Read Online Ramage At Trafalgar by Dudley Pope - Free Book Online Page A

paper-knife under the seal and unfolded the single page of thick paper. There was the usual address and introduction, and then William Marsden, who had recently succeeded Evan Nepean as Secretary to the Board, had written:
     
    “Whereas my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty are given to understand that His Majesty’s frigate Calypso now at Chatham will soon be ready for sea, you are hereby directed and required to put to sea in His Majesty’s frigate under your command as soon as maybe and use your best endeavours to join the fleet under the command of Vice Admiral the Lord Nelson, agreeable to the enclosed rendezvous, placing yourself under His Lordship’s command for your further proceedings.”
     
    And that was that: a few lines of copperplate, neatly written by the Chief Clerk or one of the “Senior Clerks on the Establishment”, and then signed by Marsden before being sent round to Palace Street by (if Ramage’s memory served him) the Admiralty’s only messenger, John Fetter, who for £40 a year delivered Their Lordships’ letters and orders within five miles of Whitehall.
    “As soon as maybe”, according to Aitken and Southwick yesterday, would be about five days: most of the sheets of new sheathing had been nailed like fish scales round the Calypso ’s bow, and the tarred paper was already in place ready for the last of it, so rain would not cause delays. The new guns were already swayed on board and all the ropework spliced and, where necessary, rove through blocks.
    Then the dry dock in which the frigate was sitting would be flooded at high water and the Calypso floated out. After the usual dockyard receipts and vouchers had been signed and Ramage formally resumed responsibility for the ship, taking over from the master attendant of the dockyard, the Calypso would run down the mud-lined Medway (unless the wind decided to be capricious and blow from the east). Then into the Thames (almost certainly in a foul wind and tide) for the beat up to Black Stakes, to lie alongside the powder hoys and load the Calypso ’s magazine and powder-room. It was a dangerous nuisance having to unload powder into the hoys before going into the dockyard and take it on board again afterwards, the risk of stray grains keeping the pumps sluicing the decks, but nothing compared with the danger of a ship in the dockyard catching fire with her magazine full and exploding to destroy half of Chatham.
    Ramage often wondered about the men on the hoys who lived their lives on top of enough powder to blow them all to eternity and with only the mud flats along the Thames to look at. Low water, high water and the stink of mud governed their days. Did they sneak a smoke knowing that they lived within inches of a few hundred tons of gunpowder? Who commanded them? Probably some benighted lieutenant, leg shot off in distant action or disgraced by something that did not quite merit a court martial?
    Sarah came into the room and saw the letter he was holding. “Your orders?”
    He nodded. “I’ll have to leave for Chatham in a day or two.”
    “I was hoping we’d have another couple of weeks together at Aldington,” she said, obviously making an effort to keep her voice even.
    “Will you go down there when I’ve left?”
    “Yes. Once I knew you–” she paused, managing to swallow to be sure her voice would not falter, “–once I knew you would be sailing soon, I asked mother and father to come down for a few weeks. They’d like to see the house and father will enjoy the riding. Oh Nicholas!”
    He stood up and held her tightly as she burst into tears. This was the first time he had seen her breakdown and he felt particularly helpless. Somehow she seemed to grow remote in her grief. But he knew it was because he felt guilty at leaving her.
    “I shan’t be away long,” he murmured. “Just off Cadiz. It’s not as if I’m going to the West Indies or the East Indies. Or to the Isla Trinidade,” he added, hoping to make her