Ramage laughed. "There's something ironic about a shipowner being stranded in Jamaica for the lack of a ship!"
"Since I lost mine as a result of the same hurricane that put your ship up on the same reef, you might be a bit more sympathetic," Yorke protested amiably.
"You own five more ships - why not wait until one comes in and take over command of her? Pension off the master, or give him leave until the underwriters pay up and you can build a replacement!"
"Drink your coffee. The shipyards are on the Thames and I'm in Jamaica. A small point but relevant... Who is likely to have any influence with the Post Office?"
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "Are you thinking of trying to get a berth in a Post Office packet?"
"Only as a last resort."
"You've heard the news then?"
"I've heard that in the last few months most of the packets have been captured on their way back to England, and the Jamaica merchants are angry and frightened."
"Not only the merchants," Ramage said, tapping the letter beside him on the table.
Yorke sniffed contemptuously. "Perhaps if the Commander-in-Chief showed more interest, his frigates would catch these damned French privateers before they catch the Post Office packets, and honest citizens like myself could get home again. You'll be going back in a frigate, I suppose," Yorke said casually.
Ramage shook his head. "If I go, I'll probably be keeping you company. In fact, you'd better try for berths for both of us. And for Southwick and Bowen."
"Oh, I thought Sir Pilcher would be keeping you out here. And can't he find employment for a master and a surgeon?"
Ramage glanced up at the approaching waiter and Yorke waited until the man had set out his breakfast and departed before continuing. "I assumed you'd be staying here under Sir Pilcher's orders."
"I think the Admiral is already short of appointments for his own people."
"Which is a tactful way of saying that you know he's damned if he's going to deprive one of his favourites to give you a job?"
"He wouldn't phrase it so crudely. On the other hand he might find an unpleasant job that has to be done, and give it to me to avoid making one of his people unhappy."
After glancing at the folded letter, Yorke busied himself with his coffee
and toast. He could see that whatever Sir Pilcher's letter said, Ramage was worried about it: that much was obvious. Yorke knew they had been through too much together in the past few months for Ramage to be unnecessarily secretive.
Slowly it dawned on him why he was in no hurry to arrange a passage back to England. He had spent the early years of his life at sea in one or other of the ships owned by his grandfather, and eventually commanded one of them. He'd realized later that the old man, a tyrant by anyone's standards, had given him command only when convinced that his grandson had nothing more to learn from any of the other masters; more knowledge of ships and the sea would come only from experience. So a year in command had been followed by a couple of years in the London office, learning the details of the business life of the shipowner, as opposed to the shipmaster. At the time Yorke had resented it all, but the old man had had a reason; a reason he had kept silent about even on his deathbed. It was only when the lawyers read his will that Yorke learnt that the whole fleet had been left to him: six well-found ships...
But Yorke had found the life of a rich young shipowner in London boring: mornings and afternoons spent in Leadenhall Street; the evenings a seemingly endless round of soirees and balls, where he had constantly to fend off the attentions of anxious mothers who regarded him as a good catch for their daughters. So he had gone back to sea again, commanding one of his own ships, leaving the London office to be run by trusted men. In some ways it was a lonely life - lonely because he missed the company of intelligent men of his own generation. Yet he knew only too well that in England such men either did not understand what sent him to sea or cultivated his friendship only because they considered a rich friend was a good insurance for paying gambling debts or getting credit.
Meeting Ramage in the Caribbean had been a refreshing change, and Yorke hoped a friendship had grown which would last until they reached old age. Not, he thought with a trace of sadness, that Ramage was ever likely to reach old age. Even now, only just past his twenty-first birthday, he had been wounded a couple of times. He'd lost one ship (albeit a small cutter with a crew of about fifty men) in a particularly desperate affair during the Battle of Cape St Vincent. More recently he'd lost the Triton brig after a hurricane which in turn followed a brilliant attack on a privateer which tried to capture Yorke's own ship in a convoy of which Ramage's brig formed part of the escort. A dozen or more other episodes had led to Ramage's ship's company having a loyalty to him which Yorke knew only came from a deep respect. And you only earned the respect and loyalty of tough men-o'-war's-men by real leadership, extreme bravery and concern for the ship and the men in her.