"I could, I was and I probably still am. My wife is not without means, anyway."
"Well then!" Southwick said lamely.
"Well then yourself," Bowen said affably. "Tell me, Southwick, does it give you any satisfaction navigating this ship safely from one side of the Atlantic to the other?"
"Well, the Captain..." Southwick said, embarrassed at the question.
"Don't be so modest," Ramage said. "Answer the doctor's question!"
"Well, yes, it's bound to."
"Why are you such a special man, then?" Bowen asked, still grinning.
When Southwick shook his head, puzzled at the question, Bowen said: "You get satisfaction when the Triton arrives safely in port. I get satisfaction when the Triton arrives with all her crew fit. Not one name on the sick-list!"
Ramage stared at Bowen.
"Surely you can't be interested in all the costive problems, venereal disease, cuts, blisters and abrasions of more than fifty seamen?"
Bowen shook his head but said simply: "Not as such. But atrue answer to your question would be that I find the most worthwhile thing I've ever done in my life is to make sure that more than fifty shipmates on board the Triton, from the captain to the boy drummer, remain fit. I believe in preventing disease: that's the best way of curing it. My pleasure comes in writing in my journal, day after day, 'No cases reported.'"
Southwick nodded appreciatively, and Ramage said simply, "Thank you."
"It's nothing," Bowen said with a wry grin. "The two of you have saved me from a fate worse than Wimpole Street."
"We'll probably end up the chess champions of the Navy," Ramage said. "We must start a tournament."
"We're a set of pawns at the moment," Southwick said with sudden bitterness.
Bowen glanced at Ramage. "Might we ask how things went on board the flagship, sir... ?"
"A certain amount of cynical indifference."
"I can imagine," Bowen said sympathetically.
Ramage doubted if he could. After being given permission to pass within hail, Ramage had taken the Triton over to aposition just to windward of the Lion. Very grudgingly Captain Croucher had agreed to heave-to long enough for a boat fromthe Triton to get alongside and Appleby, the Master's mate, had delivered the letter and returned to the Triton.
Half an hour later when the Triton was back on station, the flagship had signalled for the Greyhound to see if the Peacock or her next ahead required assistance.
It seemed a stupid order, but for the life of him Ramage could not be quite sure why he thought so or why he was so angry. If either ship had wanted assistance she would have made the signal long since, so Goddard was simply covering himself. Lieutenant Ramage reported possible trouble, the captains of both ships reported that they were quite all right. If he had been the convoy commander he would have sent an officer on board each ship to find out what had happened. But, to be fair to Croucher and Goddard, their only information about the incident came from an officer they distrusted.
"We don't have to fret about it," Bowen said in an even voice, tactfully offering advice to someone who was half his age but still his captain. "Tell me, sir, do we call in at Antigua?"
Ramage shook his head. "I doubt it; probably won't even sight it. I expect the Admiral will detach the Antigua ships and order one of the frigates to see them in the last forty or fifty miles."
"Pity," Bowen said, "I was looking forward to seeing the island."
"You're not missing anything," Southwick said. "It's dull and dry and English Harbour is airless - and bad holding ground."
"And Jamaica?"
Southwick shrugged his shoulders. "They can't be compared. Jamaica's a big island and Kingston a big city. Many parts of Jamaica are very beautiful - the Blue Mountains, for instance. But all these islands keep you doctors and the undertakers busy."
Ramage took out his watch. This was the accepted signal that their afternoon's relaxation was over. The cabin was growing dark as Bowen stood up and asked: "The swell is increasing, I notice. Is this a bad sign?"
Ramage nodded. "I'm afraid so, at this time of year."
"Does it definitely mean we'll get a hurricane?"
"No, by no means! It might mean that there's one out there in the Atlantic, but there's no telling if it'll come our way. They're like thunderstorms - impossible to guess which direction they'll take."
"Well, it'll be an interesting experience," Bowen said.
"I'll remind you of that remark if we run into it," Southwick growled. "It blows so hard you won't know whether you're a pawn or a bishop."
"Heaven forbid a bishop," Bowen said.
Chapter Seven
By nightfall the convoy, having gone through the chain of islands, was some twenty miles west of Dominica and steering north-north-west to pass the butterfly-shaped island of Guadeloupe, the only land in the area still held by the French. By passing far enough to the westward to be out of sight from the mountains, Ramage guessed, Goddard was hoping the convoy would not be spotted.
Ramage shrugged: whatever the French might do he was now more concerned about the swell. He had just noted in the log that the waves were about five feet high. The wind was still light - too light.
"Something's killed the Trade winds," Southwick commented.
"Stunned them, anyway," Ramage said wryly.
"Still, I suppose we shouldn't complain; the mules have behaved themselves today."
Ramage nodded. "They haven't had much choice, with the Lark chasing them up."
"I think the word's been passed along about the way we chase up, too."
"Yes - I was thinking about that merchantman when we went alongside the Lion this morning. Must have been like having a ship of the line coming up astern of us."
"I hope so," Southwick said fervently, "I'm in favour of anything that keeps these mules in position." He glanced round at the gathering darkness. "General quarters, sir?"
Ramage nodded, and glanced to the eastward where a thin layer of cloud on the horizon showed Dominica. "We'll leave the guns loaded and run out tonight."
He wasn't quite sure why he had decided that, but he picked up the telescope and looked round the convoy as Southwick bellowed the order that sent the Triton's crew running to their stations for battle. As he focused on the Greyhound he saw her guns run out and nodded approvingly: it was well done; the guns might all have been on one huge carriage. The same orders were being given in all the ships of the escort and he imagined that, as the world turned and dusk moved across the oceans, all the King's ships at sea sent their men to quarters and, as the world continued turning and brought the dawn, the men were roused out again to greet it.
He held the glass steady as he looked at the Peacock. A couple of men were at the wheel with another figure near them - probably the captain or a mate. Two men on the fo'c'sle, perhaps having a quiet smoke, since merchantmen did not have the strict rules laid down in warships. The ship ahead of the Peacock had the same number of men on deck. Everything looked normal on board both ships. He still wanted to know what the devil had been going on last night, but thanks to the Admiral's absurd signal to the Greyhound no one had yet asked either ship a direct question.
Yorke was at the taffrail of the Topaz: by now Ramage could recognize his stance. St Brieuc was with him and for a moment Ramage was envious of the young shipowner: he would have interesting company all the way to Jamaica. Southwick and Bowen and Appleby were good men, but their conversational range was limited. Yorke had Maxine's company too. As Ramage watched the men running out the guns and reporting as they did so, he tried to console himself with the thought that Yorke did not have a Gianna waiting for him in England ... He went below.