'That the lieutenant happens to be you is a fortunate coincidence,' Spencer added.

But Ramage had already spotted the potential trap.

'If anything went wrong at Spithead, then 'I'll make a convenient scapegoat,' he added bitterly. 'And the son of "Old Blazeaway" into the bargain.'

'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?'

'I'm afraid you misunderstood me: I meant I couldn't force a ship's company / didn't know to do what I wanted. But if I may ask a favour...'

'Go on, man!'

'Well sir, I was thinking of my Kathleens------'

1—But she's sunk! They're distributed among Lord Vincent's squadron.'

'No, sir, Twenty-five of them were sent to the Lively with me—she was short of men—and came back to England.'

'Good men?'

'The best, sir! I chose them myself.'

'But the Lively's at Portsmouth or Spithead; she's probably affected.'

'I know, sir,' Ramage persisted, 'but if half the Triton's present complement could be exchanged for the twenty-five ex-Kathleens in the Lively, at least I'd have halved the odds by having nearly half a ship's company who've—well, who've------'

'Followed you because you're you...' Spencer said with a grimace. 'Very well, a messenger will take the orders to Portsmouth within an hour. That'll give the men plenty of time to settle in before you arrive.'

'May I ask one more favour, sir.'

Spencer nodded.

'The Master, sir. I'm sure the Triton's present one is a good man, but the former Master of the Kathleen, Henry Southwick, might help me turn the trick with me men.'

'Very well Anything else?'

'No sir. The rest is up to me.'

'Good. But look here, Ramage, I must make one thing clear. You know as well as I do that until you reach the West Indies and come under Admiral Robinson's command, you'll be a private ship. But don't go chasing after prizes just because there's no admiral to take his eighth share.'

Ramage's resentment must have shown in his face much as he tried to control it, because Spencer said coolly:

'You're a deuced touchy youngster. I didn't mean you'd go after the money; just telling you the Admiralty can't and don't approve of your habit of going your own way. I'd be i poor friend of your family if I didn't warn you not to make a habit of it. It's like duelling. Someone challenges and wins a duel. Very well—perhaps it was a matter of honour. But sometimes a man develops a taste for duelling: before long he's constantly looking for an imagined insult to justify a challenge. By men he's no better than a murderer.'

'I understand, sir.'

'Good. Now, you'll leave for Portsmouth tonight. We'd better spend half an hour going over the details of what's been happening at Spithead and how the Admiralty and Parliament view it, so that you can answer any questions from the admirals. Here, pen and paper and ink: make notes as I talk.'