'Stop grumbling,' growled Jackson. 'When we're in the Channel you're always complaining it's too cold and wet. Now you've got lovely weather and you're still complaining. What's the matter, tired of the sun?'

'Not the sun,' Stafford said defensively, 'just the same view: we're going to be lookin' at it for the next six months.'

'Why six months?' demanded Rossi.

'S'gonna take six months for that Frenchman to sail.'

'Brest,' Rossi said laconically. 'Don't forget we thought we were going to blockade Brest.'

'At least there's variety there!'

'Variety!' Rossi said scornfully. 'Yes - a westerly gale alternates with an easterly one, so one day you're close up with the Black Rocks and then you're giving them a good offing. And for a change, it blows hard from the north and maybe there's some snow, and the canvas freezes. I don't notice any snow round here.'

'All right, all right,' Stafford said placatingly. 'But when we're on the Channel station at least we get fresh meat while we're in port.'

'Damnation!' exclaimed Jackson. 'Out here you get fresh limes, fresh oranges, and fresh bananas, as well as perfect weather - except for a bit of haze, and the occasional squall. You get cold, you put on a shirt: you get wet, and you're dry in ten minutes.'

'My oath!' grumbled Stafford, 'a chap can't comment on the view without a lot of bullies jumpin' on 'im.'

'And judging from the last few days, there's plenty of prize and head money around,' Gilbert said unexpectedly.

'Don't you start,' exclaimed Stafford. 'I've had enough from Jacko and Rosey.'

'Well, you should be ashamed of yourself,' Gilbert said. 'Here you are, serving in a fine ship with a good captain and officers, we've had plenty of action in the last week, and now we have to wait for this ship of the line. You are too impatient, Staff.'

'Well, I may be a bit impatient,' Stafford admitted, 'and I wouldn't want to swap this for blockading Brest, but when is this Frog going to move?'

Gilbert ignored the 'Frog' epithet and said quietly: 'If you were him and you saw what happened to the frigate, and you knew the Dido is waiting outside and commanded by the famous Captain Ramage, what would you do?'

'I s'pose I'd stay where I was,' Stafford admitted grudgingly.

Jackson said: 'As long as he stays in there, you stay out here. Which would you prefer, being him trapped in there or us out here?'

'All right, all right, you're boarding me in the smoke,' Stafford said. 'Can't a chap have a grumble now and then?'

Gilbert, to change the subject, said: 'How much do you think we're going to get for the frigates?'

'Not so much for the first one,' Jackson said. 'She was armed en flûte, so she didn't have many guns, nor a very big ship's company. I can't see the admiral or their Lordships allowing us much for all those plants - after all, no one knows what they are. Whoever heard of a mango? But anyway she wasn't damaged, nor was this last one, the Alerte. We should get a fair price for her - apart from a coat of paint and new rigging, she'd pass for new. And a full crew means plenty of head money.'

'Yes, but it's not like the Calypso days: we've got a bigger ship's company to share the money. Nearly three times as big.' Stafford sounded as though he could burst into tears at the mere thought of sharing with the new men in the Dido. 'In the old days we were 225 or so in the Calypso; now there are 625 of us. I'm not very good at sums, but I reckon that means we get two-thirds less for every ship we capture.'

'There's a big "but",' Jackson said. 'The bigger our ship, the fewer the casualties. And we could never have cut out the Alerte so successfully with the Calypso - we wouldn't have had enough men. We cut out the Alerte so easily because we had enough men to swamp 'em. If we'd been in the Calypso we'd have had only half that number of men. And we may not have carried her. Don't forget that. There's an advantage in being in a ship of the line.'

'More deck to scrub and more brass to polish,' Stafford said sourly. 'That's the only difference.'

'And you're alive to grumble about it,' said Jackson.

'The way you chaps keep nagging at me, I sometimes fink life's not worth living,' Stafford said, far from mollified.

'You forget we have three frigates and one ship of the line within a month, and we're still alive to collect our prize money,' Rossi said. 'So cheer up, Staff; you'll have us all in tears in a minute!'

'All right, all right; call me 'Appy Staff and I'll sit here making funny faces for you all.'

'I'm glad we didn't get sent to Barbados as prize crew in the Alerte,' Jackson said. 'You never know when you're going to get back to your ship.'

'But they sent the brig this time,' Gilbert pointed out.

'Yes, and if there's another ship short of men lying in Barbados they'll talk the admiral into transferring you.' Jackson said darkly. 'Prize crews are anyone's men, mark my words.'

'Well, we've all been lucky - three frigates needing prize crews, and none of us picked,' Stafford commented.

'I reckon we can thank Mr Ramage for that,' Jackson said. 'He knows what I've just been saying. We'll never see those fellows sent off in the first frigate again: someone will snatch them at Plymouth. That's why Mr Ramage sent the brig to Barbados: he's getting worried about the number of men he's losing.'

'When do you expect to see the Scourge back, sir?' Aitken asked.

'Under a week,' Ramage said. 'Give her a couple of days to get there - the winds have been light. And a day at the outside for the Scourge to put the prize crew back on board and sail. Give her a day or two to get back here and that's your week.'

'I'll be glad to get those lads back. Rennick is sure someone in Barbados will steal his Marines.'

'Not this time, I think. We're in good odour with Admiral Cameron - or should be, anyway - and I think he will make sure we get our men back. It's pretty obvious why I sent the Scourge - to bring all our men back.'

'I hope you're right sir,' Aitken said. 'I hate losing a single man.'

'I think the Barbados ships are well manned: they probably send out pressgangs as soon as a convoy comes in from England.'

'One can't help feeling sorry for the men in the merchant ships,' Aitken said. 'Just imagine - arriving in the Chops of the Channel after a year out here and looking forward to seeing your wife and children, when one of our pressgangs comes alongside and whisks you off, to serve in one of the King's ships until this war is over.'

'I don't know anyone who likes the pressgang system, but how else are we to man the ships? With no men for the King's ships, who is to defend the merchant ships? And without the merchant ships we'd be in the sort of state Martinique is in - worse, in fact.'

Aitken shrugged his shoulders. 'One thing about it, the pressgang certainly produces an odd mixture of men!'

'Yes, the oddest sort seem to turn into prime seamen, whether volunteers or pressed men. It doesn't seem to matter whether the man was a footpad or a footman; he's likely to make a good topman, as long as he's sound in wind and limb.'

'By the way, sir, what do you intend for the men this afternoon?'

'Gunnery exercises,' Ramage said emphatically. 'Keep them at it: don't forget that it won't be long before we're tackling that seventy-four over there, and the one that wins is the one who fires fastest and most accurately: and I want to encourage Higgins, who is proving an excellent gunner.'

'We're short of Kenton and Orsini; I'll have to replace them with a couple of older midshipmen.'

'Very well: it'll give them some experience.'

Ramage picked up his telescope and walked to the ship's side, examining Fort Royal and the seventy-four in the Carénage.

'I wish I knew why she had her yards sent down. Have they found some rot in them, or are they changing some running rigging?'