Read Online Governor Ramage R. N. by Dudley Pope - Free Book Online Page A

admitted grudgingly, “but small for the Atlantic. All for Jamaica?”
    â€œNo—four for Martinique, and three for Antigua. These,” Ramage said, pointing to the last ship in each column.
    â€œSurely we’re not having to make a great dog-leg northward just for the Antigua ships?”
    â€œApparently so,” Ramage said, sharing Southwick’s annoyance, since it meant the convoy had to cover two sides of a triangle.
    â€œAye—and any north in the wind and these mules will scatter to leeward and end up beached on the Spanish Main.”
    That was only too true. The course for Antigua was northwest; the Trades blew between south-east and north-east, and the Atlantic pouring into the Caribbean caused a strong current between each of the islands.
    Ramage laughed at Southwick’s indignation, but the Master protested, “That’s no exaggeration, sir; have you seen ‘em? Why, there’s only one ship with decent rigging, and that’s the
Topaz:
the rest have rotten rigging, rotten masts and spars—and a bunch of coasting mates commanding ‘em.”
    â€œAnd all on a ‘share the profits’ basis, no doubt, so they’re making as much as admirals,” Ramage teased.
    â€œDon’t let’s talk of it, sir,” Southwick said crossly. “It’s hard enough keeping my temper with them now when they’re at anchor: just think of ‘em shortening sail and dropping back every night … If I think—”
    The Marine sentry’s call interrupted him.
    â€œIt’ll be that lieutenant from the flagship,” Ramage said. “Send him in.”
    With the receipt signed and the lieutenant gone to call on the other escorts, Ramage slit open the sealed packet. It was innocent enough after all, a plan giving the positions for the escorts, and informing all captains that an extra ship would be joining the convoy, and her number would be 78. Ramage glanced again at the name,
Peacock,
and put her on the convoy plan, the eighth ship in the seventh column.
    Where had she come from? Could be a runner, one of the fast and lightly armed ships that usually sailed from England without a convoy, hoping speed would save her from capture. Good profits—at high risks—for such shipowners: arriving weeks ahead of convoys meant merchants could always get very high scarcity prices for the freights.
    He was impatient for the convoy to weigh—even more impatient for it to arrive. Kingston meant an unpleasant voyage over and the possibility that he’d avoided any of Goddard’s tricks.
    Reaching up to the rack over his head he pulled down a small-scale chart of the Caribbean and unrolled it. His eyes followed the islands. At the bottom right-hand corner was Barbados, where they were at the moment, and to the westward, in a line running upwards, to the north, the chain of the Windward Islands—Grenada, then St Vincent, St Lucia and Martinique—merging into the Leewards—Dominica, Guadeloupe, Antigua and several small islands at the top right-hand corner. How the islands had changed in the last few years—only Guadeloupe was still held by the French …
    Then, going left across the top of the chart, Virgin Gorda, Tortola, St John and St Thomas—the Virgin Islands; then the Spanish Islands of Puerto Rico, Hispaniola—part of which was French—and Cuba. Just below the gap between Hispaniola and Cuba lay Jamaica. He walked the dividers over the chart, measuring the distances against the latitude scale: 260 miles from Barbados up to Antigua, then just 900 westward to Kingston.
    With the hurricane season just beginning the refuges were few enough. English Harbour, in Antigua, had a tiny and mosquito-ridden dockyard for the King’s ships to refit themselves, but was otherwise of no importance to man or beast. Bereft of drinking water and as barren as a mule, it was cordially disliked by everyone. An almost