A sharp knock at the door made the three men jump, and at Croucher's call the Marine sentry said: "Mr Yorke to see you, sir."
Ramage turned in time to catch a slight questioning lift of the Admiral's eyebrows and an anxious pursing of the Captain's thin lips. Both were wary of Yorke - and perhaps a little afraid? Surely that was too absurd...
"Tell him to come in," Croucher called.
Yorke walked in and nodded affably to Croucher before he saw Goddard.
"Ah, Admiral! Forgive me for interrupting you."
"Not a bit, Mr Yorke, not a bit; you're always a welcome visitor."
Only one thing brought that ingratiating note into Goddard's voice: talking to someone with power and influence.
"I was looking for Mr Ramage. He was kind enough to accept my invitation to dine on board the Topaz, and as he hadn't joined me at the gangway I thought he might have mistaken the day."
"Mr Ramage is a fortunate young man," Goddard said heartily. "Ramage - I hope you haven't let such an invitation slip your memory?"
"No, sir, I was going over as soon as you had finished - er, giving me my instructions."
"Very well - now, let's see: you've signed the receipt for your orders? Ah yes, Mr Croucher has it. Well, I think that's all. Keep a sharp lookout on your side of the convoy, whip in the stragglers - the usual sort of thing, and you know it all anyway!"
Ramage had to admit that Goddard carried it off very well, even down to voicing a hope that Yorke and his passengers would find time to dine on board the flagship when they reached Kingston - a hope Yorke acknowledged with a perfunctory nod.
Chapter Three
The black-hulled Topaz had a corn-yellow sheerstrake - to match her name, Ramage guessed - and was well equipped. There was plenty of new rope (the golden brown of manilla, the strongest and most expensive of all), the decks were scrubbed and the brasswork polished man-o'-war fashion. Large awnings rigged out with tight lacing were cleverly designed to give the maximum shade, folding chairs had their padded blue canvas seats and backs neatly fringed and tasselled, and the ship's company was working hard and was obviously cheerful. She looked like a newly launched "John Company" ship - usually only the Honourable East India Company could afford to keep their vessels so spotless.
Yorke had not spoken since leaving Croucher's cabin; he merely nodded when Ramage said he wanted to give a message to his coxswain waiting in one of the Triton's boats. Now, as Ramage stood on board by the mainmast and looked round the Topaz, Yorke suddenly grinned and asked: "Does she pass muster?"
"If she was a King's ship, I'd say yes; but since I haven't seen the rest of the Yorke fleet I'll reserve judgment."
"You won't be disappointed; they're all like the Topaz - identical, in fact. Masts, yards and sails are interchangeable, Navy fashion. With everything standardized for all six ships I save enormously on refits and routine maintenance. The only difference between the ships is the sheerstrake: each has her sheerstrake painted the colour of the stone for which she's named. Drives the painters mad, matching up. Everything else is the best I can get, including the ship's company. I pay them more than anyone else."
"But money doesn't always get good men," Ramage said dryly. "It often attracts the bad ones!"
"True, but I pick them carefully and my scale of wages works differently. When I get a good seaman I pay him well enough to stay with me. If some other ship offers him a berth as a petty officer, he's usually a lot better off staying with me as an able seaman."
"So you have bosuns serving as seamen - and masters serving as bosuns, presumably?"
"Damn nearly," Yorke said, laughing at Ramage's dig. "Do you know the current hull insurance rates, hurricane surcharge apart?"
"No - five per cent?"
"Anything from six to ten per cent. I pay four."
"An uncle who's an underwriter?" Ramage teased.
"I wish I had. No, when underwriters see my ships they know their only risks - apart from the perils of war - are extremes: perhaps an early hurricane, a month of fog in the Chops of the Channel and so forth: not rotten masts going by the board when rotten cordage gives way, or sinking when butts of hull planks spring..."
"So by spending a pound more on rigging you can insure a hundred pounds' worth of hull for a premium of four pounds instead of six to ten."
"Exactly! And get the best freights: I let the others carry the bulky and dirty stuff. With a war on there's always plenty of freight valuable enough for shippers to pay extra to get safe delivery."
"I'm beginning to think you're a good businessman as well."
Yorke laughed. "A pretty compliment - I think. 'As well' as what?"
"As well as a good seaman."
"That's the finest compliment you can pay me."
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "Very few shipowners are both! I've an idea more ships sink through perils caused by penny-pinching owners than through what the underwriters call 'the perils of the sea'."
Yorke nodded. Unfortunately Ramage was right - Yorke knew only too well that a penny-pinching shipowner employed a poorly paid master who in turn had to be penny-pinching, and was not above taking the opportunity to cheat his master and his men by way of revenge. Behind every master stood a dozen more, unemployed and eager to take his place. To keep his job, the master had to see that every old and tired rope was turned end for end to double its proper life-span, that ripped sails were repaired until there were often more patches than original cloth, and that his ship sailed with half the number of seamen needed to handle her properly. The owner, safe in his country house, knew that if there were not enough men to weigh the anchor in some distant port the Navy would send over men to help, if only to make sure the convoy sailed on time; and if the ship sprang a leak, the Navy's carpenters would set to work to keep her afloat. The convoy system had many advantages and many shipowners thought of it as getting some return on the taxes they had to pay.
"Come and inspect the cargo," he said to Ramage, who nodded politely but then exclaimed: "But they're all brass!"
"Every single one," Yorke said, as Ramage looked along the line of guns, and then at the small swivels mounted every few feet along the top of the bulwarks. "I had them recast a year or so ago. They were seventy years old, if a day."
"Any problems at the foundry?"
"No, they just add a little more tin - which is damnably expensive - because apparently it gets lost over the years and weakens the metal. But brass guns are an economy in the end - no rust, no constant chipping and lacquering."
"And you have good gunners?"
"No - hopeless!"
"But why?" Ramage asked in surprise. "What's the point of brass guns if... ?"
"My gunners are hopeless, my seamen are landsmen, my petty officers are nincompoops ... Until I know whether you're going to press any of them!"
"Then you can sleep in peace. I'm short but I haven't pressed a man out of this convoy."
"You must be one of the few King's ships that hasn't."
"I know, but I prefer quality to quantity."
"I wish some of your fellow captains felt the same way."
"Perhaps they do."
"True - but can they create quality?"
Ramage avoided answering - this was tender ground. He didn't intend telling the master of a merchantman of his contempt for the lack of leadership shown by some of his brother officers, however hospitable Yorke might be.