Ramage once again raised his telescope and murmured to Southwick: 'It isn't often you see that flag - look over the two forts and that large building on the Point, the Governor's residence, I suppose. The flag of the Batavian Republic.'

The French seemed to like renaming places. Genoa was now the Ligurian Republic, Holland the Batavian Republic; the Swiss were now inhabitants of the Helvetic Republic, while a group of Italian states round Bologna, Modena and Ferrara were now the Cisalpine Republic. From all accounts giving a new name was not the same as giving them their freedom . . .

Ramage turned to Aitken, who was the officer of the watch. 'Pass at least two miles off Amsterdam,' he said. 'We're being nosy, not provocative.'

Half an hour later they could see right into Amsterdam, neatly cut in half by the channel. Not quite in half, Ramage realized; the main part was on the Punda side - the Governor's residence, Parliament and most of the houses. On the other side, so quaintly called the same in Dutch, Otrabanda, it looked as though the merchants flourished. At the far end, where the small inland lake began, the privateers were lying at anchor. Aitken had counted nine, Southwick eight, the masthead lookouts ten, and Jackson and Orsini, sent up the mainmast at the rush with telescopes, confirmed that there were ten.

Southwick had been as puzzled as Ramage when Jackson had come down again and reported that most of the privateers looked as though they were laid up, or undergoing refits. There was no sign of sails; no squaresail yards were in sight Nor, equally odd, was there any sign of activity on any of the privateers: except for two or three men standing at the rail of one of them, Jackson said, they seemed to be deserted.

Ramage had not known what to expect and for that reason had no plans. He turned to Aitken and said: 'Continue running along the coast. The chart shows two or three bays where privateers could bide. Keep a sharp lookout - we might be able to surprise some of them at anchor.'

With that he went below to his cabin, glad of the shade. He sat down at his desk, reached up for the chart from the rack overhead, and spread it out in front of him. Ten privateers: mat meant the Admiral's information was correct: Amsterdam was being used as a privateers' base. Ten privateers. But they were the only vessels in the harbour. Certainly they could have a dozen prizes anchored in that lake, out of sight, but those privateers looked as though they were laid up. Why should the sails have been taken off? It was easy enough to do, but surprising. There might be a good sailmaker there in Amsterdam who was doing some major repairs on a single privateer's sails - even making new ones, because the Trade winds were hard on sail cloth and the sun and showers rotted the stitching. Would all ten have their sails on shore in the sailmaker's loft at the same time? No, there'd be no point: the sailmaker (at best a couple of men and three apprentices) could not work on ten suits of sails at once, and no privateer would risk having his sails on shore a day longer than necessary. He'd bring the sails over, wait for them to be repaired and take them back. If they were not on shore, then the sails certainly could be stowed below, out of the glare and heat of the sun and rain - not that it rained much on these islands: they existed only because there were wells providing fresh water.

Was it likely, he asked himself, that only two or three privateersmen would come on deck to watch a British frigate and schooner sail across the harbour entrance - something that happened perhaps once in three or four months? Two or three out of - well, more than five hundred men? Where were the rest of them? Some could be on shore, filling water casks or collecting provisions from the chandlers. A few dozen might be out at the salt pans, filling carts or bags with salt to preserve meat Some might be in the brothels - though men and women preferred a siesta at this time of day. But two or three men . . . The privateers were not laid up for lack of targets, surely? He thought of the twenty - four dead in the Tranquil, murdered by the crew of the Nuestra Senora de Antigua. The Marine sentry at the door called out that Mr South - wick wished to see him.

The master looked worried and without any preamble said: 'We're losing a lot of ground to leeward, sir. With these light winds, and the westgoing current, it'll take us a long time to beat back to Amsterdam . . . Leastways, I'm reckoning you want to stay close to Saint Anna's Bay . . .'

It was Southwick's duty to mention such things; as master of the Calypso, the navigation of the ship was his responsibility. But Ramage was angry with himself for reasons beyond his comprehension: certainly he had not been sure what he expected to find here in Amsterdam; he knew now only that those ten privateers, possibly all laid up, made nonsense of his orders. None of these privateers was going to put to sea with two British warships in the offing. And no British warship would get within a thousand yards of the harbour entrance by day or night without being smashed to kindling by the guns of those forts. No bluff or subterfuge could stop them firing.

However, Ramage thought ruefully, it is not a situation that William Foxe-Foote, Vice - Admiral of the Blue and one of the Members of Parliament for Bristol, as well as being 'Commander - in - chief of His Majesty's Ships and Vessels upon the Jamaica Station', could visualize, understand or accept. Particularly understand, and especially accept . . .

Ramage gestured to Southwick to sit down in the armchair that was secured against the ship rolling by a light chain from the underside of the seat to an eyebolt in the deck planking. The master put his hat down beside him and ran his fingers through his hair, which was now matted with perspiration, and the mark of the hatband across the top of his forehead gave him a curiously puzzled appearance.

Have you any idea what these privateers are doing?' Ramage asked.

Southwick shrugged his shoulders and gave one of his prodigious sniffs. 'With respect to Admiral Foxe-Foote, sir, all those privateers look just as if the owners have gone bankrupt. They look just like those old fishing smacks you see abandoned on the saltings along the bank of the Medway. Paint peeling, slack rigging, and one windy night the masts will go over the side. Not that I could see the rigging, of course; just the impression I had.'

Ramage nodded. 'I don't think many of them have been to sea for a month or more.'

'No, sir, at least that. And no one on board any of 'em. I saw maybe two or three men. Shipkeepers? Three men for ten privateers is not many. No, there's something damned odd about it all. Could there be more privateers at Bonaire, or perhaps Aruba?'

'Why?1 Ramage asked. "Why would privateers be at islands where there is no decent harbour? At Bonaire they have to anchor on a sloping shelf. Why be there when Amsterdam is such a perfect harbour? Sheltered from the weather, defended by the forts, provisions and water available . . .'

That's why I'm so puzzled,' Southwick admitted. 1 expected to see half a dozen privateers, perhaps even a dozen, but all ready to go to sea. Perhaps one repairing damage and perhaps another replacing her standing and running rigging - but not ten like that It's - well, almost ghostly, sir; as though yellow fever had killed every man on board as they were at anchor.'

For a moment Ramage thought of Amsterdam being in the grip of an epidemic of something like yellow fever, but plenty of people had been walking on the walls of the forts and in the few streets of Punda and Otrabanda when the Calypso passed. Southwick fluffed out his flowing white hair as it began to dry, making it look like a deck mop. 'Your orders from the Admiral, sir. There's not much you can do about them.'