'What is this? Have you gone mad? This is not an Algerine - nor an English ship!'

Ramage pointed across to the Calypso. 'No', he could not resist saying, 'but she is.'

'But... but... she is French. Why, I recognize the class. And the young officer from her who brought over my orders at Foix - you are not going to tell me he was English!'

'No, Italian, but he is an officer of the Royal Navy, as I am. I must introduce myself', Ramage said, 'and may I take it that this' - he gestured with the pistol - 'is not necessary?'

The master nodded vigorously. Ramage lowered the hammer gently and slipped the hook over his belt.

He gave a slight bow. 'Ramage - Captain Ramage, at your service.'

'Nombre de Dios', the master said, and sat down on the deck with a thud, his face white, his upper lip and brow beading with perspiration. 'Excuse me, señor, I suddenly feel faint. I know that name.'

'It might be someone else', Ramage said politely, helping the man to his feet again. 'Breathe deeply. It helps usually.'

The Spaniard took a few deep breaths, exhaling, it seemed to Ramage, pure garlic.

'There may be others called Ramage, but only one would - Caramba! How did you know that at the last moment the convoy would go to Foix?'

'I sent the signal', Ramage said blandly. 'The French semaphore system is most useful.'

The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders, as a priest might admit the Devil's existence. 'Now you capture the whole convoy, eh? And I thought you were simply exercising your boats.'

'Oh, but I am', Ramage assured him. 'Now, if you'll join your men - I suggest you sit there by the mainmast. I have a few words to say to them.'

By now the men of the gig's boarding party were bent down below the level of the bulwarks. Two of them returning from searching the fo'c'sle were pushing along a man they had found sleeping.

Ramage raised his voice. 'You may sit up', he said in Spanish, and noted there were ten men in addition to the master, and one of them was, from his dress, the mate.

'This ship is now a British prize. You will all go down to the gig, and I warn you that if you shout or try to signal any of the ships, you'll be run through with a cutlass. Do as you are told and you will not be hurt.'

He walked over to Kenton and said: 'I leave you to your new command. And don't forget to hoist the signal for Southwick; he worries about you.'

The Spanish crew of the Golondrina climbed down into the gig, in which there were only the six oarsmen, but close by Jackson steered the green cutter so that his boarding party covered the prisoners. Ramage followed the Spanish master and took the tiller, and with a farewell wave to Kenton, the painter and sternfast were cast off and the gig headed back for the Calypso and then, without any of the other ships noticing them, turned away for the beach.

Ramage said to the Spanish master: 'I am going to be generous. If I was an Algerine, I would cut all your throats, eh?'

The master nodded miserably and rubbed his unshaven chin in a reflex gesture.

'I am going to land you on the beach. You will all immediately go inland out of sight. Cagliari is to the southeast, and I suggest you follow the coast road. Do not try to raise the alarm because there are fourteen other ships in the convoy, and you could cause a great deal of bloodshed.'

Ramage saw that the man understood. He would be marooned on an alien island, but there were many towns and ports in Sardinia, and he would eventually get back to Spain. The gig's keel scraped on the sand, and the men of the Golondrina scrambled on shore while Jackson's men kept them covered from the cutter.

Southwick wrote carefully in his log, using the slate to help his memory: 'Two pm wind W by S. Anchored with best bower in five fms, Vacca I. bearing SW by W, white house on S. Antioco NW by ½W, ruin on P. Botte E by S. 2.30 pm all boats hoisted out, manned and three pm, left under general command of the captain. Pumped ship at ten ins. Fresh water remaining twenty-one tons. 3.15 pm first ships of French convoy entering gulf and anchoring as convenient.'

Southwick sniffed as he wiped his pen dry. 'As convenient' be damned; they were just sailing in, clewing up or brailing sails, turning head to wind and tipping anchors over the side as though disposing of rubbish. The Sarazine would foul the Calypso the moment the wind had any east in it; the Golondrina needed only a north wind to bring her crashing into the Calypso, and two other ships only a little smaller than the Sarazine obviously had not let out enough scope on their cables and would drag on to the frigate if the wind picked up. And the damnable thing was that he could do nothing about it: no one left on board the Calypso spoke a word of French: Mr Ramage was away with the boats and Mr Orsini was only just now coming into sight with the Passe Partout.

He had not heard a shot fired so far: not a pistol, not a musket, not a great gun: it was waiting for the sound of a shot that was making him so bad-tempered. If anything went wrong, what could he do, with no boats and fifty men left on board, all of them old wrecks like himself, short of wind, a quarter of them wearing trusses, half of them bleary of eye, and most shaky of gait? All of them had spirit enough, but a warlike yell and threat of a broadside would not be enough to get even one of them up to the mainyard in under five minutes.

He, Edward Southwick, had to admit that at the moment he was a Falstaff at the head of a rag-tag and bobtail party of seamen who, when mixed with the rest of the ship's company, did their jobs well enough: there was no need for the cook to have two legs and no reason why his mate should not be cross-eyed - except in a situation like this.

'Signal from the Golondrina, sir', a seaman called down.

Cursing, Southwick grabbed his hat and sword and hurried up the ladder.

'French flags, sir, I've worked it out as being this one.' He pointed to it in the signal book. 'I don't understand the lingo, sir, but the book mentions "charpentier". Perhaps it means send over the carpenter and his mates?'

Southwick nodded, and said: 'Just acknowledge it.' He did not need to know French to understand the message: it was a code arranged by Mr Ramage so that he and the other boarding parties could use the French system to send signals to the Calypso which, read by any other of the French ships, would seem innocent enough.

So Mr Ramage had secured the Golondrina and would be leaving young Kenton in command with his party while he took the Spanish crew on shore in the gig. He opened his telescope and a few moments later saw the gig appear round the stern of the Spanish ship, followed by the green cutter. He had to admit that Mr Ramage was right; with so many of the Calypso's boats rowing round apparently at random it all seemed quite natural and no one would notice. The mixture of French uniforms and old clothes, for example, was typically the way the French would do it, so that the gig making for the beach with ten or more Spaniards from the Golondrina looked no different from when she first went alongside with a boarding party from the Calypso. The substitution of Spaniards for boarding party was not noticeable.

The Golondrina would have been no problem because, of course, Mr Ramage spoke Spanish, but what about Aitken with the Sarazine?Still, the muzzle of a pistol pointing at you had a language all of its own.

He saw a movement of colour just as the seaman spoke: the same signal was being hoisted from the Sarazine and the launch was leaving her and rowing steadily along the coast: obviously Aitken had ordered his prisoners to be landed a long way from the Golondrina people.

Martin steered the red cutter another point to starboard. The brig Bergère had now anchored and he could distinguish the master, a fat man wearing a beret and looking as though he would be more at home sitting under an old plane tree in the place of a small town in the south of France, and the mate, a lanky man in a red shirt. He had counted nine seamen and petty officers, only one more than Orsini had noted, so the boy had done a good job.