'Unlucky,' Clinton interrupted. 'You said he was unlucky to get command of the Calypso. Why? Is she a difficult ship to handle? Crank, tender, slow to windward? Truculent ship's company? Leaking decks? Why unlucky, eh?'
'Had he been given command of a frigate which had been commanded by an average captain, a ship and captain which never featured in the London Gazette, a frigate a man served in and forgot the name a year after, I'm sure everything might have been made to serve. He would have been able to hide his sense of inadequacy. But what happened? Well, I don't wish to embarrass Captain Ramage, who wears his fame lightly, but the Calypso and her captain are perhaps the best known in the King's Service. Our patient knows that in everything he does on board, every decision he makes and every order he gives, he will be compared to Captain Ramage. He thinks it's a comparison made daily by the officers and men and that it's a comparison bound to be made at the Admiralty or by a commander-in-chief. 'He's not a patch on young Ramage' ... You may not have said it yet, sir, and you may never have said it at all, but the patient can imagine you saying it.'
'Very well, you've explained 'unlucky'. Now explain the delirium tremens,'Clinton said grimly.
'You may not know the patient by appearance, sir. No? Well, he is handsome but with a weak face. By that I mean if you judge a man's character to a certain extent by his face, you would not expect this man to have a strong will. As a lieutenant he delighted in strong drink. By inclination, perhaps, because he liked the taste. However, I think it more likely he needed a dram or two to bring him abreast of the rest of the officers in whichever ship he served. So the liking for drink was already there. He may have discovered - in fact from my own experience I am sure he did - that a few drinks made him quite as good in his own estimation as the next man, perhaps even better.
'What happens if you put a weak man prone to drink into a position where he feels inadequate (and thus is inadequate)? Well, sir, I suggest that at first the man does what he did before - looks to the tankard or the glass to make his decisions and blunt his cares. But soon he feels he needs more proof, and the cares increase. So does the drinking in proportion.
'It has to be drunk in secret, of course, so the patient increasingly feels guilty because he thinks he would be finished if anyone (even his personal servant) knew he was drinking to make himself fit to do his job.'
Clinton growled: 'We still haven't got him in a delirium.'
'It doesn't take long. Some months for a newcomer to drink; some weeks for someone who has been an average drinker; but only a few days if the man has been a secret and heavy drinker for a long time.'
'You can't say what the patient was doing before he joined the Calypso,'Clinton objected.
'I can, sir, if you'll pardon me for contradicting you. I recognized him as a heavy drinker the moment he joined the ship.'
'Am I a heavy drinker?' Clinton suddenly asked.
Bowen looked round the cabin. 'A very large wine cooler. A rack of cut-glass decanters which a duke might envy. And racks of wine and spirits glasses. They could belong to a heavy drinker; or let us say a connoisseur of wine and spirits. A bon vivant, in fact. However, you asked if I thought you were a heavy drinker, so I look at you and not the glassware. In fact, sir, I had by chance made up my mind - made a diagnosis, if you would prefer it - when I first came into the cabin, before I looked round.'
'Well?' Clinton demanded. 'A heavy drinker or a light one?'
'I would say,' Bowen said slowly, 'giving it due consideration, and allowing for the responsibility resting on your shoulders, and the fact that you come from Scotland, where more whisky is distilled than rainwater collected ... I would say you probably have a glass of wine with your dinner, and perhaps a glass of port afterwards. No more.'
The admiral's face fell: he reminded Ramage of a Father Christmas recognized by the children as the butler dressed up.
'I've given up the port,' he admitted, 'because I was afraid of the gout. Well, Mr Sawbones, after that display, I admit I'm now more prepared to listen to you. So let us suppose your patients drinks himself into a stupor (from time to time, I'm thinking, when the pressures get heavy) because -'
'No, sir,' Bowen interrupted, 'he's past the 'from time to time': he needs liquor to get out of his cot of a morning; he needs liquor to get him past the noon sight. He needs liquor because he's afraid of the devils with glaring eyes and demons with sharp tongues and all the clammy, crawling beasts that are waiting to attack him: all those horrible things that come with delirium tremens. And don't think they're imaginary, sir. They are to the onlooker; to the victim they are terrifyingly real.'
'So what do we do about your patient?'
'Are you asking from the medical point of view or are you concerned with the King's Regulations and Admiralty Instructions and the Articles of War, sir?'
'Damned if I know,' Clinton admitted. 'It's an entirely new situation as far as I am concerned.'
'Medically, a captain, master and Marine guards have nursed a man through delirium tremens in a few days - that I know because the patient was me - but it is hard work. Yet the following days are almost more important - getting the patient interested in life again and giving him the confidence to face it without using a bottle of liquor as a pair of crutches. I like chess, and Mr Southwick, the master, played endless games with me. Captain Ramage even learned to play to help out. I was very lucky.
'Discipline is out of my field, of course, but you may want a medical opinion on the disciplinary aspect, sir. In my opinion, which I will give you in writing, the patient is completely incapable of commanding a ship: indeed, he is both unfit and incapable of leaving his cabin.'
Clinton stood up and sighed. 'My orders are to start and maintain a close blockade of Brest with this fleet. Provisioning and watering the ships and trying to outguess the Atlantic weather, Bonaparte and every ship's propensity for wearing out, is normally agreed to be enough to keep an admiral occupied. Your damned patient, Bowen, is going to cause more problems than the rest put together.'
The phrase 'your patient' was finally too much for Bowen, who stood up, white-faced and almost rigid with anger, and said stiffly: 'Sir, that he is my patient is a very unfortunate coincidence. Had I any say in the matter, he would never have been employed as a lieutenant; whoever then made him post did something akin to treason.'
And that, Ramage thought, is how Bowen was court-martialled under at least two of the Articles of War, but he was wrong: the admiral turned to the surgeon and smiled.
'Some flag officers suffer from spasmodic deafness.' He waved a dismissal to Bowen and Aitken. 'Well, gentlemen, thank you. Mr Ramage, will you stay a few minutes with Captain Bennett?'
Sitting at the end of the highly polished rosewood table with Bennett halfway down one side on his right and Ramage to his left, Admiral Clinton no longer looked like an amiable Santa Claus: the grey-blue eyes which could twinkle were now glinting like the sharp blades of two freshly honed épées.
'This conference never took place, which is why my nincompoop of a secretary is not present taking notes. But I want privately to hear your personal opinions of this fellow Bullivant. Bennett?'
The admiral's flag captain was only five feet tall but had achieved some fame (and the unexpected cheers of his men) when his ship's company mutinied at the Nore some years earlier. Some wretched man had made an insolent remark to Bennett about a matter unconnected with the mutiny, and in front of several hundred mutinous seamen, Bennett had taken him by the ear to the entryport, pushed him over the side, and then coolly told the leader of the mutineers to fish him out because he probably could not swim.
Bennett's first words showed he had not lost his directness. 'That surgeon fellow was right: Bullivant should never have been made post,' he said emphatically.
'Salt beef and salt pork supplied by the father: that's what mattered. Thousands of casks, and plenty of cumshaw scattered among the right people in the Navy Board, and your eldest son doesn't need much ability. It's unfortunate for the seamen, officers and admirals who suffer the consequences ... In my opinion, sir, there's only one thing to do: send him back to Plymouth in the Murex brig with signed reports by Bowen and Dr Travis about his 'sickness'.'
'It's a serious matter, relieving him of his command.'
Ramage realized that the admiral was wavering, and he thought of the Calypso and her officers and ship's company. 'Sir, the consequences of not doing so will be worse.'
'How so? Relieving a captain of his command is serious enough!'
'You are relieving him only on medical grounds, sir,' Ramage reminded Clinton. 'You are not saying he is incompetent. But the consequences of leaving him in command - well, yesterday, there could have been three murders by him or a mutiny by the ship's company. There's bound to be mutiny if you leave him in command.'
'Bound to be mutiny? You don't have much confidence in the men you've spent so long training,' Clinton said sarcastically.
'On the contrary, sir: I have complete confidence in them: that's why I know they'd mutiny.'
Bennett was watching him shrewdly. He knows, Ramage realized, but the admiral has been too remote from the day-to-day handling of a ship's company for too long.
'Do you really mean you're confident they'd mutiny?' Clinton demanded angrily.
Ramage nodded. 'Yesterday, sir, Captain Bullivant said he would hang three men, Midshipman the Count Orsini, who happens to be the nephew of the ruler of Volterra and one of our allies; the master of the ship, who is certainly the most competent seaman and one of the bravest men I know; and an Italian seaman called Rossi, a man to whom I've entrusted my life on several occasions.
'Bullivant was going to have them hanged at sunset because after inspecting the entire ship's company he identified them as Satans. I trust, sir, that any seaman would mutiny rather than obey such an order to put nooses round their necks and haul them up to the yardarm.'
Ramage knew he was white-faced, and he kept his fists pressed down on the table to hide the trembling: he could feel perspiration soaking through his shirt but mercifully it did not appear on his face, which felt cold and clammy, as though he was about to faint.
'Quite,' Clinton said calmly. 'However, it seems to me the only one now left with his neck in a noose is the commander-in-chief.'
'That's what he's there for, sir,' Bennett said cheerfully. 'I agree with Ramage completely. I know what the Articles of War say and don't say, but I'd sooner the seamen mutinied than obeyed the 'lawful' orders of a brandy-besotted madman. That's something the Articles don't allow for, and they should. Loyalty is what matters. Men who'd mutiny because of their loyalty to their officers and shipmates are the men I want round me when I go into battle.'
'We aren't in battle, we're blockading Brest, and judging from the last war the only action we're going to see is dealing with a drunken maniac,' Clinton grumbled.
'At least you're outside 'Channel limits', sir,' Bennett said. 'That gives you more freedom.'
'Leaves me short of a post-captain for the Calypso.'
Bennett glanced across the table at Ramage. 'A post-captain commanding a brig is a bit overweight.'
