But Rossi and Gilbert seemed to be taking a long time with the handspikes. By this time Ramage had at last cleared his throat and his eyes had stopped watering so that he could look across at the frigate. No wonder it was taking time to train the gun - the quarterboat hanging in its davits was now a shattered shell, a few thin frames sticking out from the keel like the ribs of a crushed skeleton, the remaining planking sprung and jagged, instead of swelling round in a smooth curve from bow to stern. It was as though, Ramage thought inconsequentially, a banana had exploded, opening up the segments of skin.

Two rounds at a range of a couple of hundred yards . . . one ranging shot and then a direct hit. Well, the Calypso was hardly rolling and pitching and, with a gun captain like Jackson, one could take bets that he would do it inside half a dozen rounds.

Ramage realized that smashing the two remaining boom boats might be more difficult. Their name came from the fact that they were stowed amidships on top of spare yards and booms, which were kept lashed down over a large hatchway and made a good platform for the boats. From there it was easy for the stay tackles to hoist them up and out over the side when needed.

Ironically, the wreckage of the main and mizenmasts was now giving them some protection: a couple of slewed yards, a bundle of thick cordage, a smashed mast two or three feet in diameter - all would be enough to make the grapeshot ricochet. But there were nine grapeshot in each round, and every one of them weighed a pound. Give Jackson enough time!

Ramage went back to the quarterdeck, where Aitken and Southwick stood talking to Sir Henry.

The admiral glanced aft and Ramage walked with him until they were out of earshot of both officers, the quartermaster and the men at the wheel.

"The general - what happened?"

"I told him to go up to the fo'c'sle or down to his cabin," Ramage said in a flat voice. "He refused: said he wanted to watch the shooting and report to the Board of Ordnance."

Sir Henry nodded. "And then?"

"My lieutenant of Marines warned him he was disobeying the lawful order of the captain of the ship. The general found this amusing. I told the Marines to take him below."

"Under arrest?"

Ramage shook his head. "No, sir; I didn't feel inclined to give him that satisfaction."

"Very wise, very wise," Sir Henry said. "I didn't interfere because - well, you seem to be able to take care of yourself. I'd be inclined to treat him like a naughty boy."

"Indeed sir, he behaves like one," Ramage agreed, pausing as Jackson fired again but fighting down his curiosity and not looking where the shot landed. He was thankful that Sir Henry was, very tactfully, giving advice, and even more thankful that the advice coincided with what he had already decided to do.

"Trouble with arresting people," Sir Henry said conversationally, "is that to set 'em free again, you've either to charge 'em or climb down, which is bad for discipline."

"That's what I had in mind, sir," Ramage said. "And I wasn't quite sure what the King's Regulations and Admiralty Instructions had to say about travelling generals."

"Ha!" Sir Henry said contemptuously, "the Articles of War are all you need, particularly with the ship in action against the enemy." He looked squarely at Ramage and smiled. "Why the devil d'you think I'm so well behaved, eh?"

Ramage laughed, and took the opportunity of turning so that he could spot the fall of shot. "I'd put it down to your natural kindness towards young captains at the bottom of the Post List, sir."

"I eat 'em for breakfast," Sir Henry said. "Majors-general I keep for dinner. Lieutenants-general I have served cold for supper."

Number four gun on the starboard side grunted again. "That gun captain is either very lucky or very good," Sir Henry commented.

"Very good, sir. He's served with me since I had my first command."

"While you were, er, attending to the general, your master (what's his name - Southwick?) was telling me he was on board the Kathleen when that Spanish three-decker rammed her and rolled her over. Must have been an alarming sight, her bearing down on you."

"We had a rather limited view, sir," Ramage said, "but other ships later gave us flattering descriptions. By the way, sir, our story is that we rammed the Spaniard, not the other way round!"

"Well, a mouse in the stable can panic a stallion, so you may be right. Oh - just look at that!"

Ramage glanced across at the frigate just in time to see the two boom boats disintegrate. The angle at which they had been lying on the booms (compared with the single boat which had hung horizontally in the quarter davits) meant that Jackson was firing down on to them, and obviously one round of grapeshot had spread just sufficiently, like an enormous flail, to hit the larboard side of one and the starboard side of the other, ripping them open like a pair of bananas in the hands of a hungry ape.

"I'll have the spring on the cable taken in, if you please Mr Aitken," Ramage said. "The men can stand down from general quarters. Then Mr Aitken, we'll see about getting under way."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ramage sat at his desk listening to the two men report. The lantern swinging from its hook in the deckhead threw dancing shadows which emphasized their features: Rossi with his round face, full and generous lips, straight black hair and large, expressive eyes could only be an Italian: his hands gestured as eloquently as he spoke and seemed part of the words. Orsini's face was narrower, the shadows exaggerating his high cheekbones. In this light, Ramage thought, he looked like a youth painted by one of the better Renaissance artists. For the moment, Orsini was content to let Rossi tell the story in his Genovese accent.

"We landed on the rocks below Forte della Stella without trouble, and then climbed the cliff. The goats, they must have a hard life. We frightened a mother and her youngsters - or, rather," he admitted with a grin, "they frightened us because they suddenly bolted from a ledge just above and showered us with stones."

"The hostages," Ramage said impatiently. "Tell me the details later."

"Oh, they are in there, in Forte della Stella. We were in position by sunset, and soon after we saw the French guards shut the doors, two big wooden doors studded with boltheads to blunt axe blades. There is also a small door, big enough for one man, fitted into one of the big doors."

"A wicket gate." Ramage said in English.

"Yes, a wicked gate. That was opened just before it was dark, and a sentry came and stood outside. Musket, no sword. He stands to one side - the left as you face the gate - and leans against it. He's probably learned how to sleep standing up."

"Learned it from a sailor, I expect," Ramage said drily.

"Yes," Rossi grinned. "And we saw one sentry walking round the battlements."

Although he had already made up his own mind, Ramage asked Orsini: "Do you also think the hostages are there?"

Orsini nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Why?" Ramage asked bluntly.

"Well, there are no guns on the battlements, sir - we were careful to check all round the fortress. Why keep a garrison at Forte della Stella unless to handle cannon to cover the entrance to Port' Ercole? To prevent enemy ships approaching?"

No guns? Now Ramage was certain. He was already half convinced when Rossi told him of one sentry at the main gate and another up on the battlements: that was unusual enough at a French fortress in such an isolated place and would be justified only if they were artillerymen guarding against enemy ships trying to sneak past to attack Port' Ercole. But with no guns perched up on the battlements, then there had to be another reason for the garrison and for the sentries.