But it did not make the Calypso unmanageable. By now she had worn round and Ramage was giving the quartermaster careful orders which would bring the frigate into a good firing position.

Another red wink and puff of smoke at Le Jason's stern showed the French had managed to get a second sternchase gun into action, and Ramage found himself admiring their coolness; they were in a lot of trouble, but they still had the will to fight back.

Ramage heard nothing of the shot and assumed it must have missed. At that moment Orsini appeared in front of him. "A message from Mr Bowen, sir."

What had the surgeon to say at a time like this? "Well?"

"He said six men dead and five wounded, two seriously, from two roundshot and splinters, sir."

Ramage was dumbfounded: he had not heard or felt shot hitting the ship and knew nothing of casualties.

"Very well. Does Mr Bowen need help?"

"No, sir, I asked him. He has a couple of loblolly men and three seamen to help him, and that's enough."

Six men dead. . . And he had not realized that the ship had been hit. Yet when he thought about it, it was obvious that some shot from Le Jason's broadsides would have struck home. Fighting at these ranges meant casualties. He wondered how many Frenchmen had been killed.

Two points to starboard and trim the yards and sheets. That should bring them across Le Jason's transom. How was the Frenchman going to get off? He had run ashore at an oblique angle; there was just a chance that if he ran all his guns over to the larboard side, hardened in the sheets on the starboard tack and prayed for a strong gust of wind, then he might just come clear. But Ramage realized that would not help: the Frenchman probably had no rudder, or at least not one that functioned, and without that the wind would just blow him harder aground. Was he actually aground on the beach, or an offlying shoal? It was hard to tell from this angle.

Ramage decided that a hundred yards was as close as he was going to approach; there might be a spit of land or a spur of the shoal stretching well out, and having the Calypso going aground on the same bit of shoal would be a piece of irony he could do without.

"Do you need me here, sir?" Southwick asked. "Otherwise I'll go and give a hand clearing up that mast."

"No, I can manage," Ramage said. "The sooner we get that wreckage down on deck the better. It'll be ripping the topsail any minute."

The two pieces of the mast, along with the yard, were swinging like pendulums on pieces of rigging and halyards, and each time the ship rolled or there was a stronger than usual puff of wind, they slammed into the side of the topsail. Ramage could not understand why the splintered ends of the broken mast had not yet torn the canvas. Yes, he could order the topmen to furl the topsail, but the Calypso would be hard to handle with only the maintop-sail, and anyway Aitken needed the topmen to secure the wreckage.

Two hundred yards to go. Two hundred yards to sail and he had to make sure the Calypso passed about a hundred yards off the Frenchman's stern. The square on the hypotenuse - no, that did not apply because the hypotenuse was on the other side. Well, there was some mathematical formula to cover the situation, but he was damned if he knew it.

"You're sure Mr Bowen didn't need help?" he asked Orsini.

"No sir," Paolo said firmly. "There are only five wounded and he has them bandaged up. It was a shot from the first broadside," he added, to show Ramage that Bowen had plenty of time.

Once again Ramage stared over the starboard bow. They were approaching Le Jason fast now and Ramage imagined the French gunners hurriedly reloading the sternchasers. They would be under no illusion: they would know that within a matter of minutes they would get up the full raking broadside from the Calypso and the quarterdeck would be swept with shot. But - there, again a red wink and spurt of smoke as they opened fire at what must be the extreme traverse of the gun. Again Ramage did not hear the shot: perhaps it hit the hull well forward.

Five hundred yards . . . four hundred . . . three hundred . . . The Calypso'?, gunners would sight her out of the corner of the ports. Two hundred yards, and a hundred: gun captains would be taking up the strain on the lanyards and the second captains would have cocked the locks and jumped clear. Fifty yards and he could see the lettering on Le Jason's transom. The other sternchase fired and Ramage felt rather than heard a thud as its shot hit the Calypso's hull.

The leading gun in the Calypso's starboard broadside coughed and Ramage saw a spurt of smoke. Then the second gun, and the third. He picked up the telescope and trained it on Le Jason's stern. Yes, there was a cloud of dust, so at least one shot had ploughed through the planking on the transom. Yes, another puff of dust as another shot smashed through. Suddenly he saw a black shape rear into the air above the taffrail and realized that a roundshot had dismounted one of the sternchase guns.

One by one the Calypso's guns fired. A shot sent up a spurt of water twenty yards short of the French frigate: one of the gun captains had fired on the downward roll so that his shot fell short. It was an easy mistake to make: a matter of a second late in tugging the lanyard.

And that was the last gun. Ramage saw the spurt of dust it caused as it hit the comer of one of the sternlights. Now the guns crews would be hard at work sponging and ramming - worming too, by now, in case a piece of burning cartridge was left in the bore and likely to explode the next cartridge prematurely.

Suddenly Orsini was gesticulating at the French frigate and Ramage glanced across in time to see her courses being let fall. He snatched up the telescope and saw the yards being braced round and the sheets trimmed so that as soon as the huge sails tumbled down they filled and bellied out. A moment later the fore and main topgallants were let fall and as soon as the halyards had hoisted them the yards were braced and the sails trimmed.

What on earth was going on? As far as a puzzled Ramage could see, setting the sails would only drive Le Jason further up the beach. But the French captain must have a very good reason. And a moment later he saw what it was.

The frigate began to move slowly, and as soon as she had way on her yards were braced sharp up and she began to claw offshore.

At that moment Southwick hurried up the ladder, red-faced and breathless. "You've seen, sir? The dam' fellow wasn't ashore after all!"

Ramage shook his head. "No, he must have been caught on a spur of rock, And his rudder wasn't damaged after all: they must have had it hard over to try and get off."

"I hope the rock stove in a plank or two," Southwick growled.

Ramage realized he had a chance to rake the Frenchman's bow as he clawed off the shore and gave new orders to the quartermaster. It meant altering course only a point or two and the Calypso would pass fifty yards or so ahead of Le Jason before her captain had got his ship squared away properly for the beat to windward that would get him clear of the coast.

He shouted orders through the speaking trumpet to get yards braced and sheets trimmed, and then he bellowed down to the gunners to get ready for a target to larboard.

So an easy time passing up and down raking a stranded French frigate was turning back to be a battle of broadsides: Ramage thought of the six men killed already. What would be the butcher's bill before the sun went down? In all the actions he had fought up to now, in the Mediterranean and the West Indies, he had never suffered heavy casualties. Was his luck going to run out today? He had already had one lucky escape: if that ship of the line had pinned the Calypso across her bows, she would have sent across a boarding party which would have slaughtered most of the ship's company. Was this damned frigate going to do a lot of damage through lucky shots, like the one that had brought down the mast?