He gave Aitken the order to bring the wheel amidships, to stop the turn. Every yard the Dido made to starboard brought her that much nearer to Pointe des Nègres, apart from making it harder to distinguish how much the Achille was turning. The French captain had it in mind that the Dido was trying to come alongside to board, and that was all that mattered: he probably would not notice that she had in fact stopped her turn: the gunfire and darkness would obscure that. Or at least he hoped it would.

With the Dido's helm amidships he could not distinguish for certain that the Achille was continuing the turn to starboard - turning increasingly faster as her rudder got a bite on the water. How long would it be now?

Another roundshot ripped overhead, only a couple of feet clear of Ramage and Southwick as they stood together on the quarterdeck. This time neither man moved; both were trying to see beyond the Achille's bow, for a sight of the cliffs. Suddenly a ripple of fire from the Dido's guns made a concentrated flash which showed Ramage the cliffs: not where he had been looking, across the French ship's fo'c'sle, but just ahead of her.

'Larboard your helm!' he bellowed at Aitken. 'We'll be on the rocks ourselves in a few moments.'

Even as he shouted the Achille seemed to stop in the water and then appeared to draw astern as the Dido forged ahead and began to turn to seaward away from the cliffs and away from the Achille.

Slowly the gunfire died down as the gun captains realized there was no target, and the night became black. Black with blotches of grey as the eyes tried to recover from the dazzling effect of the muzzle flashes.

'We've done it!' Southwick shouted triumphantly. 'She's gone up on the rocks!'

'I'm not sure we're going to get clear in time,' Ramage said cautiously. 'I can't see a damned thing.'

'I'm blinded too,' Southwick admitted. 'All those flashes were too much. But God, how black it is now.'

Ramage waited anxiously as the Dido turned and Aitken shouted orders for trimming the sails and bracing the yards. Would that sickening crunch come as the Dido's bow rode up on the small reef of rocks extending seaward from the Pointe des Nègres or would she turn in time?

Just at that moment cloud cleared away and let starlight down on to the cliff, giving Ramage a sense of direction and letting him see that the Dido would pass clear. But as he looked over the Dido's quarter he could see the black hump of the Achille, seemingly hunched up at the foot of the cliff, her shape hard to identify.

Suddenly Southwick gave a bellow of alarm, followed up by an apologetic report that the Scourge was fine on the larboard bow. 'In the darkness she looked bigger than a brig,' he said. 'I thought we were in for more trouble.'

Ramage said, 'Stand by to anchor. We want to put a few more broadsides into the Achille at first light, apart from making sure she doesn't refloat tonight.'

'She must have been making six knots or more when she hit,' Southwick said. 'I don't think she's going to get off tonight.'

'What's the rise and fall of tide here?' Ramage asked.

'It's only a couple of feet at springs, and it's neaps now, so a foot o' water isn't going to do her much good.'

'Let's have a cast of the lead and put an anchor down,' Ramage said impatiently. 'I don't want to move too far away from that Frenchman, just in case he manages to get off.'

Southwick bustled off to the fo'c'sle, shouting orders for the anchor party, as Aitken called for topmen ready to furl the topsails.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Dawn came with painful slowness. The ship's company went to general quarters, to meet the first hint of daybreak with the guns loaded and run out. During the night the cloud had come and gone, so that one minute the starlight showed the cliff and the Achille and the next minute they were blotted out by a bank of cloud drifting across the sky from the east. There was no sign of movement from the French ship of the line; Southwick, watching with the nightglass, swore that the French had not rowed round taking soundings.

'That could mean they are holed so badly it doesn't matter what the depths are,' Ramage pointed out.

'True,' Southwick admitted, but added: 'If they're holed that badly, they'll never get off without help.'

Now, as the blackness slowly turned to grey, Ramage watched the ship through his telescope. No, she did not seem to be floating low in the water. But yes, perhaps she was up a bit by the bow. It was hard to be sure in the half-light, but Ramage found himself impatient to know.

Where was the convoy - when and where was the Achille due to meet it? He could not wait around too long off Fort Royal and Pointe des Nègres because he had to get down to the south to wait off Cabrit Island for the merchant ships to arrive. Why the devil was it that so often one was supposed to be in two places at once?

The Scourge passed close and Ramage grasped the speaking trumpet and shouted to Bennett. 'Thanks - that was a good job of shadowing. You can see the result. Now get down to Cabrit Island and keep a watch there.'

Bennett waved an acknowledgement and the brig turned away to head southwards.

With almost startling suddenness it was daylight and Ramage could see the Achille clearly. She had run up on the landward end of the short reef running seaward from the cliff. The cliff itself was a good fifty yards away.

'If she'd been twenty yards further out she'd have passed clear,' Southwick said, and snapped his telescope shut. 'Her captain is an unlucky fellow.'

'He's going to have a hard time at his court martial explaining why he was so close inshore,' Ramage said dryly. 'Gun flashes or no gun flashes, he was passing the Pointe much too close.'

'He was probably rattled by the Scourge's false fires,' Aitken said. 'He never thought of us waiting here for him.'

'And that's why he's on the rocks,' Ramage said unsympathetically. 'It should have been obvious that the Scourge was shadowing him, and she would only have been burning false fires to warn us.'

'Let's be thankful that French captain is unimaginative,' Southwick said. 'It makes our job easier.'

'Well,' Ramage said, 'now we are at general quarters we may as well go across and give our French friend a few broadsides. Let's weigh anchor, Mr Southwick. We'll do it under topsails, Mr Aitken.'

By now it was light enough to see the Achille clearly, and Ramage noticed that she had the same faded appearance as the Alerte: her paintwork was bleached by the hot sun and she looked as though she had been neglected for months. The effect of the blockade? Ramage suspected it was: paint (and probably rope) was not getting into Martinique. How were the French off for powder and shot? They might be getting short of wine but the island grew enough vegetables, and there were plenty of cattle, so no one would be starving.

There was no doubt that the Achille was stranded: she was close up under the cliffs and slightly up by the bow. But, Ramage noted, she was not noticeably down by the stern, so she was not making a lot of water. Just then he saw that there was a stream of water running down her side: her pump was working hard, so she definitely had a leak.

But she sat on the end of the reef like a huge black animal which had been cast up in a hurricane: helpless and at the mercy of the sea. What surprised Ramage was that there was no flurry of boats round her: he would have expected the French to be carrying out anchors, ready for an attempt to heave her off. Had the French captain decided that she was too firmly wedged on the rocks to be hove off? Or were they waiting for a flotilla of boats to come out from Fort Royal?

As if echoing his thoughts, Aitken said to him: 'They don't seem very excited over there. I'd have expected to see boats laying out anchors.'