The sun was getting hot; already the deck was uncomfortably warm and Ramage began pacing the quarterdeck. The glare from the waves as they surged past the frigate made his eyes ache and it would get worse as the sun climbed higher.

 Paolo, having satisfied the Master that he could now work out the distance off by the vertical angle, was marching up and down, hands clasped behind his back, a frown on his face.

 "Mr Orsini, " Ramage said, "you look worried. Are sines and tangents still bothering you?"

 "Oh no, sir. It's my dirk. The blade is chipped and I was hoping I could put it on the grindstone before they stow it."

 "How on earth did you chip it?"

 "When we boarded the Jocasta, sir. I was warding off a cutlass, and I think the blow made a dent in the edge."

 Ramage stared at the boy. "You boarded the Jocasta with your dirk?" he demanded.

 "Why yes, sir: it's a very good dirk: the best that Mr Prater had. Aunt Gianna went with me to Charing Cross - Mr Prater is the best sword cutler in London - and told him she wanted the finest dirk for me."

 "I know all about Mr Prater, " Ramage growled, "but that dirk is not for fighting! Why, it's only a twelve-inch blade. I've told you before, use a cutlass."

 "But I had a cutlass as well, sir, " Paolo protested. "I was using my dirk as a main gauche, but I had to ward off one Spaniard's blade with the dirk and kill him with the cutlass."

 A main gauche! In the days when duellists paid little attention to rules, a man held a dagger in his left hand, hoping to use the sword in his right hand to swing his opponent round with a parry, leaving him wide open to a jab from the dagger. Paolo had learned duelling in Volterra; his tutor had obviously impressed on him the merits of surviving.

 "Very well, " Ramage said, "you can have five minutes. But let the seaman put the dirk on the stone; you'll grind away half the metal! "

 Aitken was going round the deck and as he called names from a list in his hand men went obediently to collect boarding pike, tomahawk or cutlass. Ramage noticed that the first thing a man did was to examine the point or edge and some, with obvious grunts of disapproval, went over to the grindstone.

 As soon as Paolo came back to the quarterdeck, his newly sharpened dirk slung round his waist, Ramage gave him a key: "You'll find a Spanish signal book in the second drawer of my desk. Bring it up here, and look through it. You'll find it easy enough to understand."

 If anything happened to Gianna, or she died without having a son, her nephew Paolo would be the next ruler of Volterra. Well, he was getting a good training in leadership. Perhaps Gianna was shrewder than he had given her credit for when she asked him to take Paolo as a midshipman. She knew better than anyone what was needed in a ruler of that turbulent Tuscan state, where treachery was a commonplace and, once the French were driven out, revolution would probably join it. He shivered at the thought of what Gianna would face when she returned to Italy. The way things were at the moment, with the French armies victorious from the North Sea to the gates of the Holy City, it was some consolation (for him anyway) that it would be a long time before she could go back to Volterra.

 He shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts. For a few moments he had been among the smoothly rounded hills of Tuscany, and it was almost a shock now to find himself staring at the sharp peaks of the Main - peaks which made him feel uneasy for reasons he could not understand but which, from long experience, he knew he should not ignore. And yet, he thought helplessly, what was it that he ought not to ignore?

 Men were stowing the grindstone as Southwick bustled up, pointing to a headland just coming clear of the land on the larboard bow: "I'm sure that's Punta Caraballeda, sir. About six miles this side of La Guaira. We'll sight two smaller headlands, Cojo and Mulatos, and then we're in the anchorage."

 Ramage nodded. Caraballeda was about five miles away. "We'll send the men to quarters as soon as Caraballeda is abeam. We can -"

 He broke off and looked to the south. The wind was falling away and there was still a curious light over the peaks, a harsh white light as though the sun was trying to break through thin high cloud, but the only cloud in the sky was a scattering of balls of cotton. The Jocasta slowed perceptibly and the quartermaster looked anxiously at the dog vanes on the hammock nettings. Each vane was made up of a number of corks with feathers stuck in them and suspended by thin line from a small staff, and they were no longer streaming out in the breeze; instead they were bobbing and jerking as the wind became fitful. Ramage glanced aloft and decided to follow his instincts even if it left him looking foolish. He reached for the speaking trumpet. "We'll take in stunsails, topgallants and courses, Mr Southwick, and double reef the topsails if we have time! "

 The Master stood for a moment, obviously dumbfounded, his eyes going to the south, trying to discover the reason for the Captain's completely unexpected move. Then the habit of discipline took over as Ramage began bellowing the first of the orders.

 "All the studding sails - ready for coming in! "

 Seamen stopped what they were doing and ran to their stations, a handful racing up the rigging. The suddenness of the order alerted them all that something unexpected was happening, and as Ramage continued his stream of orders the halyards were eased, tacks started and downhauls manned. Swiftly the studding sails were lowered and the booms rigged in, slid along the yards out of the way.

 Now it was the turn of the topgallants, the highest of the squaresails that the Jocasta was carrying.

 "Man the topgallant clewlines. . . Hands stand by topgallant sheets and halyards . . . Haul taut! "

 Ramage watched the men aloft struggling with the sails and was thankful the wind had eased. He glanced back to the south. Nothing had changed; the peaks seemed to be making their own light, like phosphorescence, but the wind continued to fall away. He put the speaking trumpet to his lips again.

 "Let go the topgallant bowlines. Look alive, there! ... In topgallants! "

 So much for them. Now for the fore and main courses, the largest and lowest of the sails.

 "Lower yard men furl the courses... Trice up ... lay out..." So the stream of orders continued until the two great sails were, like the topgallants, neatly furled on the yards, and only the topsails were still set, each nearly 2000 square feet of flax, alternately bellying in a puff of wind and then hanging limp.

 Ramage glanced yet again at the mountains. Aitken had hurried up to the quarterdeck, Southwick was standing at the rail, and both men were watching him. There was no expression on their faces: the Captain was giving the orders, and they and the ship's company were obeying them. Obviously they wondered why the Captain should be taking in sail in a falling wind, and Ramage realized that Southwick saw nothing strange, let alone ominous, in the light over the mountains.

 Double-reef the topsails? The Jocasta's speed would drop to a couple of knots, the pace of a child dawdling to school. Ramage was obeying his instincts rather than the rules of seamanship, and he was liable to be ordering the topmen aloft within half an hour, setting the sails again. He looked at the mountains. Nothing had changed; nor had his instincts stopped nagging him to get the Jocasta jogging along under double-reefed topsails.

 He raised the speaking trumpet to his lips and soon reached the last of the orders: "Lower topsails . . . trice up and lay out . . . take in two reefs! " Now the topmen were working out on the yards, hauling at the stiff cloth of the sails and tying the reef points. "Lay in, " which sent the men scrambling along the yard to the mast, was followed by "Lower booms, " when the stunsail booms were dropped until they were lying along the yards; and then came "Down from aloft! "