"Pope, Dudley - Ramage - Ramage and the Freebooters" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pope Dudley)

'Scapegoat, yes--if you fail,' Spencer said blandly. 'And no public credit if you succeed, because no one but the Admiralty knows the problems you'll have overcome.'

'Exactly, my Lord.'

'You have a poor view of politicians, Ramage--and in view of your family's experience, I can't blame you. But you'd be wise to give the Board a little more credit For a start, the Board chose the man they thought would succeed. That's their prime interest. But the man they chose might fail and might become a scapegoat.'

He wagged a finger as he said slowly, emphasizing each word, 'Don't forget any public outcry brings the Navy into disrepute. Just suppose a public outcry forced us to bring you to trial. What better defence can the Admiralty have for their choice than citing your record so far--omitting your tendency to ignore orders? Who else could call witnesses to his character ranging from Lord St Vincent and Sir Horatio Nelson down to seamen who were on board the Kathleen when you rammed the San Nicolas'}' Ramage was almost persuaded and grateful to the First Lord for his frankness. He was just going to reply when Spencer said quietly:

'We're putting a lot of faith in you, Ramage. It's vital that the three admirals are warned of what's happening at Spit-head. Supposing the mutiny spreads to Admiral Duncan's fleet watching the Dutch, or Sir Richard Curtis's off Brest, or Lord St Vincent's covering the Spanish off Cadiz, or Admiral Robinson's covering the Windward and Leeward Islands, or Sir Hyde Parker's at Jamaica...

'The Royal Navy's all that stands between us and defeat,' he continued. 'You realize that. The price of bread is rising, the people are restive with empty purses and often empty bellies, Parliament is more than restive with a Government that can only announce defeats and the defection of one ally after another on the Continent. And every damned merchant in the City of London is screaming that he's ruined. Sometimes, Ramage, I wonder where and how it will all end. I daren't even think of when.' Since his only knowledge of the mutinies came from the newspapers, Ramage asked: 'What exactly are the men asking for, sir?'

'More pay; leave to visit their families when in port; better provisions and issued at sixteen ounces to the pound, not fourteen; vegetables to be served with fresh beef instead of flour when in port; better conditions for the sick; wounded to be paid until they're fit or pensioned... It's a long list.'

Hard to judge Spencer's attitude from his voice, but Ramage wondered if the First Lord knew the views of many of the junior captains. For sure he'd have heard the views of every admiral with enough wind left to express them; yet did he realize that quite a number of officers had for years felt the men's conditions should be improved? Well, now was me time...

'I think many officers feel some of me grievances are justified, sir,' he said quietly.

'I daresay,' Spencer said, 'but we can only spend the money Parliament votes us--and that's already well over twelve million pounds a year. Why, the Secretary's calculated that it'd cost over half a million a year to meet these demands.'

'But granting the men leave after they've been at sea for a year or so------'

'Out of the question!' Spencer snapped. 'They'd desert in droves!'

'Not the good men,' Ramage persisted. 'They only desert because they desperately want to see their families.'

Then, seeing Spencer was tapping the table impatiently, he decided to make just one more point.

'Purser's measure, sir--I can guess that's one of the men's main grievances. Before they went to sea, these men always considered a pound weight consisted of sixteen ounces. Yet when a sixteen-ounce pound of meat is sent to a ship, only fourteen ounces are issued to the men and they're called a pound------'

'Ramage, you know as well as I do about wasting. Meat goes rotten, bread gets stale, beer leaks, weevils eat the flour. & the purser wasn't allowed the difference between the two measures he'd never balance his books!'

Ramage then knew it was pointless to argue. Spencer was surrounded by clerks with their ledgers. He'd never seen a dishonest purser at work; never seen the wretched fellow altering his books the moment a seaman died, debiting him with clothes and tobacco he'd never had, so that there was nothing left of the man's pay for the wretched widow...

Spencer's next question caught him unawares.

'Do you think you can make sixty mutineers get the Triton under way?'

'No, sir,' he answered, suddenly realizing this was his chance to lessen the odds. 'I don't think anyone could board a brig which had a mutinous crew and make them do anything, even if he had fifty Marines to back him up.'

He might just as well have flung an inkwell into the First Lord's face.

'My God, Ramage! You realize what's at stake? You, of all people, now saying you can't do it when a minute or two ago you said...'

He began pushing his chair back, obviously intending to leave the room.

'Sir------'

Spencer paused. 'Well?'