Ramage's Challenge

"Why, sir," Martin said eagerly, sliding off the breech, "do you know his work?"

"I do," Ramage said with mock irritation in his voice, "but no thanks to you. I haven't heard you play a note of Telema

"No, sir, because the men prefer the popular tunes they know. But I play Telema

"But the music - you can't know it all by heart?"

"No, sir, but my trunk's half full of sheet music. I don't need music for Telema

Ramage cursed silently to himself. Music was the one thing he missed at sea - he blotted out thoughts of Sarah, thinking only of the time before he was married - and he had never thought of Martin playing anything on his flute but tunes for the men. All those evenings when he could have been listening to Telema

"Don't get that damaged," he told Martin, pointing to the flute. "After tomorrow we'll try and improve this ship's appreciation of serious music."

Martin gri

"You can start sorting through your sheet music tomorrow," Ramage said. "Meanwhile time passes. What I want you to dowhen you get the order is this." Quickly, with the seamen listening and most of them nodding approvingly without realizing it, Ramage gave his instructions and then made his way aft, to find Orsini.

The young Italian was standing at a gunport, peering out and trying to glimpse the frigate astern while the gun captains chatted and most of the crews sat on the deck, backs against the carriages. Some seemed to be asleep, despite the spray, the creaking of the ropes of the tackles and the grumbling of the trucks as the guns moved an inch or so with each roll of the ship.

Orsini listened attentively as Ramage gave him his orders, ending with: "Any questions?"

"Not about the orders, sir. But are we leaving Tuscany for good?"

Ramage shrugged. "It depends, but I doubt it."

He understood immediately that it was no idle question, knowing Orsini's deep love for Tuscany, since he shared it. Most British seamen seeing the Lizard fading in the distance as they started off on a voyage from England wondered whether they would ever see their home again. Paolo must be wondering if that fleeting glimpse of breakers in the darkness would be the last time he saw Tuscany. The last time, or anyway, the last time for many years.

"It depends on whether our trick works," Ramage said, "if 'trick' is the right word."

After joking with the guns' crews, Ramage went back to the quarterdeck to find that Aitken, in anticipation of his return, was waiting for the seamen with the logline to report the Calypso's speed. While he waited Ramage looked yet again at his watch in the light from the bi

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Ramage slipped the watch back into his fob. "Send 'em off," he said, and Aitken snapped an order to two seamen, who hurried down the ladders to warn the lookouts amidships and forward. Aitken called over to the lookouts on each quarter, and Ramage saw the admiral stir as he heard the words above the howling wind.

There was no question now of being suspected of seeking Sir Henry's approval and, Ramage thought, not telling the old man at this stage might seem u

"I don't know what to expect, sir," Ramage said frankly. "I'm not sympathetic towards gamblers because usually a bit of thought lessens the odds considerably, but this time - well, I've got to stake everything on one throw of the dice."

"No second throw, then?"

Ramage shook his head, conscious of the minutes ticking away and listening: when the first shout came everything would happen with bewildering speed. "No, sir; we have to win the first time, or else we'll be done for. I'm sorry I've got you all into this situation."

"Not your fault," Sir Henry said gruffly. "Just bad luck that this damned frigate -" he gestured astern at the dim shape in the wake, "- should have arrived when she did."

"So I'm intending to do this," Ramage said, quickly explaining his plan. At the end of it Sir Henry turned slightly so that he could look straight into Ramage's face.

"You're quite mad, of course," he said quietly, "it's the craziest thing I've ever heard, and there's a good chance we'll all drown in the next few minutes."

Just as well I did not ask for his permission, Ramage thought to himself and, coming from Sir Henry, such a judgement was not very heartening - to say the least.

"No," Sir Henry said, drawing out the words as though he had carefully searched his memory for them, "I've never heard of anything quite so crazy." He slapped his thigh, and for a moment Ramage thought the admiral was going to give him direct orders, saying he was taking command of the Calypso. "It's so crazy that -" he paused, as though trying to construct some exquisitely insulting phrase, "- it'll probably succeed. From what I've seen and heard of you, young Ramage, you have three possible fates waiting for you: French roundshot lopping off your head; or you'll come a cropper and a court martial will make sure you end up in front of a firing squad like Admiral Byng; or you'll command your own fleet at an early age. I wouldn't wager a single guinea on which it'll be."

"Thank you, sir," said a relieved Ramage. "So keep your guinea waiting safe in your pocket, and please excuse me for a few minutes while I attend to the business on hand!"

He went back to the quarterdeck rail by way of the bi

Ramage finally counted to three hundred. The slow count, each number representing a second, meant that five minutes had passed. Now was the time - but nothing was happening. He began counting again, one-and-two-and-three-and-four ... Six minutes and seven, eight and nine . . .

He walked over to the bi