Suddenly there was a hail from the foremast-head: 'Sail ho!'

'Where away?' Aitken bellowed through the speaking trumpet.

'On the starboard beam close under the land, just coming clear of the headland, sir.'

Ramage snatched up his telescope. The heel of the island, where a stirrup would fit, formed a deep, narrow bay; the headland was Pointe Dunkerque and the bay went inland for a couple of miles. He could see a sail - no, two sails, square-sails, but the rest of the ship was hidden below the curvature of the earth.

'What do you make of her?' Aitken shouted.

'Too far off, sir. Two masts, steering south-east, but that's all.'

Ramage looked round for Jackson, handed him the telescope and gestured aloft. The American ran to the main-chains and a moment later was going up the ratlines like a monkey.

The First Lieutenant looked questioningly and Ramage nodded. 'Beat to quarters, Mr Aitken. Pendant numbers ready, and I'll let you know the challenge and reply in a moment. And bear up for the Point; don't lose anything to leeward.'

With that he went down to his cabin and unlocked a drawer in the desk, taking out a heavy canvas bag. It contained the ship's secret papers, and he pulled the lines that kept it closed through the brass grommets. He took out the lead weight that would make sure the bag sank quickly if it had to be thrown over the side to avoid capture, and removed the papers. On top was a white card on which three tables were drawn. These were the challenge and reply, which changed daily for the next three months. He ran his finger down one column, noted the challenge for the day of the month, then moved his finger sideways and read off the reply. Two three-figure numbers. He never trusted his own memory and scribbled them down on a sheet of paper before restowing the documents and the weight and returning the bag to the drawer.

As he went up the companionway he heard the bustle of men going to general quarters: the gunner would be down in the magazine, gun captains would be collecting the locks and prickers for each gun, already the decks would be wetted and men sprinkling sand. The boys would be waiting at the magazine scuttle with their wooden cartridge boxes, and the Marine Lieutenant would be stationing his men round the bulwarks.

He reached the top of the companionway and glanced aloft. The Juno was now stretching northwards, rolling with the beam sea. He looked forward to see a strong west-going current setting the Juno crabwise away from the headland. Why didn't Aitken brace the yards sharp up? They would end up well to leeward of the brig at this rate.

Southwick hurried up and, guessing what Ramage was about to say, explained apologetically: 'There are reefs up to a mile off the Point, sir, and Jackson says she's a brig, and from the cut of her topsails she's British.*

'He should know,' Ramage said, and the Master grinned. The Triton, in which all three of them had served for nearly two years, had been a brig, built at the same yard as the Welcome.

Ramage watched the brig for a couple of minutes and then ordered: 'Rig side-ropes and have a boat-rope ready in the forechains. We'll be heaving-to on the starboard tack and her captain will come on board, Mr Aitken.’

He looked round for the midshipmen. 'Mr Benson, prepare the signal for the Captain of the Welcome to come on board. Make sure you look in the right section of the signal book.'

The boy thumbed through the pages as he was joined by Orsini. 'Signals from private ships,' he muttered, half to himself. 'Ah - here we are, For the captain of a particular ship to come on board. Union Flag at the mizen topmasthead.'

Ramage remembered that entry in the signal book. 'Benson!' he growled, 'what particular ship are you signalling to?'

The boy hurriedly looked back at the page and Ramage could visualize his grubby finger running across to the columns. 'Sorry, sir, Union at the mizen topmasthead, and ship's signal.'

'Well,' Ramage said sternly, 'make sure you get her numbers right. Now, get the signal bent on, and I'll masthead the pair of you if the halyards are twisted!'

As the two midshipmen scurried aft to the flag locker Ramage handed the piece of paper he was holding to the First Lieutenant. 'The challenge and reply. Hoist the challenge as soon as she's close enough to read it, and the moment she replies I want to see that signal' - he gestured to the boys — 'run up like a rocket!'

There was a hail from aloft, and Jackson reported that the strange sail was definitely a British brig.

'I wonder if she's gone to general quarters,' SouthwicK muttered to himself.

'I doubt it,' Ramage said. 'She's expecting a frigate to relieve her and she sees one ...'

'No ship's a friend until she's made or answered the challenge correctly,' Southwick said stubbornly. ‘There was none o' that slackness in the Triton!'

'Steady on,' Ramage said mildly, 'we don't know she hasn't gone to quarters yet!'

'Ah, but I know how slack these youngsters get in the West Indies.'

'The only brig in which you served in the West Indies was the Triton,' Ramage said sarcastically.

'Sorry, sir,' Southwick said apologetically, "fraid my liver hasn't recovered from Bridgetown. Those planters do spice their food so. And all those foreign kickshaws they serve.'

By now Pointe des Salines was drawing abaft the beam, with Pointe Dunkerque broad on the starboard bow and two miles off. The brig was still partly in the lee of the hills and Ramage said to the First Lieutenant: 'Mr Aitken, we'll let her come down to us; there's no point in us getting in on the lee over there. Back the foretapsail.'

There are distinct advantages in being the senior officer; Ramage thought to himself, and resumed walking up and down the starboard side of the quarterdeck as orders were shouted and bos'n's pipes twittered, and men ran up to brace round the yard as the helm was put up. The Juno came up into the wind a few degrees until the wind was blowing on the forward side of the topsail, pressing it back against the mast and trying to push the frigate's bow round to leeward, a push which was counter-acted by the rudder and the after sails, which were trying to push her bow up into the wind. Careful sail trimming balanced both forces until the Juno was lying almost stopped in the water.

Ramage watched the Welcome approaching, slowly at first, almost wallowing in the wind shadow thrown by the high ridge of land running down to Pointe Dunkerque but then heeling slightly as the first few puffs caught her coming out of the lee. Through the glass Ramage saw her yards being trimmed, then she heeled more and the sails billowed and the canvas tautened as she caught a fresh breeze and came alive.

'Make the challenge, Mr Aitken,' he said. 'Stand by with your glass, Mr Benson!'

The three flags soared upwards. Ramage counted to himself - ten seconds, twenty, forty, a minute, two minutes . . . Then three flags were hoisted aboard the brig, and even before an excited Benson called them out Ramage read the numbers: the correct reply. And the Welcome's pendant numbers.

Hearing a hurried curse from the First Lieutenant, Ramage turned to see Orsini standing helpless, flags flapping round his legs.

'Jump, boy!' Aitken shouted angrily, 'but don't let go of that halyard! Here, quartermaster, give him a hand. Benson, put that telescope down and bear a hand. It's a mastheading for the pair of you!'

Orsini, near to tears with embarrassment, jumped up but caught a foot in the cloth of the Union Flag and fell flat on his face. The burly coxswain lifted him up, shook him until his foot was clear and pushed him unceremoniously to one side, taking the halyard from his hands. He hauled as Benson cleared the flags and they rose upwards.

'The first time, too,' Ramage heard Southwick mutter at Ramage's elbow, and he knew the same thought was in the Master's mind: Ramage's first signal, his first order as a captain to the commanding officer of another ship.