Ramage opened the pouch and took out the papers, handing the top one, his orders, to the Admiral, who read through them quickly. 'Hmm, I'm glad to have another frigate. Never have enough. Their Lordships don't seem to appreciate the problem of running a station like this, covering dozens of islands with so few ships, Ramage, eh? Any relation to the Earl of Blazey?’
'Son, sir.'
'Mmm, then you are the young fellow I've been reading about in the Gazette from time to time. Well, you are going to find it a lot quieter out here. No excitement. Convoys up and down the islands, an occasional chase after a privateer.,,'
Ramage pictured Southwick's face and did not notice the Admiral watching him closely. 'You look disappointed.'
'No, sir,' Ramage said hurriedly, careful not to add that it was what he had feared.
'I don't remember seeing your name on the latest List I have. When were you made post?'
'A month ago,' Ramage answered and knew what the Admiral was going to say next.
'Hmm, most junior on the station - by a couple of years or so.' He gave a dry laugh. 'That'll be a relief for some of my young firebrands: when they saw the Juno I expect they thought she was still commanded by your predecessor, who has more seniority than the rest o' them put together. Now, you have dispatches for me?'
Ramage took five packets and gave them to the Admiral, who looked at the rest of the papers Ramage was holding. 'What are those - Weekly Accounts and that sort of thing - list of defects as long as your arm?' When Ramage nodded, the Admiral rang the bell, which he had put down beside his chair. 'Give 'em to my secretary,' he said, bellowing to the sentry to pass the word for Mr Henshaw, When Henshaw arrived, as thin and nervous a secretary as Ramage had ever seen and obviously also the ship's chaplain, the Admiral did not bother with introductions, merely telling him to take the Juno's Weekly Accounts and start dealing with them.
As Ramage stood, intending to leave the Admiral to read his letters from the Admiralty, he glanced up. 'You haven't finished your drink yet,' he said impatiently. 'Just sit down while I read through this. When were you last at the Admiralty?'
‘The beginning of last month, sir, when I was made post.'
‘Who did you see?'
'The First Lord, sir.'
Again the Admiral stared at him. ‘And how was Lord St Vincent, eh?'
'In good health,' Ramage said lamely, guessing at the questions that must be passing through the Admiral's mind, since it was rare for a young post captain to see the First Lord, and he must have realized that Ramage was still a lieutenant when he entered the First Lord's office.
The Admiral ripped open the first letter - all of them, heavily sealed, were numbered, Ramage had noticed; presumably they were marked in order of importance. As the Admiral read, Ramage twisted slightly in his chair and looked round the cabin again. The Admiral was certainly a man who liked comfort - and who could blame him? The two gimballed lanterns were silver; four other lanthorns clipped to the bulkheads were inlaid with silver wire which was worked in the horn in the same pattern as the sword hilt.
The Admiral grunted and Ramage heard him ripping open a second packet, The canvas covering the cabin sole was new, and it would take several more coats of the pale green paint before the material was smooth. Ramage shifted his position: the armchairs were comfortable enough but leather was hardly a suitable covering for the heat of the Tropics: he could feel perspiration making his breeches stick to the material.
Again the Admiral grunted. 'His Lordship mention any forthcoming operations to you?'
'No, sir.'
‘Hmm.' Again the eyebrows lifted and then lowered, and the Admiral opened the next letter, glanced through it quickly and went on to the fourth, which produced a snort of disgust. The fifth hardly appeared to interest him and he gathered them all up again and looked at Ramage.
'Know Martinique at all?'
‘A little, sir. I know most of the other islands.’
The Admiral stood up, putting the papers down on his chair and walking over to his desk. There were a dozen or more charts rolled up and stowed in a rack to one side and he looked through them, finally pulling one out. He spread it out and put paperweights on the sides to prevent it rolling up again. Then he beckoned to Ramage, who saw it was a chart of Martinique and realized for the first time how similar it was to the foot of Italy.
The Admiral jabbed a blunt forefinger on Fort Royal, and then moved it to include the great Fort Royal Bay. 'Bane of my existence, that damned place,' he said sourly. 'I have to watch the French there like a terrier at a rabbit hole. That's going to be your job for the next few weeks - months, probably. Sorry for it, my boy, because you are going to get heartily sick of the sight of the Pointe des Salines,' he jabbed a finger on the southernmost tip of the island, 'and Diamond Rock - that's this one here, sticks up a mile off shore like a great tooth - and Cap Salomon.' He pointed to the headland on the south side of Fort Royal Bay. 'Aye, and as far up as Pointe des Nègres.' He gestured at the headland on the north side of the Bay.
With his finger he traced a line from Pointe des Nègres to the southern end of the island. 'Up and down, my lad, twenty-five miles. You'll be the terrier at the rabbit hole, and I don't want a French rabbit to get in or out without you taking him and sending him here with a prize crew on board.'
Ramage said nothing, puzzled at the shortness of the line the Admiral's finger had traced. The Admiral mistook his silence and said crossly: 'If it doesn't appeal to you, there's always convoy work.’
'Oh no, sir,' Ramage said hastily, rubbing one of the two scars on his right brow, 'it is just that -' he paused, wondering whether he was being indiscreet, and the Admiral said impatiently: 'Come on, out with it!'
Ramage pointed from Pointe des Nègres to Pointe des Salines. 'You made a point, sir, that I should be patrolling only between those two headlands, and I was -'
'You're wondering why I don't want you to patrol round the whole island? A good point, m'boy, since you don't know Martinique well. Luckily for us there's a deuce of a strong north-going current along the Caribbean side of the island, and when it's not going north it's going west.'
He ran his finger down the middle of the island. 'You can see it's mountainous: damned big peaks they are, too, and it means there's usually precious little wind on the west side. The island makes an enormous lee that often stretches twenty miles to the west. What does that tell you?'
'That with a light wind and a strong north-going current,' Ramage said, 'it must be almost impossible for merchant ships to come in from the Atlantic round the north end of the island and beat their way down to Fort Royal, sir.'
'Exactly. They never risk it, so it shuts one door. It forces 'em to come round the south end of the island, using the current to get 'em up to Fort Royal. But even then they're sometimes between the devil and the deep blue sea: if they stay offshore and there's any west in the current they get swept out into the Caribbean, and even when they get out to the lee they're too far to the west for merchantmen to stand a chance of beating back to Fort Royal. So they stay very close inshore, working the current and the offshore and onshore breezes, anchoring when necessary.'
He pointed to the Diamond Rock. 'They keep close to the coast and pass between the Rock and Diamond Hill, here on the mainland, through the Fours Channel. It acts as a funnel. That's where you catch 'em. Now' —he jabbed a finger on the coast north to Fort Royal - 'the only reason for patrolling as far north as Pointe des Nègres is to snap up anyone trying to use the current to give himself a lift to the north or west. You can go right into Fort Royal Bay often enough to see any ship preparing to sail.'