Ramage ran half blinded with excitement but seeing more men jumping on board from the Captain. At last the quarterdeck ladder - and a Spanish officer, backing down it with a British seaman above lunging at him, turned to jump and fell to Jackson's cutlass.

'Kathleens here!' Ramage bellowed up to the quarterdeck, 'We're the Kathleens!'

' 'Bout bloody time!' bawled the seaman and started back up the ladder to rejoin the fighting.

But pistols were firing in the captain's cabin and instead of going up the ladder Ramage ran under the half deck to find a dozen or more Spaniards shooting aft into the cabin through the closed door.

Jackson, Stafford and several others had followed him and as Ramage roared 'Kathleens! Come on the Kathleens!' the Spaniards turned, throwing away their pistols and swinging cutlasses and swords. There was no conscious thought, only instinct: parry a stabbing blade here, slice at a screaming Spaniard there, jump back to avoid a lunging cutlass point, sidestep and reach over to parry a wrist-jarring slash which would have split open Jackson's skull. A man in magnificent uniform and garlic-laden breath leapt forward with his sword but before Ramage could parry a blade flashed, the sword dropped from the man's hand and he fell. Glancing round, Ramage just had time to see Jackson grin and realize the Kathleens were standing amid a pile of bodies when the cabin door, riddled with pistol shot, suddenly burst open and a wild-eyed, smoke-begrimed seaman leapt through, cutlass in his hand, pausing a moment before attacking them.

'We're English!' yelled Stafford. 'Watch 'art, yer crazy loon!'

The strident Cockney voice stopped the man as effectively as a bullet, but he was flung aside by more men so Stafford repeated his yells.

Then the Commodore was standing there, hatless, sword in one hand and pistol in another.

He stared at Ramage for a moment, said with a grin of recognition, 'Ah! At least you obey my orders!' and ran past to get to the quarterdeck ladder.

Ramage followed but realized the fighting up there had stopped. Berry and his men were already herding the Spaniards over to the starboard side where they could be covered by muskets from the Captain's decks.

Commodore Nelson spoke a few words to Berry, pointing to the San Josef now lying alongside the San Nicolas, and Berry shouted for his men.

'Mr. Ramage!' called Nelson, 'I think we'll have that fellow as well!' and began running to the San Josef.

Without waiting for more orders, Berry's men and the Kathleens made a mad rush across the quarterdeck, the lithe little Commodore among the leaders, The San Josef’s bulwarks were considerably higher than the San Nicolas's and both Ramage and Nelson leapt into the main chains together. Nelson slipped, Ramage grabbed his arm until he regained his footing, and just as they began climbing a Spanish officer appeared above them on the quarterdeck, calling down that the ship had surrendered. Nelson gave a yell of delight and Ramage felt relief. Then there was a sudden flash at the gun port below and Ramage felt himself swirling slowly down, down, down, into a deep black well of silence.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The drum was beating in rhythm with his heart, the drum would never stop beating, forever sending the ship's company to quarters and to death. Heart of oak, are our men ... Tat-tat-tat, tat, tat-tat ... Ramage tried to scream at the drummer to stop but no words came. The beat was regular and loud: it throbbed in his ears, in his temples, in his chest, and as he twisted his head to get away from it he felt himself spiralling upwards, weightless, dizzy and frightened. He opened his eyes and saw Southwick's blurred face creased with anxiety. Slowly it began to revolve like a top and Ramage shut his eyes again.

'Mr. Ramage!'

'Wha's it, Southwi'?'

'How do you feel, sir?'

'Wha' happen'?'

'You were shot at through a gun port after the San Josef had surrendered.'

Throb, throb, bang, bang; the band round his brow was tight and Southwick's face began to spin again. Ramage clutched his head and felt cloth: strips of cloth wound round like an Indian's turban.

Southwick seemed to be whispering from a long way off. Ramage opened his eyes again to find Southwick's face close, beads of perspiration welling up through the bristles. Southwick unshaven? It was all very puzzling: he wasn't in his cabin in the Kathleen. Ramage started to sit up but Southwick's face spun again.

'Easy sir, easy, you're on board the Irresistible. The Commodore's hoisted his broad pendant in her.'

'But why aren't I—'

'You remember, sir,' Southwick said soothingly, 'you remember we boarded the San Nicolas and then the Captain—'

'Yes, I remember.'

It came back slowly at first, not facts but pictures: the Kathleen steering for that great cliff face that was the San Nicolas; the impact and the cutter dragging athwart the Spaniard's stem; then that mad dash along the San Nicolas's decks; then the Commodore and climbing the San Josef’s main chains and a Spanish officer shouting down they had surrendered. Abruptly the pictures stopped.

'What happened next?'

'Next to what, sir?' Southwick was puzzled.

'After that damn' Spaniard said they'd surrendered?'

'You were shot at through a gun port. They didn't know below that the ship had hauled down her colours. If you'll excuse me a moment, sir.'

With that he bellowed to the sentry at the door. Ramage winced, the pain blotting out Southwick's words.

'You fell, sir,' Southwick continued.

'I'm not surprised.'

'No, I mean you fell into the sea between the two ships.'

'Why didn't I drown, or get crushed?'

'Those two again. Jackson and Stafford. They went down after you.'

'They're mad. No wonder I feel sick. I must have swallowed half the bay of Cadiz.'

'You did, sir. I flung them a rope but it took time to get a turn under your armpits. When they got you on deck we thought at first you'd gone. I've never seen anyone look so dead.'

'You'd better send for those two.'

'Well, if you'd wait a moment, sir.'

Ramage felt too weak to argue.

A knock at the door but the person did not wait for an answer. Ramage tried to turn to see who it was but again his head spun.

'Well, Mr. Ramage,' said the familiar sharp, nasal voice, and the Commodore was standing at the foot of the cot. 'Well, Mr. Ramage, you have a thick head - fortunately!'

'At the moment it feels a bit thin in places, sir.'

'It is, too! Now you'll have two scars on your starboard beakhead, a bullet wound to add to the sword cut. And a good thing, too, the ladies love it. Take my word for it, if you're going to get wounded, a handsome scar they can admire is worth more than the handsomest face in the room! My own little souvenir of the battle, for instance, won't count for much. I have a most unromantically bruised stomach!'

Ramage laughed and felt he had been hit on the head again.

'But seriously, Ramage, only a criminal idiot would have tried to do what you did with the Kathleen. Fortunately for me, the wicked sometimes prosper. You succeeded and I've achieve a little notoriety for having captured two of the Fleet's four prizes.'

'I'm glad, sir.'

'I know you are,' Nelson said warmly. 'But I said notoriety, not credit. I've not yet seen the Commander-in-Chief, and since I acted with as much authority as you did, both of us might be in a scrape. But whatever happens, Mr. Ramage, if it ever lies in my power to render you a service ...'

Ramage was struggling to find a suitable reply when Nelson added, 'And I'm glad to tell you that you'll be sent home in the Lively frigate with Sir Gilbert Elliot.'