Ramage & the Renegades by Dudley Pope Page A

he found no difficulty in solving the problem: the drunkard must be cured. It had been a terrible time for Bowen, the surgeon, for Southwick, and for Mr Ramage, but they had cured Bowen. And once the drink no longer clouded his brain, left his eyes bloodshot slits and his face a sweat-stained mat of unshaven whiskers, they found the surgeon was a highly intelligent and amusing man. But part of the convalescence had involved preventing Bowen returning to the drink, and once Ramage found that he was a skilful chess player, Southwick had been made to play seemingly endless games of chess.
    Actually Southwick himself, now considerably more skilful, enjoyed an occasional couple of games with Bowen, but four or five games a week were enough for him, whereas Bowen was good for four or five games a day. A parson had to be able to play, he told himself as he left the cabin. If he could not, then he could dam’ well learn.

    Although the seven newcomers had come by different coaches, starting off from London Bridge or the Bricklayers Arms, all had of course followed the Dover Road, stopping for fresh horses at Blackheath, the Golden Lion on Bexley Heath, again at Dartford, at the Chalk Street Turnpike beyond Gravesend, and finally at Rochester before getting out at the Star Inn to spend the night ready to join the
Calypso
early on Thursday.
    Aitken had left written orders at the Star for them to come on board at ten in the forenoon. At nine o’clock he reported to Ramage.
    â€œThe foreman carpenter and his men have just left the ship, sir. I inspected the new cabins. The smell of paint is a bit strong, but they’ve swept up all the shavings and scraps of canvas. They even polished the glass windows in the doors. The hinges are greased and all the bulkheads swing up nicely and the doors have drop-on hinges. The doors aren’t marked, sir: I can have one of the men who’s a passing good signwriter paint on ‘chaplain’ and so on, if you like.”
    â€œWe won’t bother yet. Let them decide. They’re going to be spending a lot of time together, and letting them choose their own cabins should sort them out!”
    Aitken paused as if he had bad news he was reluctant to report. “It’s about the last lot of men returning from leave, sir.”
    Ramage felt a sudden depression. He had trusted the first half of the ship’s company and all but one had returned on time, and the man had come back a day late with a story probably true, of being waylaid and robbed. Why was there trouble with the second half of the ship’s company?
    â€œHow many?”
    â€œThree, sir.”
    Ramage sighed with relief. “I thought you were going to say 33. The Dockyard Commissioner wrote to the Navy Board, telling them that I was giving everyone leave and forecasting that I’d be lucky to get fifty men back.”
    â€œHe must have been basing the estimate on his own men.”
    â€œOr himself. Now, everything is ready for the chaplain and his party? If we can drop down to Sheerness on this afternoon’s ebb we can be alongside a powder barge at Black Stakes soon after daylight tomorrow and be off through the Four Fathom Channel by early afternoon.”
    â€œEverything is ready for them and we’re ready to sail. I’ve hoisted in all our boats—they can hire a local sloop, or use a dockyard boat. Young Martin has said goodbye to his father and the letter bag has gone on shore. The tradesmen have been on board to get their bills settled, and I’ve ordered all the women to be off the ship by noon.”
    â€œWouldn’t ten o’clock have been better—before the chaplain, ah …”
    â€œNo, sir,” Aitken said emphatically. “Unless you give orders to the contrary, I’d like to watch the parson’s face as the women go down into the boat. We’ll learn more about him in two minutes than we would otherwise in two months.”
    Aitken was