With that he jumped down and beckoned to Edwards.

'Get those braziers lit. Are the bags of powder properly dampened?'

'Aye, sir, I've been trying some over a candle flame, like you said. Reckon I've got just the right dampness now.'

'Carry on then!'

The San Nicolas's starboard bow looked like the side of a large house viewed a hundred yards off. With the telescope Ramage looked again at the Spanish ship's bowsprit and jibboom, together more than eight feet long and jutting out from her bow like an enormous fishing rod. The inboard end, the bowsprit, would be some seventy feet long and probably three feet in diameter, but much of its length was inside the ship: coming in over the stem at a sharp angle, it was held by the heavy knightheads, passing down through the deck to butt up against its step just forward of the foremast. The jibboom, the thinner extension of the bowsprit, was probably fifty feet long and a little over a foot in diameter.

The whole of Ramage's plan was based on one essential fact of ship construction: because the foremast of a ship of the line, made up of four sections one above the other, was set so far forward, its main support forward came from stays leading down to the bowsprit and jibboom. Destroy the outer end of the jibboom and you could be fairly sure the jerk on the foreroyal stay would bring the highest, the foreroyal mast, toppling down, while smashing the whole jibboom would probably bring down the topgallant mast as well. Breaking off the bowsprit where it passed over the figurehead would carry away the stays holding the foremast and foretopmast. In other words the whole mast could go by the board.

This defect in ship design was why every captain feared a collision; particularly feared that while sailing in line ahead at night or in fog he would get too close to the ship next ahead so that his jibboom or bowsprit struck the other ship's taffrail.

It was all a gamble, and Ramage knew it was useless calculating whether or not the puny Kathleen could do the job - that's why he had chosen his dozen men. But because of the enormous bulk of the Spanish ship, the sheer heights involved made even the dozen men’s ability to board her a matter of chance. The top of the Kathleen’s bulwarks forward were ten feet above her waterine, and amidships only seven feet. Again Ramage cursed himself: there was a time when thinking merely wasted valuable minutes and acted like a powerful magnifying glass on your doubts. There were times – and this was one of them – where you copied the bull and not the matador: you put your head down and charged.

The braziers suddenly began to blaze as the kindling caught fire and set the men down to leeward coughing and spluttering. Ramage’s dozen men, led by Jackson, grouped round the larboard shrouds gripping their odd collection of cutlasses, half-pikes, tomahawks and butcher’s cleavers.

The San Nicholas was almost dead ahead, looming so large Ramage forced himself to look away.

'I shall luff up for a moment, Mr. Southwick, then turn to starboard. As soon as I give the word let fly all the sheets and halyards. Make sure they're overhauled and ready to run.'

To the quartermaster he said: 'Steer directly for the San Nicolas.'

He tucked his pad inside his shirt; pulled out the pistols, checked there was enough powder in the pans and jammed them back in his belt; then bent down to undo the strap over the sheath of the throwing knife inside his boot.

By the time he looked at the San Nicolas she was only eight hundred yards or so away.

'Edwards! Smoke, please!'

Edwards bellowed down a hatch and men came scrambling up with wooden cartridge boxes, each going to a particular brazier. At the one farthest forward. Edwards took the bag of powder from the box, slit the corner and gingerly shook some of the damp, caked gunpowder on to the burning brazier. At once thick clouds of oily yellow smoke billowed up.

Edwards ducked up to windward and looking aft called: 'How's that, sir?'

'Fine, Edwards. Carry on with the rest of them!'

The men promptly extracted the bags, slit the ends and began shaking powder into the braziers. Within a minute billowing smoke covered the whole ship and Ramage ran to the weather side to get a clearer view as the acrid fumes set men coughing and gasping.

'Quartermaster - come here and pass on my orders: the men at the helm will have to cough and bear it!'

A red eye winked at the San Nicolas's bow, then another, as her bow-chasers fired and the puffs of smoke drifted ahead of the great ship. There was a sound like the tearing of canvas - the noise of shots passing close overhead. He counted the seconds - the Spaniards must have reloaded by now, but they did not fire. Perhaps they were confused at the sight of the cutter. From where he stood the smoke pouring up from the braziers hid the mainsail and he guessed it probably went high enough to hide the topsail as well. The rolling bank of yellow smoke, caught by the wind, was already obscuring the horizon to leeward.

Southwick walked up through the smoke, handkerchief over his mouth and nose, eyes redder than usual, and coughing.

'We must look a fantastic sight, sir! I bet the Dons wonder what the devil's gone wrong with us! I heard a couple of shots go overhead but that's all.'

'They haven't fired again.'

Southwick looked ahead. 'She's a big bitch.'

Ramage grunted.

Southwick pointed over the larboard quarter.

The Captain, every inch of canvas drawing, was well over half-way between the British line and the Santisima Trinidad. As they watched, a hoist of flags broke out and fluttered from the Captain's signal halyards.

'Jackson - signal book!' Ramage shouted, training the telescope. 'Quickly - our pendant, numeral twenty-three! Mr. Southwick, have it acknowledged. Well, Jackson? Hurry, man!'

'Twenty-three, sir: 'To take possession of the enemy's ships captured"!'

Ramage laughed: the Commodore was a cool fellow to have time for jokes. Cool enough, he suddenly realized, to know the signal would be a tonic for the Kathleens.

'Mr. Southwick - pass the Commodore's signal to the ship's company!'

There was no time to comb the book for a witty reply; in fact both the book and the other papers in the weighted bag ought to have been sunk by now.

'Jackson - put the book into the bag and heave it over the side!'

'Now hear this!' Southwick bellowed through the speaking trumpet (so loud, Ramage thought wryly, they'll hear in the San Nicolas), 'now hear this - an order from the Commodore to the Kathleen. We've got to take possession of all the enemy ships we capture! So no skulking off to the spirit room and getting beastly drunk just because you capture a two-decker: leave a couple of men in command, then use her boats to go over and take a three-decker! Leave the Santisima Trinidad for me personally!'

Few of the men could see Southwick but through the smoke came a volley of cheers mixed with happy roars of 'Kathleen, Nick! Kathleen, Nick!'

Southwick grinned at Ramage, who merely nodded. He'd been watching the San Nicolas as the men cheered. No condemned man cheered the hangman when he recognized him. Fortunately the Kathleens didn't recognize him, and they cheered.

Yet the Spaniards too had been overconfident: the San Nicolas's anchor cables were already led out through the hawse and bent to the anchors - a thing usually done when the harbour was in sight because at sea the ends of the cables were stowed below. The carving of the St. Nicolas figurehead was beautifully done, rich with gilt and flesh tones, even if the rest of the ship was shabby.

The last five hundred yards.

'Jackson - are you all ready there?'