"Nonsense!" Smith snapped. "It's hundreds of miles from here to Antigua. The Windward Passage is almost in sight of Jamaica."
"Ah," Ramage said dreamily, "but the poor privateersmen would starve if they relied on capturing only homeward-bound Post Office packets..."
"But they don't!" Smith protested. "There are plenty of small merchantmen and local schooners and droghers - they're being captured all the time."
Ramage shook his head. "No, they're not; that's what is so puzzling."
"What? Don't argue with me! Ask Sir Pilcher - the privateers snatch up almost anything that isn't in convoy," Smith said angrily, lifting up and putting down the smooth pebbles he used as paperweights.
"There's nothing for me to argue with you about, Mr Smith," Ramage said calmly. "Let's take it point by point, and you'll see what I mean. I'm sure we agree that at this moment there are probably dozens of small ships sailing alone between here and, say, the Leeward Islands?"
When Smith nodded impatiently, Ramage continued: "So if you commanded a French privateer you'd reckon to capture a few on that route? Of course," he said when Smith nodded again. "But you agree that, in contrast, the only ships that go up through the Windward Passage into the Atlantic are in heavily escorted convoys - which privateers rarely dare tackle - or homeward-bound Post Office packets?"
"My dear fellow, that's elementary; everyone knows that!"
"But that's why I'm so puzzled, Mr Smith. Why should privateers hang around the Windward Passage - where they risk running into one of Sir Pilcher's frigates - knowing the only prize they are likely to find is an occasional homeward-bound Post Office packet? Why not cruise between Jamaica and the Leeward Islands where - as you've just pointed out - there are always plenty of coasting vessels, as well as the occasional Jamaica-bound packet?"
When Smith said nothing, Ramage continued: "A French privateer captain gets rich by capturing coasting vessels laden with cargo which he can sell. With all due respect to the Post Office, a packet is a poor prize - a privateersman isn't interested in mail, which I presume a commander would in any case throw over the side before capture. All the privateersman gets is another ship whose only value is her speed, not her cargo or her carrying capacity. He'd find it hard to sell such a ship here in the Caribbean, so if he can't get enough men to fit her out as another privateer, a packet is hardly worth the bother of capture. Certainly not worth the bother of waiting, possibly for weeks, somewhere out there beyond the Windward Passage."
Ramage was now examining the inside of his hat, as though speculating whether he needed a new one, but in fact giving the Postmaster time to absorb what he had been told. Smith was staring at his pile of papers, his hands pressed flat on the table. He looked, Ramage thought sympathetically, like a doting husband unexpectedly confronted with evidence of his wife's unfaithfulness.
"It doesn't make sense," Smith whispered. "It must be a coincidence - yes, that's what it is, Lieutenant, it's a coincidence. You wait, the next packet they capture will be inward-bound; you'll see, she'll be taken between Antigua and here."
"Perhaps," Ramage said briskly, "but we can't afford to wait to find out. And the odds are against it, Mr Smith. Your own figures show that."
"Aye, they do," Smith admitted reluctantly. "I'd noticed the high homeward-bound losses, naturally, but I never thought about the privateers' motives ... You're sure of all that? What does Sir Pilcher think?"
"I don't know what Sir Pilcher thinks, but if I commanded a French privateer, I'd cruise between here and Antigua."
"Ah, that's what you might think, young man," Smith said, as if suddenly he had found a flaw in Ramage's reasoning that allowed him to reject the whole argument. "But if you'd ever commanded a ship you'd think differently."
"I've commanded a ship for more than two years," Ramage said quietly. "A few months ago I captured a couple of privateers off St Lucia and, more recently, a large privateer that made a night attack on the last convoy that came in..."
Smith looked up sharply. "My apologies," he said. "I've heard all about that last one - I didn't realize you were ... Is that why Sir Pilcher...?"
Ramage shrugged his shoulders and grinned, knowing that at last Smith would trust his judgement. "The nearest he can get to turning a poacher into a gamekeeper? I don't know, but", he added, choosing his words carefully, "since you and I are the only people who've commented on this odd pattern of losses, it might be an idea if we kept it to ourselves for the time being."
Smith, flattered at being given such unexpected credit, although still far from sure of the significance of the pattern, gave a broad wink.
"Now," Ramage said, "you were saying that the Post Office employs and pays the crews of the packets. Do you happen to know how the French treat the men when a packet is captured? Are they dealt with in the same way as Royal Navy men?"
"No, the French have been very fair. They usually exchange them within six weeks or so - a commander was telling me only a few months ago that he was back in England within eight weeks of being captured. Now the poor fellow's a prisoner again."
Ramage nodded sympathetically. Six weeks ... the prisoners must have been taken direct to France; there would not be time to get them to Europe from the Caribbean. Was that significant? Or was Smith referring to isolated cases?
"Now, Mr Smith, imagine a letter written by - well, a London merchant to his brother here in Kingston. What happens to it between London and here?"
Smith sat back in his chair and relaxed: he was on familiar ground now, and beginning to understand why Ramage found the background as important as the foreground.
"Well, it'd probably be posted in Lombard Street, right in the City of London. It'd be sorted into the Jamaica bag. The bag - when it was full, or was due to catch a particular mail, since one sails every two weeks - would be sealed. Then it would be taken by coach to Falmouth."
"And then?"
"There it would be handed over to the Post Office agent, who is in charge of all the Falmouth packets. There'd be many bags for the West Indies - at least half a dozen for each particular island. In the meantime the packet would be ready on its mooring, fully provisioned and with the commander and crew on board. The agent would see the mails loaded and properly stowed."
"And then the packet would sail?"
"Well, before she actually sailed the searcher would go on board."
"Searching for what?"
"In case any seaman is carrying his own private cargo!”
"Of what?"
"Well, you know seamen. They try to bring out a few small items. They call 'em their ventures: leather goods, like boots and shoes, small bales of cloth for women's dresses - oh yes, and cheeses: they get a good price for cheeses!"
"Since you say they get a good price, Mr Smith, what does the searcher actually do? Just confirm that the men have their ventures?"
"My goodness no! His job is to stop them carrying anything!"
"But he's not always successful?"
"I don't think he's too strict: the men have been carrying ventures for so many years that it's become a tradition. The profit supplements their pay."
"But it's forbidden?"
"Oh yes - by a statute of Charles II, as a matter of fact."
Ramage stopped himself commenting that for the sake of discipline a regulation that was not enforced ought to be rescinded, and asked, "After the searcher has left, then what?"
"Well, the passengers are always embarked by now, of course, and the agent has had the mails brought on board. Then he musters the ship's company, gives the commander any last-minute instructions, and bids them a safe voyage. Oh yes, he also checks the trim of the packet, to make sure the mails have been properly stowed, so the ship isn't down by the bow or stern - that sort of thing."