He stared at the British flag over the Spanish ensign and looked slowly round La Perla.
"Come on, Blackie!" Southwick said impatiently.
"Harry Wilson, if you please, sah."
The Master sniffed. "Very well, Harry Wilson, as soon as your canoe is clear of our bow we're getting under way again."
The man sniffed in turn, implying that his talents were wasted on such a small vessel.
"A nice little ship," he said conversationally to Ramage, who had not yet changed back into uniform. He caught sight of Maxine, raised his hat and gave a deep bow. He then turned back to Southwick. "A sound little ship. You must have a nice captain to send you off in command of the prize crew."
Ramage looked steadily at Southwick, defying him to squash the pilot.
Getting no reaction from Southwick, Wilson turned to Ramage. "Who is she prize to?"
"The Triton brig."
"No trouble finding a buyer here; she's a nice size. A schooner like this sold a month ago for fifteen hundred pounds."
"Good, we can do with the money," Ramage said as Southwick relieved his annoyance by bellowing the orders that got La Perla under way again.
Yorke had been standing by the taffrail. He was no stranger toKingston and was finding it pleasant watching and knowing the navigation of the ship was no responsibility of his.
The pilot glanced at both Ramage and Yorke once or twice, obviously puzzled. He recognized the bearing of an officer, but the only man on deck wearing a uniform was Southwick.
"You know Kingston?" the pilot asked Ramage.
"No."
He had been in and out several times when he was a young midshipman, but did anyone really know Kingston? The life in the big houses was considerably more luxurious than that in the great houses in London, since few people in England could afford such an army of servants. But what was life like in the tiny shacks in the mountains, where the thumping of voodoo drums was as commonplace as the sound of tree frogs?
"These batteries," the pilot said, pointing to the harbour entrance. "Blow you out of the water! Boom boom - then no more of your little ship."
"You're safe enough here," Ramage said in a suitably awed voice.
"We need them!" the pilot said, peering over the side at the shoal only twenty yards to windward. "Privateers ... the Spanish at Cuba ... just pirates. Channel narrow here - you wouldn't get far without a pilot, mister."
He pointed to the land on the starboard side and the dozens of cays and reefs on the larboard bow. Apart from an occasional almost casual direction to Southwick, Wilson then lapsed into a sulky silence and Ramage walked back to join Yorke at the taffrail.
The Palisadoes, with the harbour and town of Kingston behind it, was now abeam as La Perla sailed along parallel with the shore and a mile off. Half an hour later as the pilot gave directions for the schooner to turn north to anchor off Port Royal, Ramage signalled to Southwick that he would take the conn. At the same time, Yorke began to point out various sights to Maxine.
"The remains of Port Royal," he said, pointing to the western end of the Palisadoes. "You see the hill on the side? The big battery up there is called the Twelve Apostles. Now - it's just coming clear of the point - you can see Fort Charles: the low, red brick walls are all that's left. And beyond - Gallows Point!"
Maxine shuddered.
"You'll see the bodies still hanging from the gallows - mutineers from the Hermione frigate!"
"Mon Dieu! How long have they been there?"
"A year or two. They're wrapped in chains, a warning to other seamen..."
Southwick was on the foredeck making sure everything was ready for anchoring, and Yorke excused himself and walked over to Ramage.
"Everyone with a telescope is watching us by now," he said quietly.
Ramage nodded. "And they won't make head or tail of it!"
"Just another prize sent in by a frigate?"
"Yes - the only interest will be in guessing how much she'll fetch."
By now the pilot was standing by the main chains, apparently in a huff, so no one could hear them talk.
"M'sieur St Brieuc was right," Yorke said quietly. "You are going to take his advice, aren't you?"
"I suppose so," Ramage said reluctantly. "I haven't really made up my mind."
"You're leaving it rather late!"
"I know," Ramage said glumly. "I hate getting them involved in this sort of nonsense."
"Involved? See here, Ramage!" Ramage was startled by the harsh note in Yorke's voice, "They owe their lives to you." He held up a hand to silence Ramage's protest. "That's a fact. Certainly once, with the Peacock attack, and probably twice, getting us all ashore at Snake Island and then to Jamaica!"
Ramage shrugged his shoulders, but Yorke persisted.
"Anyway, he's going to involve himself, whether you agree or not. If you were simply a lieutenant with no problems he'd be grateful and want to show it. He's doing no more because it's you."
"All right!" Ramage said wearily, "I'll do as he says. I appreciate his suggestion."
"Is your report all ready?"
"Dozens of reports," Ramage said sourly. "I seem to have been scribbling ever since we passed Puerto Rico. There's a lot to be said for losing your ship and escaping in an open boat - you don't have pen and paper, then."
Yorke laughed. "The Navy floats in ink, and ships are built of paper."
"And their guns fire broadsides of pens," Ramage added.
"So M'sieur St Brieuc will keep out of sight until tomorrow," Yorke said as a statement of fact.
"I suppose that's all right," Ramage said doubtfully. "This damned protocol. Who does he report to, anyway?"
"The Lieutenant Governor. His letters are addressed to him."
Ramage gave a sigh of relief. "That's a help. I should have guessed that."
"What do you do now?" Yorke asked.
"As soon as we anchor and clear Customs here at Port Royal - the manifest won't mention the bullion - we'll shift into Kingston and I'll go on shore and report to the Commander-in-Chief if Goddard isn't there."
The two men stood looking round them as La Perla completed the last few hundred yards into the anchorage, and then Ramage saw Jackson running aft along the deck towards him.
"The Lion's here, sir!"
Ramage looked in the direction the American was pointing.
She was little more than a hulk in Kingston harbour, and partly hidden by merchantmen. There was a lighter each side of her, and only her mainmast was standing.
Ramage put his telescope to his eye and the circular magnified picture revealed the story. "Foremast and mizen gone by the board," Ramage said loudly, knowing that every man on board was curious. "Mainmast fished in two places. Bulwarks stove in on both sides. Jibboom gone, and the bowsprit fished. Several port lids torn off."
Yorke grunted. "We weren't the only ones in trouble, then!"
Then Ramage saw the stream of water frothing across the deck and over the side.
"And leaking badly; they're pumping."
"Flag, sir?" Jackson asked.
"No - the Admiral must be on shore."
"No sign of the others, sir," Jackson said quietly.
Ramage swung the telescope round the anchorage to confirm that there was no sign of the three frigates and the Lark lugger that had formed the escort.
Ramage shut the telescope. He'd never recognize the merchantmen and he would know soon enough how many had survived when he went on shore.
At least he didn't have to alter the address on his reports. He had made them to Rear-Admiral Goddard, but he'd hoped ... Anyway, instead of reporting to the Commander-in-Chief, he had to report to the Rear-Admiral, the new "second-in-command of His Majesty's ships and vessels ... at and about Jamaica".