'Everything's being organized by the delegates in the big ships: they're doing all the running around, shouting and cheering, sending the officers on shore, and hoisting the "bloody flag". In the frigates it's different; it just means no one doing any work. Just playing cards and so on------'

Ramage interrupted: 'Stop backing and rilling! Get to the point!'

'Well, you couldn't have done anything with the Kathleens in the Lively because whatever they thought they were outnumbered five to one. In the Triton there's thirty-six originals and twenty-five Kathleens. It's a question of whether the Tritons threaten to stop the Kathleens doing anything.'

'You think they will.'

'Yes. At least, this fellow I was telling you about will.'

'And the Kathleens would obey him?'

'I'm not sure.' Jackson said frankly. 'Stafford, Fuller, Rossi, Maxton—all of them would do anything for you personally, sir. But—well, this mutiny's the only chance the Fleet has of getting an improvement.'

'What you mean is,' Ramage said bluntly, 'they think they've got to be loyal to the mutineers, and it'd be unfair to ask 'em to be loyal to me as well.'

'That's more or less it, sir,' Jackson admitted.

'I wonder if the mutineers realize that if the French Navy mutinied Bonaparte'd shoot every third man.'

'I know,' Jackson said soberly. 'That's why I'm...'

He didn't finish the sentence, and Ramage knew there was nothing more the American could tell him.

The task was simple enough; the execution was so complicated he doubted if anyone could do it. Who, with nothing to offer, could talk honest men into dividing their loyalty?

'Go back on board,' he told Jackson, 'and pass the word to Mr Southwick that I'll be out within the hour. But don't tell anyone else.'

*

The boatman at the tiller of the little cutter slicing its way through the choppy sea to take Ramage to the brig at anchor near the Spit Sand outside the harbour was as talkative and inquisitive as his mate was silent and uninterested.

'The Triton you said, sir?'

'Yes.'

'Nice little ship. Just finished refitting, they say.'

Ramage nodded.

'You'll be the new capting, I suppose, sir?'

Ramage dodged the question in case the man was in the pay of the mutineers, and asked: 'What happened to her present one?'

'Put on shore by the mutineers he was, like a lot of the officers from the ships of the line. An 'ard man, they do say.'

Ramage nodded.

'Took me new Master out to her last night.'

Ramage nodded again and, tapping the leather bag he held on his lap, said, 'I'm merely a messenger.'

The boatman eyed his trunk stowed under a tarpaulin to protect it from the spray.

'Aye,' he said, with all the insolence of a man who carried a Protection in his pocket, exempting him from the attention of a press gang, 'I guessed you must be.'

With that he spat to leeward and, jamming his hip against the tiller, dug into his pocket for a knife and a quid of tobacco. He sliced off a piece, stuck it in his mouth and began chewing.

The Triton was at anchor off Fort Monckton and just dear of Spit Sand, the big shoal on the Gosport side which almost sealed off the V-shaped entrance to Portsmouth Harbour. The shoal left only a narrow channel for large ships and it ran close in along the Southsea and Portsmouth side. Ramage noted grimly, as an idea began to form in his mind, that at half-ebb and half-flood the tidal stream there was very strong.

At first the Gosport shore sheltered the harbour entrance from the brisk west wind, but as the cutter slipped across the shallow Hamilton Bank the waves were short and high and spray blew aft, and Ramage wrapped himself in his boat cloak.

As the cutter beat down parallel with the coast he could see the Triton more clearly. Finally, with the brig bearing north-west the boatman growled:

'Mind yer 'ead, sir: smartly with them sheets, Bert.'

He pushed the tiller over and the sail swung across, filled on the other tack, and the cutter sped directly towards the brig.

Outlined against fiat land to the south of Haslar Hospital the little brig looked trim and warlike. Her two masts were exactly me same height; her hull gleamed black with a broad white strake sweeping along a few inches below the top of her bulwarks and a little wider than her gun ports, which showed as five black squares. She was floating low on her marks—showing she'd been provisioned for several months —and her yards were hanging square.

Ramage realized the boatman was steering to go alongside on the larboard side, a deliberate insult since the other side was used for officers.

'Starboard side, dam' you,' Ramage growled without looking round. That's cost you your tip.'

'Sorry sir—no offence meant; just wasn't thinking:'

'Don't lie: d'you think I don't recognize a former man o' war's man?'

It was a long shot but, from the way the man lapsed into silence, an accurate one.

The mate went to the halyards and, as the boatman luffed up the cutter, let go the halyard. Both of them grabbed the sail and stifled it and a moment later the mate had hooked on alongside the brig.

After paying the boatman Ramage slung the strap of his leather bag over his left shoulder and climbed up the brig's side battens.

There'd been no hail from a sentry on board the Triton, but Ramage knew many pairs of eyes had been watching his approach.

A few moments later he was standing on deck just forward of the main mast. A score of seamen lounging around were doing nothing, but Southwick, his hat unsuccessful in its attempt to contain his flowing white hair, was standing there saluting, a broad grin on his red face.

'Welcome on board, sir!'

Ramage returned the salute and at once shook the old Master by the hand.

'Hello and thank you, Mr Southwick: I'm glad to see you again. Are there any other commission or warrant officers on board?'

Realizing the significance of Ramage's words, Southwick said quickly: 'No, sir, only myself.'

'Very well.'

Unhurriedly Ramage opened the leather bag, took out and unfolded a large sheet of paper and, turning so the men on the deck could hear, began reading it aloud, the wind snatching at his words.

'By the Commissioners for Executing the Office of Lord High Admiral of the United Kingdom and Ireland... to Lieutenant the Lord Ramage ... His Majesty's brig Triton ... willing and requiring you forthwith to go on board and take upon you the charge and command of captain in her accordingly; strictly charging and commanding all the officers and company of the said brig to behave themselves jointly and severally in their respective appointments, with all due respect to you, their said Captain... you will carry out the General Printed Instructions and any orders and instructions you may receive ... hereof, nor you nor any of you may fail as you will answer to the contrary at your peril...'

He folded me paper and put it back in the bag. By reading to the officers on board the commission appointing him captain, he had 'read himself in', lawfully establishing himself in command. In happier times me ship's company would also have been mustered to hear it and he would have concluded with a speech which would have given them all a chance to size him up.

Jackson, Stafford and Fuller were now standing by the gangway, and Ramage was thankful for the American's foresight which ensured that his first order, to be made through the Master, would be obeyed. First impressions ...

'Mr Southwick, would you have my trunk hoisted on board from the cutter—the boatman has been paid. Then join me in the cabin.'

With that he walked slowly aft to the taffrail, turned and looked forward along the whole length of the deck.