Read Online The Ramage Touch by Dudley Pope - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dudley Pope
Tags: The Ramage Touch
Ads: Link
uneven footsteps coming down the companionway and a moment later the lieutenant commanding the Brutus entered. The fool was drunk; Renouf spotted that immediately although someone who did not know Michelet so well might take a few minutes to realize it.
Renouf stood up at once. ‘Captain,’ he said hastily, ‘may I present Citizen Jean-Pierre Michelet, commanding the Brutus , who is not only a fine seaman but a man of considerable skill in the use of the mortars.’
Renouf had not fooled the Captain, who nodded towards a chair and said sarcastically: ‘Citizen Michelet had better sit down: he finds the ship is rolling rather heavily at the moment.’
Certainly Michelet had walked in as though trying to keep his feet in a rough sea, and now he turned and headed for the chair. Renouf guessed that Michelet could see three chairs and hoped he would sit down in the middle one. But the drunken lieutenant must have seen four and sat on the third because a moment later he fell over backwards. The startled look on his face before he hit the deck made Renouf think of a man who found himself falling over a precipice.
The Captain did not move, did not smile and did not start cursing. Nor did he threaten Michelet. In fact he did not even look down at him as the man struggled to his feet.
‘Does he often do that?’
The eyebrows were slightly raised and the question might be facetious, or it could be serious. The voice was quiet enough. Renouf knew it could bode ill for the two bomb ketches, because commanding officers had been court-martialled for much less. Travelled in a tumbril for less, because Michelet was on duty, and sleeping or being drunk on duty was punishable by death.
‘Er, no, sir.’ He had not intended to say ‘sir’, but the Captain had an odd effect on him. Renouf thought of him as ‘sir’ and the old phrase had slipped out. ‘No, Citizen, but we have had a long voyage and I’m afraid we all celebrated last night.’
Renouf tried a conspiratorial grin and hoped that the Captain would not smell the fresh wine on Michelet’s breath nor appreciate that Lieutenant Renouf shared the responsibility for Michelet’s condition, even though he was himself now sober. There was a noticeable tremor of the hands, a redness of the eye, a queasiness of the stomach, but he was sober, the smell of wine on his breath being old and stale from last night’s wine. Admittedly he had been pulling a cork when a seaman shouted into his cabin that there was a frigate alongside, and then he vaguely remembered a conversation with someone on board a strange ship the previous night.
‘Citizen Michelet reeks of fresh wine; in fact the front of his shirt is still damp from where he spilled it.’
Again, Renouf was puzzled because the Captain’s voice was a straightforward observation and gave no indication of his view of Michelet’s absurd behaviour. The Captain was in fact talking to Michelet through him, as though Michelet when drunk spoke a foreign language only understood by Renouf, who was expected to translate.
‘Has the lieutenant brought his orders?’
Renouf relayed the question by repeating it and hurried across the cabin to collect them as Michelet wrested them from his pocket.
The strange captain opened both sheets; glanced over them to make sure they were the same as the others, and handed them to Renouf, who went back to return them to Michelet and made sure he accidentally stood on the man’s foot, hoping the sharp pain would help sober him, but Michelet swore violently, and there was little doubt that the Captain saw what had happened. Nor did the episode help sober up Michelet, who now he was sitting properly in a chair looked pop-eyed, like a freshly-landed cod.
‘When was the lieutenant last drunk while in command of the Brutus ?’
What a question, Renouf thought, as he tried to think of an answer. Michelet was very drunk at least every other day, fine weather or foul, and slightly drunk all the
Renouf stood up at once. ‘Captain,’ he said hastily, ‘may I present Citizen Jean-Pierre Michelet, commanding the Brutus , who is not only a fine seaman but a man of considerable skill in the use of the mortars.’
Renouf had not fooled the Captain, who nodded towards a chair and said sarcastically: ‘Citizen Michelet had better sit down: he finds the ship is rolling rather heavily at the moment.’
Certainly Michelet had walked in as though trying to keep his feet in a rough sea, and now he turned and headed for the chair. Renouf guessed that Michelet could see three chairs and hoped he would sit down in the middle one. But the drunken lieutenant must have seen four and sat on the third because a moment later he fell over backwards. The startled look on his face before he hit the deck made Renouf think of a man who found himself falling over a precipice.
The Captain did not move, did not smile and did not start cursing. Nor did he threaten Michelet. In fact he did not even look down at him as the man struggled to his feet.
‘Does he often do that?’
The eyebrows were slightly raised and the question might be facetious, or it could be serious. The voice was quiet enough. Renouf knew it could bode ill for the two bomb ketches, because commanding officers had been court-martialled for much less. Travelled in a tumbril for less, because Michelet was on duty, and sleeping or being drunk on duty was punishable by death.
‘Er, no, sir.’ He had not intended to say ‘sir’, but the Captain had an odd effect on him. Renouf thought of him as ‘sir’ and the old phrase had slipped out. ‘No, Citizen, but we have had a long voyage and I’m afraid we all celebrated last night.’
Renouf tried a conspiratorial grin and hoped that the Captain would not smell the fresh wine on Michelet’s breath nor appreciate that Lieutenant Renouf shared the responsibility for Michelet’s condition, even though he was himself now sober. There was a noticeable tremor of the hands, a redness of the eye, a queasiness of the stomach, but he was sober, the smell of wine on his breath being old and stale from last night’s wine. Admittedly he had been pulling a cork when a seaman shouted into his cabin that there was a frigate alongside, and then he vaguely remembered a conversation with someone on board a strange ship the previous night.
‘Citizen Michelet reeks of fresh wine; in fact the front of his shirt is still damp from where he spilled it.’
Again, Renouf was puzzled because the Captain’s voice was a straightforward observation and gave no indication of his view of Michelet’s absurd behaviour. The Captain was in fact talking to Michelet through him, as though Michelet when drunk spoke a foreign language only understood by Renouf, who was expected to translate.
‘Has the lieutenant brought his orders?’
Renouf relayed the question by repeating it and hurried across the cabin to collect them as Michelet wrested them from his pocket.
The strange captain opened both sheets; glanced over them to make sure they were the same as the others, and handed them to Renouf, who went back to return them to Michelet and made sure he accidentally stood on the man’s foot, hoping the sharp pain would help sober him, but Michelet swore violently, and there was little doubt that the Captain saw what had happened. Nor did the episode help sober up Michelet, who now he was sitting properly in a chair looked pop-eyed, like a freshly-landed cod.
‘When was the lieutenant last drunk while in command of the Brutus ?’
What a question, Renouf thought, as he tried to think of an answer. Michelet was very drunk at least every other day, fine weather or foul, and slightly drunk all the
Similar Books
