'It's number eight,' the second lieutenant said.

'I know that!' Bazin snarled.

'It means to turn to larboard."

'Why the devil didn't you say so, then, instead of giving me the book?'

'You asked me for it. The book.'

Now there was shouting from the bow.

'What goes on there?' Bazin shouted back.

The frigate's hoisted a signal!'

'I know. Just keep a sharp lookout.'

"Well ram her in a minute,' the second lieutenant said lugubriously. 'Captain Duroc will have you court - martialled.'

'And I'll tell him how you fooled around with the signal book,' Bazin said hotly, and then looked ahead again.

The Calypso was no longer ahead: suddenly she was way over to larboard.

'Cretins!' Bazin screamed at the men at the wheel. What are you doing? Who told you to turn to starboard?'

'We didn't. The Calypso suddenly turned to larboard.'

And Bazin saw she had: the schooner was still some way to starboard, but the Calypso was so far over to larboard it was now doubtful if he could get La Perle to point high enough to pass her to larboard.

Snatching up the speaking trumpet that he had been expecting to use as an ear trumpet, he began bellowing orders to get the yards braced sharp - up, and a moment later gave more orders to the men at the wheel.

The Calypso seemed glued on La Perle's larboard bow, then slowly, almost reluctantly, she began to move slightly to starboard. Or, Bazin corrected himself, she appears to, although of course it is La Perle turning to larboard at last. But now the wind is increasing - that helps her up to windward but it is also increasing her speed, and she is approaching the Calypso's larboard quarter crabwise.

Then Bazin glanced up and saw the luffs of the sails flutter ing, beginning to be starved of wind.

'Bear away, you fools!' he bawled at the men at the wheel, but even before they could haul down on the spokes he realized that bearing away, turning to starboard, would inevitably bring La Perle's starboard bow crashing into the Calypso's larboard quarter.

'No, no! Luff up, luff up!'

'Merde!' screamed one of the men, stepping back from the wheel, 'make up your mind - sir!'

Bazin saw that the name Calypso was painted in blue on a gilt background, and edged with red. The colours were bright The studding - sail boom irons on the outer ends of the Calypso's yards were newly painted in black, in contrast to La Perle's, which were stained with rust.

This is a funny time for the Calypso to be hauling down the Tricolour. They have the Tricolour on one halyard and the British flag ' on another, so they can haul down one independently of the other. Perhaps the halyard has chafed through. Anyway, there is only a British flag now. And it is going to be a dreadful collision.

Southwick gave yet another of his prodigious sniffs, a sniff that contained a lifetime's contempt as well as a lungful of air. That Frog lieutenant couldn't be trusted with a bumboat full of whores,' he said crossly. 'Just look at those luffs fluttering. Ah - now he's having the yards braced up, but that isn't going to help him. And - the fool, he's paying off so much he's making more leeway than headway!'

La Perle was now coming crabwise down on to the Calypso's quarter. Two ships' lengths, Ramage reckoned.

'General quarters,' he snapped at Aitken. 'Guns run out, boarding party to stand by.'

The flapping of flags overhead reminded him. 'Orsini! Get that Tricolour down! Leave our own colours flying.'

'Shell stave in our larboard quarter, spring a dozen planks and carry away the mizen,' Southwick said matter of factly, drawing the great sword he had been wearing slung round his waist 'But if she damages us too much we can all shift on board her . . .'

Seamen were streaming up from below. Some were tricing up the gun ports while others ran out the guns. Men grabbed boarding pikes from the racks round the masts, others took up pistols from wherever they had stowed them. Marines scrambled on to the hammocks stowed in nettings round the quarterdeck, muskets loaded and waiting for orders from Lieutenant Rennick who suddenly appeared on the quarterdeck and posted himself near Ramage, ready for instructions.

Aitken, having passed all his orders, was now steadily and fluently cursing La Perle's first lieutenant, his Scots accent becoming more pronounced is he pictured the damage that would soon have to be repaired along the Calypso's quarter. None of them thought to look at Ramage; none except the quartermaster, who was Thomas Jackson. The American watched him from habit. He was not sure quite what the captain intended, but there must not be the slightest delay in passing a helm order. Jackson knew the men at the wheel were reliable, quite competent to watch the windvanes and the luffs of the topsails, and for the moment had to admit he could not see how the captain was going to get out of this situation. He heard the grumbles of the first lieutenant and the contemptuous snort's of Mr Southwick, and he noted that oddly enough the only person who was not worrying about any damage to the ship was the one man who would be held entirely responsible for it, the captain, and from long experience Jackson knew that if the captain was not worrying, then the odds were that there was nothing to worry about Personally, he had to admit that if he was the captain he would be - well, worried: that French frigate was not only sagging down on them but moving faster than the Calypso. Now she looked as if her bow would bit amidships: she'd shove her jibboom and bowsprit through the mainshrouds and the wrench would probably carry away the mainmast Ramage, rubbing the scar over his eyebrow and then snatching his hand away as he realized what he was doing, took one last look at La Perle and then briskly said to Aitken: 'Cut the cable!'

He walked over to an open gun port and looked over the side. The Calypso was still making more than a couple of knots; she had steerage way. The Frenchman was making a good four but slowing fast. And she would not hit the Calypso's quarter for two reasons - first, that foolish French lieutenant was still trying to luff her up, but was losing speed and control instead, and second, the sheer which turned the Calypso towards her could, with the wheel turned back, swing her away; swing her just enough that instead of La Perle's bow ramming the Calypso amidships she would crash her whole starboard side against the Calypso, as though she was intending to board. And the moment that happened ... He gestured to Jackson and gave the order which began the Calypso's sheer to starboard, swinging her stern away from La Perle, but agonizingly slowly.

He glanced back at La Perle: already her towering jibboom was abreast the Calypso's quarterdeck but passing it. Now the bow, and he could see the black paint peeling, rust weeps from iron fittings, stains where garbage was thrown carelessly over the side. Now the foremast . . . French seamen just standing there or peering over hammock nettings, astonishment or fear showing on their faces, but none wielding a cutlass or aiming a musket.

Now La Perle's sails flogging overhead, not drawing, and the sloshing of water as waves rebounded between the two hulls. But, Ramage realized, no orders being shouted across the French ship's deck.

La Perle's mainmast passing now. She is slowing down appreciably, her sails not drawing, and she is very close: you could lob a grapeshot on to her deck. The sheer to starboard is working well: the two ships are now on almost identical courses but just slightly converging, and both are slowing down: La Perle because a desperate first lieutenant has braced up the yards too much and starved the sails of wind, the Calypso because the cable has been cut and La Creole has let the rest go and is already wearing round, determined not to miss the next few minutes.