'No!' exclaimed Ramage. 'I mean, if you please, sir, I'd prefer to stay with the Fleet!'

'But why?'

'I - well sir, I'd like to see my ship's company are all right.'

'Mr. Ramage,' Nelson said gently and with a smile, 'you have no ship, and therefore no ship's company. And the service is well able to take care of the survivors.'

Ramage felt too weak to explain, and knowing the Commander was right he shut his eyes with weariness and pain.

'I'll call on you again,' the Commodore said sympathetically, and left the cabin.

'What was the butcher's bill?' Ramage asked Southwick several minutes later.

'Incredibly light, sir. Twelve dead. Edwards, the gunner's mate, wasn't seen from just before we hit the San Nicolas - I think a shot from her bow-chaser may have got him - and eleven seamen. Six of those never got on board the San Nicolas and five were killed in the fighting. One of those was Jensen, who was with you at Cartagena, hit by one of the San Josef's sharp-shooters. Only four wounded - yourself, Fuller and two ordinary seamen.'

'We were lucky,' Ramage said soberly. 'God knows, we were lucky.'

'You were careful, sir,' said Southwick.

'Careful?1

'I've been - well, sir, I know it's a bit unusual, but the ship's company asked me to tell you - as discreetly as possible you realize, sir - they appreciate the care you took to lessen the loss of life.'

'If only you—' he exclaimed, then said, 'no, thank them, Southwick. But from the moment we tacked towards the San Nicolas I never expected any of us to survive.'

He took a deep breath. 'That's the care I took,' he added bitterly. 'Instead of more than sixty dead, I killed only a dozen.'

'No, sir, don't take on like that. You aren't fair to yourself. We've got to fight; some of us'll get killed. The men know that. They thought all along after we tacked that they'd be killed. They knew you thought they didn't guess; but they did realize, and they kept cheerful for your sake, sir. And they're right to thank you.'

'I suppose so,' Ramage said. 'But I'm too befuddled—'

The door opened and the chubby and bespectacled surgeon came in. 'Goodness gracious, Mr. Southwick - I must ask you to leave. Our patient looks worn out. Really, really, really! All my work undone by fifteen minutes of chatter, chatter, chatter!'

Southwick looked alarmed and stood up to leave. Ramage winked as the Master turned to the door.

Next day while Ramage fretted in his cot, irritated by the constant attention of the surgeon (who was quick to spot the Commodore's particular interest in his patient), Sir John Jervis's ships were becalmed with the Spanish Fleet still in sight - 'In great disorder,' Southwick reported gleefully.

The day after that the British Fleet spent several hours trying to weather Cape St. Vincent against head winds, and finally Sir John decided to bear away for Lagos Bay, just to the eastward of Cape St. Vincent, and in the evening the Fleet and its prizes anchored.

Ramage, allowed to sit in a chair, had just started writing once again to his father - hard put to read what he'd written in the first letter, which had been soaked in sea water - when Southwick came into the cabin.

'From the Commander-in-Chief,' he said, handing Ramage a sealed letter addressed to Lieutenant Lord Ramage, formerly of His Majesty's late cutter, 'Kathleen'. 'I've signed for it. One's gone to every captain.'

Ramage read the letter and then wondered if it was identical in wording to the others. Not a mention of the Commodore, either by name or the role of the Captain. Nor Captain Troubridge and the Culloden, Captain Frederick and the Blenheim, nor Captain Collingwood and the Excellent.

Dated "Victory, Lagos Bay, 16th February, 1797', it said:

Sir,

No language I am possessed of can convey the high sense I entertain of the exemplary conduct of the flag officers, captains, officers, seamen, marines and soldiers embarked on board every ship of the Squadron I have the honour to command, present at the vigorous and successful attack made upon the Fleet of Spain on the 14th inst. The signal advantage obtained by His Majesty's arms on that day, is entirely owing to their determined valor [sic] and discipline; and I request you will accept yourself, and give my thanks and approvation to those composing the ship under your eommand. I am, Sir,

Your most humble servant,

J. Jervis.

Southwick was watching him closely and said, 'It's going to cause trouble, sir.'

'How do you know? Have you read it?'

'No, sir, not yours; but Captain Martin gave me a sight of his before he read it to this ship's company. He was pretty angry - reckons it's an insult to the Commodore.'

'Well, it mentions no names, so there's no favouritism.'

'No, but I heard by a side wind from the Victory that Sir John's official letter to the Admiralty doesn't mention captains or ships either.'

This seemed so improbable that Ramage grunted his disbelief.

'It's true, sir, the whole Fleet knows by now that Sir John wrote one letter, then Captain Calder read it and, being a spiteful man, said if the Commodore was given any praise it'd encourage others to disobey orders. So Sir John wrote another, mentioning no names at all.'

Calder! Ramage knew at once the story was probably true: it was common knowledge Calder was more than jealous of the Commodore. (And that, he suddenly realized, probably accounted for Calder's hostility towards him: he probably thought he was one of the Commodore's protégés.) Surprising that Sir John didn't see through such spitefulness.

There was a knock on the door and the Commodore himself walked in.

'Sitting up and taking nourishment, eh?'

'Precious little nourishment in this, sir,' Ramage said, waving the letter.

'Oh well, words on paper count less than actions, Mr. Ramage,' Nelson said banteringly. 'In the battle the Prince George expended 197 barrels of powder, the Blenheim 180, the Culloden 170 and the Captain 146. The Captain fired more shot that she would have had on board - when we had no more round or grapeshot for the 32-pound carronades my men began using 9-pound roundshot. But when the official letter is published, I doubt if you'll see the four ships named even once. Yet does it matter, really? Those whose opinions any of us value will soon get to know, and who cares about the rest? Remember, if you don't fret and expect justice, you'll probably hoist your flag eventually and live to a ripe old age!'

'I hope you'll guarantee that in writing, sir!'

'I've just told you not to expect justice! But seriously, Ramage, it's more important to forget the profit and loss account in a battle and think of the total effect on the enemy.'

'I don't see the difference, sir.'

'Well, Sir John's despatch will delight the Press; the politicians will gleefully announce in Parliament that a British Fleet of fifteen sail of the line met twenty-seven Spanish sail of the line, gave them a good trouncing and captured four at no loss to themselves. They won't reveal - won't even realize - the most valuable and significant part of the victory.'

'But—'

'It's the men that matter, Ramage, not ships. The finest and largest fighting ship in the world is useless if her captain and crew are frightened of the enemy. The worst and smallest fighting ship is invaluable if her captain and crew believe they will win. Good heavens man, you tackled the San Nicolas with the Kathleen, didn't you?

'Remember that, and then think beyond the horizon: this is the first battle the Spaniards have fought against us in this war. In sheer numbers they had nearly twice as many ships and twice as many guns - and that doesn't take into account most of their ships were larger. They had the weather gage, and they fought knowing they had Cadiz to leeward as a refuge for refitting. Yet they lost - decisively!'