"Leather goods, cheeses, lace, French wines..."
"Yes, things like that outward-bound. And mostly tobacco, spices and rum for Falmouth. Well, they insure their ventures for the round voyage, out to Jamaica and back."
"And back? Why - they sell them out there, don't they?"
"They sell them out there, yes; but nearly all the packets are captured on the way back, aren't they, sir?"
Again Ramage nodded. "I still don't understand, though. Presumably they buy more ventures out there to bring back, so they've lost if the packet is captured."
Much shook his head violently and then winced. "Phew, that hurts! No, sir, let's take an example, Seaman Brown buys £100 of ventures in Falmouth. He insures them out to Jamaica and back, because - so he says, anyway - he may not be able to sell them in the West Indies and would have to bring them back. But he insures them for £400.
"Right, his costs before leaving Falmouth are £100, plus the insurance premium. He gets to Jamaica, and sells the ventures for maybe £200. That's a profit of £100. He gets a draft for £100 and gives it to someone in a merchantman to bring back: a merchantman sailing in convoy. So he knows the £100 profit will get to Falmouth safely."
Much reached up and gingerly pushed up the bandage a fraction of an inch.
"Then he can use the remaining £100 to buy more ventures in Jamaica to sell in Falmouth for £200, which means another £100 profit. Once his draft arrives from Jamaica he has a profit of £200, less the insurance premium."
"Yes, and a one hundred per cent profit is excellent," Ramage said patiently, "but supposing the packet is captured?"
"Ah," said Much, "I was describing what used to happen - up to a year or two ago, just so's you understand the system. But nowadays our Seaman Brown is a lot smarter. Let's start again in Jamaica, Mr Ramage. Our seaman has just sold his ventures for £200. He can do one of two things: either send all the money back in a merchantman, or keep some of it - say £25 - for more ventures. Can you guess which he'll do?"
Ramage shook his head, excitement creeping over him as he realized that at last he was on the verge of discovering -
The key grated and the door swung open without warning and Kerguelen came in. Ramage, bending forward to hear Much, sat up abruptly and was so startled he snapped at Kerguelen, "What do you want?"
It was Kerguelen's turn to be surprised. "I just came to see if Mr Much has recovered. I see he has."
"Just enough to tell me what happened," Ramage said indignantly. "Barbarism, M. Kerguelen, sheer barbarism!"
"You're all alive," Kerguelen said briefly. "Most privateersmen would regard that as barbaric: dead men tell no tales - and cause no problems."
"It can work both ways," Ramage pointed out. "Privateersmen get captured, too."
"True. How is this fellow?" He waved to Much.
"Time," Bowen interrupted. "The patient needs time."
"Well, he has two or three days before we get into Lisbon. After that - who knows?"
"Will you let us go in Lisbon?" Yorke asked hopefully.
Kerguelen shook his head. "Alas, no; I wish I could. Unfortunately I need you with me all the way to France."
"Why?"
"As my insurance," Kerguelen said with a disarmingly frank smile. "Privateersmen are always a little sensitive about their necks. If I was unfortunate enough to be captured, having you with me..."
"Oh quite," Yorke said breezily, tapping the table with one of his pawns. "It's just that the thought of being locked up in a French prison is..."
"Not very agreeable," Kerguelen agreed. "Quite so - I spent a few months as a guest of the British in the prison at Norman's Cross. You know it?"
"I don't know a soul in Huntingdonshire," Yorke said airily, bringing a smile to Kerguelen's face, "although I'm told the hunting is good."
Ramage knew the largest prisoner-of-war camp was now at Norman's Cross, although there was talk of building a great new stone place at Princeton, in the middle of Dartmoor. "The hunting could not have been very good if M. Kerguelen escaped!"
"I had an advantage with my English," Kerguelen said. "I travelled by coach. No one hearing me speak thought I was a 'bloody Frog'."
"No," Yorke said with a grin. "You might almost pass for an Englishman!"
"Almost?"
"Almost," Yorke said firmly. "We're your prisoners, don't forget."
"For the last few minutes I did," Kerguelen said gracefully. "However, if you'll excuse me..."
With that he left the cabin and they heard the key turn in the lock.
"We were in Jamaica with Seaman Brown's £200," Ramage reminded Much, "and deciding whether he'd send it all back in a merchantman or send back £175 and risk the privateers by spending £25 on more ventures."
"Well, you've probably guessed that he'd spend £25 and send the rest home. But you can't guess why?"
"No," Ramage said. "I was trying while Kerguelen was here."
"He gave you a clue," Much said cryptically.
Ramage wrinkled his brow. "Kerguelen only said he couldn't free us in Lisbon because we were his insurance..."
"That's it, sir, insurance! Don't forget that before Seaman Brown left Falmouth he'd insured his £100 worth of ventures for £400 for the outward and return voyage. So his £25 worth of new Jamaica ventures are still insured for £400. Of course, the underwriters don't know he's already sold the ventures he brought out and that his draft for £175 is safely on board a merchantman."
At last Ramage saw what was happening. "And when the homeward-bound packet is captured Seaman Brown loses his £25-worth of new ventures but claims for and collects the whole £400 from the underwriters because he says he was bringing back the original ventures."
"Exactly! As soon as he's exchanged, Seaman Brown goes back to Falmouth to find the £175 draft from Jamaica and collect £400 from the underwriters. He deducts the £25 spent on lost ventures and the original £100 investment, and finds he has a profit of £450..."
"All for six or eight weeks in a French prison."
"Yes, and Seaman Brown can comfortably manage at least two such voyages a year. One voyage out lasts forty-five days and thirty-five days back, plus about twenty days' waiting. That's one hundred days, plus six weeks as a prisoner. So Seaman Brown makes the round voyage, is captured and back in Falmouth before six months is up. Time enough to do it again so that by Christmas - if he's captured a second time - he's made a clear profit of £900 on the year at no risk."
"And at all times his ventures were insured..." Yorke commented quietly. "Where would he get the original £100?"
"That's not difficult. He'd have started as a boy, taking out goods for some Falmouth merchant on commission. Ventures have been carried for many years, Mr Yorke..."
"How can he be sure the packet will be captured?"
"He can't be absolutely sure," Much said, "but he can be sure - unless he's sailing with one of the very few commanders who'll have nothing to do with it - that his packet will surrender if a privateer is so much as sighted. It's not only seamen involved, Mr Yorke: mates, masters and commanders, too."
"Supposing the packet isn't captured," Ramage asked.
"Well, his £25 venture will still make him £50, and he has the £175 draft from Jamaica."
"And if the ship's taken on the way out?"
"Seaman Brown loses £100-worth of ventures and collects £400 from the underwriters as soon as he's exchanged. That's a profit of £300 in less than three months. Believe me, Mr Ramage, Seaman Brown can't lose!"
"I can see that," Ramage said ruefully. "But why has all this spread so quickly in the last year or so? The war's been on a long time!"