It was ironic, he thought, that famous admirals like Lord St Vincent and the late Lord Nelson were delighted when one had a letter published in the Gazette; it was only little men like Rudd, who had probably reached the summit of his career and knew it, who were resentful.
"Very well," Rudd said, "you'll be getting written orders in due course; in the meantime, I presume you have your weekly accounts and returns ready for me?"
"Yes," Rossi agreed, "the Bay of Naples is very beautiful, but stay in the Bay - don't go on shore!" "What's wrong with the shore?" demanded Stafford.
"The shore is full of Neapolitans, and they are to Italy what the Cockneys are to England."
" 'Ere," demanded Stafford, "wotcher mean by that?"
"In two minutes they have all your money; in three they have your shirt; in four they've stuck a knife in your back and left you for dead!"
"Oh, so that's what happens among the Cockneys, too?" asked an offended Stafford. "Well, I might remind you that when you came to stay at my 'ome when we was given leave from Chatham, you didn't lose a penny piece nor an 'air off your 'ead!"
"Excuse me, I exaggerated," Rossi said placatingly. "What I mean to say is all Neapolitans are lazzaroni: pickpockets and murderers. So be careful if you go on shore."
"What about where you come from?" Stafford persisted. "Is it any better in Genoa?"
"The worst you ever hear about Geneva is that the Genovesi are, how do you say, tight-fisted; a bit careful with their money."
"Mean," Stafford said. "Mean like the Scots."
Rossi shrugged. "Call it what you like, but I think it is only sensible to keep your hand on your money when standing in a crowd of pickpockets, and to count your change when dealing with cheats."
Gilbert laughed softly. "Between Neapolitans, Genovesi and Cockneys, how is a poor Frenchman to survive?"
"Don't ever go on shore," Jackson advised. "Pass the bread barge."
Louis slid it along the table towards him. Then Jackson continued: "On shore all is wickedness. Why, London was so wicked that it shocked poor old Staff into joining the King's service and coming to sea. Genoa was so wicked even Rosey could not stand the competition and came to sea. And I wonder about you four -" he gestured at Gilbert, Louis, Auguste and Albert,"- what made you leave Brest?"
Gilbert laughed. "Well, we are the only ones with a good excuse because we escaped with Mr Ramage and Lady Sarah. The only thing wrong with Brest is Bonaparte's men; they are all murderers."
Stafford gave a melodramatic sigh. "Well, it seems the Calypso is a home for us poor refugees!"
"Refugees be damned," Jackson said. "I volunteered."
"I should think so," said Stafford. "Revolting, that's what you Americans are! You didn't know when you were well off."
"I jumped out of the frying pan into the fire when I took the King's shilling," Jackson said mildly.
"But I bet you took the precaution of getting that Protection first," Stafford said. "With an American Protection in your pocket you can get out whenever you want."
"Aye, I have a Protection," Jackson admitted, "but I don't think getting out 'whenever I want' is so easy. I have to apply to an American consul, and there aren't many of them about. That's where Americans get stuck: they can't get leave to go on shore, so they can't get to a consul."
"Then they shouldn't have joined in the first place," Stafford said unsympathetically.
"A lot of them don't join, as you well know," Jackson said stiffly. "They get pressed into service from some British or neutral ship even though they have Protections just because the officer in charge of the pressgang reckons they're British."
"They usually are," said Stafford. "They just got a Protection at the Customs House - or an American consul - when they managed to get on shore. I've met dozens of British seamen with Protections. After all, what does a Protection prove? Nothing. It just says the man appeared before the Customs officer or consul and said he was an American subject born in such and such a place. He doesn't have to prove it. Then it goes on to say he appears to be a certain age, has a certain colour hair, and so on. Half the Navy have dark brown hair, light complexion and 'stand about five feet eight inches'."
"You're just bitter because you don't have a Protection," Jackson said teasingly.
"Oh yes, I do!" exclaimed Stafford. "I bought it off a chap five years ago. It says my name is Matthew Fletcher and I was born in Wilmington, Delaware. It is signed by the Customs collector there, and it describes me perfectly."
"Why don't you use it, then?" Jackson asked.
"For the same reason you don't use yours," Stafford said. "I'm quite happy where I am."
"I'll remind you of that when you have one of your fits of grousing," Jackson said. "There are times when you sound like the most miserable man on earth."
"Wot a lie," Stafford exclaimed. "Why, 'appy Will Stafford from Bridewell Lane - everybody knows me!"
"Don't lose that Protection," Jackson advised. "You might need it some time to save yourself from us."
Ramage wriggled in the chair, which was too small for a grown man, and he wondered how it had got into the captain's day cabin of the 74-gun ship. Yet the chair was no more uncomfortable than the manner of the captain, Edward Arbuthnot, commanding the Intrepid. Arbuthnot was just the opposite of his admiraclass="underline" where Rudd was thin and tall, Arbuthnot was stocky and plump. The only similarity, Ramage reflected, was that both men had a shifty manner; neither inspired confidence; they were not the men to find it easy to get credit at a gaming table. They were men, Ramage decided, with whom all transactions would have to be in cash.
"Well, Ramage," Arbuthnot said, "since you know where you landed these dam' Frenchmen on Capraia, the Admiral tells me you will act as our pilot."
Ramage shrugged his shoulders and said politely: "I don't know what good I will be able to do. The French will have moved since then. I put one group ashore north of the port and the other south. By now they'll probably have joined up at the port - it's the only village on the island."
"It'll be up to you to find them," Arbuthnot said shortly. "You landed them, you find them."
Ramage saw the trap: Arbuthnot was preparing the way for his own men failing, and was making sure he had a scapegoat ready. The Admiral's orders to me do not say that," Ramage said carefully.
"Perhaps not, but I do, and I'm the senior officer on this operation," Arbuthnot said sharply.
"You and the Phoenix will be carrying five hundred troops, as well as your usual ship's company," Ramage pointed out. "I'll just have my ship's company."
"You seem to have plenty of excuses even before you start," Arbuthnot sneered.
"No, but it shouldn't be too difficult to round up the Frenchmen with all the troops you have at your disposal."
Clearly Arbuthnot did not want to be reminded of that. "Rounding them up will not be difficult," he said. "But first they must be found."
"Indeed," Ramage agreed. "I can't see them staying in the village after two British 74s and a frigate come and anchor in the bay. If they have any sense they'll take to the hills, and there are plenty of them on Capraia."
"Well, you find them and tell us where they are, and the troops will come and capture them."
And that, thought Ramage, is just too blatant.
"If you'll excuse me," he said, standing up, "I must go and see Admiral Rudd and get my orders clarified. My orders from him state that I pilot you to where in Capraia I landed the French. You now say you expect me to find the French and lead the troops to them. I am not a soldier, nor do I command any of the troops. I think I need Admiral Rudd's views on the point."