At the foot of the ladder he paused, a spasm of fear twisting his stomach: at the top carnage and chaos awaited him. Decisions, vital decisions, had to be made and orders given - by someone who had been below, commanding one division of the guns for most of the action, his field of view restricted to what could be seen through a gun port, and unconscious for the rest of the time.

 As he struggled up the ladder Ramage found he was talking to himself, like a child learning something by rote: the Captain, First and Second Lieutenants must have been killed, which leaves me the next senior. The boy said the Bosun had sent word that I'm in command, so presumably the Master was also dead, otherwise the message would have come from him. Well, thank God the Bosun survived, and let's hope the Surgeon's been spared and stayed sober.

How many of the Sibella's guns have fired in the last few minutes? Four or five, and they are all on the main-deck, which means the upper-deck guns and carronades must be out of action. With only four or five guns firing on the engaged side, how many of the ship's company are still alive? There'd been 164 answering last Sunday's muster.

 Two more rungs and I'll be at the top. Another broadside from the Barras on its way: strange how gunfire across water sounds like thunder - and now the tearing canvas sound of passing round shot, and the horrible punching which shook the ship to the keel as more shot crashed into the hull.

More screams and more men killed. His fault, too: if only he'd hurried he might have done something that'd saved them.

Now his head was level with the narrow gangway running the length of the ship, joining fo'c'sle to quarter-deck, and he realized it would soon be twilight. Then he was on the gangway itself, staggering over to the bulwark. But he hardly recognized the ship: on the fo'c'sle the carronade on each bow had been wrenched from its slide and piles of bodies showed the crews had been killed at the same time. The ornamented belfry and galley chimney had vanished; great sections of the bulwark along the starboard side were smashed in and dozens of rolled-up hammocks lay scattered across the deck, torn from their usual stowed positions in nettings on top of the bulwarks.

 Looking right aft across the quarter-deck he saw that all the rest of the carronades had been torn from their slides, and round each of those on the starboard side were more bodies. One section of the main capstan was smashed in, leaving the gilded crown on top hanging askew; and instead of the double wheel just forward of the mizenmast, manned by a couple of quartermasters, there was just a gaping hole in the deck. Shot had bitten chunks out of the mizenmast - and the mainmast. And the foremast, too. And bodies - it seemed to Ramage there were more bodies sprawled about the deck than men in the whole ship's company; yet seamen were still running about - and others were working the remaining guns on the deck below. He saw four or five Marines crouching down behind the bulwark abreast the mizenmast re-loading their muskets.

 And the Barras? Just as Ramage looked out through a gun port the Bosun ran up, but he told him to wait a moment. God, what a terrifying sight she was! Silhouetted against the western horizon, below which the sun had set some ten minutes ago, the great ship seemed like a huge island fortress in the sea, black and menacing, apparently impregnable. And so far as the Sibella is concerned, Ramage thought bitterly, she is impregnable. She was under a maintopsail only and steering parallel with the Sibella about 800 yards away.

Ramage glanced across the ship, over the larboard side. Almost abeam and perhaps a couple of miles away was the solid bulk of the Argentario peninsula, a sprawling mass of rock joined to the mainland of Italy by a couple of narrow causeways. Monte Argentario itself, the highest of the peaks, was just abaft the beam. The Barras, ranging up to seaward, had the Sibella neatly trapped, like an assassin with his victim against a wall.

'Well, Bosun...'

 'Thank Christ you're 'ere, sir: I thought you'd gone too. You all right sir? You're covered in blood.'

'A bang on the head. What's the position?'

 The Bosun's face, blackened by smoke from the guns, was striped where runs of perspiration following the wrinkles showed the tanned skin beneath and gave him an almost comical appearance, like a sorrowful bloodhound.

Obviously making a great effort to keep his voice calm and not forget anything in his report to the new commanding officer, he waved a hand aft. 'You can see this lot; sir: wheel's smashed and so's the tiller and rudder head - can't rig tackles 'cos the rudder pendents is shot away. Ship's just about steering herself, with us helping with the sheets and braces. Chain pump's smashed, so's the head pumps. The Carpenter's Mate says there's four feet o' water in the well and rising fast. The foremast will go by the board any minute - just look at it, I dunno what's holding it up. Mainmast is sprung in two places with shot still embedded, and the mizen in three.'

'And the butcher's bill?'

 'About fifty dead and sixty or so wounded, sir. One round of grapeshot did for the Captain and the First Lieutenant. The Surgeon and Purser were—'

 'Belay all that: where's the Carpenter's Mate? Pass the word for him.'

 While the Bosun turned away, Ramage glanced back at the Barras. Hadn't she just come round to larboard a little, just a few degrees, so her course was now converging slightly with the Sibella's? He thought he could see a movement indicating seamen trimming the maintopsail yard round a fraction. Did they want to get even closer?

 The Sibella was sailing at about four knots and yawing through four points. She would steer herself better if the sail aft was reduced, so that the foretopsail pulled her along.

'Bosun! Clew up the main and mizen topsails and set the spritsaiL'

With no sails drawing on main and mizen masts, the wind would not tend to push the ship's stern round, and the spritsail, set under the bowsprit, would help the foretopsail, though it was almost too small to help much in such a light wind.

 As the Bosun's shouts set the men to work, Ramage saw the Carpenter's Mate approaching: he seemed to have smeared more tallow on his body than on the cone-shaped wooden shot plugs which he had been hammering into the holes in the hulL

'Well, make your report'

'More'n four feet o' water in the well, no pumps, six or more shot betwixt wind and water, an' three or more below the waterline - must have hit as she rolled, sir.'

'Very well: sound the well again and report to me at once.' Four feet of water. Mathematics was Ramage's weak point and he tried to concentrate, knowing the Barras's next broadside was due any moment. Four feet of water: well, the Sibella's draught is just over fifteen feet, and every seven tons of stores taken on board put her an inch lower in the water. How many tons did that four feet of water swilling about down below represent? What did it matter, anyway, he thought impatiently: what matters is the Carpenter's Mate's next report.

 'Bosun - have some men cut away the anchors. Tell them to keep their heads down: we don't want any more casualties.'

Might as well try to get rid of some weight to compensate for the water flooding in. That would save about five tons in weight - decrease the Sibella's draught by just over half an inch. It's almost ludicrous, but it'll give the men something to do: with so many guns out of action seamen were now wandering around aimlessly, waiting for orders. He could save plenty of weight by heaving damaged guns over the side, but with the few men available it would take too long.

 The Carpenter's Mate was back. 'Five feet, sir, and the more she goes down the more shot holes there are being submerged.'