape St Vincent; Nelson at the Nile and at Copenhagen. For the moment the details of the Army's activities escape me - except of course for Egypt."
"Don't be absurd, Faversham," Cargill exclaimed hotly, "we can only fight where the Navy carries us!"
"Probably that fellow Dundas has stopped overwhelming the Admiralty with any more of his silly ideas," Sir Henry said drily. "Our Secretary of State for War is the strongest argument for peace. Ah, Ramage, there you are. How I wish you commanded a ship of the line - a frigate is rather crowded with so many passengers!"
"Yes, sir," Ramage agreed as he took his seat at the head of the table, "and we'll all wish for a three-decker once we have the ladies on board!"
As though the comment was a signal for which he had been waiting, General Cargill turned to Ramage and said crossly: "I was just telling Admiral Faversham that this idea of using 'guile' is nonsense. A frontal attack in regular order, that's the only way of tackling these Frenchmen."
"Oh goodness me, how I agree with you, sir!" Ramage said emphatically, and three startled admirals looked up sharply.
Cargill took a few moments to recover from his surprise and he then turned to Sir Henry. "You see, Faversham - even he agrees with me."
Sir Henry was learning, and contented himself with a nod.
Admiral Keeler said quickly: "I don't think that Ramage quite understood the point you're making, Cargill."
"Indeed I did, sir," Ramage said politely. "The general said the only way to beat the French - on land, of course - is by a direct frontal attack in regular order because by and large French troops are a rabble. I know nothing of French troops, but I am sure he does: such an opinion must be based on a great deal of experience on the field of battle."
He paused, and noted how Cargill flushed. No, Ramage decided, the gallant general has not yet smelled powder. He then saw that while Sir Henry idly turned his glass by the stem and appeared supremely bored by the conversation, the other two admirals, the marquis, two earls and the viscount looked alarmed at Ramage's words, and even Lieutenant-General the Earl of Innes seemed uncomfortable, as though only loyalty to the Army stopped him from flatly contradicting Cargill.
"No, sir," Ramage told Admiral Keeler, "this French rabble that General Cargill so well describes is always met by direct frontal attacks in regular order - the Austrians have been doing it all the time, and I am sure the War Office in Whitehall has it in mind that the British Army will employ the same tactics, once we can fight the French on land."
"But for God's sake!" Admiral Keeler exclaimed, "the French beat the Austrians every time they meet!"
"Oh yes, indeed they do, sir," Ramage said dreamily, and Sir Henry stopped twiddling his glass and put it down on the table, the better to concentrate. He was slightly deaf on the left side; he turned so that his right ear would miss nothing.
"You see, sir," Ramage said to Sir William Keeler, speaking lightly as if telling him the time of breakfast next morning, "there seems to be some misunderstanding about the nature of the enemy. I am a very junior post-captain, and it would not do for me to argue with a general about military affairs. About naval affairs, naturally I am better informed."
"I should think so!" Sir William snapped. "And you have your orders from the Admiralty."
"Of course, sir," Ramage said respectfully, "and I am given freedom in the way I carry them out."
"What the deuce has all this to do with the point I'm making that French troops are a rabble, and we need to make a frontal attack?" asked Cargill.
"Nothing, sir," Ramage said politely. "I don't think anyone is arguing with your professional views on tactics. Most certainly I wasn't. . ."
"Then who decided on this 'guile' business?"
"Ah, I think that's where a misunderstanding has arisen. The objective - perhaps some people are not clear about our objective?"
Sir Henry held up his glass as Silkin came round with the decanter. This young fellow Ramage, he thought, can tie Cargill in knots if he has a mind to, whether the subject is military tactics or wet-nursing a baby. It is a joy to listen to a young man presenting a well thought out argument; it flows smoothly, like this wine. Fortunate indeed, Sir Henry decided, that he had ended up on board a frigate commanded by a fellow like this.
"I'm in no doubt about the objective," Cargill declared. "Damned obvious what it is. The objective, and the means of achieving it."
Ramage nodded. "I am glad to hear you saying that, sir," he said, "so we are in agreement."
"Agreement?" Cargill repeated suspiciously. "Agreement over what?"
"You're teasing me, sir," Ramage said, "just because I am a sailor, without your military experience."
Sir Henry recognized his cue. "Well, Ramage, I'm sure the marquis and the other gentlemen would like to hear your views on the objective and the means of achieving it. . ."
Ramage looked round innocently at the marquis, who nodded vigorously.
"Oh, in that case . . . well, we are lucky because of course unlike our former Austrian allies, our objective is not the defeat of a French army but the release of several women hostages held by the French army.
"As long as the helpless role of 'hostage' is borne in mind, obviously there can be no direct frontal attack, otherwise the hostages would be killed out of hand.
"I think that was where General Cargill was being misunderstood: he was saying that French troops should be attacked from the front, but of course attacking the French troops is the last thing we want to do; after all, we are a band of rough sailors doing our best to rescue a group of women hostages. The wives of several of you gentlemen."
Neatly done, Sir Henry decided. Ramage was clever enough to see there was no advantage in hacking Cargill down with a cavalry sabre; instead he had slipped in a narrow-bladed stiletto. Now Cargill could not disagree with anything Ramage said without appearing both boorish and foolish.
Cargill took out a large silk handkerchief and mopped his face. "Hot in here, isn't it. Yes, Ramage, nothing you've said contradicts the canons of military tactics. You've no trained troops, anyway."
"No, indeed," Ramage said. "If I had, I would of course, with the Earl of Innes' approval, invite you to lead them."
The earl nodded and turned his face away quickly so that Cargill could not see his relief. He had no wish to assert his authority over Cargill in front of three admirals - he could just imagine the Secretary of State for War's comments when the news reached Dundas's office - but damnation, his own wife was one of the hostages, and no clod like Cargill, who'd never smelled powder, was going to put her life at risk.
This fellow Ramage had already marched three admirals, two generals, a marquis, a brace of earls, a viscount and a couple of heirs out of Castello at Giglio, signing a receipt for the French commandant with everyone smiling at each other, and not a pistol waved, let alone fired. Call that guile, chicanery, deception or whatever this dam' fool Cargill chose, but by any gentleman's measure it was a fine piece of cool bravery, and if the Earl of Blazey's son could do it again to get the women out safely, then Cargill had better keep out of the way.
The earl shook his head. Cargill was running true to form - a nouveau riche family had brought him promotion, so Cargill had never bothered to learn soldiering, other than primping in front of a mirror and then stamping and shouting his way round a parade ground. Typical of the man was the way he used a loud and abrasive voice to disguise his ignorance and shout down anyone who tried to argue.
Young Ramage obviously recognized the type and had cut Cargill down to size without ever raising his voice above a quiet conversational level. In fact Lord Ball, at this end of the table, had been sitting the whole time with his head forward, hand cupped behind his ear, just to hear what Ramage was saying.
Ramage held up a hand to attract Silkin. "You can begin serving," he said. To the men sitting round the table he said: "Gentlemen, a frigate's fare is of necessity sparse."
He does not apologize, Sir Henry noted, he just explains. The admiral happened to glance up and accidentally caught the Earl of Innes' eye. The earl's name stood second on the list of lieutenants-general; he would be a field marshal in the next lot of promotions. Cargill's name must be well down a list which included a couple of hundred majors-general. The earl was so much Cargill's superior in rank that the men sitting round the table could be forgiven for thinking Cargill was trying to commit professional suicide. In fact, Sir Henry guessed, the wretched Cargill was sublimely certain that he was making a great impression on Lieutenant-General the Earl of Innes. Come to think of it, he was. He imagined the earl drafting a report to the Horse Guards describing Cargill's conduct. No, it would not be done that way; the earl would simply make a comment, and that would be that. But that was all in the future: the earl could not visit the Horse Guards until all the present problems were solved; until wives were restored to husbands. For a moment he thought of the members of the Board sitting at the long, highly polished table in the Board Room at the Admiralty. They would not be conscious of the ticking of the Thomas Bradley clock just inside the door - a clock which had recorded the time since just after the Restoration. By now there would be a fire burning - and none of the members would recall (if they knew in the first place) that the back of the fireplace comprised a cast iron plate showing the arms of Charles II. Earl St Vincent would be sitting at the head of the table, with the windows overlooking the stables on his left, the fireplace and wall with the chart rollers on the right.
John Jervis, now first Earl St Vincent, was a very lucky man. Lucky because he had little skill handling a fleet in battle, and his great victory against the combined fleets of France and Spain off Cape St Vincent was due to Nelson, then an obscure commodore, who had the guts to quit the British line to cut off the escaping enemy. But... the idea fluttered along the edges of his memory ... was not young Ramage involved in it? Lieutenant Nicholas Ramage? A cutter - the Kathleen, or some such name. Yes! Ramage had seen that Jervis had not realized the French and Spanish were escaping, and he sailed his cutter across the bows of the leading enemy ship, the San Nicolas.
The Spanish three-decker sank the Kathleen and, by a miracle, Ramage and many of his crew survived, but the unexpected move delayed the enemy long enough for Nelson in the Captain to quit the line to take advantage of Ramage's action.
Nelson had been followed by some other captains while Jervis sailed on, unaware of what was going on (or, more likely, unable to gauge its significance). But because the British fleet won the battle, its commander-in-chief received the customary earldom and Sir Jervis took his title from the cape, and Nelson received a baronetcy. Not a knighthood, Sir Henry recalled, which had no outward form, but a baronetcy, which gave him something to sew on the breast of his coat.
Yes, Nelson is an odd little man, quite out of the run of the usual flag officers. And that, he admitted, was an ambiguous remark because Nelson had put an end to the traditional idea that breaking the enemy's line of battle and capturing a couple of ships was enough to claim victory.
Yes, Nelson had recently introduced a new fashion at sea, when the complete destruction of the enemy's fleet is the objective: he started at Cape St Vincent, where he had captured three of the four enemy ships taken (leading the boarding parties against two of them); then at the Nile a few years ago, by then a rear-admiral (a promotion which several jealous admirals resented bitterly), he had burned or captured thirteen of the French fleet of seventeen ships. And then had come Copenhagen.
The man was brilliant, even if his high-pitched voice and high-flown opinions sometimes ruffled feathers. Luckily, Earl St Vincent had been magnanimous enough to accept Nelson's brilliance at St Vincent, and he had been responsible for Nelson being at the Nile and then Copenhagen. So the taciturn St Vincent, while not approving of Nelson's private life with Lady Hamilton (who did!), recognized him as the Navy's foremost fighting man.
What the deuce brought on those thoughts? Sir Henry thought back. Oh yes, wives being restored to husbands, and the Board's view.
Well, the Board's view would be a pale reflection of St Vincent's, since no member of the Board would dare to stand up to the earl, whose pithy, abrupt comments were passed round the Navy like children playing "Pass the parcel". "A naval officer who marries is an officer lost to the Service" - the earl (while still Sir John Jervis) had just about broken Sir Thomas Troubridge's heart with that letter, particularly since St Vincent was wrong and Sir Thomas did not intend to marry.
So how would the Board (which meant the earl) now regard Ramage's activities over the wives? Sir Henry realized that he too could be heavily involved in any recriminations, and so could Smarden and Keeler, although Keeler gave the appearance of being a trimmer. After a year's close observation of the man, Sir Henry had decided that Keeler would always be on the winning side - until the last moment, when he would make a fatal mistake which would bring him down. Glib, hale-fellow-well-met, quick to ingratiate himself with the wives of superior officers as he struggled to get to the top, Keeler was what Sir Henry privately regarded as a two of clubs: outwardly the same shape and colour as the card on which was printed the ace of spades - but worthless.
Wives. So if Ramage was delayed in completing the Admiralty orders to rescue the hostages because he was going back for the wives, or if going back meant a failure of any sort, then young Ramage would be done for: the earl would make sure that he ended his days either on the beach on half-pay (not that that would matter: once he succeeded his father he would be a very rich man) or as captain of a transport - the ultimate punishment for someone of Ramage's temperament and calibre.
As he ate, hardly noticing what it was, the admiral reviewed his thoughts. In the light of what he knew about Ramage's orders, and the views of Earl St Vincent, who had drawn them up, he should persuade Ramage to give up any attempt to rescue the wives: the second party of hostages, in other words. Because Ramage was under Admiralty orders, he could not order him, but by telling him (in writing) that in his view he should leave for Gibraltar at once, that would cover Ramage.
Sir Henry mentally shrugged his shoulders. From what he had seen and heard of Ramage, the youngster would do what he considered correct, cover or not. He had stood up to Cargill without knowing (or caring about) the opinions of three admirals and a lieutenant-general, and he did it because he had confidence in himself.
Sir Henry looked across the table at Ramage as Silkin began serving the next course. "A very creditable meal, Ramage. We must be dealing your livestock a crippling blow! So let's regard this feast as something special to celebrate our release, and from now on we take our chance with hard tack!"
The marquis looked startled. "I don't quite understand, Sir Henry: is this not the usual Navy fare?"
"Indeed not! The splendid mutton came from one of Ramage's own animals, killed for the occasion: likewise the fowl. And, of course, all the wine. The Navy lives on salt pork and salt beef; if captains want better, they buy it themselves and carry it on board. You commented to me earlier about hearing a sheep bleating. Well, you've probably just eaten the bleat! And although the seamen get wine twice daily in the Mediterranean, it isn't of the quality Ramage is serving you. The seamen call their tots 'blackstrap'. But Ramage, you seem to have drunk little or nothing."
Ramage looked embarrassed. He rarely drank wine and never spirits, but he had learned to keep the fact to himself because too many people regarded a man who never drank as a reproach to themselves.
Cargill belched contentedly and wiped his face with a napkin. "Wine's for women," he said contemptuously. "No guts to it. As much use as small beer to a drayman."
"I'm sorry sir, I haven't offered you gin."
The Earl of Innes glanced at Cargill, but the remark - an insult if Cargill understood its significance - had gone right over his head. Gin was cheap; it was rated the drink for fallen women, debtors and servants: it brought most relief from life's cares for the fewest pennies. Cargill merely belched again and shook his head.
"My steward will look after you now, gentlemen," Ramage said. "If you'll excuse me, I must see what is happening on deck."
"I'll join you," Sir Henry said. "I'm beginning to feel sleepy after such a fine meal."
As the two men began pacing the quarterdeck, both noted that the wind was whining in the rigging and the wave crests were beginning to tumble and break, while the horizon to the south was now joined by haze to the paler sky. Argentario was no longer a sharp mountainous outline but a blurred hump to the east while the mainland was almost indistinguishable.
Sir Henry waved an arm forward, to the south. "No mistaking that, Ramage: stand by for a scirocco!And it's going to last three days, just as it always does."
"Not all of them, sir," Ramage said cautiously.
"This one is going to, though. Just look at that cloud streaming to leeward from the peak of Argentario . . . and it's so damned clammy. The Arabs have the right idea about the scirocco."
Ramage raised his eyebrows, and Sir Henry said: "If an Arab murders his wife when there's a scirocco blowing, he's not blamed. How about that, eh?"
"I'd heard that, sir, but since an Arab has a harem with several wives, it mightn't be the advantage that Christians think."
"Hmm . . . never thought of it like that," Sir Henry said. "Anyway, it'll be knocking up a sea below Forte della Stella..."
"The fishermen don't leave Port' Ercole when there's a bad scirocco. Those caught out usually make for Santo Stefano and wait there in the lee for it to blow out. There's a fish market..."
Sir Henry guessed that Ramage was talking only to avoid the main problem. "It means we can't do a dam' thing for three days - more, if we have to wait for a heavy swell to ease down."
"Yes, three or four days, sir."
"And you should be making for Gibraltar, not hanging round here to collect wives."
"Hostages, not wives," Ramage said gently.
"Lord St Vincent won't like it if anything goes wrong as a result of your waiting."
"My orders cover it, sir," Ramage said.
"Wives?"
"No, 'hostages' sir. My orders, signed by four members of the Board, are to rescue the British hostages at Pitigliano. However, I found they weren't there. Instead half were at Giglio and the other half are - we hope - at Port' Ercole."
"If anything goes wrong, they'll flay you and use your skin as parchment," Sir Henry said. "You realize that, don't you? I couldn't help you: I'd be an involved party. In fact my skin might be nailed up alongside yours." He thought for a moment. "Were the hostages named?"
"Some of them. But neither of us can leave this coast with the wives still in Forte della Stella, or wherever they are, can we sir."
Sir Henry recognized it as a comment, not a question. "Not that many wives," he said bleakly. "Mine, the Earl of Innes's, the other two admirals' (tho' I think Admiral Keeler doesn't feel the separation as strongly as the rest of us), and the wives of the marquis, our two earls and the viscount."
"But not General Cargill's wife?" Ramage asked carefully.
"He's not married - or, at least, his wife wasn't with him when he was arrested," Sir Henry said. "Odd, I don't know for sure whether he's married or not."
"Eight wives," Ramage said. "Not a large party. I'm surprised the French kept you apart."
"Oh, I think there are more than eight hostages in that party," Sir Henry said, "and I don't think they're all women. It's just a feeling I have, but I've always considered our wives simply to be part of a second group of hostages."
"You mean, sir, that there could be other naval and army officers?"
Sir Henry shook his head. "No, I think the hostages referred to in your orders (however you interpret the wording) are the ones you have rescued. I know that because I know which flag officers left the country when peace was signed - as you well know, no serving naval officer can go abroad in peacetime without the Board's permission. Same goes for the soldiers: they have to ask the Horse Guards, and the earl knows who applied. So any men held hostage with our wives must be civilians - people like the marquis."
"Why were the marquis and the others separated and put with you then?" Ramage mused.
"The French probably have a scale," Sir Henry speculated grimly. "After all, there's a scale both countries use when exchanging prisoners: a post-captain equals six lieutenants; a lieutenant equals ten midshipmen, and so on."
"And a marquis?"
Sir Henry laughed. "This one is probably the first the French have ever taken. Obviously they don't value them too highly because he's been put in with admirals, generals, earls and a viscount!"
"The marquis is lucky," Ramage said. "In France before the Revolution, the title was not ranked as highly as in Britain. There are many more of them, of course, and the French didn't have earls."
Sir Henry's thoughts returned to Port' Ercole. "You have to waste three days, perhaps more . . ."
"I intend to wait here," Ramage said. Both men noted the use of the the word "intend"; this was what Ramage was going to do, and he was telling the admiral, not suggesting (when he would have used the word "proposing"). "We can anchor off the north side if it grows too rough here. No one suspects our identity: to the garrison we are a French frigate . . ."