'Can I have Orsini, sir?'

'Yes, of course, you'll need his French. And Jackson, Stafford and Rossi, because they're the only ones who know how to work the semaphore, though I suggest you train a spare crew.'

'What happens if French troops arrive, sir?'

'If Orsini can't tell them a good tale and they are not impressed by your French uniforms, I should think you'll all be shot as spies.'

'Yes', Martin said reflectively. 'Well, thank you, sir.'

'For what?' Ramage asked cautiously.

'Giving me the command, sir.'

'Very well. Now listen carefully.'

For the next five minutes, William Martin, twenty-three years old, who had been serving as a lieutenant in one of the King's ships for a matter of weeks, could hardly believe his ears.

By the time the gig had been hoisted on board and secured, clouds looking like strips of sheep's wool caught on a thorny bramble were beginning to race across the sky from the northwest and the wind was fluking round the big hill towards the end of the Baie de Foix. First a gust would come round the east side and hit the Calypso's starboard side, making her heel with its violence; then as she began to right herself another circled the western slope to hit the frigate's larboard side.

Ramage nodded to Aitken. 'When you have the awning stowed below, you'd better get down the awning ridge ropes.'

'Aye aye, sir', Aitken said patiently, knowing that the captain would notice in a few moments that two seamen were already undoing them.

The wind was beginning to sweep across the bay itself, whipping up lines of white caps as though it was a giant flail. Ramage, knowing it could be blowing half a gale in half an hour, again nodded to the first lieutenant: 'Get under way, please, Mr Aitken.'

The first lieutenant reached out for the speaking trumpet. The men were already alert and waiting for the first in the long sequence of orders that would have the Calypso sailing.

'Man the capstan!' he shouted.

The bars were already shipped, sticking out chest-high from slots in the barrel of the capstan like the spokes of a wheel, and within moments two men were standing at each of the nine spokes while another hurriedly secured the outer end of each bar to the next one with a line, a routine known as 'passing a swifter' and ensuring that the strain of the eighteen men pushing was equal on all the bars and none could slip out.

'Bring to ... heave taut... unbit... heave round ...'

Aitken's orders had the capstan turning and the thick anchor cable began to come home, water streaming out as the strain squeezed the strands of the rope, and ready to be 'nipped' to the messenger. This endless rope went round the capstan, through a block forward and back to the capstan and brought the cable farther aft, where it was dropped down into the smelly depths of the cable tier and stowed by the day's delinquents.

It was a busy time for the ship's boys: seamen used short lines to take a quick turn at intervals seizing, or nipping, the anchor cable to the moving messenger, and then each boy took a line and ran along keeping a strain so that it did not come undone. When they reached the hatchway to the cable tier they quickly undid the nipper, the line which gave them their nickname, letting the anchor cable down into the tier, and ran forward again to repeat the process, each boy handing his nipper to a waiting seaman to be used again as the capstan rumbled and the cable came in.

Ramage's manoeuvre for sailing the Calypso out of the Baie de Foix was simple but, like so many examples of seamanship, the simplicity was the result of having a well-trained crew. The frigate was lying head to wind, pointing by coincidence directly at the land at the centre of the crescent made by the bay.

He intended, when the anchor was off the bottom, to let the wind blow the Calypso stern first out to sea. Once he had plenty of room the helm would be put over. Going astern - having sternway in other words - meant that the effect on the rudder was the opposite of going ahead; the blade of the rudder had to point in the direction the stern was to go.

The Calypso, sails still furled on the yards, moving only because of the windage on her hull, masts and spars, would come round in a half circle until her bow was heading out to sea. Then sails would be let fall in the regular sequence and reefed at once, and the helm put over again. Ramage wanted to stay as close to Foix and Aspet as possible, although if the mistral blew for any length of time and became a full Gulf of Lions gale - which was likely - he might have to worry about raising French curiosity as to why one of their ships should want to stay close to land in that weather.

John Smith the Second was standing on top of the capstan barrel, turning as the head turned - girasole, Ramage suddenly thought, remembering the big Italian sunflower - scratching away at his fiddle, the wind just carrying back to the quarterdeck the sound of a favourite 'forebitter', a tune which kept the men at the capstan heaving on the bars in unison and had those with spare breath joining in.

Soon Southwick was signalling the cable was 'At long stay', meaning that its angle was the same as the mainstay, and then 'At short stay', the same as the forestay. That was followed by 'Up and down', so the anchor was now off the bottom and the cable hanging perpendicular. At once the Calypso's bow began to pay off and the men at the capstan, spurred on by Smith's fiddle and with the weight lessened because they were no longer hauling the Calypso through the water towards the anchor, soon had the anchor up to the hawse.

Ramage gave brief helm orders as Southwick dealt with catting and fishing the anchor - getting the hook from a tackle on to the anchor and hauling it up horizontally to deck level, where it could be lashed securely in its chocks, safe against seas which might well, within the next few hours, be breaking green over the fo'c'sle.

With Aitken standing beside him, Ramage passed on his orders and the Scotsman now had to bellow loudly through the speaking trumpet as the wind piped up to make his voice heard forward.

'Away aloft ... trice up ... lay out ...'

Ramage saw the topmen first go up the ratlines hand over hand as if they were weightless, then, after a pause for the next order, swarm out along the topsail yards as the stunsail booms, lying along the top of the yards, were cocked up out of the men's way.

'Man the topsail sheets!' That was an order for the men down on the deck. Then the speaking trumpet pointed aloft for 'Let fall!' and down again for 'Sheet home!' as the topmen let go the gaskets and the canvas tumbled down, and the men at the long ropes sweeping down from the lower corners of the sail to the deck heaved swiftly to get the sails under control, the wind quick to belly the cloth.

'Lower booms!' The topmen dropped the stunsail booms back in position.

'Down from aloft!'

With that order the Calypso's finest seamen swarmed down the ratlines again while others on deck took the strain on the braces to swing the yards round. More men were standing by at the topsail halyards and, at Aitken's order, hauled the yards up several feet.

Ramage always found it satisfying when sails on different masts were set as though they were one, but the fore and maintopsails hardly had time to get the creases out of the material because of the press of wind before Ramage, looking astern over the taffrail, saw that the frigate was already well out of the bay, the semaphore tower of Foix sitting on its hill like a playing card stuck into a tiny pile of sand, while the big hill between Foix and Aspet now seemed little more than a hummock. Behind it, stretching it seemed right over Languedoc, were fast-moving grey clouds, racing towards them like lancers across a plain. The temperature was dropping now the sun had vanished, and the Calypso began pitching as she came clear of the headlands.