Read Online Ramage's Trial by Dudley Pope - Free Book Online

I wish I could give you more men in both frigates, but you know how it is out here in the West Indies. I’ve lost a thousand men from yellow fever in the last year.”
    â€œSo what’s being done to make up the shortages in those two ships, sir?” Ramage asked, although, since he knew, the answer would be a formality.
    â€œTake what you need from the best-manned ships in the convoy,” Tewtin said nonchalantly. “Tell any masters who complain that the men will be more useful protecting the merchantmen by serving a gun in a frigate than cowering behind a few casks of molasses.”
    That was one thing about Tewtin, Ramage admitted: he did not beat about the bush. He had just found a way of sending the June convoy to England without having to use even one of his own frigates; he had been able to use two of the prizes to make post two of his favourite lieutenants and give two more of them hefty promotions (and at the same time get rid of some duds).
    The hint that the Count of Rennes was a friend of the Prince of Wales and that it might be unwise to delay his return to England had made little impression: Tewtin might only be a rear-admiral but obviously he knew (or guessed) enough about Court life to know that Prinny’s attention could be held at most for only a couple of minutes, unless the subject concerned women or the latest fashion in men’s clothing.
    â€œLieutenant Newick has all your copies of the convoy instructions, one for each master, although God knows by now they should know them by heart. Secret signals – I haven’t received the latest ones from the Admiralty (who nevertheless are trying to dissuade flag officers from issuing their own). So you’ll have to draw up a set. Send them over here for copying – I know your clerk won’t be able to make seventy-two copies in time.”
    Tewtin bellowed a hearty “Come in” when the sentry at the door announced a name, and Newick walked in, holding a bundle of papers and to be met by an angry Tewtin.
    â€œDo you expect Mr Ramage to carry those convoy instructions round as though he’s selling copies of the Morning Post ? Have them sent down to his boat.
    â€œWhen you reach flag rank, Ramage,” he added, “if you haven’t discovered it already, you’ll find you’re surrounded by dolts. And in my experience so far, the higher the rank the more dolts it attracts.”
    At that moment Ramage felt he could grow to like Tewtin, who said: “Hold the meeting of the convoy masters the day before they sail. Any earlier, they’ll forget all your warnings. And it’s just early enough in the hurricane season that all those scoundrels wanting to cadge sailcloth or a topsail yard or cordage can be told there’s no time for any of that nonsense: hoist in boats and get the capstans and windlasses turning!”
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    Ramage sat at the far side of the room on a small dais – in fact a platform used by the auctioneer in Bridgetown when taking bids for whatever luxuries (like armchairs, crockery, cutlery and cloth) the latest convoy from England had brought in. The masters were coming in to Bridgetown’s only large hall for the convoy conference, but Ramage knew from experience they were men who could only demonstrate their independence by being late. It was like the old and tedious story of a senior officer keeping you waiting fifteen minutes and unwittingly giving you a good insight into the uncertainty he felt about himself. A confident man had no need to play such silly games.
    Southwick sat on his left and Aitken on his right, and in front of Ramage was a pile of twelve-page booklets, each measuring a dozen inches by eight. The title, in small type and neatly displayed between double rules, said: “ SIGNALS and INSTRUCTIONS for SHIPS under CONVOY ”. In tiny type was the announcement: “Printed by W Winchester and Son, Strand.”
    â€œForty-three of the