bring him to his cabin and introduce him at noon. For a moment he thought there had been some mistake until he saw Aitken behind the man.
Small, with narrow shoulders and a stance that looked as though he was half crouching, a ferret face with stained protruding front teeth that reminded Ramage of splayed fingers, shifty and bloodshot eyes: the Reverend Percival Stokes looked more like a trapped pickpocket as he stopped inside the door and then lurched forward a few more paces, obviously pushed by Aitken.
'My Lord Ramage? I am -'
Aitken stepped in front of him. 'Captain Ramage, sir: may I introduce the Reverend Percival Stokes? Mr Stokes - Captain Ramage.'
Aitken had managed the introduction very well, but Ramage doubted if Stokes had noticed that the captain did not use his title or, if he did, whether he could let his proximity to a member of the aristocracy go unremarked. The Reverend Percival Stokes, Ramage decided within seconds, would create havoc in the gunroom with his ingratiating brand of snobbery, fawning where he thought necessary and bullying where possible. Obviously someone with influence was indebted to the man - or, perhaps more likely, wanted him out of the way.
'Oh, my Lord, I am honoured and grateful to be the chaplain to such a distinguished officer -'
Ramage held up a hand. 'You have been appointed chaplain to the Calypso frigate, not to me, and at your own request, Mr Stokes. I did not apply for a chaplain.'
At first Ramage regretted speaking in such chilly tones (which clearly delighted Aitken), but a moment later he saw that neither the words, the double correction nor the snub had registered. Stokes, his hands clasped as though leading a congregation in prayer, was eyeing the sherry decanter and glasses on Ramage's desk.
In that moment Ramage thought he saw Stokes's life as though glancing along a narrow, shadowy corridor, and three words came to mind - debt, drink, hypocrisy. The wretched man was probably heavily in debt and, because of drink, had been neglecting his parish more than usual when the shopkeepers decided it was time their parson paid some attention to Mammon as well as God. With the debtors' prison suddenly presented to him as an alternative, it was likely that Stokes decided his vocation - for a year or two, anyway - was the Navy in peacetime. There he was paid, food was cheap and drink, duty-free, even cheaper. The Treaty ensured that no roundshot would spin past his ears.
Why did the man choose a frigate? Since his pay depended mainly on the number of men in the ship, a ship of the line offered eight hundred or so souls to be saved. A frigate like the Calypso had only two hundred souls. In both ships a chaplain received nineteen shillings a month, but he also had his 'groats', fourpence a month for every man in his ship. In a ship of the line this meant an extra thirteen pounds a month, which was £156 a year. In a frigate like the Calypso it was about £3 6s a month, or about £40 a year.
Why a frigate? Perhaps, despite the perpetual shortage of chaplains, even the Chaplain General had baulked at Mr Stokes; given that the Admiralty was prepared to grant him a warrant, perhaps the Chaplain General decided that he could do (or come to) less harm in a frigate.
Aitken stood to attention and said: 'If you'll excuse me, sir, I have -'
'No, no, Mr Aitken,' Ramage said genially, having no intention of letting his first lieutenant desert him at such a moment, 'you have the ship so well organized it can run for fifteen minutes without you.'
Aitken noted the fifteen minutes and sat down on the settee as Ramage gestured towards the armchair for Stokes. It was a seat from which a man of his stature would have to look up at both officers.
'Your first ship, Mr Stokes?' Ramage asked amiably.
'Oh yes, indeed, my Lord, oh yes, my goodness -'
'My title is not used in the Navy, Mr Stokes; you address me as 'sir' and refer to me as 'the Captain'.'
'Oh yes, indeed, Captain sir,' Stokes said hurriedly, and Ramage noticed the man sprayed saliva as he talked, his protruding teeth tending to act like fingers over a hose.
'Where were you -' Ramage just avoided saying 'practising'. 'Where were you - I mean, where was your benefice before you decided to come to sea?'
'Oh, in Essex, Captain,' Stokes said vaguely.
'Then you decided you would like to see more of the world?'
'I had a row with my bishop,' the man said crossly and then, realizing his indiscretion, added with an ingratiating smile: I considered I could best serve the Lord by saving souls among our brave seamen, exposed as they are to greater temptations than my flock in Essex.'
'Ah,' Aitken said, glancing at Ramage, 'that's an interesting point of view which I know the captain has considered before. At this place in Essex where you had your kirk - did ye not have whores and thieves and vagabonds, like anywhere else?'
Stokes raised his hands, palms outwards, and assumed what he must have considered a man-of-the-world expression. 'Ah, a few of each, I must admit; the flesh is weak and a chaplain can only advise and pray and point theway...'
'I'm thinking ye've abandoned your flock,' Aitken said, his voice sorrowful, 'because while ye could perhaps have converted the whores and thieves and vagabonds in Essex, we dinna have one of any of those on board this ship for ye to practise on, Mr Stokes.'
'Ah, lieutenant, there you are mistaken,' Stokes said patronizingly, assuming that the fact that Aitken deferred to the captain meant that the chaplain's position was between the two. 'No man is without sin, is he, Captain?'
'He is in this ship,' Aitken said crisply, 'otherwise he gets a flogging!'
Ramage was hard put to keep a straight face: Aitken had set the trap, Stokes had walked in and Aitken had sprung it. Stokes was not to know that Ramage had ordered only two men to be flogged since he first commanded a ship, and anyway, he was technically correct.
'Flogging?' Stokes's eyes jerked from Aitken to Ramage, as though - as though what? Ramage was not yet sure. Did the thought of flogging horrify him, as it did Ramage and many other captains? No, it was more fear than horror in the man's eyes.
'Yes, flogging. As you mentioned, no man is without sin; likewise no man is beyond the reach of the cat-o'-nine-tails.'
'Except the officers, of course!' Stokes tried to smile at his own joke, but Ramage decided to stretch the truth to see what effect it had.
'Officers, too,' he said. 'The captain of a ship has more power than the King - you realize that, Mr Stokes?'
'Er, well, I did not realize that. In what way, sir?'
'The King cannot order a man to be flogged; I can.'
'So let us pray,' Stokes said unctuously, 'that everyone behaves himself.'
'They won't,' Aitken commented gloomily, 'they never do. Well now,' he said, looking at his watch, 'your fellow warrant officers will be busy taking all the food, so perhaps...'
The first lieutenant picked up his hat and Ramage was thankful to see that Stokes was obviously going to follow him. However, there was just one thing to make clear right at the beginning of the chaplain's ecclesiastical reign. 'Mr Stokes - neither I nor the ship's company like long sermons. Apart from anything else, the weather is seldom suitable: too cold in northern waters for them to sit around for long, and too hot in the Tropics. So remember, ten minutes!'
'Oh Captain,' Stokes said reproachfully, 'what can I tell the men in ten minutes?'
'I can read the Articles of War in less,' Ramage said. 'They are the rules governing the behaviour of every man in the Navy, from an admiral to a boy, in peace or war, at sea or in harbour.'
'But all my sermons -'
Ramage pictured a packet of a couple of dozen sermons, written by some hack cleric and sold at fourpence each.
'The men don't like shop sermons,' Aitken said. 'Funny how they spot them, isn't it, sir? They can tell at once whether a chaplain is talking from his heart or just reciting.'
'I'm not sure about all the men, but this captain can, and he's certainly not about to sit through a fourpenny tract.'
It was unfair to harp on fourpence, but Ramage was sure that one of the first questions asked by Stokes when he boarded the frigate was aimed at the purser - how many men did the Calypso muster? That number, multiplied by fourpence, told him how much his monthly 'groats' would total.
Aitken opened the door and Stokes scuttled out, obviously distraught at the loss of his sermons for twenty-four Sundays.
The first lieutenant returned two or three minutes later. 'I think you've squared his yards, sir.'
Stokes had been brought to heel, like a wayward gun dog. 'But,' Ramage said sourly, 'that doesn't alter the fact we've got to put up with him lurking round the ship for the next few months.'
''Lurking' - aye, ye've got him there, sir; the man's a lurker, that's for sure. But he's the worst of the bunch; the rest o' them seem pleasant enough.'
'I'll see them two at a time this afternoon, beginning with the surveyors.'
Aitken brought in two young men whom Ramage assumed were brothers until the first lieutenant mentioned their names. David Williams, the elder, was a Welshman, black-haired and blue-eyed and with what Ramage thought of as a laughing face; Williams obviously saw the humorous side of life, while his fellow surveyor, Walter White, also black-haired and blue-eyed, came from Kettering and obviously took a far more serious view of his work and his immediate future. One could imagine his notebook showing the distance between two distant points as being correct to half an inch, while Williams would prefer rounded figures.
'Can you give us any idea what we'll be surveying, sir?'
'No, I'm afraid not. I'm not being unnecessarily secretive: we are sailing with sealed orders. But I can assure you there'll be plenty of work for both of you once we arrive.'
Williams grinned happily. 'It's our first voyage, sir, so we're excited. We're lucky it's with you, sir!'
Ramage smiled and said: 'You've heard of me?'
'I've got a copy of every Gazette mentioning you, sir.'
White said it in such a lugubrious voice that it took Ramage a few moments to realize that the young man was making a proud boast.
'I didn't realize the Gazette was so popular in Kettering!'
'Ah, no, but we both worked in the Navy Office, sir.'
'The Navy Office?'
'Yes, sir. The Hydrographer came over to Somerset Place one day and talked to the head surveyor, and we were offered this job. Neither of us is married, sir.'
'Well, I wish I could tell you more about the work. It'll be typical of the naval service, though; weeks of tedium getting there, then a frantic rush where eighteen hours' work a day won't be enough, and then weeks more tedium.'
