'Look at that!' shouted Southwick, pointing aloft. 'They're either firing wild or trying to dismast us!'

In the light of the flashes Ramage could see the main topgallant yard was hanging down at a crazy angle and in two pieces, obviously hit squarely by a roundshot. There will be plenty of work for the carpenter and his mates before this night's over, Ramage thought.

Now the thunder of the guns from both ships was continuous, like thunder exaggerated a hundred times, and the flicker of the guns firing was like summer lightning. It seemed to Ramage that there was an air of unreality over the whole scene. He was too used to fighting in bright daylight to feel comfortable in the darkness.

But, he realized, it must be the same for the French. Not only that but they were probably suffering from harbour rot, his phrase for the strange malaise that came over a ship's company when they did not go to sea. Ships and seamen rot in harbour: a glib phrase but a true one. And when had the Achille last fired her guns in anger? Probably months, if not years ago, and Ramage could not see the ship sailing from Fort Royal to exercise the guns' crews at sea.

Just then one of the men at the wheel screamed and collapsed, and in the darkness Ramage could see a dark stain spreading across the deck. As Aitken shouted for another seaman to take his place, there was a crash and another roundshot hit the mainmast and whined aft in ricochet across the gratings to bury itself in the bulkhead on the forward side of Ramage's pantry, at the larboard forward corner of the coach.

Suddenly Ramage realized Southwick was tugging at his arm and pointing over the starboard bow.

'Pointe des Nègres - it's very close: you can just see the cliffs in the flashes of our broadsides.'

And there they were, eerily grey and menacing, and their course - the one being steered by both the Achille and the Dido - was converging on it; in half a mile or less they would be up on the rocks.

But, Ramage realized, the French had not noticed their danger - either the lookouts had been killed or they were below serving at the guns. Anyway, whatever their fate they were not keeping a lookout.

And this was the Dido's chance: Ramage guessed he had only a couple of minutes to seize it. 'Quick, slap us alongside! Turn right into her!'

This was the chance of surprising the enemy: surprise was the secret of all success, and it was the hardest thing to achieve. But if the Achille suddenly found the Dido coming at her out of the darkness, apparently intending to board, her obvious move was to turn away to starboard - a turn which should take her on to the rocks, because by then if the French saw the cliffs they would not have enough room to turn back again.

The men spun the wheel, helped by Jackson, and Ramage heard as if for the first time the popping of the muskets of the Marines. 'Boarders stand by,' he shouted at Aitken, 'and warn Rennick that we might be boarding!'

The Dido's broadside became more ragged as the ship's turn meant the guns had to be trained round more, but they soon picked up and the ship seemed to tremble as the guns fired and rumbled back in recoil.

'We're firing faster than they are,' Southwick said.

'I should hope so, after all that training.'

'And the French still seem to be firing high.'

'So much the better: they don't seem to be doing much damage and it means we aren't losing so many men.'

Just then a grapeshot crashed into the corner of the binnacle and ricocheted into the bulwark after showering both Ramage and Southwick with splinters, none of which wounded them. Southwick brushed them off his coat. 'Lucky that didn't hit the compass.'

The words were hardly out of his mouth before the calico-tearing sound of another shot seemed to pass between them, close enough for both men to duck involuntarily.

'Hot work,' grumbled Southwick. 'Too hot to last.'

'They seem determined to knock our heads off,' Ramage said.

Now he could see that the Dido was easing over on to the Achille but the flashes of the guns were too dazzling for him to be able to distinguish the cliffs. Was the Achille turning to starboard to avoid the Dido crashing alongside or were they just getting ready to repel boarders?

The side of the French ship rippled with the flashes of her guns, and Ramage could feel rather than hear the thud as roundshot bit into the Dido's side. He heard an occasional scream as a man was hit, otherwise there was just the hollow rumble of the guns firing and recoiling and the cork popping sound of the Marines' muskets. The smoke was now thick on the quarterdeck, eddying and twisting as it was caught by random wind currents.

Ramage stared hard at the Achille, trying to decide whether she was turning away. He finally decided she was not. Which would mean the Dido must crash alongside in about three minutes - a manoeuvre he had not intended: he did not want to try to take the French ship by boarding, although he was prepared. Apart from anything else, the French ship was probably carrying a hundred or so extra troops - the easiest way they had of reinforcing the ship in anticipation of meeting the Dido. There were always soldiers available in Fort Royal.

Orsini was keeping up a high rate of fire with his carronades: the new design of slides certainly speeded up loading. Providing the aiming was as good as the rate of fire, they should be clearing the Achille's decks methodically - carronades firing caseshot at close range were lethal, and the spread of the shot at this range was just about ideal.

'She's holding her course,' Southwick grumbled. 'We're going to run aboard her.'

'I'm afraid so. I just hope she hasn't taken on a lot of extra troops,' Ramage said.

'We can always hold off and keep this range.'

'No, our only hope of avoiding a battering match is to get her to run ashore. Maybe they'll take fright after we get alongside.'

Southwick hitched his sword round a bit, as if reassuring himself that he was still wearing it. 'It'll make a change for me to board someone,' he said, intending to forestall Ramage from telling him that he could not join the boarding parties. There was little he enjoyed more than swinging his big two-handed sword as he swept into the midst of a group of Frenchmen. Yet with his flowing white hair and cheery red face he looked like the peaceful parson of a country parish, more used to writing out his sermons than wielding a sword. Southwick was, Ramage considered, the most deceptive-looking man in the Dido's ship's company.

The gap between the two ships was closing faster now: the outline of the Achille was becoming more definite, even though she still had a ghostly quality as the flickering from her own guns and the Dido's lit her up, throwing weird shadows across her sails and making her hull seem to tremble.

The range was down to less than a hundred yards when Southwick exclaimed: 'She's turning!'

At almost the same moment Ramage noticed that her bowsprit was diverging slightly to starboard. Not much - maybe a point. But no, the swing was continuing. The captain of the Achille had suddenly decided to sheer off rather than risk being boarded. But was he watching the Dido and not looking to starboard?

Ramage willed his guns to fire faster, so that the French captain concentrated on the Dido. He tried to put himself in the Frenchman's place. Yes, he could imagine himself being obsessed with watching the enemy: it was the obvious thing to do, particularly when he seemed to be moving into a position to run alongside and board.

Again he looked forward at the Achilles bowsprit, and in the gun flashes he was sure she had turned another point to starboard. Two points. Three should be enough. Four would make it certain. As he watched, feeling almost dizzy as the flashes nagged at his eyes, he was sure the French ship was still turning. The only reference point was the Dido's own bowsprit, which was also turning to starboard but at a slower rate.