'And, young man,' Aitken said, 'let this be a warning: proper lookouts would have saved most of these men from our attack.'

True, very true,' Rennick said judicially. The sentries should have been at least two hundred yards away. The two I saw with my nightglass were taking a pull from a bottle every five minutes or so. The one who raised the alarm probably noticed a single man and was so drunk he thought he could see twenty!'

By now all the seamen and Marines had returned. 'Form your men up,' Ramage ordered. 'Check that none is missing.' He raised his voice: 'My company fall in here!'

There was Jackson, grimy and bloodstained, and Stafford. And Rossi, looking like the flayer in a slaughterhouse. Paolo raced up and stood to attention in front of Ramage. Even before the boy spoke, Ramage saw the dark stains on the cutlass he held in one hand and the blade of the midshipman's dirk in the other.

'Sir!' he said, and when Ramage nodded he announced: 'I killed two, sir.'

'Main-gauche?' Ramage enquired.

The second one; not the first, sir."

'Very good; I presume you missed with your pistol, but you must practise. Now rejoin your company.'

'Mama mia,' Rossi murmured. 'In Volterra he had the good education.'

'Wot's a "man goes"?' Stafford enquired.

'Is when you have a dagger in the left hand and a sword in the right. The minute you get the other man's sword pointing away from you and him off the balance, you slip in the dagger.'

'Well I never 1' Stafford's amazement was quite genuine.

"Wot a good idea. Why don't we use "man goes"?'

Jackson surveyed the pile of bodies. 'Savin' Mr Orsini's presence, we seem to do quite well without 'em.'

Ramage counted the men as they fell in behind Jackson. The Dutch guide, whom Ramage had last seen just before the attack started, arrived mopping his face with a large handkerchief and holding a bloodstained sword in the other.

'Good hunting, good hunting,' he grunted to Ramage. 'I do not think they stop again before West Punt. We kill many here. Some rebels are still alive, though.' There was no mistaking the regret in his voice nor the difference he made between Dutch rebels and French privateersmen.

Ramage resumed his counting. Twenty - six ... are you one of my company? I thought so, fall in, and that's twenty - eight. And you two, you're late. Thirty.'

The heat of the bonfire must be awful for some of those French wounded, and he'd do something about it as soon as he could, but his first concern was his own men, none of whom had forgotten the Tranquil. 'Jackson, collect reports from the lieutenants and the sergeant.'

Ten minutes later Ramage was listening to the American, scarcely able to believe his ears. Four Marines wounded (one gunshot and three sword cuts); four seamen known to have been killed and three wounded; and seven more missing. Only eighteen casualties, assuming that the seven missing were dead or wounded. Ramage had reckoned on fifty - although the operation was far from complete.

He turned to his company. 'Working in pairs, I want you to find the enemy wounded. Those that can be moved, bring them here, away from the heat but where there's still some light. Jackson, tell Mr Aitken to send the two surgeon's mates in his company to join us here.'

He turned to the Dutch guide. 'Can you find your way back to Amsterdam?'

'Of course, sir.'

'I'll give you an escort. I want you to report what you've seen to the Governor, but first I want you to send out to this place all the horses and carts you can find. Bring straw, mattresses, cloth for bandages - anything that will make the journey easier for the wounded. Some of them,' he added, noting the look in the Dutchman's eyes, 'are our own men. And tell the Governor any surgeons would be welcome - they should ride out at once, bringing bandages and instruments.'

'Yes, sir, but I prefer no escort: I will be faster alone!'

For the next two hours the Calypsos sorted the dead from the living, frequently stoking the bonfire with brushwood to give themselves more light. The moon rose, its light cold and forbidding compared with the yellow flames of the bonfire.

The French casualties round the bonfire would have been horrifying, Ramage thought, but for the Tranquil: ninety - eight dead, forty - two badly wounded and eleven wounded but able to walk. A total of one hundred and fifty - one . . . nearly a third of the rebel force, and enough to man a 32 - gun frigate. Then he reminded himself that it also meant that two - thirds of the enemy had escaped. Three hundred and fifty of them were at this very moment over there to the west, reorganizing themselves . . .

Three Marines guarded the eleven walking wounded, and Ramage decided to question them. If they had come from the western end of the island, the rest of the rebels might now return to the same place. He saw one man whose wounded leg had been bandaged and who was wearing what seemed to be the remnants of a French Navy officer's uniform. He was a young man, his face hard, narrow and angular, unshaven for several days, his sallow complexion seeming darker in the red glow of the fire.

'Your name and rank?' Ramage enquired in French, kneeling beside the man. He noticed one of the Marine sentries move round a yard, or two, so that Ramage did not interfere with his field of fire.

'Brune, Jean Brune.'

For a moment Ramage felt dizzy. "You command the Nuestra Senora de Antigua!' 'No, that is - that was - my brother. I command L'Actif.' 'Your brother - where is he?'

'Adolphe? He is over there.' The man gestured to where the bodies had been carried. 'Murdered. And you, M'sieur, who are you?"

'Captain Ramage. I commanded the attack.'

'Ah, so you are this Ramage, eh? We heard you were on the coast. We might have guessed.'

'Guessed what?'

'That you would attack treacherously, like an assassin in the dark.'

'I found a British merchant ship after your brother had finished with it in daylight. She was called the Tranquil.' 'Yes, he told me of it. A British frigate came in sight.'

'So your brother murdered everyone on board, including several women, who were raped as well, before he fled.'

Jean Brune shrugged his shoulders. 'One woman, but surely not several."

Ramage looked at the sneering face. No remorse, no surprise, and apparently ho regrets. Raping and killing women was unfortunate - because they might have been ransomed.

'Your brother - what does he look like?'

'Very big. Tall and broad, with big moustaches. A man kill him with a cutlass. My brother is - was - a fine swordsman. He must have tripped, for this English sailor to kill him.'

'You saw it happen?"

'Yes, I was lying on the ground, a musket ball in my leg.'

'And your brother fell forward on this British sailor, so they collapsed together?"

'Yes - 1 tell you, he must have tripped. He was a fine man, my brother."

Ramage nodded soberly. 'I killed him, and he didn't trip. I am sorry he is dead.'

'You should be,' Jean Brune said bitterly. 'Such a fine man, my brother. My older brother, you understand; he taught me everything of the sea', from when we were boys in Brittany. And he took me privateering, and later he helped me buy my ship.'

'Yes,' Ramage said quietly, 'I am sorry your brother is dead: I had hoped to have him hanged from a gallows in Port Royal. And you - if any of my men find out you are his brother, your life won't be worth a puff of smoke, so guard your tongue.'

Brune sat up on one elbow, his eyes widening in fear. 'But you must give orders to protect me. As an English officer you would not let one of your prisoners be murdered!'

'Wouldn't I? Your brother did. In fact he ordered it'