Anything, Ramage thought, which throws any light on what is going on in your head and keeps you agreeable to Bowen's examination. "I would regard it as a favour on your part," he said.
Shirley nodded agreeably. "Yes, well, for any common distemper - upset of the bowels, for example, then rhubarb. I carry a good supply of dried sticks and use it ground up and dissolved in water. In wine, if you prefer it. For headaches, general malaise, muscular pains - brimstone and molasses. Fresh mixed and well stirred, a large spoon four times a day. And last, for any agues, feverishness, or trembling of the extremities, then the bark. I know that many surgeons use the bark. I expect they have heard of my success with it."
Shirley ran his thumbs under the collar of his coat, as if he was going to turn it up because of a chill wind, but then Ramage realized he had done it several times and it was a nervous gesture, the only thing that Shirley did that was not absolutely normal.
"Thank you," Ramage said politely, "I'll make sure my surgeon has supplies of those items. Now," he said as he stood up, "we'll leave you in your cabin while I have a chat with your officers."
"Ah yes, indeed," Shirley said with unexpected heartiness. "You don't need my inhibiting presence, do you!"
"No," Ramage agreed because there was no point in disguising the fact that no one in the ship would dare say more than "Good day" with that black-coated figure pacing up and down, like a crow on the lawn presaging a death in the family.
It was humid and almost dark down in the Jason's gunroom, which reeked of the sickly-sweet smell of bilges that needed pumping. The officers and warrant officers, Ramage quickly realized, were still sulking from yesterday, although at first it was not obvious whether their resentment was directed at Shirley or against Ramage, who had freed them from their arrest and put them back on normal watches.
The atmosphere, Ramage decided, was not ripe for either comfort or the exchange of confidences. "Join me on the fo'c'sle," he told Ridley, noting that the man still had not shaved.
TheJason's bow lifted and fell as she stretched along astern of the convoy under topsails only. The wind was light and she needed little canvas set to keep up with the merchant ships, which were jogging along under all plain sail and, Ramage noted, in good formation.
Ramage found some shade made by the foretopsail and waited with Aitken and Wagstaffe.
"What do you make of this Ridley fellow, sir?" Wagstaffe asked.
"Scared stiff of something," Ramage said. "Reminds me of an animal trapped in a cage. Eyes flicking from side to side, looking for a way out. Apart from that, he looks intelligent ... or, rather, not too stupid."
Wagstaffe laughed as he saw the man coming up the ladder. "I'm glad you qualified that, sir; I was thinking he got this job because his father knows Captain Shirley."
"His tailor, perhaps," Aitken said, and the other two laughed. It was one of the oldest jokes in the Navy that a certain type of captain would pay for his uniforms, shirts and hose by taking the tailor's son or nephew to sea as a midshipman (officially a captain's servant) - a gesture which cost him nothing since he was allowed to take a certain number and he did not pay them, nor did they act as servants.
Ridley walked up and stopped in front of Ramage, saluting with a listless gesture, as though all spirit and energy had been drained out of him.
Ramage looked him up and down carefully, noting the unshaven face, uncombed hair, creased breeches and jacket, soiled stock.
"Is that your usual rig? Do you always sleep in full uniform and has the carpenter borrowed your razor to split wood? Is there a shortage of soap in the ship?"
Ramage spoke quietly but contemptuously, his voice intended deliberately to provoke the man, who straightened his shoulders and sighed. Ramage recognized it as a sigh of despair and ignored it.
"I'm sorry sir. I didn't expect you, otherwise I'd have tidied myself up."
Ramage took the watch from his fob pocket, looked at it and slowly put it back. "Is the Jason's first lieutenant usually still en déshabilléat this time of the day?"
"Sir, these are not normal times for the Jason's officers," Ridley muttered plaintively, as though that sentence alone explained his appearance.
"In what way?" Ramage said, encouragingly.
Ridley shook his head. "I can't explain, sir; but I'd be grateful if you'd just take my word for it."
"Ridley," Ramage said sharply, "your ship opened fire on the Calypso. I'm trying to find out why."
Ridley shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, I know nothing about it. You must ask Captain Shirley."
"Have you and the other officers been threatened?"
"I'm sure the captain can tell you all you need to know, sir. I'm only the first lieutenant," Ridley said doggedly.
"Which means you are the second-in-command and take command if anything happens to the captain."
Ridley stared at the deck and said, almost absently: "But nothing has happened to the captain ..."
"Listen," Ramage said quietly, "tell me in confidence what has happened. I'll tell these two officers to move out of earshot so there will be no witnesses to whatever you say."
"It's no good," Ridley said miserably, "there's nothing to say, witnesses or no witnesses."
Very well, Ramage decided, persuasion will not work so it has to be a threat. "You realize there will be courts of inquiry and courts-martial when we reach England. You are going to be asked about the Jason's guns firing. You are going to have to give your evidence on oath. Your word against mine. Your word against that of all my officers and men. Can you guess which the court will accept?"
"You must ask Captain Shirley, sir," Ridley said woodenly. "I know nothing about courts and oaths." He looked at Wagstaffe as he asked Ramage: "If you have no further questions, it's my watch in a few minutes."
"Run along," Ramage said sarcastically, "you don't realize the depth of the water you're standing in. Send up Mr Price."
As Ridley went down the ladder, Ramage shook his head wonderingly. "I've got it!" he exclaimed. "There was something about these men that seemed familiar, and I've just realized what it is. Two things, in fact. One concerns the officers, warrant officers and men; the other Captain Shirley."
Aitken and Wagstaffe waited expectantly but after a minute or two Aitken realized his captain's thoughts were miles away.
"What's familiar, sir?"
"Voodoo! I last saw this sort of thing in Grenada. The witch doctor had a spell put on the local people. He threatened terrible things if they didn't keep a secret, so when they were questioned they denied everything in the same way, as though their minds were not in their bodies. And the witch doctor (of course he denied he was one or that he had anything to do with Voodoo) was just like Captain Shirley: friendly, polite, apparently willing to answer questions - yet for all that remote, as though the real man was hidden behind a pane of glass."
"I've a slight idea of what you mean, sir," Aitken said. "Not from having had anything to do with Voodoo, but in the Highlands there are some very odd happenings; people with strange gifts and strange powers ..."
He broke off as the Jason's master, Price, came up to Ramage and saluted.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes, and you can guess what it is about because Southwick mentioned it yesterday."
Price shook his head and glanced aft at the quarterdeck.
"The captain is down in his cabin," Ramage said. "You can talk in absolute safety."
"What's there to talk about?" the man said insolently. "I'm sure Captain Shirley or the first lieutenant can answer all your questions."
"Different men give different answers," Ramage said carefully, deciding to accept the man's insolence for a few more minutes in the hope that his attitude would change. "There are just a few questions."