Now for the bloody mathematics. The Calypso had seven miles to run from the mouth of the Ombrone river, but they had turned away from the coast opposite the Torre Collelungo which was, he remembered, almost three miles south of the river mouth.

There was a northgoing current but running at no more than a knot at the moment. Seven miles to run at eight knots - that will take . . . yes, fifty-three minutes from the time we altered course. In fact we have to run slightly more than seven miles because we started off south of the Ombrone - but then, the guess of a knot for the speed of the northgoing current is on the low side. So the two, extra distance and current will, probably, cancel each other out. He went to the binnacle lamp and looked again at his watch. Forty-one minutes to go.

The quartermaster, misunderstanding why Ramage had gone to the binnacle, said defensively: "We're steering as close to a quarter point as makes no difference, sir. Coming off mebbe a quarter point either side as she yaws, and it evens out nice."

"It had better," Ramage said with a cheerfulness he did not feel, but not wanting to make the quartermaster think he was distrusted. "Otherwise all of us will be marked down 'DD' within the hour!"

The men at the wheel and the quartermaster laughed at Ramage's grim forecast: in wartime a man could leave a ship (and therefore the Navy) for one of only three reasons, which were written as initials beside his name in the muster book as "D" for Discharged (to another ship, or a hospital), or "DD" for Discharged Dead, meaning he had died or been killed, or "R", the Navy's curt way of saying that a man had Run or deserted, an offence which could end, if he was caught, with the man swinging by the neck from a yardarm. In fact in wartime the Navy was so short of men that a recaptured deserter was usually flogged and sent to sea again.

"Another cast of the log, if you please Mr Aitken, and I'll thank you to have a man ready in the chains with the lead."

The wooden triangle attached to the logline was thrown over the stern again and the seaman held up the reel by its handles so that it spun freely, while the third man turned the glass, timing how quickly the measured length of line took to run out. Aitken had shouted the order for the leadsman, and Ramage could picture the seaman tying on his leather apron and collecting the coiled up leadline, holding the actual lead (which looked like the weight of a grandfather clock) before going to the lee side to stand on the thick board fitted lengthwise along the ship's side abreast the foremast. This, known as the chain-plate (there was one each side in way of a mast and the shrouds were secured to it), formed a good platform. The leadsman put lines round himself (the breast ropes) and made the ends secure to the shrouds, so that he would not fall into the sea if there was an unexpected lee lurch.

Holding the coil of rope (marked at various depths by pieces of cloth and leather, because he would be working by feel) in his left hand, he had the end of the line secured to the lead in his right.

When the call came for the cast of the lead he would let six or seven feet of line pass through his right hand and then swing the lead back and forth, like a pendulum, finally letting it go when he judged it was swinging far enough forward that the lead would plummet into the water and hit the bottom as the ship sailed above it.

As soon as he felt the weight coming off the line he would feel for the nearest piece of cloth or leather, and know how much line was in the water, and thus the depth. As he shouted it out, he would be hastily hoisting up the lead and coiling the line, ready for another cast. And the leather apron would prevent the water streaming off the line from soaking him.

Forty minutes. After telling Aitken he was going to the fo'c'sle, Ramage walked up to see Southwick, who by now was wearing oilskins as the Calypso's bow butted into the seas, sending up showers of spray.

"She seems to like this length o' swell," Southwick commented. "The men are down in the cable tier, and I've the others up here." He was obviously hoping for some explanation and, knowing that the next orders would be bellowed at Southwick from the quarterdeck, the voice distorted by the speaking trumpet, Ramage described his plan in detail.

Southwick nodded from time to time as both men clung to the breech of the weathermost bowchaser, ducking occasionally from spray hurling itself into the air to be blown aft by the wind.

"Yes," Southwick agreed. "I think the cable will hold." He thought for a moment. "Anyway, it'll be all up with us if it doesn't!" he grunted.

"Ten fathoms," Ramage repeated.

"Aye aye, sir. I'll get plenty of cable up on deck, faked out and ready to run. I - er, well, if I may say so, sir, I wouldn't mention to Sir Henry what you intend doing . . ."

"Why on earth not?"

"Well, sir," Southwick said uncomfortably, "it's difficult to put it into words, but. . ."

"But what?" Ramage demanded. "Spit it out, man; since when have you come along blushing with a bunch of flowers in your hand?"

"Well, sir," Southwick started again, "I've sailed with you so long that I expect the unexpected; it's sort of - well, I've received some very strange orders from you, sir, but I've carried 'em out and later I see you were absolutely right, and you took Johnny Crapaud by surprise. What I mean, sir, is that Sir Henry hasn't - well, he hasn't sailed with you before and he - well, he might..."

"He'll probably think I've gone mad?" Ramage offered.

Southwick swallowed hard. "Yes, sir, he might. Aitken and the rest of the Calypsos know better; in fact few of 'em realize that half the time your orders'd sound odd to the usual run of frigate captains because you succeed, so as far as our fellows are concerned that's the way to do it."

Ramage patted Southwick's arm. "Don't worry, I understand what you mean and thanks for saying it. Anyway, Sir Henry seems happy enough wrapped up in his oilskins and sitting undisturbed on a carronade aft. Aitken says he's dreaming of the days when he was young and commanded a frigate, and not a fleet!"

Back on the quarterdeck, Aitken reported to Ramage that the Calypso was still making almost exactly eight knots, and the time and speed had been written on the slate. And the French frigate, Aitken added, was following in the Calypso's wake, barely a cable distant.

Ramage went to the binnacle and looked again at his watch. Twenty-nine minutes. The damned timepiece seemed to be going backwards. Well, Southwick knew what he had to do. Now to give Aitken his instructions, then he would take a turn round the deck, telling Kenton, Hill, Martin and Orsini what was expected of them. And, even though the present quartermaster was a good man, Ramage had an almost superstitious preference for having Jackson as the quartermaster, watching the helmsmen and the weather luffs of the sails, when they went into action - not that they were going into action, but... He gave the order to Aitken, and while the word was passed for the American, Ramage told Aitken what he intended doing.

Ramage watched the first lieutenant's face closely in the darkness, having already absorbed Southwick's honest comments, but Aitken revealed no reaction: Ramage could have been telling the Scotsman something routine - such as that tomorrow morning they would be anchoring in a quiet bay and he wanted the ship's boats away wooding and watering because they were down to fifteen tons of water and the cook was complaining he was short of wood for heating the coppers.

Aitken repeated the course that Ramage had mentioned, asked for a confirmation of the distance to be run, and suggested that he should visit all the officers at their divisions of guns, nodding contentedly when Ramage said he would do that himself.