"We'll go alongside the Jocasta just as we planned, " he told Aitken. "They're expecting us. I want us towed round so that our bow is to seaward, too. You give the orders to the boats; I want to come alongside as though an admiral was watching."

 "But, sir - but, brother Ramage: would they expect a gang of mutineers to do it perfectly ?"

 "The Spanish captain of the Jocasta is very proud of his new ship. He's ready to sail. All the paintwork is new. We want him coming on board us with a welcoming smile, not screaming with rage because we've just ripped out channels and rigging or scored his paint! "

 Aitken grinned sheepishly. "I don't have your knack o' imagining myself in the enemy's boots, sir! "

 Ramage walked aft, giving orders as he went. Baker came hurrying up to supervise men preparing lines along the starboard side, ready for securing to the Jocasta; other seamen were placing loaded muskets out of sight under the carriages of the guns. All now had pistols stuck in their trousertops and cutlass belts over their shoulders, though the cutlasses were still scattered round the deck, apparently in random piles.

 As soon as he reached the quarterdeck Ramage told Southwick: "Have the yards braced sharp up so we don't hook up in the Jocasta; then make sure the topmen don't move five yards from the ratlines."

 "Brother Ramage, " Jackson called from abaft the wheel. "I've a pair of pistols here ready for you, sir."

 "I'll get them in a minute or two."

 Hell fire, it was getting dark quickly now. He looked aft along the channel and was thankful to see that the Santa Barbara was just coming into the entrance, her two boats out ahead like water beetles, the brig little more than a black blob. There was no disturbance along the walls of San Antonio, no flashes of guns or muskets, so whatever that three-flag signal had meant, it obviously did not matter. The commandants of the forts must be relieved - the horse was in the stable and the door was bolted. What were they doing up there now? Toasting each other, no doubt; slapping themselves on the back and jeering at the English Navy and its mutinous men.

 He could smell the plants and shrubs growing on shore: the faint hint of spices. They were only a few hundred yards from the mangroves and he thought he smelled charcoal - a charcoal-burner at work, or someone preparing to cook his supper? And the curious high-pitched rattling of frogs, blurred by distance. And above him the creak of the great yards as they were braced round so that the outboard ends should not foul those of the Jocasta. Let's hope the Jocasta's captain remembers, too . . .

 Looking forward again he was startled to find that the Calypso had finally reached the end of the channel and was now gliding into the lagoon. And over to the west, at the far end of the lagoon, were the dim lights of Santa Cruz itself. It would be hot in the houses; the small windows kept the sun out but the rooms trapped the heat of candles. Little pinpoints of light dancing on the water showed that fishermen were busy near the town, fishing with lanterns, and there were four dark shapes, merchant ships at anchor off the quay. Three were laden, one was high in the water. A peaceful scene, Ramage noted; over there, almost a mile away, people were going about their evening business. Wives would be preparing meals, old men would be supping wine. Some of them might notice a frigate being towed into the lagoon but few would be interested; curiosity counted for very little in the Spanish character.

 Now the Calypso was beginning the slow turn across the eastern end of the lagoon, a long curve that would end, if Aitken directed the boats properly, with the frigate coming alongside the Jocasta perhaps ten minutes before it was dark. With the yards braced sharp up and the lines led ready to be passed to the Jocasta, there was nothing more to be done on board, and men stood silent, each alone with his thoughts. Aitken, on the fo'c'sle and now standing on the knightheads with a speaking trumpet so he could shout down to the boats when necessary, was reminded of the lochs on the west coast of Scotland: long stretches of water, some surrounded by steep hills, others with hills in the distance. But of an evening they had the same tranquillity, the same atmosphere of time passed, of witnessing events that left no mark. When the Captain had described it all in the cabin earlier, Aitken had pictured Santa Cruz rather like a cave; he had expected to feel an overwhelming sense of being trapped - as indeed they were - but instead he was reminded of a peaceful evening's walk beside a loch.

 Jackson, walking from one side of the ship to the other to keep an eye on the edges of the channel, now mercifully disappearing astern as the ship came out into the lagoon, was reminded of Italy, not by the water but by the hills. They were smoothly rounded and rose higher and higher as they moved inland. This was, he thought, like southern Tuscany: that big peak could be Monte Amiata. The land on either side of the channel was covered with the same tough scrub of the macchia, like the countryside where they had found the Marchesa. He wondered if it had jogged the Captain's memory. At times like this he always seemed busy, working out angles and distances, ranges and trajectories, or what the enemy might be planning, but afterwards - perhaps long afterwards - he'd make some comment that showed he had missed nothing.

 Stafford, squatting on the breech of one of the aftermost of the quarterdeck guns with Rossi, felt uncomfortable. The long channel back to the sea, with the fort on each side, reminded him of a heavy door. He had never been in the Bridewell, but he knew plenty of men who had, and they all commented on the jail doors slamming behind them as they entered, then the long walk to the cells. The long walk was what they remembered, down a corridor that seemed to go on for miles.

 "Be glad to get out o' here, " he commented to Rossi.

 The Italian turned to look at him. "Oh? Is not so bad, you know; the French build a good ship."

 "I don't mean the Calypso" he said impatiently. "I mean this place, Santa Cruz."

 "Is quiet enough now, Staff, " Rossi said complacently. "Just like the Captain said."

 "He didn't say it'd be quiet going out, though. I'll take my oath on that! "

 "We'll soon know. Remember when we were in Cartagena?"

 "Aye, that's what I'm saying. Trapped. Same sort of place - Spanish, mountains, narrow entrance . . ."

 "We sailed out of Cartagena all right! "

 "But he'll chance 'is arm once too orfen, mark my words."

 Rossi spread both arms, palms upwards. "Always you get like this, Staff. For ten minutes you think of ways we can all get killed. Then you forget all about it."

 "'Ere! " Stafford exclaimed, jumping from the gun, "that bleedin' Jocasta's gettin' close. Come on, Rosey, time we got ready to invite the Dons on board."

 Ramage watched the Jocasta: she was a hundred yards ahead, fine on the starboard bow, but the men at the oars were getting tired now and the Calypso was slowing down, yet he wanted some way on her so that the rudder would have a bite on the water for the final slight turn that would bring the Calypso alongside.

 Suddenly he swung round: "Jackson, the signal lanterns: have you checked that they're ready?"

 "Just done it, sir. Slow matches too; I've got three of them going."

 "Very well." And keep control of your voice, he told himself; that all sounded rather agitated. A glance back at the channel: they were too far into the lagoon to see along it now, but he could not distinguish the Santa Barbara's masts across the land. What's delaying Wagstaffe? Don't say he's put the brig aground!

 Southwick was standing beside him muttering: "Not much breeze, sir. From the south, a soldier's wind for getting out of here down the channel."