'Yes - and you'd better warn him that if neither of us comes back, he'll have to take the Calypso to Gibraltar.'

'I think Bowen had better be standing by with some medicinal brandy!'

'You know, Bowen wouldn't even blink if I told him that he had to get the Calypso to Gibraltar.'

'He certainly wouldn't', Southwick agreed, 'but he's an unusual surgeon.' 'Yes, and he can play chess.'

Southwick grinned ruefully. 'I'm getting the average down, sir; I doubt if I lose two games out of five to him these days.'

'I'm glad of that, but we'd better start preparing those two ships. The Frenchman won't be inside the gulf for another half an hour, but it's going to take time for us to get the Muscade and the Merle down to Cala Piombo, if that's where she anchors.'

'These blasted French names', Southwick grumbled, 'what do they mean?'

'Muscade is nutmeg -1 expect she was sailing to the spice islands of the West Indies before the war. Merle is simply "blackbird".'

Southwick nodded and picked up his hat. 'I'll go up on deck and see where our French friend has got to. I expect you'll want to pick our men.'

After the master had gone, Ramage took a pencil. He did not need the muster book to choose the men. From what he could remember of the Muscade and the Merle, both were brigs of similar size, about 250 tons. He had not considered them for Gibraltar because he guessed the admiral would refuse to buy in French powder.

He and Southwick needed the minimum number of men for the operation to keep the boats light. Escaping afterwards would mean rowing like madmen for several minutes. The fastest boat was the gig, so Southwick should have it for the Muscade. He would take one of the cutters with the Merle.

There would be no seconds-in-command; it would be a brief voyage for both brigs. A man at the wheel, eight topmen, three men to handle grapnels, three more for sheets and braces, and then light fuses, and a boatkeeper, and that would be all. That made sixteen, seventeen adding in himself or Southwick. The gig carried sixteen, with eight at the oars, so each boat would be only two-thirds full. The same for the cutter. The totals did not allow for casualties, but that could not be helped.

Small arms? A few pistols and cutlasses, but there should be no fighting. They would need several axes, plenty of slowmatch, flint and steel, and some lanterns to light the fuses.

Southwick came down the companionway and into the cabin as the sentry announced him.

'She's still about a mile or more outside the gulf beyond Sant' Antioco. She's not making more than a couple of knots under topsails.'

'The captain's nervous of the gulf all right, but he may not have a decent chart.'

Ramage quickly outlined his plans and his orders for Southwick, who protested at being given the gig. 'That's the captain's boat', he said. 'You should have her, sir.'

'I prefer a cutter, and anyway the boat carrying your weight has to be light.'

Southwick grinned and patted his stomach. 'Have you chosen your men yet, sir?'

'No - I'd like to have Jackson and Stafford, but I suggest you muster the topmen and divide them up. Some Marines for the slowmatch, seamen for the grapnels. Oh yes, and boatkeepers: as we're towing our boats they might get painters tangled ...' There was no need to elaborate on that risk.

'Can I go and tell the gunner now, sir?'

Ramage grinned and nodded. 'Then we'd better get over to our ships. At least we won't have to bother to weigh or buoy the anchor cables!'

Southwick paused a moment. 'Ten minutes for the slowmatch - isn't that rather long, sir?'

'Ten minutes is not a very long time to get everyone down into the boats and row a hundred yards.'

'I suppose not, sir, but I was thinking of the French boarding and putting 'em out.'

'They won't know where to look; they'll be taken by surprise and will assume the Merle and Muscade are fireships, so they'll be expecting flames.'

Ramage scrambled up the side of the Merle, a pistol butt grinding into his ribs, and followed by Jackson and the rest of the men in the red cutter, leaving behind only the boatkeeper. He kept the painter clear of the chainwhales and portlids as another of the men let the boat drift aft and then made up the rope on a convenient cleat with a cheery: 'You'll be best off if we make any mistake wiv the powder!'

Two seamen held lanterns while another two swung big mauls to drive out the wooden wedges holding the battens in place round the edge of the coamings to free the heavy canvas cover protecting the thick hatch boards.

'Just get out three boards', Ramage said, and the canvas was rolled back enough for them to be lifted up.

Even the weak light of the lantern showed that Ramage's guess had been right, and the powder had been stowed in the aftermost of the brig's two holds: the copper hoops of the powder barrels reflected a dull redness. They were well stowed with shifting boards. 'Bung up and bilge free', Ramage thought to himself: the bung of each barrel was uppermost, and none of the barrels rested against the side, or the bilge, of the ship. A wise shipper always paid a premium and specified that his goods, if in barrels, should be stowed 'bung up and bilge free', but the master of a ship carrying so much powder needed no urging: a bung working itself loose as the ship pitched would mean, if the barrel was not stowed bung uppermost, that a sixth of a ton of powder would cascade into the bilges and, despite the copper hoops, if one barrel rubbed against another, it could cause sufficient friction to ignite a few grains - fewer than a dandy would bother to blow from his sleeve if he spilled some snuff - and that would be enough to destroy the ship.

The top tier of barrels was only three feet below the level of the hatch coaming, and Ramage looked round for Stafford.

'You have those lengths of fuse?'

'Aye aye, sir.' Stafford held up a canvas bag.

The sight of the bag made Ramage angry again. He had asked the gunner for lengths of slowmatch that would burn ten minutes, with a foot left over at one end. The damned man had backed and filled, saying he could not be certain of the burning time of a length of slowmatch between five minutes and thirty. Finally Ramage had decided to use the much less rugged fuse, and fortunately the Calypso's magazine contained two types made from mealed powder, the finest available. But again the gunner had avoided specifying the speeds at which they burned, and an enraged and frustrated Ramage had made the man bring up his notebooks and found that they recorded that fuse made from good mealed powder burned at the rate of three inches in seven seconds and the other twelve inches in one minute. Ramage chose the slower and had then given the whole coil to Jackson and Stafford. After doing a quick sum, he told them to cut ten eleven-foot lengths. That would give each one ten minutes' burning time, plus a foot.

Five lengths had been handed over to Southwick for the Muscade, and now Stafford had five lengths for the Merle. Fuse burned fast, so for this sort of work long lengths were needed; on the other hand, with the longer fuse, as Jackson had pointed out, there was the advantage that when the fuse was first lit the flame was farther from the powder.

Already two seamen were calling from the outboard end of the starboard maintopsail yardarm to a third standing below. Ramage heard a thud as a rope dropped, then the rattle of chain. They were fitting the first of the grapnels which would hang from all the yards at varying heights, ready to catch in the French 74's rigging or any hull projection so that the Merle stuck to her like a burr on a woollen sock.

The topmen, without awaiting orders, were already aloft, checking over the gaskets holding the sails furled and slackening them, and making sure of the lead of halyards. As soon as they finished their work, the grapnel men would trace the leads of braces, sheets and tacks.