Ramage looked astern at the approaching frigate. Masts still in line, her jibboom and bowsprit sticking up at an angle directly towards him like a hussar's lance. If you didn't know, you'd think she was going to ram the Calypso I Was she? The thought suddenly struck him that perhaps she had discovered that the Calypso was a British frigate and, not trusting to her guns, was trying to disable her. Had he made some silly mistake in the signals (in the challenge, perhaps) that had given him away?

Then Southwick ambled up and stood beside him, patting his ample stomach as though he'd just finished a good dinner. 'So he's unsure of himself, eh?' the master commented. 'That Frog is going to range alongside and ask for instructions on how to pick up the tow.'

Ramage nodded, hard put to stop himself slapping South wick on the back from sheer relief. That must be it He's just run his guns in and closed the ports - must be worried in case he comes too dose and rips them off.'

Southwick glanced at him, uncertain whether the remark about ripping off gun ports was serious or not 'We've enough way on to be able to give ourselves a bit of a sheer one way or the other to dodge him.'

'A bit of a sheer.' Ramage repeated Southwick's phrase to himself and looked across the narrow stretch of sea between the Calypso and the reef. Half a mile? Already the dark blue had gone from the water; now it was much lighter, lacking the near - purple which showed extreme depth. Then, quite abruptly, the water became light green and then brown as it reached the reef. Or, rather, the brown tops of the staghorn coral showed near the surface. And then, beyond the reef, a band of very light green showed the shallow water (a fathom or two) running up to the beach, with an occasional splash of white where a wave had enough strength to break.

Take a bit of sheer, a bit of panic, and a bit of a chance, too! He called Orsini and snatched the signal book from him. Feverishly he nicked through the pages. And there it was, a single flag. 'Hoist number eight!' Ramage snapped. It might be too late, but its very lateness might be a help.

'Number eight sir - To turn to larboard".' Ramage caught Southwick's eye and smiled: he knew exactly what was passing through the master's mind: young Paolo seems to have memorized the whole French signal book, but he can never remember for more than a day the simplest mathematical formula.

An intermittent mouse - like squeaking high overhead showed a halyard was spinning the sheave of a block, and Ramage deliberately continued looking astern, defying himself to glance up at the flag. The squeaking stopped; the flag must be hoisted now. And La Perle was perhaps three lengths astern, a little over a hundred yards. If it worked it was going to be a close - run affair.

He said to Southwick: 'Give her a sheer to larboard of one point.'

The master turned and shouted to the quartermaster.

To Aitken, waiting by the binnacle, Ramage called: Warn the men below to stand by!'

He could see a Frenchman perched out on the end of La Perle's jibboom gesticulating aft and pointing at the Calypso, as though drawing his quarterdeck's attention to the signal.

Now La Perle Appealed to be sliding to Ramage's left as. below him, he could hear the rudder grinding a little as pintles rubbed against gudgeons. The Calypso's 'bit of a sheer' to larboard was beginning, swinging the ship's bow to larboard a few degrees and moving her bodily towards the reef, narrowing the gap, like a drunken man walking along a road and curving - slightly towards a wall.

Ramage turned forward towards Aitken. 'Are those men with axes standing by on the foredeck?'

'Yes, sir.'

It would take them at least two minutes to chop through the towing cable. Looking over the Calypso's bow he could see the sheer had taken her well out on La Creole's larboard quarter. Let's hope Lacey has the wit to bear away, otherwise the Calypso's weight will haul his stern round (like someone hanging on to a dog's tail) and get the schooner in stays.

By the time Ramage looked aft again La Perle's topsails were fluttering slightly - the Calypso's sudden movement had, not surprisingly, caught the French first lieutenant unawares, and now he was trying to luff up to obey the order to turn to larboard.

Lieutenant Bazin had been watching the transom of the Calypso grow larger as they approached. Her sternlights seemed occasionally to wink as the rippling surface of the sea reflected the sun from the glass. With the telescope he could see that the old nameboard had been replaced with a new one: the paint and gilt making up the name Calypso was much fresher than the rest of the design on the scroll.

There were very few people on board the Calypso - two or three officers on the quarterdeck (Duroc presumably among them), and a dozen or so men along the gangways. Ah, and a few seamen waiting on the fo'c'sle. So he could reckon on some help from the Calypso with that damned cable.

By approaching in the Calypso's wake, Bazin wanted to be absolutely sure that Captain Duroc realized what he was doing. He was sure it was what the captain would want - Duroc was always interfering, never considering anyone could do anything properly without detailed instructions and constant overseeing. So by steering straight for the Calypso's stern and then bearing away to starboard at the last moment, ranging to windward close along her starboard side, he could listen to Duroc's shouts. Probably Duroc's drunken ravings in fact, because he couldn't imagine Duroc still sober and letting pass such an opportunity to show a senior officer how clever he was and how stupid everyone else. He had to admit be hated Duroc.

The Calypso is a handsome ship: one can tell by that graceful sheer that she is designed by a Frenchman because the British can never achieve that elegance. But what is wrong with her that she has to be towed? It can only be damage to the rudder because her masts, yards, bowsprit and jibboom are all right. She is not leaking - there are no spurts of water streaming over the side, showing her pumps at work. And, oddly enough, no battle damage. At least, none that can be seen from astern. No shotholes in the hull, no fished yards. Not even a pane missing from the sternlights. Can that schooner towing her have actually captured her? It seems unlikely, there is some other explanation. Most likely another ship captured her and ordered the schooner to tow her to port. Yes, that is what happened!

He swore at the two men at the wheel as La Perle yawed in a momentary wind shift. They were nicely lined up now; he could even see the smooth trail, a path across the sea, which was the Calypso's wake. Another half a dozen ships' lengths or so, and he'd begin the turn to starboard which would let him pass alongside. Already the Calypso was being hidden by La Perle's bow, he'd have to perch on the breech of a gun and peer over the bulwark, or rely on seeing her masts.

Actually it isn't as difficult as one might think, commanding a frigate. Duroc makes a great performance of it, cursing everyone, clutching his brow, stamping a foot, shaking his fist, spitting to show his contempt, but it is only necessary to keep calm. Keep calm and make sure orders are obeyed promptly. One needs a dozen eyes, of course, but Duroc makes hard work of it by all the drama.

What is that fluttering in line with the Calypso's mizen? He lifted his telescope. Merde! Another signal, and at this stage! Number eight. Hurriedly he mentally skimmed the first page of the signal book.

'Deck there!'

Now a blasted lookout aloft is hailing.

'Deck here!"

'Foremast here - she's hoisted a signal I'

'I know. Keep a sharp lookout.' He looked round and spotted the second lieutenant. "Where's the signal book, cretin?' When the lieutenant handed it to him he snatched it and began nicking through the pages.