Ramage's Prize

by Dudley Pope

“I told him it contained all the proof he needed.”

  “So he doesn’t know anything about the mutiny and the kidnapping of the Marchesa, then?”

  “I assume not; but it won’t make any difference. It’s Government policy: that’s obvious, even if it means they go on losing packets.”

  “Perhaps it’ll be different when Lord Spencer reads the report,” Much commented hopefully.

  Ramage snorted, then said, “Anyway, here’s a carriage.”

  “Well, I’d better say goodbye, sir,” Much said.

  “Aren’t you coming with us?” Ramage asked in surprise.

  “Where are you going, sir?”

  “My family have a house in Palace Street, about half a mile past the Houses of Parliament. You’re coming, aren’t you Yorke?”

  The young shipowner nodded. “Many thanks; I don’t keep a town house and don’t want to take another carriage down to Bexley for the time being; I’ve had enough of travelling …”

  By then the carriage had stopped. The coachman, leaping down to unfold the steps, was standing with the door open.

  Ramage motioned Much in, taking his acceptance of the invitation for granted, and followed Yorke. “Palace Street,” he told the coachman. “Blazey House.”

  The coach smelled dusty and gave the impression there was heavy mildew under the cushions, but the springs had been greased and the coachman controlled the horses without the usual noisy flourishes that they seemed to think necessary to increase the size of the tip.

  The three men sat in silence as they passed the Houses of Parliament: Ramage felt that Yorke was not going to try to get Much interested in them again.

  “The Abbey,” Yorke said suddenly. “That’s Westminster Abbey.”

  Much nodded, but was not impressed, and Yorke sat back in his seat.

  Suddenly there was the clatter of a horse’s hooves right beside them and a hand was banging on the window. Much jumped up with a warning yell of “Highwaymen, by God!” and, banging his head on the roof, sank back to his seat glassy-eyed and almost stupefied.

  Yorke, sitting in the forward seat and looking back, said to Ramage quickly, “It’s one of those messengers from the Admiralty!”

  The carriage stopped before they could call out to the coachman, and, as he opened the door, Ramage heard the urgent call, “Lieutenant! Lieutenant!”

  Ramage stared at the messenger on horseback. As far as he was concerned he had made his last visit to the Admiralty; in the brief carriage drive he had decided to resign his commission and ask Gianna to marry him …

  “What do you want?”

  “Lieutenant Ramage, sir! Will you return to the Admiralty at once, sir? First Lord’s orders, sir, at once sir, it’s urgent sir, no delay His Lordship said, it’s urgent—”

  “Belay it,” Ramage snapped, although the last “urgent” would have been the final one for a few moments since the man was now taking a painful gasp of breath.

  Yorke muttered, “He’s just read your report!”

  “Yes, you’d both better come back with me.”

  He called to the coachman to return to the Admiralty, and a small group of passers-by, peddlars and hucksters who had stopped to watch, moved out of the way as the coachman reined the horses round with a flourish.

  Fifteen minutes later Ramage was sitting in the same chair in the Board Room.

  “Are you trying to make a fool of me?” Lord Spencer asked furiously.

  “No, sir! Why?” Ramage exclaimed.

  “Your report! Why the devil didn’t you mention the mutiny, the attempt to murder you and the kidnapping of the Marchesa di Volterra—though God knows what she was doing on board?”

  Ramage decided that, for all the anger, nothing had really changed. “I referred to it in my report, sir.”

  “I know that! But why the devil didn’t you mention it when you were sitting there?”

  “I said the report contained all the proof you needed, sir—although I didn’t think it would make much difference …”

  “Difference to what?”

  “Difference to the Government’s decision.”

  “What Government decision?” Lord Spencer asked angrily.

  “That the packetsmen aren’t to be blamed for anything, sir.”

  “Well—that wasn’t exactly a decision,” the First Lord said, obviously taken aback.

  “You said that my first report was not believed, sir—by the Postmaster-General or the Prime Minister.”

  “Well, yes; but that was before this mutiny, which is just the proof we needed.”

  “I had all the proof I needed long before we reached Lisbon. Still, I suppose the fact that they tried to murder me and kidnapped the Marchesa does prove I’m not a liar!”

  The bitter comment was spoken before Ramage realized he had even thought it, and he waited, red-faced and angry, for the First Lord’s wrath.

  Instead Lord Spencer said calmly, “It proves you’re not a politician.”

  Ramage sat staring in front of him, determined to guard his tongue.

  “Lord Auckland will be here in a few minutes,” Spencer said. “Fortunately he hasn’t gone down to his place in Bromley.”

  “The underwriters,” Ramage said. “There are three men from the Lady Arabella for instance: the Commander, the Surgeon and the bosun’s mate. We need to know how many times they have collected insurance on total loss claims. And how many times they’ve been captured and exchanged, too. Sir,” he added as an afterthought.

  The First Lord picked up a small silver bell and rang it violently. Almost immediately a secretary hurried into the room. “Ah, Jeffries,” the First Lord said. “Take a list of packetsmen that Lieutenant Ramage will give you. Check with the Navy Board to see who deals with the exchange of Post Office prisoners, and then find out how often these men have been captured and exchanged. And at the same time—at the same time, mind you, because we’re in a hurry—ask the Committee of Lloyds to find out what policies these same Post Office packetsmen have taken out since the beginning of the war, and what claims they’ve made—all on personal freight between Falmouth and the West Indies.”

  Ramage wrote the names on a sheet of paper and gave it to Jeffries, who was obviously the First Lord’s secretary.

  As soon as they were alone again, the First Lord said, “Well, what answers shall I get?”

  Ramage shrugged his shoulders. “All of them have been captured at least twice. The Surgeon has probably been making nearly £4,000 a year from private cargoes and insurance claims, and many of the seamen £500 or more. The claims are quite legal, sir—or, rather, claims the underwriters never questioned since they were for goods in a packet captured by the French.”

  “Why didn’t the underwriters ever query the claims?”

  “Because the Post Office was authenticating every loss by paying out the full value to the owner of the packet. If the Government is satisfied and pays out, sir, how can underwriters avoid following suit?”

  “I follow what you mean. But see here, Ramage, when Lord Auckland arrives, you watch your tongue. I’ll do the talking: it’s very delicate when one department has to tell another that some of its people have committed treason …”

  “And murder, attempted murder, mutiny and kidnapping,” Ramage said, picturing the sentry’s body sprawled on the deck, and Gianna held prisoner.

  “Yes, quite. I appreciate that you, as an intended victim, have a proprietary interest in the attempt, but nevertheless … By the way, you shot the boatswain in the leg. You could have killed him. Why didn’t you?”

  “There was no point in killing for the sake of it, sir, and anyway I needed live evidence.”

  “There’ll be no court case, Ramage; I’d better warn you of that now. And don’t start—”

  His Lordship broke off when he saw that far from getting angry, Ramage was gently laughing. “What is so funny, Ramage?”

  “I’m not quite sure, sir; it’s got very mixed up. I never thought for a minute there
’d be a trial—”

  “Why?” Spencer snapped.

  Ramage managed to stop the blunt answer he was about to make, and rephrased it. “I assumed that the exigencies of the Government’s political situation would have made it inadvisable,” he said in a bored monotone.

  “Excellent. If you go on like that, Ramage, you’ll be offered a safe Parliamentary seat somewhere. Yes, you’re quite right, although I still don’t see what there is to laugh at.”

  “I’m not really laughing, sir. I had—er, anticipated the problems relating to a trial …” He paused for a moment, reflecting on his words: yes, he could see himself standing with his hands clasping his lapels, his head slightly inclined forward, and an utterly false smile on his face, and facing the Opposition Benches. “I took the liberty of administering a little punishment to one or two of the men.”

  Spencer nodded understandingly. “That might be thought by some to have been a wise precaution.”

  At that moment there was a knock at the door and when Spencer answered a messenger came in and whispered something. Spencer said, “Show him in at once—I gave instructions that he was not to be kept hanging about in the hall.” As the messenger hurried out the First Lord said, “Lord Auckland has arrived.”

  The Postmaster-General’s first words when Lord Spencer introduced him were biting: “So this is the young man who sees treason the length and breadth of the Post Office, eh?”

  Instead of defending him, Ramage was surprised to find Lord Spencer agreeing. “The same young man, and he’s just posted up from Plymouth at his own expense to bring me another report.”

  “I trust it makes more sense than the one he wrote from Lisbon.”

  “Well, William, it may not make more sense, but it’s certainly more interesting. Care to read it?”

  “I hope you haven’t dragged me all the way over here for that,” the Postmaster-General said sourly.

  The First Lord slid the report across the polished table as though dealing a card and, for that matter, Ramage thought, the Postmaster-General opened the report with the same wary interest that a player picks up and looks at his cards.

  He read it through slowly without any expression showing on his face. Then he looked up at Lord Spencer and raised an eyebrow. “The mate’s report?”

  When Spencer skimmed it across he read it slowly with the same concentration. Finally he put it down on the table and looked at Ramage. “So you found the proof.” The voice was almost bitter, but Ramage sensed it was not bitterness over him. “You knew you’d find it even when you wrote from Lisbon, didn’t you?” He made his question sound like an accusation.

  “No, sir,” Ramage said flatly. “I’d already found all I needed.”

  “Why didn’t you mention it in your first report, then?”

  “I don’t think you understood quite what Ramage meant, William,” the First Lord said quickly. “I think he means he didn’t know what the final proof would eventually be, but he knew he had only to bide his time before finding it. Proof, that is, which would stand up in a court of law.”

  “I’ve given him credit for that,” Lord Auckland said testily. “What I was asking Ramage was this: did he suspect the packetsmen would mutiny before they arrived in Falmouth?”

  The First Lord looked questioningly at Ramage, who nodded.

  “And tell me, George,” Lord Auckland asked the First Lord, “don’t you find it odd that there are a dozen of your seamen on board the Lady Arabella? I hope you don’t mind me asking young Ramage about it?”

  George John Eden, first Earl Spencer, shook his head. “Carry on, William. I assume it is something arranged with the Commander-in-Chief in Jamaica. Was that so, Ramage?”

  Keep up a united front with strangers present, Ramage thought to himself. “Quite so, sir; it gave us a nucleus of”—he just stopped himself saying “reliable men,” and substituted—“men I’d sailed with before.”

  “The Commander,” Auckland said. “What is your private impression of Stevens?”

  “Under the thumb of the Surgeon, sir. I don’t mean blackmail; it might have been just the gift of the blarney. Apart from that, sir, with all that rot in the transom he had a good enough reason for wanting the Post Office to buy him a new ship.”

  “I can see that quite clearly, thank you,” Lord Auckland said sarcastically. “I’m trying to see what characteristics this particular commander has that might be common to other commanders who surrendered at one time or another.”

  Lord Spencer said, “Your report is excellent, Ramage, but now tell us what happened and what you thought from the time the privateer came in sight.”

  Briefly, but without leaving out any important detail he could remember, Ramage described the scene. When he had finished, Spencer asked, “What made you think of the exchange—the ransom, as it were?”

  “I don’t remember what gave me the immediate idea, sir; but my main concern was to avoid being made prisoner so that I could get the word to you as soon as possible about what was happening.”

  “Those damned ventures!” Auckland said suddenly. “I suspected it all along.” He turned to Lord Spencer, as if seeking reassurance, and the First Lord nodded. “You’ve tried to get the Cabinet to agree to banning them often enough, William, but the strike of packetsmen last year frightened them. Yet you were right.”

  Ramage thought of Much sitting out in the waiting-room. Here was the chance of the mate receiving a reward, if only praise from his minister, but the request had better go through the First Lord. “Mr Much, the mate who wrote the other report you have, sir … I brought him to London with me in case he was needed for questioning. Perhaps His Lordship … ?”

  Spencer caught on immediately. “He’s your man, William; we all owe him a vote of thanks. By the way, Ramage, when is this Sidney Yorke due in London?”

  “He’s in the waiting-room with the mate, sir. I thought you might want … that he’d be needed as a witness, perhaps,” Ramage said lamely.

  “Why should you think you’d need a witness?” Lord Auckland asked, watching Ramage closely.

  “If there was any question that …”

  “The fact is, William,” Lord Spencer interrupted, “that Mr Ramage has a poor opinion of the probity and intelligence of politicians, so he mustered all his guns …”

  Auckland’s eyebrows raised as he looked at Spencer. “He’s a lucky young man; the fact the mate and this fellow Yorke are still out in the waiting-room without you having seen them means he persuaded you without difficulty, eh? Well, let’s have a word with this mate now.”

  “Without difficulty …” Ramage thought to himself. As he went to the door to call a messenger, he saw the First Lord’s face was red.

  Both Lord Auckland and the First Lord were excellent in the way they handled Much. Surprised at the extent of the detail in the mate’s report that they had absorbed, Ramage noticed how both were quick to ask Much for further information they both needed not so much for further inquiries, but to answer critics in the Cabinet or Parliament. Indeed, he thought to himself, the political mind works very differently from any other.

  After Much, they invited Yorke to the Board Room, and within five minutes or so the young shipowner was, in his own nonchalant manner, having both ministers admit that at first they had disbelieved Ramage’s report from Lisbon and had doubts about payment of the ransom to free the Lady Arabella.

  Lord Spencer’s face was going red again, and Ramage feared Yorke might go too far. Lord Auckland gave a dry laugh. “But please remember, Mr Yorke, that Cabinet decisions are always collective—and secret—and that we did pay out.”

  Yorke turned to the First Lord. “Would it be impertinent, my Lord, to ask the result of the inquiries into insurance on the packetmen’s ventures?”

  “Er—well, not impertinent, but perhaps premature. I was telling Ramage that inquiries are being made. We haven’t received the answer from the Committee of Lloyds yet.”

  And, Ramage thought sou
rly, that was hardly surprising, since the First Lord’s private secretary hasn’t been gone with the list of names for more than half an hour …

  Yorke was shaking his head and Spencer’s eyebrows raised questioningly.

  “The official approach, my Lord,” Yorke explained. “I was wondering if it was the best way, if there is any urgency …”

  “There’s no real urgency now, Mr Yorke,” Lord Auckland said, but to Ramage it seemed his voice lacked conviction.

  Yorke apologized hastily, and for a moment Ramage thought he had overdone it. But no, it hooked Lord Auckland, who said, “Well, my dear Yorke, I wouldn’t say we have all the time in the world, but a week or two …”

  “The Plymouth and Falmouth newspapers,” Yorke said vaguely, as if thinking aloud, “and the mutinous packetsmen … they’ve got to be charged before a magistrate pretty soon, or else lawyers will be rushing round shouting … I think these packetsmen are well organized, and Cornishmen stick together … A reference in the London press … one feels—at least I do, personally, but of course I’m only a layman in such things—that if Parliament suddenly asks for explanations …”

  “We won’t have all the answers ready,” Spencer said abruptly. “You’re wasted at sea, young man; you ought to think of joining Ramage here in a career of politics.”

  Yorke waved his hand vaguely and muttered something about “leave it to the rest of the family,” and then said, “I could pass the details of the insurance claims to Mr Ramage by first thing in the morning, if that would help: I have some friends in that line of country.”

  Ramage appreciated what Yorke was proposing. It was the most acceptable method for both ministers: unofficial, more remote and politically safer—and yet providing quick answers.

  Lord Auckland answered, since it was his ministry involved. “Any assistance, Mr Yorke … with discretion of course …”

  “Of course, my Lord,” Yorke said with a smile, and Ramage suddenly saw why Spencer had mentioned a career in politics. But Spencer had not seen Yorke at sea; he could never realize the enormous gap …

  “By the way,” Lord Auckland said, “I must warn you young men that the whole of this inquiry is secret. I doubt if the packetsmen will be brought to trial—except for the bosun’s mate, who will be charged with murder—because we have no wish to advertise our defects to the French.”