But there was no mistaking that raddled or not the San Nicolas had teeth: the muzzles of her guns were dozens of stubby black fingertips poking out of the ports. In a few minutes he'd be able to see details of the gilt work on her bow and figure head. She was about a mile off.

Stafford was teasing Fuller again. 'Wotcher want wiv that pike?' he demanded. 'Use a rod and a big fish 'ook, mate; yer won't need bait. Just cast yer 'ook so it 'itches in their breeches!'

Fuller grunted an oath and continued chopping the pike haft to shorten it.

'Fishes could teach you a thing or two.'

'Ho yus! Reely brainy, fish. So brainy they bite your 'ooks. Takes brains, that do.'

‘There's more brain in a cod's head than your whole body, y'clacking picklock!'

'Belay that,' Southwick interrupted. 'Keep it for the Dons.'

He then walked over to Ramage with his sword. 'Perhaps you'd care to use this, sir. It's served me well.'

It was enormous. Ramage could visualize a bearded Viking waving it with two hands as he leapt on shore from a longboat. But as he drew it from the scabbard he realized it was beautifully balanced.

'I'd appreciate it, Mr. Southwick,' he said, 'and I hope I'll put it to good use.'

The Master beamed and slipped the shoulder belt over Ramage's head.

As the San Nicolas came on, Ramage noted thankfully the rest of the leading group were instinctively closing in astern of her. And in behaving like driven cattle crowding together behind their leader to pass through a gate, they were increasing his chances of creating confusion.

'A cast of the log if you please, Mr. Southwick. Jackson, pass me my pistols. Quartermaster, what are you heading?'

Ramage wanted to know the Kathleen's exact course and speed, and after looking at the Captain he glanced at his sketch. Southwick stood beside him, studied the pencil lines and shook his head.

'The Commodore won't make it'

Ramage shrugged his shoulders again and pointed towards the British line. The Excellent had already quit the line and was following the Captain.

'Perhaps not. But we don't seem to be keeping a very sharp lookout, Mr. Southwick. I trust we haven't missed any signals?'

'Bit difficult to know where to watch,' Southwick said sourly. 'So dam' much going on!'

'You merely have to watch; I've got to think and plan as well!' flared Ramage.

'Sorry, sir.'

'So am I,' Ramage said hurriedly. 'We're all a bit jumpy. Well, I'd better say a few words to the ship's company: time's getting short. Muster 'em aft, Mr. Southwick.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

As he stood balancing on a carronade waiting for the men to gather round him Ramage wondered how much his face had revealed in the past half an hour. Had it shown the slight doubt which had swelled into something approaching paralysing fear? Did it even now betray the tingling exhilaration which was beginning to grip him like drunkenness?

He was surrounded by a sea of eager, excited and unshaven faces: the men were stripped to the waist and most of them had rags tied round their heads to stop perspiration running into their eyes. They looked tough - almost wild - eager and confident. And they were silent. There was just the occasional creak of the tiller and the slopping of the sea under the counter as the cutter pitched slightly. A few gulls wheeled and mewed astern, as if trying to attract the cook's mate's attention and tell him it was time a bucket of rubbish was emptied over the side.

‘I told you earlier,' he began, 'that we'd only be spectators at the ringside. Well, I was wrong: we're going to be one of the prize-fighters and—'

He paused, surprised at the men's burst of cheering and, realizing the men liked the boxing metaphor, quickly rephrased what he was going to say.

'—and I just want to make sure you know where we land our first punch. Well - you can see the Dons are trying to make a bolt round the end of our line. It looks as though Sir John can't see for smoke. Anyway, you all saw the Commodore leave the line to head them off, and it's touch and go whether he can get in among the leaders in time.

'That's where we come in. There they are - you can see 'em all bunched up, with the San Nicolas leading.' He gestured over the bow and saw he had little time left.

'Well, I'm certain that if we can do something to stop the San Nicolas or make her alter course suddenly, the rest of that lubberly bunch astern of her will get so confused they'll run aboard each other. If we can cause enough confusion to delay 'em just ten or fifteen minutes that'll be enough for the Commodore and Captain Collingwood.

'So this is what we're going to do. Most of you have served in a ship of the line. You know her weak spot - the jibboom and bowsprit. Knock them off and nine times out of ten down comes the foremast.

'We've got one punch and that's where it's got to land. You can see we're heading for the San Nicolas. She can only fire her bow-chasers at us, and frankly they don't scare me. At the last moment I shall turn to larboard - like a boxer stepping back to deliver a punch - and then suddenly turn to starboard, slap across her bows. If I time it right our mast should snap off her jibboom and with a bit of luck her bowsprit should catch in our rigging.

'What happens after that is anyone's guess. My guess is that for a few moments before her stem hits us our whole weight will be hanging on her bowsprit, and she'll start dragging us along. But the minute she does hit us, she'll start to roll us over - and as we go we'll be pulling even harder on the bowsprit. I'll tell you later whether we sink before the bowsprit gives way!'

Again the men cheered. A glance forward showed he had at the most two minutes left to explain what he wanted.

'Now whatever happens, one thing's certain: as we hit the San Nicolas there'll be a few moments before anything happens. During that time the dozen men I've chosen will try to get on board her and cut every sheet, halyard and brace they can reach. It won't be easy but it shouldn't be impossible because they won't expect to be boarded. In fact they'll be expecting to watch us drown.

'Jackson - step over there and the rest join him. There - they are the twelve, and they have absolute priority in boarding: the rest of you must give 'em a hand if need be. After that, you're all welcome to join the party!'

They laughed and there was a chorus of 'Rely on us, sir!'

'Fine. But no needless risks. If you can't board the San Nicolas, try and save yourselves. Those hammocks piled up there will float and there'll be plenty of wreckage. Grab anything for the moment and hang on. Don't give up hope, however long you have to wait.

'There'll be a lot of smoke and a lot of noise, and there's a danger you'll mistake each other for Dons. So' - Ramage was glad he'd just remembered - 'the challenge is "Kathleen" and the reply ...' Damn, he couldn't think of anything.

'Nick!' shouted a seaman.

'Very well,' Ramage grinned, 'the reply is "Nick". Not "Old Nick", if you please!'

'Kathleen!' bawled a man.

'Nick!' roared the rest.

Ramage held up his hand.

'The rendezvous - the San Nicolas's quarterdeck!'

Again the men roared their approval.

'And remember this: every halyard, every brace, every sheet you see - cut it!don't go for the Dons first, go for the sheets and braces. With them cut, the ship's helpless and then you can tackle the Dons. And make a noise - that's what frightens 'em. Shout and slash - and challenge!'

'Shout and slash!' The men bellowed, 'Kathleen, Nick! Shout and slash!'

Again Ramge held up his hand for silence.

'Very well, men, time's getting short. He glanced at the San Nicolas and to the men's delight exclaimed, 'It's so short we're up to the bitter end! Right, don't hang around gossiping!'