The captain of the Scourge was a nervous young lieutenant who introduced himself to Ramage as James Bennett. He was tall and thin with sandy hair, and very impressed when he found he was talking to Captain Lord Ramage. It was obvious, Ramage thought, that the capture of Diamond Rock made a story still told in the Windward and Leeward Islands.

Ramage took Bennett down to his cabin. 'What's going on up at Fort Royal?'

'It's very quiet, sir. The French seventy-four is still anchored in the Baie du Carénage, under the guns of Fort St Louis, with a frigate close by her. There are the usual collection of droghers anchored off the mouth of the Salée River, along with a few trading vessels. Otherwise there is nothing going on. The last time I saw her, yesterday afternoon, the seventy-four had her topsail yards sent down, probably doing repairs.'

'How close do you go in to look at her?'

'About a mile, sir. Fort St Louis opens fire, and then I usually turn away. It's easy to lose the wind in the bay, and I'm always a bit nervous about lying there becalmed while the fort gives us a pounding.'

'Yes, the bay is surrounded by mountains to the north and east: they act like curtains and keep the wind out.'

'And they've put in some new batteries covering the town to the west of the fort. Before that, I used to sneak in from the west, but now the batteries keep me well out into the bay.'

As Bennett talked, Ramage got the impression of a nervous young man afraid of risking his ship, but nevertheless carrying out his orders to keep a watch on the French seventy-four. But he was not the man to startle anyone by sending a boarding party in one night to try to cut out the frigate, or make a surprise raid on the droghers, and sink or burn a few. Not a man in other words, who made his presence felt, discomforting the French from time to time. If he ever achieved post rank it would be by luck, being the only man around when the opening occurred, rather than the reward for a particular episode.

It was a pity, Ramage thought, that someone like Aitken or George Hill did not command the Scourge; they could make the ship live up to her name. He made a guess at how Bennett had obtained the command of the brig: her previous captain had died suddenly from yellow fever and Bennett, a lieutenant in the flagship and a favourite of the admiral, had been given the command. If that was so, and he suspected it was, then Bennett had been lucky. It was a very familiar story, though of no particular credit to the Navy, because it meant that some spirited and competent lieutenants failed to get promotion because they did not catch an admiral's eyes, never serving in the flagship.

Which only emphasized that all too often luck was the most important factor in getting promotion: being around and under the admiral's eye when a vacancy occurred.

Yet if he was fair he would have to admit that was how he got his start: he was at hand in the Mediterranean when Lord Nelson - then a less distinguished rear-admiral - was looking for a lieutenant to command the Kathleen cutter and attempt to carry out what he now realized were thought to be impossible orders, although at the time he had been so young and keen that nothing seemed impossible. Nor, in this case, were they.

As he examined the great kidney-shaped bay, memories came flooding back to Ramage. Nothing had changed at Fort Royal, up in the north-west corner. The cathedral stood in the centre of the town and Fort St Louis still sat four-square on the peninsula to the east. Further eastward the seventy-four was at anchor in the Baie du Carénage, with the frigate half a mile to seaward, swinging just clear of the big shoal in front of the fort.

'That seventy-four seems snug enough,' Southwick grunted, putting down his telescope. 'Doesn't look as if she goes to sea very often. They need boats to tow her into that berth: she could never sail in, not with the prevailing wind.'

'She only needs to sail when a convoy is expected,' Ramage reminded him. 'The frigate probably does all the routine patrolling - she's anchored well out.'

Even as he spoke, an idea was growing in Ramage's mind. The frigate was anchored well clear - what was that channel called? Ah yes, the Passe du Carénage, and to the west of her was the Banc du Fort St Louis.

'I wonder what they're thinking over there,' Aitken speculated. 'They probably haven't seen a British seventy-four off here for many months.'

'Well, that frigate never sailed to chase off the Scourge, so I don't expect they'll get very excited about us,' Ramage said.

'A pity,' Southwick commented. 'I can't see how we'll ever lure her out.'

'We might be able to catch her if she sails to escort a convoy,' Ramage said.

Southwick gave one of his familiar sniffs, this time indicating doubt. 'They probably only get a couple of convoys a year, maybe not even that many, so we might have a long wait.'

'Better than blockading Brest in the winter,' Aitken commented. 'A gale once a week in the winter, with snow as well. Frozen ropes, clothes wet for weeks on end ... no I'd rather blockade Fort Royal!'

Ramage, who knew he had not the patience to blockade anywhere for long, thought about his original idea. Already the thought of sailing up and down the coast, or waiting off Diamond Rock for the Scourge to make a signal that the French were sailing, was beginning to pall.

But for a day or two, he would let the French settle down again: the Scourge would continue her watch on Fort Royal while the Dido went back to waiting close to Diamond Rock.

He thought of the row of mountains lining the coast down as far as Diamond Rock. It was almost like coming home again, because he could remember the names of most of them. Once past Cap Salomon, there was Morne La Plaine with another one behind it whose name he had forgotten, then Morne Macabou, followed by Morne Jacqueline, jutting out to sea, and then the highest of them all, Morne Larcher, which formed Pointe du Diamant.

Splendid mountains, all of them, but cutting off the Trade winds as effectively as a door, unless for a change there was a bit of south in them. All of which meant that a ship had to keep five or six miles out to sea, unless the captain wanted to risk losing the wind and getting swept north by the north-going current.

But, as Aitken said, it was worse off Brest!

He told Southwick to fix the frigate's position, using both the compass and horizontal sextant angles, and as soon as the master had done that Ramage gave the order for the Dido to turn away to the south-west, to round Cap Salomon three miles off and then turn south to start patrolling west of Diamond Rock, where the wind was steady and the current less strong.

When hands were piped to dinner, and as the Dido turned southwards, Stafford said to the four Frenchmen: 'Well, now you've seen it, what do you think of Diamond Rock?'

'You must have been goats to capture it,' Gilbert said. 'Only goats could climb up there. And as for swaying up guns...'

Stafford laughed at the memory. 'Yes, goats was about it; that rock is even steeper than it looks. As we sailed past this morning, I was amazed that we ever managed to get a gun ashore there - there's only one tiny landing place. We hoisted the guns to the top direct from the deck, o'course, using a block and tackle. Pity those fools who took over from us ever lost it. More than six hundred feet to the top - made you feel dizzy looking down. But the battery we had at the top - I can tell you, that had a good range!'

'What did you do for water?'

'Ah, that was the problem. The island is as dry as - well, a piece o' rock. Every drop of water had to be landed. I fink that's how the French recaptured it - our chaps ran out of water. I can tell you, it's hot up there - the rock holds the heat. Doesn't seem to get any cooler at night, either.'