Ramage by Dudley Pope Read Free Book Online

of thoroughly frightened civilians staring seaward through the narrow window of a peasant’s hut, plagued by mosquitoes, too frightened to light a lamp at night, and waiting for a ship of the Royal Navy to rescue them from – from France’s guillotines or possibly the unspeakable horrors of the Grand Duke of Tuscany’s dungeons, since the Grand Duke’s attempts to remain neutral had been feeble, and he had even entertained Napoleon to dinner, from all accounts.
    Who were they, anyway? He’d forgotten to look at the names in the margin.
    ‘Lantern, Jackson.’
    He unfolded the letter once more and read the names of five men and a woman listed one below the other in the margin: the Duke of Venturino, the Marquis of Sassofortino, Count Chiusi, Count Pisano, Count Pitti and the Marchioness of Volterra.
    It took him a moment or two to register the shock of reading the anglicized version of the Marchesa di Volterra’s name: he had a sudden picture in his mind of a tall, white-haired woman with a patrician face whom he had known, for much of his childhood, as ‘Aunt Lucia’. She was no relation, but as one of his mother’s closest friends she was a frequent visitor when his parents lived in Siena; and they in turn had often stayed at the Marchesa’s palace at Volterra. So now the little boy she used to bully because he could not (would not, too) quote yards of Dante, was back – almost back, anyway – in Italy, to haul her off the beach…
    Sir John Jervis’ determination that they should be rescued made sense now: the Marchesa, and the Duke of Venturino, were two of the most influential and powerful figures in Tuscany: it had been said for years that if they could agree with each other for long enough, they could probably overthrow the Grand Duke and rid Tuscany for ever of the dreary Hapsburgs.
    Ramage was glad he’d decided to attempt the rescue before reading the names. If he’d previously decided against it, he would have changed his mind later. There was some satisfaction in attempting what he hoped was the right thing for the right reason.
    Yet when it came to rescuing refugees, it shouldn’t matter who they are: when a head rolls into the wicker basket from the guillotine blade, a peasant’s head is a human head as much as the duke’s; which was what Shakespeare meant when he made Shylock say, ‘Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands?’
    Ramage could imagine the president of the court trying him for the loss of the Sibella asking, ‘Why did you decide to attempt to execute with an open boat the Admiral’s orders, which were intended to be carried out by a frigate?’
    ‘Well, sir, I was thinking about Shylock…’
    He could imagine the sneers; could hear, almost, the whispered ‘Yes, he’s his father’s son all right.’ And that’s the crux of it: he was his father’s son and so much more vulnerable than other lieutenants because he had many more potential enemies waiting to strike at him to wound his father. A Service vendetta was a long-drawn-out affair and when admirals were involved everyone was forced to take sides because promotion and patronage were involved. To become the protégé of a particular admiral was a good thing, as long as the admiral was in favour, because he would push opportunities your way. But if the admiral supported a political party, as several of them did, then the moment his party lost power, the fact you were one of his protégés was a millstone round your neck.

    Poor Father: a braver man never lived, and many still considered him the most brilliant strategist and tactician the Navy ever had. Which was, of course, the reason for his downfall. When you give the command of a fleet to a born leader with a keen brain, and provide him with a textbook containing a limited set of regulations telling him how to fight a battle, you’re asking for trouble.
    Ramage was seven when his father was brought to trial; but later, when he was old enough to understand, he had