"What are the chances of La Perla being captured by a privateer?"
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "What was the chance of us being caught in a hurricane? One in a hundred, one in five ... hard to say."
"As far as privateers are concerned," Yorke commented, "I'd put my money on not more than one in ten."
St Brieuc smiled at Ramage, a friendly but worldly smile. "You think of yourself as a gambler, young man?"
"I suppose so. Not with money, but in action one has to..."
"Take an old man's advice, then - confine yourself to the odds in battle. Never go near the gambling tables!"
Ramage grinned. "You seem very certain I'd lose."
"I am, and you've just proved it. You say that if we stay on the island we will be captured. We are one hundred per cent certain of losing, in fact. But if we sail with you in La Perla, we face only a one in five chance of capture. Although I'm the most timid of gamblers, I know which I choose!"
"Although mathematics aren't the 'Governor's' strongest subject," Yorke said dryly, "I think he is being unfair to himself!"
"Yes," Ramage said ruefully. "I had in mind that if you stayed here and La Perla reached Jamaica safely, a frigate would come back and rescue you. I'd leave enough men to guard the Spaniards."
St Brieuc's eyes twinkled. "Your heart is ruling your head. Doing that increases the odds against us. If we stay here, and La Perla is captured by a privateer, we still end up in a Spanish prison. If she reaches Jamaica, we have to wait for the frigate to get back. Head winds all the way, and perhaps another hurricane ... What might the Spanish have done in the meantime? No, please take us in La Perla. I understand your concern, but quite apart from the mathematical aspect which shows the odds are in favour of making such a voyage, we have complete confidence in you."
Yorke nodded in agreement.
"Now that's been decided," St Cast said conversationally, "how long do you think it will take for the Spanish in San Juan to do something about Snake Island?"
"Three weeks at the outside," Ramage said. "Once a passing ship sights the wrecks on the reef and reports them in San Juan, the naval commander will send a frigate ... Apart from that, La Perla will be reported overdue at Ponce within a week. Since Snake Island was her first port, they'll start investigating here. Because of Lieutenant Colon's mission, they're probably sensitive about Snake Island anyway."
"The minute we leave," Yorke said, "Colon will try to raise the alarm. Some men could reach Puerto Rico in a fishing boat - it's not that far."
"Southwick has collected the boats and they are being burned in the morning, but if Colon has any sense, he'll set fire to the grass and bushes on the hills, and hope someone in Puerto Rico takes notice of the smoke."
"We're lucky to have La Perla," St Brieuc commented.
"Yes, we stand more chance of reaching Jamaica with her than if we had the Topaz" Ramage said. "Not so comfortable, admittedly, but safer."
St Brieuc looked puzzled.
"Ships," Ramage explained, "are rather like human beings: you can learn a lot about them from their appearance. La Perla's hull and rig is clearly Spanish. She could never have been built in England."
Yorke nodded in agreement as Ramage continued: "At first our main danger will be of capture by Spanish privateers or ships of war between Puerto Rico and Santo Domingo. Later there's a danger of French ships from the western end of Hispaniola and finally a slight risk of Spaniards from Cuba.
"A Spaniard seeing La Perla sailing close to his own coast and flying a Spanish ensign would assume she was Spanish. And so would a Frenchman. They'd have no reason to think anything else."
Yorke looked keenly at Ramage. "A few miles off the coast past Puerto Rico and all the way to the western end of Hispaniola, then a dash down to Jamaica?"
Ramage nodded. "As close to the coast as we dare."
"Supposing the French want to board us to check up?"
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "Let them. We have all the ship's papers and unless the Frenchman commanding the boarding party spoke fluent Spanish, which is unlikely, I think I could pass myself off as a Spaniard. I might even do it with a Spanish privateer - the accents vary enormously from province to province."
St Brieuc nodded. "You could, I am sure. When you were talking to that wretched man Colon I remember thinking I would not have thought you were English."
"The point is," Ramage said with a grin, "would you have thought I was Spanish? Anyway, have either of you gentlemen any suggestions for improving my plan?"
All of them shook their heads.
"Right," Ramage said, standing up, "then we sail for Jamaica tomorrow morning as soon as the breeze starts."
After dinner Ramage felt Maxine's foot touching his under the table, and a moment later she said casually to her father, "Nicholas and I are going to have a last walk along the edge of the bay."
"Don't make yourselves sad," he said. "When your mother and I went along there this afternoon we felt quite doleful."
"We always seem to be leaving places we love," Maxine said bitterly as she stood and took Ramage's arm. "We won't be long."
She knew now that she loved him, and she was on the verge of accepting that it was hopeless. Obviously he loved someone else; only that could account for his stiffness. She still wanted him to herself for half an hour tonight; for half an hour when he would not be preoccupied with privateers and hurricanes and hunting for treasure.
By now they were picking their way along the short stretch of sandy beach beside the jetty. The schooner was a dark shape against the stars, and the air was alive with the high-pitched, rapid croaking of tree frogs.
She held her skirt clear of the ground with her left hand and clutched his arm tightly with her right, and pictured in her mind the way he would be frowning as he looked at the ground to make sure she did not trip. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw his right hand move up to his brow. He was rubbing those scars!
It took another ten minutes before they reached the spot she had chosen. It was another small beach with several boulders on it, one of which made a natural seat.
"Here," she said, "let us sit for a few minutes and thank Culebra and say goodbye."
He sat and she realized there was no energy in him. It was as though he was suddenly completely exhausted.
She turned and looked at him.
"You are tired," she said. "It has been a terrible month."
He shook his head. "Not terrible. Exciting, yes."
"The hurricane, the treasure hunt... yes, exciting enough," she said.
"And you," he said, reaching for her hand. "I wish I had met you a long time ago."
"Why 'a long time ago'?"
"Before you were married," he said shyly.
Suddenly she shivered and knew an instant later that he had noticed it.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "that was a tactless thing to say."
She reached up and held his face with both hands.
"Yes, a tactless thing to say ... what do you know of my husband?"
"Nothing, apart from his name and the fact that you obviously love him." He said it gently, almost sadly.
"Do you know how much I love him?" she whispered.
"You never talk about him - as though remembering him makes you unhappy."
"It does, very unhappy. But Nicholas, not for the reason you think." She was still whispering, and her hands moved back so her fingers were twined in his hair, gently pulling him towards her.
"Not for the reason you think," she repeated. "No - the memory of him makes me unhappy because I hate him. I wish he was dead!"