Ramage snapped his fingers. "What is Captain Lopez saying?"

 The lieutenant looked down at the deck. "He is shocked at your cruelty. You have no right to risk our lives with your foolish ideas! "

 "Young man, " Ramage said heavily, "you know well enough what the buccaneers used to do along this coast a hundred and fifty years ago with people like you. Yes, they'd light a fire and hang you over it on a spit, or make you walk off the end of a jibboom . . ."

 "You would never -"

 Ramage deliberately looked disinterested and callous. "Today, prisoners can fall over the side - accidentally, of course - and -"

 "You would never dare! You would be punished. My uncle is the Captain-General of the province: he would protest to Madrid and -"

 "How would he ever know?" Ramage asked casually.

 Lopez, alarmed at his lieutenant's high-pitched protest, demanded to know what was being said.

 "He threatens to roast us on a spit over a fire, like the corsairs did. I warned him. I told him my uncle would have him punished -"

 "You did what?'

 "I told him my uncle was the Captain-General of the province and he would be punished."

 "You fool, " Lopez said contemptuously. "Until now you were an insignificant lieutenant. Now, with your own tongue, you have made yourself a valuable hostage! "

 Ramage told Aitken to take the prisoners away, and the lieutenant jumped up to continue his protests, but when he looked up at the English captain he found that the vague, almost bored expression was gone; instead a pair of deep-set brown eyes seemed to bore into him, and he realized with a suddenness that left his knees weak and his lips trembling that he should never have asked his uncle for the commission appointing him to the Santa Barbara.

 Ramage watched with his telescope as Wagstaffe shouted orders through his speaking trumpet on the quarterdeck of the Santa Barbara. Swiftly men of the prize crew swarmed aloft and let fall the topsails, which were then hoisted and sheeted home. The brig gathered way and then turned north, away from the distant coast, and when she was a mile off Ramage nodded to Baker, now the second senior Lieutenant: "Follow her and keep this distance astern."

 He waited until Baker had given the necessary orders and then went down to his cabin, where Aitken and Southwick were going through the roll of charts found on board the Santa Barbara. Some had been removed and sent across to Wagstaffe, but Southwick hoped to find harbour plans.

 "Nothing of interest to us, sir, " he grumbled. "No chart at all of Santa Cruz. The rest - Cumana, Barcelona and the like - don't tell us anything we didn't know already. The Spanish don't seem very strong on charts."

 "Very well. We discovered more from the William and Henrietta than from this damned guarda costa - except that we now have on board the nephew of the Captain-General of the province as a prisoner."

 "The Captain-General's nephew, sir?" Southwick exclaimed. "The whole province?"

 "Yes. He began threatening me. Said his uncle would punish me if I took him on shore and roasted him on a spit or made him walk off the end of the jibboom! "

 "I heard you remind him the buccaneers used to do that, " Aitken said. "He was terrified."

 "The Jocasta, sir, " Southwick said anxiously. "Did you find out anything about her?"

 "No - except that she's in Santa Cruz. The captain was very anxious to assure me she had already sailed for Cuba, and the lieutenant warned me we'd be blown to pieces if we tried to get into Santa Cruz. That's why he's so scared."

 "What now, then?" Southwick asked. "I see you've decided to head out to sea again."

 Ramage nodded casually. He could afford to be casual now he knew what to do. The Governor's nephew had not given him the new idea, but it had come as he watched the beads of perspiration forming on the young man's upper lip, almost as if the sheer terror it revealed had been the source of inspiration.

 "Yes, we stay out of sight for today; then we sail up to Santa Cruz tomorrow and have a good look."

 "Had you any particular time in mind, sir?" Southwick asked sarcastically.

 "Yes, towards dusk. It'll be cooler then. I don't want to put you to any effort during the heat of the day."

 Southwick gave a grin which revealed his relief. The Captain was functioning again; he had a plan at last. Southwick did not care what it was; the mere fact that it existed was enough. Well, he had to admit that he was a little curious, but obviously it had something to do with the Santa Barbara. Or maybe using the Captain-General's nephew as a hostage? Or both; the Santa Barbara to go in with a flag of truce to negotiate an exchange of the Jocasta for the nephew. That did not sound too likely: no Captain-General would dare agree to such an exchange.

 Southwick heard himself asking diffidently: "You have a plan, sir?"

 "No, " Ramage said, "just an idea. The Santa Barbara was on a two-week cruise against smugglers. She's due back in Santa Cruz by tomorrow night."

 He went to his desk and took the Spanish signal book from a drawer. He opened it at a page and showed it to Southwick. "Here are their signal flags, all carefully coloured by some loving hand. They use the same sort of numerary system, one to nine, and nought. And three substitute flags - these here. Give the sailmaker three men. I want him to make a complete set of flags and have them ready by tonight. We'll have to go up within hailing distance of Wagstaffe and get the dimensions. I want them to be the same size as those in the Santa Barbara."

 "Any special orders for me, sir?" Aitken asked hopefully, still ruffled that Wagstaffe had been put in command of the Santa Barbara.

 Ramage thought for a moment. "Make sure we have the second copy of our own signal book ready, and check through the Santa Barbara's charts. Make up a portfolio - borrow duplicates from Southwick, or make copies. And the spare set of our own signal flags - have them ready too."

 At first Aitken was delighted to have some task obviously associated with whatever idea the Captain had in mind; then he realized that "we" could also mean the Calypso. But why a second set of charts? Either the Captain was teasing them or whatever he had in his mind was exactly what he had said, just an idea.

 "And cutlasses and pikes, " Ramage added. "Get the grindstones up on deck and sharpen everything. But keep an eye on the men - we want some metal left."

 "Aye, aye, sir." Aitken waited in case there were more orders, but Ramage had nothing more to say.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 Jackson led his men round the deck, pointing here and there, and Stafford and Rossi spattered small pieces of slush - the thick greyish fat that the cook skimmed from the top of the water after boiling salt meat - and smeared it into the wood with their feet. The American then sprinkled sand. They had already covered half the decks.

 "What a game this is, " Stafford grumbled. "It'll take weeks to get these decks clean again. An' the brasswork - just look at it. Amazin' wot a few hours' soaking with salt water can do." He stopped for a moment and pointed to the bosun and his mates. "Look! Cuttin' off lengths of old rope and fraying the ends into cow's tails! "

 He shrugged his shoulders and resumed his scuffing of the specks of slush, but all three men stopped a few minutes later at the sight of the cook, a bucket in his hand, following Southwick.

 "A few drops here, " the Master said, and the cook dipped his hand into the bucket and then spattered blood over the deck by the break of the gangway on the starboard side.

 "'Ere! Whose blood is that?" exclaimed a startled Stafford.

 "They just kill one of the officers' sheeps, " said Rossi cheerfully.