'And before Mr Southwick came on board?'

'I was just one of the men, sir.'

Deciding bluff might help, Ramage asked:

'Why did they choose you? There must be a reason. In fact I heard you made yourself the leader.'

'No, sir!' Harris exclaimed. 'Whoever told you dial's a liar!'

'Have you any enemies on board?'

'No, sir.'

'Then why would anyone tell lies about you?'

'I don't know, sir. All I------'

'Well?'

'—All I do is write the letters for them that can't write, sir, and read letters from home. The men—well, they sort of rely on me.'

It was so simple and so obviously true. To the men Harris would be 'educated'; an obvious choice as a spokesman. They hadn't so much chosen him as left it to him. Yet if the Admiralty acted harshly, interpreted the Articles of War literally, it could----- 'You realize you can be hanged for what you've done?'

'Hanged, sir? Me, sir? Why, I...'

The man was stockily built, with a round and cheerful face, md fair hair that refused to grow at any normal angle from his head. He was the man in the shop helping the butcher, the baker or the grocer serve the customers: quietly-spoken, honest, well-meaning... And now the cheerful face was frightened: perspiration forming on the upper lip, hands clasped tightly behind the back, a slight sagging in at me chest, the shoulders coming forward, as if half-expecting a blow. And Ramage knew me man was hurriedly recalling the dozens of times he'd heard the Articles of War read aloud by the captain—at least once a month all the time he was it sea.

Ramage let him dunk for a full couple of minutes, then said quietly:

'I'll refresh your memory. Article Three, for instance: anyone who "shall give, hold or entertain intelligence to or with any Enemy or Rebel...'—punishable by death. Article four: failing to tell a superior officer about any letter or message from an enemy or rebel within twelve hours—death or such punishment as the court awards. Article Five: endeavouring to corrupt—same punishment. Article Nineteen: making a mutinous assembly, contempt to a superior officer —same punishment. (Then there are numbers Twenty, concealing "any traitorous or mutinous practice or design"; Twenty-one, any complaints about victuals to be made quietly to a superior officer, not used to create a disturbance; Twenty-two, disobeying the lawful command of a superior officer; Twenty-three, using reproachful or provoking speeches or gestures------'

'But sir, all I------'

'The delegates are rebels, Harris: they are rebels against their officers, captains, admirals and King... You "entertained intelligence" from them: you listened to what they said and obeyed them by joining the mutiny. You didn't tell a superior officer within twelve hours. By talking about the mutiny with the rest of the men you "took part in a mutinous assembly". You told the twenty-five men who joined from the Lively that the Triton had mutinied, and you and your shipmates scared them into joining you... Harris you can be hanged under half a dozen of the Articles of War: you've done things where the Articles don't even give a court an option—it would have to condemn you to death...'

'But I only told Mr Southwick------'

'And the men from the Lively.' '—Well, yes, I just sort of told them—they knew already, though.'

'Knew what?'

'That me Fleet had mutinied.'

'They didn't know the Triton had: you told them. Article Nineteen—you're guilty under both parts, and death the penalty for each. Twenty, Twenty-one ...'

'But I just told 'em, sir. I didn't make 'em join in. Anyone could have told 'em: it just happened to be me.'

'Harris,' Ramage said quietly, 'on the table beside you: the mahogany box.'

'Yes, sir?'

'Open it.'

Warily the man opened the lid.

'What do you see?'

'Pair o' pistols, sir. Bag o' shot, powder flask an' all that'

'Take out a pistol and load it."

The man was trembling now but fascinated by handling the most beautifully made pistol he'd probably ever seen. He poured a measure of powder down the muzzle, took a wad from a fitted box and rammed it home, then put in a round lead shot and rammed that home.

'The priming powder is in the smaller flask.'

Harris poured a measure from the flask on to me pan and closed the steel.

'Now load the other one.'

He'd gained more confidence and loaded it faster. Just as he finished and before he had time to put it down Ramage, still speaking quietly, said:

'Now pick up me other one.'

The man stood there, slightly hunched, a pistol in each hand.

'Cock them.'

A click from the right hand; a click from the left.

'Now, Harris, as you've probably guessed, those duelling pistols have hair triggers. The most accurate pistols ever made.'

'Yes, sir,' Harris said, bemused and puzzled by what was happening.

'Now raise your right hand — higher — point the pistol at me, Harris. Come on!'

The man's hand was shaking so much Ramage hoped he'd remember the warning about the hair triggers.

'Now Harris — you can shoot me, and use the other pistol on Mr Southwick. Then you can take over command of the Triton. You could sail her over to Boulogne or Calais — or Cherbourg, even Havre de Grace. Bonaparte'd pay you prize money for the ship — you'd all get a share : enough to live in comfort in France for the rest of your lives. Providing Bonaparte wins the war, of course.'

'But, sir,' Harris wailed, the pistols dropping to his side. 'Sir, none of us want anything like that.'

'But Harris,' Ramage said coldly, motioning him to put the pistols down on the table, 'if you shot me and Mr Southwick you'd be no guiltier than you are already. You can't be hanged more than once. Mutiny, intelligence with rebels, treason — a couple of murders won't make matters much worse.'

Even in the chilly light Ramage could see the man was almost fainting.

'Sit down!'

Harris sagged on the edge of the settee behind him, head between his hands, his whole body trembling.

Ramage was sickened by what he'd been forced to do; but now the most intelligent of the original Tritons fully understood the significance of the Fleet's action. And Harris sat mere realizing, for the first time, how close his neck was to the noose at one end of a rope rove from a block at the fore Even now Harris was probably imagining the coarse rasping of the rope on his skin, the knot jammed against one side of his neck; imagining a shouted order and the sudden crash of a gun firing on the deck below where he'd been standing. Then the garrotting while his body soared straight up in the air as men ran with the other end . . .

Ramage said: "Harris, my precise orders are known to very few people: me First Lord of the Admiralty, the Port Admiral and Mr Southwick. But I'll tell you this much: this is going to be a long voyage. You already know nearly half the ship's company have served with me before. Only a few weeks ago I had to give them orders which they knew should have resulted in them being killed by the Spaniards. Even before that several of them risked death many times at my side. They've never flinched and they've never refused. In fact they carried out those orders cheerfully. You know all this?'

Tartly, sir; they was telling us last night.'

'Well, I command a different ship now. More than half the crew haven't served with me. The point is, Harris, I may have to give similar orders again ...'

'Yes, sir?'

'Those orders will have to be obeyed.'

'And they will be, sir, if it's up to me!'

'Yet my first order—to weigh anchor—was not. Hardly a good start.'

'But sir------'

'That's all, Harris: carry on.'

The man wanted to say something but Ramage waved him through the door.

How many such men were there in the Fleet, in those great sail of the line, each with a ship's company of seven or eight hundred? Perhaps barely one in a hundred was a real trouble-maker, which left ninety-nine Harrises, all equally guilty in law but in fact guilty only of putting their trust in hot-heads; of being led astray; of believing they had a just cause of complaint and that once the Admiralty knew of it, they'd put it right...