Ramage's Prize (5 page)

It took Sir Pilcher two or three seconds to realize that Ramage was declining. Instead of glaring at him, the Admiral's eyes flickered up for a moment and then resumed their watch on the open snuffbox, as though a solution would crawl out of the brown powder and nestle in the palm of his hand if only he waited long enough.

“Great pity, Ramage, a great pity. You've thrown away a splendid opportunity to distinguish yourself.”

“May I ask, sir—”

“Damnation, boy, you're turning it down, aren't you?” Sir Pilcher interrupted angrily, finally snapping the snuffbox shut without using it. “Do you expect me to let you read the First Lord's orders to me?”

Since he had nothing to lose, Ramage could not resist saying, “If you would be so kind, sir.”

The Admiral's eyes swung round and focused on Ramage in shocked surprise, his face blotching and his adam's apple bobbing like a buoy breasting a flood tide. Suddenly he took a deep breath and abruptly stood up, waddling over to his desk. Assuming he had been dismissed, Ramage had grasped the arms of his chair to get up when he saw the Admiral open a drawer and take out some papers. He turned and came back, handing them to Ramage.

“Second page,” he growled as he sat down heavily. “Third paragraph. Read from there, and be quick about it.”

Ramage hurriedly skimmed the words, half expecting the Admiral to change his mind and snatch the letter back.

“… losses of packets became so heavy …” Lord Spencer had written. “… Cabinet ordered a new investigation at Falmouth … but the Inspector of Packets appears a stupid man … his report reached no conclusions and is useless … Lord Auckland has sent all details of the losses on the Lisbon and West Indies routes to the Deputy Postmaster-General at Jamaica …

“… I have no need to impress upon you the seriousness and urgency of the situation … Cabinet has instructed the Admiralty to investigate and halt the losses … I must entrust this to an energetic, young officer with an alert and questioning mind who is unafraid of taking risks or responsibility … urge upon you to give him the widest latitude and suitable cooperation … My choice would be Lieutenant Ramage of the
Triton
brig, who will by now have arrived at Jamaica with Rear-Admiral Goddard's convoy … He has an unfortunate penchant for acting on his own initiative … but in no way do I insist if your choice of an officer differs from mine … In London we find the circumstances of the losses so puzzling, I can give you no guidance of how the investigation should be carried out … But it
must
succeed …”

Sir Pilcher's hand was outstretched and Ramage gave him back the letter. While the Admiral folded the pages along their original creases he said crossly, almost pettishly, “It so happens that my choice
does
differ from His Lordship's.”

At once Ramage guessed what Sir Pilcher had intended. By offering Ramage the job in writing and making it seem impossible of achievement, he had hoped Ramage would refuse. Lord Spencer would eventually be told that Ramage had declined the appointment—which would be the truth, though far from the whole truth—and it would then go to whichever favourite Sir Pilcher had in mind. He would have effectively covered himself against Lord Spencer's phrase, “but in no way do I insist if your choice of an officer differs from mine …”

Ramage knew only too well that such a remark from the First Lord was little more than politeness, put in almost routinely, so that a commander-in-chief would not complain about undue interference from the Admiralty. Yet it would be a brave—and foolhardy—commander-in-chief that ignored it even if his own choice did differ. If the commander-in-chief's man failed, the First Lord would listen to no excuses, pointing out that his own recommendation had been ignored …

Sir Pilcher was well aware of all that; indeed, he was already one step ahead, since the whole difficulty would be removed if the wretched Lieutenant Ramage could be manoeuvred into refusing the appointment. Every officer could refuse an appointment; it was a vastly different thing from refusing to carry out an order. But Ramage knew he must step warily in dealing with someone like Sir Pilcher.

Then Ramage suddenly remembered Sir Pilcher's obvious disappointment when he had declined—when he'd done what he assumed the Admiral hoped. No, Sir Pilcher was not trying to manoeuvre him into refusing. Hell, it simply did not make sense.

“If your choice differs, sir, I would naturally much prefer …”

“There are other factors,” the Admiral said, waving away objections with a flabby hand.

“I'm afraid that quite unwittingly I've put you in a difficult situation, sir,” Ramage said smoothly. “Obviously you would prefer to give these orders to an officer you know, and in whom you have trust—and for whom,” he said with a slight emphasis, “you can ensure the cooperation of everyone on station.”

As the Admiral's hooded eyes lifted to stare at him, Ramage realized the advantage of dealing with someone like Sir Pilcher: he was so ruthlessly determined to look after his own interests—which ultimately meant keeping in with the First Lord—that, after a certain point, tact and circumlocution were quite unnecessary. Once it was clear what was being bought and sold, Sir Pilcher was quite happy to sit down and drive a hard bargain.

“Well?” the Admiral snapped. “What about my letter?”

“It's in my pocket, sir,” Ramage said innocently.

“Indeed? Ramage, I don't give a damn where it is: you know what I mean!”

Now for the bargaining, Ramage told himself, suddenly realizing that, irrationally, he now wanted the job of solving the mystery of the vanishing Post Office packets.

“Lord Spencer mentions ‘widest latitude and suitable cooperation … ,' sir.”

“Well?” the Admiral growled suspiciously. “It doesn't mean giving you a ship o' the line and half a dozen frigates, you know.”

Ramage was thankful for the Admiral's angry exaggeration, since it made his next request sound trivial. “Although obviously I don't know how the investigation will proceed, sir, I'd like to count on having some of my officers and men.”

“
What
officers and men?” Sir Pilcher snapped. “You don't have a ship now.”

“Some of those who were with me in the
Triton,
sir.”

“They've already gone to the
Arrogant.
She's very short.”

“I'd need only a dozen or so.”

“Oh, very well.”

“When does the
Arrogant
sail, sir?”

“Not for a week or so. Give me a list and I'll warn Captain Napier.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So you'll do your best to catch these beggars?”

Sir Pilcher was suddenly anxious, almost pleading, as if he'd taken off a grim mask he'd worn for bargaining. Ramage was immediately puzzled again, and felt a chill of fear. Had he fallen into some trap? At first the Admiral had seemed disappointed that he'd declined the job; then the moment Ramage discovered that Lord Spencer had recommended him, the Admiral had apparently contradicted himself by making it abundantly clear he would have chosen another officer. Now, he was anxious for Ramage to succeed.

To give himself time to think, Ramage took his hat from his lap, carefully placed it on the chair beside him, and then tugged at his coat, as though feeling too hot. Quickly he tried to think of all Sir Pilcher's possible motives, but only two factors stood out.

First, it's an almost impossible job, and for all his protest that “my choice
does
differ,” Sir Pilcher obviously wants to avoid giving it to one of his favourites, who would then be saddled with failure. Second, the wily old man can see in the uncertain mist of the future an angry Cabinet blaming the Admiralty for the failure, and an equally angry Admiralty blaming Sir Pilcher.

While the Admiral would not be able to avoid all the blame, Ramage realized Sir Pilcher was neatly covering himself: he had just told Ramage—and presumably would hint at it in a subsequent despatch to Lord Spencer—that he personally would have chosen someone else, but since the First Lord had suggested Ramage, he had felt himself bound to accept the recommendation. That left the Admiral in a happy position whether Ramage eventually reported success or failure.

Oh yes, he thought wryly, in a way it is a trap; but the job presented a challenge he found himself increasingly reluctant to ignore.

“I don't know about ‘catch them,' sir,” he said warily. “I can't do much with a dozen men and no ship. Your letter mentions only ‘inquiry,' though I noticed Lord Spencer refers to ‘halting' the losses.”

“But I haven't a suitable ship to give you, blast it,” Sir Pilcher protested, the earlier querulous note creeping back into his voice. “Absolutely nothing. If I had, you'd be welcome to her. You need something as slippery as these packets—or as slippery as they're
supposed
to be.”

Now Sir Pilcher was speaking the truth: there was no suitable ship on the station. At least, since Ramage had not the faintest idea what he was going to do, he did not know what type of ship he would need: fast and lightly-armed or slower and heavily-armed.

“Very well, sir. If you'll excuse me, I'll start off by seeing what I can find out from the Postmaster.”

Sir Pilcher did not bother to hide his relief.

“Fine, my boy, fine. You have a splendid opportunity to distinguish yourself; quite splendid. Every one of my lieutenants will envy you,” he said heartily, confirming Ramage's suspicions. “If you can put a stop to all this wretched business, the Cabinet will hear about you, I assure you.”

And if I don't, Ramage thought sourly, they'll still hear about me.

The Admiral stood up. “Now, I have your final orders here ready—just give me a moment to sign and date them.” He waddled to the desk, scribbled and then handed them to Ramage. “You'd better glance through them before you leave.”

Ramage read the few lines.

“You are hereby required and directed to inquire fully into the recent heavy losses among Post Office packet vessels between the West Indies and the United Kingdom, the details of which you have already been apprised, and having determined beyond any manner of doubt the reason for these losses, and if possible halted them, you are at once to deliver a written report, to me if the conclusion of your inquiries is reached within the limits of this station, or to my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty if in Home or distant waters …”

B
EFORE seeing the Deputy Postmaster-General, Ramage went to Government House to call on the Governor's secretary in his large and immaculately tidy office. Thankful to be sitting down in a cool and friendly room, Ramage chatted for a few minutes, politely refused a rum punch and then asked if he could borrow a copy of the
Royal Kalendar
for ten minutes.

The secretary was a few years older than Ramage and obviously assumed that any visitor had a favour to ask of the Governor. He looked relieved when he gave Ramage the small, thick volume. “Want to see how your name is rising up the Navy List?” he asked jovially.

Ramage laughed. “Progress is so slow that I need look only once a year!”

The
Kalendar
listed nearly everyone employed in Government offices at home and abroad, and gave many other details ranging from the ships of war in commission to the names of the staff of the City of London Lying-in Hospital. The information about the General Post Office (ranging from the fact it was “Erected by Act of Parliament, 27 December 1660, Lombard Street” to a list of nearly two hundred offices open for the delivery and collection of the Penny Post) covered eight pages.

Ramage saw that the political leadership was divided between two Joint Postmasters-General, Lord Auckland and Lord Gower, each of whom received a salary of £5,000 a year. The Secretary, Francis Freeling, received £500 a year—hardly overpaid. Except, he noticed in another section, Freeling was also the “Principal and Resident Surveyor,” at £700 a year, which gave him a total of more than that received by an admiral …

He ran a finger down the rest of the names and was surprised at the number and variety of jobs listed. They ranged from the receiver general to the superintendent and surveyor of mail-coaches; from the Postmaster-General's chamber-keeper to the deliverer of letters to the House of Commons (at 6s 8d a day—presumably he starved when the House was not in session).

The Post Office, in effect, was split into two sections, the Inland Letter Office and the Foreign Letter Office. The former employed four dozen sorters and more than a hundred letter-carriers (at 14s a week), but was far less complex than the Foreign Letter Office, whose comptroller was paid £700 a year—not much less than Sir Pilcher Skinner.

Twenty letter-carriers presumably delivered the incoming foreign mail to the Lombard Street sorters, and carried the bags of outgoing foreign mail to the various ports to be loaded on board the packets—to Falmouth for the West Indies, Lisbon and America; Weymouth for the Channel Islands; and Harwich for Hamburg.

There were five “mail ports” abroad and each had its Post Office agent (among them “J. Smith, Deputy Postmaster-General of Jamaica”), while elsewhere there were postmasters. And as he read their names, Ramage began to feel uneasy: the number of places listed brought home the enormity of the orders he had been given—from Quebec and Halifax at one end of the Atlantic to Surinam, Demerara, Tobago and Barbados at the other; from Hamburg and Lisbon on one side of the Atlantic to New York and Jamaica on the other.

He pictured the packets sailing from Falmouth to deliver bags of outward mail at all these places and collect the inward, and realized the Cornish port was the centre of a giant cobweb, the lines reaching out thousands of miles across the Atlantic. Not straight lines, but lines gently curved as they met Trade winds, bent sharply as they rounded continents and islands, and sometimes forced back on themselves by gales and storms. Quebec, Halifax and New York were three thousand miles across the often stormy North Atlantic, much of it against strong headwinds; to Barbados was more than four thousand miles in a long dog-leg sweep past Spain and the west coast of North Africa, passing close to Madeira and the Canary Islands before picking up the North-East Trades for the long run across the Atlantic to a landfall at Barbados, with three hundred miles on to Antigua and another nine hundred to Jamaica. Another packet sailed a similar route towards Barbados before turning south-west for Demerara and Surinam, on the continent of South America.