'Shall I? Why should I like the islands?'

'They're so beautiful - every one different. And the sea so clear that in places you can see the bottom in ten fathoms.'

'But what is this monkey?' Gilbert inquired.

'Ha, that's a treat in store. You know what a coconut is like?'

Gilbert shook his head, so Stafford described it.

'This shell,' he added, 'is full o' what they call milk, or coconut water, and it's very refreshing to drink. You just cut off the top o' the shell or punch an 'ole in it.'

'What's all that got to do with monkeys?'

'Well, last time I saw it done a young midshipman was taking a party of us on shore, and it was very hot. Very green, this young lad; he'd never heard of sucking the monkey. So we asked him if we could buy some of this old lady's coconuts, so we could drink the coconut water. He agreed, so we paid up and soon all of us were sucking the monkey.'

'Oh, I see: drinking the coconut water is called sucking the monkey,' Gilbert said. 'I don't think that's very funny.'

'It's not. We weren't drinking coconut water! We were drinking rum: what the old ladies sell is not a coconut full of coconut water but a coconut filled with rum - that's sucking the monkey! The poor midshipman never did find out why we suddenly got so cheerful.'

'Drinking rum in the hot sun just gives you a headache,' Gilbert protested.

'It does,' Stafford agreed. 'I was a lot younger then. But you've come across it, haven't you Jacko?'

The American nodded. 'I remember once every man in a working party had two coconuts each and got so drunk he couldn't walk straight. Neither the midshipman nor the first lieutenant had ever heard of sucking the monkey, so they never did discover how the men got at the rum.'

'Rum must be very cheap.'

'Yus, and easier to find than water. You'll see the sugar growing - like 'normous grass when it's ripe - and you'll get fed up with the stink of molasses, which is what they make from the sugar. Strange to think that rum comes from stuff that looks like overgrown grass.'

'Very overgrown,' Jackson said. 'It stands higher than a man when it's ready to be cut.'

'That's what the slaves are kept for,' Stafford explained. 'They plant and weed and then cut the cane. Hard and hot work in the boiling sun.'

'What else is there beside sucking the monkey?' Gilbert inquired.

'If you mean tricks to play on midshipmen, that's about the only one. But to eat - there's more fruit than you could dream of. Oranges you buy by the kitbag, then there's bananas and pawpaw - just you wait until you go to market: the old ladies have it all spread out on the ground and you just choose what you want.'

'But I hear there are things like yellow fever and blackwater which take you off in a couple of days . . .'

'Oh yus, there's plenty of that. I know of one frigate that lost thirty men from yellow fever in a week. Ho yus, yer got to stay alive if yer going to enjoy the West Indies.'

'How do you do that?'

Stafford shrugged his shoulders. 'Yellow fever can strike whether you've just come out or you've been in the islands for years - so I'm told, though I reckon the longer you've been out, the less chance o' getting it. But there are a lot more fevers, and bad cuts can go gangrenous very quickly, so watch out. Mr Bowen's been out here a lot and he's very good - about as good a surgeon as you could wish for. He won't make much work for that parson - leastways, I don't 'spect so. That parson's got a burying sort o' voice, I must say. He let himself go when we buried those five chaps. Still,' he added philosophically, 'if you're going ter go, he gives you yer money's worth.'

'I must say you make it all sound very inviting,' Gilbert said mildly. 'If the rum doesn't get you, the yellow fever will, and if you cut yourself there's always gangrene!'

Stafford laughed and said: 'Don't get too depressed. The West Indies is the favourite station for Jacko and Rosey and me - better than the Mediterranean. You'll like it - if you live long enough!'

Barbados came up out of the haze, long and low on the western horizon, just as Southwick had calculated. As usual the outline of the island was faint, blurred by the spray blowing inland as the rollers crashed into the rocky shore, rollers which were uninterrupted as they swept across the Atlantic from the coast of Africa. Ramage's clerk, Luckhurst, had made a fair copy of the captain's report on the actions against the Sylphe, Junon and Requin, and Ramage had signed it. The weekly accounts were up to date and Ramage had inspected the midshipmen's journals, which were supposed to be filled in daily and shown to the captain each week. As far as Ramage could see they were an indictment of the midshipmen's literacy: only two of them had produced anything which could pass for a journal. On the other hand, one of them was almost outstanding: he had drawn in charts showing how the Dido had manoeuvred in the actions against the frigate and the ship of the line, and he had done a watercolour painting showing the Junon blowing up. It was what a journal should be. Ramage had rejected six others, telling Aitken to warn the owners that they must do better.

Gradually Barbados changed from a bluish blur to a brown curve on the horizon and then, as the Dido approached, slashes of green could be seen. Through the glass these showed up as stands of palm trees and fields of sugarcane. The palms were mostly along the coast with the cane spreading inland, acre upon acre. There was no doubt where Barbados's wealth came from.

Southwick tucked his telescope under his arm and remarked to no one in particular: 'Well, welcome back to the land of the sugar barons.'

'Are you glad to be back?' Ramage asked. 'I am at the moment, but whether I stay that way depends on what the admiral has for us.'

'It can't be anything too bad.'

'Don't trust admirals,' Southwick said darkly.

'Well, I haven't heard much about Rear-Admiral Samuel Cameron, so he can't be too bad.'

Southwick shook his head and sniffed. 'Don't forget we've been in the Mediterranean. Time flies. Trafalgar was months ago, hard as it is to believe. I didn't get a chance to talk to anyone from the West Indies convoy that came into Spithead just before we sailed.'

'Well, we'll soon know,' Ramage said. 'One thing about being in a ship of the line, it's unlikely to be escorting a convoy!'

Slowly the Dido followed the coast round to the south-west, closing with the shore until they could make out the line of pale blue water, where it shallowed. Then, with a surprising suddenness, they were at Carlisle Bay, and Ramage quickly picked out Admiral Cameron's flagship, the Reliant, and began the salute.

As the Dido anchored and the ship swung head to wind, Ramage felt the heat: until now the Dido had been out in the open sea, with the Trade wind blowing steadily across the deck and keeping the ship reasonably cool. Now, at anchor, the heat was coming off the land, humid and uncomfortable.

'Get the awnings rigged as soon as you've finished squaring the yards,' Ramage told Southwick. 'I'm going across to report to the admiral.'

As he changed into his best uniform, tied his stock and put on his sword, he heard Aitken shouting orders as the boat was hoisted out ready for him.

So far so good, he thought: there were no strings of signal flags from the flagship telling him where to anchor, so Cameron was not one of the fussy sort of admirals who did not trust a captain to anchor properly. Perhaps he guessed that Ramage had anchored in Carlisle Bay a dozen or more times. Perhaps he did not care, Ramage thought.

He put his papers into the leather case, picked up his hat and, acknowledging the sentry's salute as he went out of the door, made his way to the entryport. There the red cutter was alongside and sideboys were holding out the sideropes for him to hold as he climbed down.