When Ramage first thought of the idea the Arabella was running fast in the darkness, the sea sluicing past the hull planking only a few inches from his head and sounding like a cataract. It was not the proverbial flash of inspiration; rather that as he was lying sleepless in his bunk Ramage found the idea had arrived in his mind like a cat coming unobtrusively into a room and waiting to be stroked.
Since he was no stranger to weird ideas thought up during pre-dawn bouts of sleeplessness, he turned over on to his back to consider it again. Ten minutes later he knew there was nothing wild about it, nor did it leave anything to chance, and there was only one real "if". He eased himself out of the bunk and shook Much, who was sleeping deeply and snoring gently. He was awake in moments, whispering, "Whassermarrer?" at someone he could not recognize in the darkness.
"It's Ramage. Tell me, how much do the Post Office pay out to the owner when a packet is lost? What's the cost of building?"
"Phew" - Much sat up, rubbing his head - "give me a moment to wake up properly, sir. Now, let me think - the Halifax, Westmoreland, Adelphi... Yes, about three thousand pounds."
"Thanks," Ramage grunted, and as he turned back to his bunk Yorke spoke from the chair he had drawn in the chairs-cabin sole-bunk lottery with Ramage and Bowen. "Why the sudden interest at this time o' night, Nicholas? Going to make Kerguelen an offer for the Arabella?"
"Yes," Ramage said shortly. "Like to take a half share?"
Ramage heard the chair creaking as Yorke sat upright and said, "Yes."
"Make it a third, sir," Bowen said sleepily, "and I'll take a third."
"Congratulations - not many men can raise three thousand pounds in twenty seconds before dawn out in the Atlantic," Yorke said banteringly. "Now you can tell us how you propose buying the ship."
"Don't misunderstand me," Ramage said. "Three thousand pounds is the Post Office figure. She may be worth six to the French."
"So you are likely to dun Bowen and me for another thousand each, eh?"
Ramage asked the Surgeon, "Can you stand two-"
"Three, if need be," Bowen interrupted, "but no more than three, though."
"Wish I could put up something," Much said miserably. "I've got seven hundred pounds in the Funds, an' that's all, but you're welcome to it."
Ramage leaned over and patted the man's shoulder in the darkness. "Don't start fretting: if all this works, Mr Yorke will buy us out and may offer you a job as well!"
"I certainly will," Yorke said cheerfully. "I can use a good mate in one of my ships."
"Oh dear me!" Much exclaimed, completely overwhelmed. The inadequacy of the words brought home to Ramage the extent of Much's self-control: few men would have been able to resist some blasphemous expression of surprise and pleasure.
"Don't let's declare any dividends yet," Ramage reminded them. "First we have to persuade Kerguelen to sell; then we have to agree on a price."
"If nothing else, he'll drive a hard bargain," Bowen said. "We aren't in a particularly strong position," he added ruefully.
"Stronger than you might think," Ramage said. "Depends on how much of a gambler Kerguelen is."
"Gambler, sir?" Bowen exclaimed, making no attempt to disguise his surprise.
"Yes. He knows he has only a fifty-fifty chance of getting back to St Malo from Lisbon without being captured. Eight or nine hundred miles. Don't forget the Channel is an enormous funnel: the closer you get in, the narrower it is, and the Navy is always watching. Ships are converging on it from all over the world, and apart from patrolling frigates, warships are returning. And plenty of British privateers are out looking for ships such as this - French prizes trying to get back to the Channel ports."
"But he could increase the odds in his favour by sneaking into Brest," said Yorke gloomily. "Save himself a hundred miles. Or Bordeaux."
"No," Ramage said, "from Lisbon he'll head for St Malo - once the Channel Fleet's back in Plymouth. Apart from pride, he'll make for his home port because he'll have rope and canvas in the hold. In St Malo he knows all the officials, and he and his brother probably have a proper base there for fitting out prizes."
"All the more reason why he won't agree to sell," Yorke said. "This packet's fast; she's just the right size for a privateer: easily handled, well-equipped-"
"And her whole stern so rotten we'll be lucky to make Lisbon, let alone St Malo," Much said lugubriously.
There was complete silence in the cabin for a full minute.
"The whole stern?" Ramage repeated incredulously.
"The whole stern^'Much said. "You can punch your fist through the archboard; the last dozen feet of the stringers and shelf are soggy like a bad potato. Don't even dare think about the deadwood; the rudder's hanging on by faith."
"How long have you known all this? The extent of the rot, I mean."
Much waited a minute or two before answering and Ramage wished he could see the man's face.
"I've known we had some rot for six months - I mentioned that was why Stevens wanted a new ship. But it's spreading very quickly, as I found out in Barbados, where I made a complete above-water examination and reported to the Captain. That was the first time I found out how bad it was."
Ramage guessed that by a bitter irony it was probably Much's report that made Stevens decide to break his promise to the Mate: knowledge of how fast the rot was spreading meant it would need only slight pressure from Farrell to make Stevens surrender the ship at the first opportunity.
"Supposing he hadn't known the stern was rotten," Ramage mused. "I wonder what he'd have done about the Rossignol."
"I'd only be guessing," Much admitted, "but I think he might have run. Farrell might have been able to persuade him not to fight if he couldn't get away, but I think he'd have made a more effective attempt to escape." The Mate thought for a few moments and then added wearily, "I'm not sure, though. I begin to wonder."
"Of course," Yorke said casually, "One mustn't forget Stevens does own the ship; up to a point, he can decide what he does."
"I'm not disputing that," Ramage said grimly, guessing Yorke was leading up to something else. "He could own a bank or an abbey as well, but he doesn't own the bags of mail, and treason is still treason."
"Don't pick on him alone," Yorke advised. "Don't forget the other commanders. They surrendered simply because of insurance on the ventures, not because their ships had rotten sterns. Incidentally, Much my dear fellow, bearing in mind we'd all like to stay afloat, were you exaggerating a few minutes ago about the extent of the rot?"
"No, I wasn't. I told Captain Stevens we ought to get some precautionary work done before we left Kingston: doubling some frames for example, and making sure the gudgeons and pintles were held in good wood, in case we lost the rudder. But there wasn't time: the Agent wanted us to sail almost at once, and naturally the Captain didn't want to tell him about it. He wants to get full value for a sound ship."
"So our chances of reaching anywhere safely would make a professional gambler go pale?"
"Faint clean away," Much said, in the most cheerful tone of voice Ramage had yet heard him use.
"The rot," Ramage said. "Presumably it's very obvious?"
"Some of it - if you start looking. I had some lining ripped out. But from on deck, no; that was all painted over again a'fore we reached Kingston, in case we shipped some nosy passengers."
"Like Mr Yorke and me."
"Exactly, sir."
Bowen said: "When will you tackle Kerguelen, sir?"
"After breakfast."
"Why not wait a day or two?" Yorke asked. "After all, you said yourself the chances of this packet being recaptured increase every day."
"I'm not a gambler," Ramage said. "Not unless I have to be. And if Kerguelen meets a British frigate he'll try to make a bolt for it. Firing those stern-chasers might be fatal - for all of us."
"Yes, you're right," Yorke conceded. "The sooner he puts his helm down - gently! - the better."
"We'll ask to see him when they bring breakfast," Ramage said.
Kerguelen sat down on the bunk as though paying a social call and ran a hand almost apologetically over the stubble on his face. "You gentlemen are so freshly shaven ... You asked to see me."
"We have a business proposal to make," Ramage said bluntly.
"So?" Kerguelen's eyebrows lifted, and he smiled ironically as he glanced round the cabin. "Banking ... shipping ... armaments...?"
"Shipping," Ramage said.
"It's an interesting business. Banking is dull, and armaments so noisy. What is the proposal?"
Ramage picked up one of the chessmen left on the board and tapped the table with it. "I'm gambling on this voyage, and so are you. I'm betting the Arabella will be recaptured before we reach St Malo; you're wagering you'll be able to dodge any British ships. What do you reckon the odds are?"
"Even," Kerguelen said promptly. "Perhaps slightly in your favour."
"But neither of us wants to lose."
Kerguelen shrugged his shoulders. "But one of us has to!"
"No," Ramage said. "That's why we asked to see you."
"A moment," Kerguelen said warily, glancing at the door, "if you have any trick in mind, I warn you..."
Ramage shook his head. "No tricks, I promise you. Our proposal is this: instead of taking the Arabella to France from Lisbon and selling her in St Malo for whatever you can get, will you sell her to us in Lisbon for an agreed price?"
Kerguelen's jaw dropped. "Do you have money with you?"
The Britons burst out laughing, and Kerguelen said sheepishly, "Well, how do you pay if you have no money?"
The Frenchman was showing interest; Ramage was sure of that. French money was not a popular currency these days - particularly with privateers trying to use it to buy timber and rope from Baltic or Portuguese merchants.
"You're already bound for a neutral port," Ramage said. "If we can't raise the money in Lisbon we can have it sent out from London."
"Oh no! You aren't going to be allowed on shore: it would be too easy for you to escape."
"We would give our parole," Ramage said stiffly. "Anyway, only one of us need go on shore for a couple of hours to arrange it. You keep us on board until you get the money, then you hand the ship over to us."
Kerguelen frowned and Ramage realized that he was still looking for the trap. He hoped Much would remember his instructions.
"What sort of price had you in mind?" the Frenchman asked.
"What price would you get in St Malo?"
"You can't expect me to show the cards in my hand," the Frenchman said. "You make an offer."
Ramage hated bargaining: having no experience of business, it embarrassed him. He glanced helplessly at Yorke.
"We offer £2,500 for the ship and our freedom, paid to you in cash at Lisbon."
Kerguelen made a mental calculation and then shook his head.
"I'm sorry, because the idea appeals to me, but I can get a lot more in St Malo; enough to make me take a chance with your cruisers."
Yorke said, "Don't make any mistake, M'sieur: the money comes out of our own pockets."
"Have you no influence?"
"It takes more than influence to prise money out of a government !"
Kerguelen nodded, but Ramage thought the Frenchman feared a trap and was going to turn down the proposal. The moment had come to show his hand.
"Before you refuse our offer, go and inspect the transom of this vessel. It won't take long: you can poke around with a knife or punch with your fist."
"What are you saying?" Kerguelen demanded as Ramage glanced at the Mate.
"He's saying," Much interrupted suddenly, "that you'll be lucky to make Lisbon, let alone St Malo, before the stern drops off. It's all rotten. And don't risk firing one o' the stern-chasers, either!"
"Parbleu!" Kerguelen exclaimed and hurriedly left the cabin. The door shut and once again the key turned in the lock.
"We may get a bargain yet," Yorke said. "I think we've set the right price, and Much's bombshell about the rot was perfectly timed."
"I'd even settle for St Malo if someone'd give me a guarantee we'd get there," Much muttered, "what with the rot and these cut-throats."
They had to wait for more than half an hour before Kerguelen returned, looking worried and nervous. He sat down on the bunk again, his fingers drumming on his knees. "It's bad. This man wasn't exaggerating."
"Wish I had been," Much said.
"But why did you sail from Kingston? She's not safe. Andwhy are you offering to buy a rotten ship?" asked Kerguelen.
"Our offer isn't for the ship alone: we want our freedom as well," Ramage said.
"There's no precedent," Kerguelen said, half to himself. "But it's like a ransom."
"Exactly like a ransom," Ramage said, and wondered what argument he could use to tip the scales. "But when you get two beautiful women and two men who want to marry" - he gestured at Yorke and himself - "they get a little desperate..."
Kerguelen looked at Ramage. "You are going to get married?"
Ramage nodded. It was at worst only a white lie; he'd marry Gianna one day if she accepted him, and Kerguelen was not asking when.
"You poor fellows!" Kerguelen said bitterly. "My wife decided I was away too long at sea." It was said with so much hatred there was no need to wonder whether she had found solace in another man's arms.
"Our proposition?" Ramage prompted.
"I'll do it for £3,000."
Yorke said, "We don't have it." Ramage glanced up in alarm.
"Your families will raise it."
"They certainly won't! They can't. Each of us has put up all he has - including the Surgeon here."
Kerguelen looked at each of the men in turn. Each of them thought of the rotten wood in the transom, and they held his eyes.
"All right, I'll do it for £2,500 and the agent will agree. I talked with him. He's grateful to you, Mr Bowen, for your treatment," Kerguelen said. "But I need the parole of each of you."
"You shall have it. In writing."
"How long will it take to arrange, once we get to Lisbon?"
"A month at the most. Time for a packet to reach England, and another to get to Lisbon with a reply and the money."
"Supposing the money does not come?"
"It will, but even if it didn't, you'll have waited a month," Ramage reminded him, "and by then the Channel Fleet will have returned to Plymouth..."
"Lost a month," Kerguelen said.
"You'd wait a month to make sure the Channel Fleet's in harbour again. But if the money didn't come we'd lose - how long? A year? Three years? Five? Would you like to be a prisoner that long?"
Kerguelen reflected a minute or two. He saw that once the Arabella arrived safely in Lisbon he had nothing to lose and everything to gain, while the odds were against the Englishmen.
"Very well," he said, and held out his hand to Ramage, who shook it, and was followed by the other three men. Kerguelen said, "If you give your parole that you won't try and interfere with the running of the ship, three of you can be on deck at any one time."
Ramage agreed at once: there was no chance of them retaking the ship - so far they had been exercised three at a time and covered by a dozen muskets - and nothing was to be gained by refusing. Also Kerguelen was probably trying them out; applying a little test to see if the British were acting in good faith.