The milord was speaking again; something about La Perle working with the privateers. It was hard to concentrate, worrying about that leak, and he repeated the question.

'Does La Perle really not work with the privateers at Curacao?'

Did this milord, this rosbif cretin, really think that lieutenant de vaisseau Bazin was going to give away secrets? 'No, she does not.' Nor did she, but there was no point in giving the enemy information.

This patrol of La Perle's, M. Bazin - might one ask if you were co-operating with the Spanish or the Dutch?'

'With neither.' That would puzzle him. This evil man could not imagine that La Perle was on an ordinary patrol, having arrived in Martinique from France with dispatches and being sent on a patrol of the eastern end of la mer des Antilles on her way back to France. But La Perle had first begun to leak a few days after leaving Brest; they had pumped her across the Atlantique to Fort de France; they had careened her there and the caulkers had hammered away at their cotton and the pitch had been heated and poured. And the leaks were stopped, but Duroc, always anxious to please and always impatient, had left for the patrol and for France without trials, and the leaks had started again the minute the frigate had sailed beyond the lee of the islands and reached the full strength of the Trades. Why Duroc called at Aruba no one knew, and the reef they hit was not shown on the chart - or, rather, it was shown with more water over it, but more coral must have grown. Anyway, the leak was now twice as bad, and the nearest careenage was Curacao. However, you know nothing about all that, milord aristo.

Ramage found that after five minutes' conversation with Bazin he felt grubby. The man had a face which was startlingly like a weasel's; his manner, way of talking, and probably his way of thinking was the same. No doubt he was quick to pounce and bully or kill a weaker animal; but he was ingratiating when in the company of a stronger. And a fool, too; he had seen the Tricolour being hauled down, leaving only a British ensign flying, and he had thought nothing of it.

Out of curiosity it might be worth talking to the other two French lieutenants, just to find out their view of Citizen Bazin, but Ramage felt he could guess. And now Bazin was below again, under Marine guard, and no doubt quite certain that he had told the rosbif captain nothing . . .

Ramage went up on deck again and found both Aitken and Southwick waiting for him, shamefaced and looking like naughty schoolboys caught red - handed.

'I'm sorry, sir,' Aitken said. 'Southwick and the carpenter were just going on board her when you came up and told us about the leak, but - '

'But they should have finished their examination by then...'

'Yes, sir.'

'And you've no explanation for this lapse.'

'No, sir," Aitken said contritely. 'None at all.'

'Ill give you one,' Ramage said, 'and it's a lesson we've all just learned. Just because no shots have been fired, don't assume a prize isn't damaged and sinking.'

'Aye,' Southwick said, 'and it's worse than that, sir: they could have scuttled her - they should have done, in fact - and I just leaned on the quarterdeck rail and looked at her. I even noticed she rolled more than we did and had less freeboard, but I never thought the reason was that she had several feet of water in her.'

"Well, how's the pumping going?'

Southwick grinned cheerfully. 'With three hundred prisoners and our own pumps on board as well, it's no problem. No man has more than a quarter of an hour at a pump, but he has to work like a madman. It's the only way we'll get the level down.'

'She's making seven feet an hour,' Ramage said.

'Yes, but if we can empty her while she's alongside us, then the French can hold her with their own pumps without much trouble. We've got all the Frenchmen pumping - purser, bosun, sailmaker, captain's steward, everyone is taking a turn.'

Aitken was still rather chastened, and he said to Ramage: 'After we've pumped her dry and left the French prisoners to hold their seven feet an hour, what are we going to do with her, sir?"

Ramage shrugged his shoulders. 'After capturing her for the price of some cloth to make flags, it seems a pity to let her sink; but our orders are to deal with those privateers. I can't spare fifty men to take La Perle to Jamaica. More than fifty, because the prizemaster would need enough men to sail her and enough to guard three hundred Frenchmen and keep them busy pumping.'

'But losing a prize like this, sir!' Southwick protested.

The chances of her reaching Jamaica with these leaks even if I put a hundred of our men on board are remote.'

'How so, sir?'

The leaks are getting worse. I don't think she's just spewing her caulking; I'm sure she's rotten and the fastenings are going. The planks are loosening as the hull works in anything of a sea and popping 'em out The next thing will be the butt ends of planks suddenly springing, and then shell sink in ten minutes.'

Southwick scratched his head. 'Well, we can't take three hundred prisoners on board, that's certain. Still, we could put 'em on shore right here, in Curacao. Land 'em on that beach there.'

'And give the privateers in Amsterdam another thirty men each?'

'I hadn't thought of that,' Southwick admitted. 'But if we don't bring 'em on board and don't put 'em on shore . . . ?'

Ramage began walking up and down the quarterdeck, hands clasped behind his back. If all revolutions replaced uncomfortable breeches and white stockings which showed every dirty mark with loose - fitting trousers, he thought wryly, then officers would be well advised to change their politics. With La Perle captured he had no excuse for not going down to his cabin and putting on his uniform. The same applied to the rest of the Calypso's officers. Perhaps they were waiting for the captain to give a lead, afraid of offending him by appearing in uniform when he still wore trousers. Perhaps (and much more likely) they were as comfortable as he was and in no hurry to return to the uncomfortable and hot smartness of breeches.

All this thinking about trousers and breeches was wasting time; he had to make up his mind as soon as possible about La Perle and her three hundred men. Very well, state the problem. Well, three problems, sir. I can't spare a prize crew to sail (and pump) her to Jamaica, and anyway she'd probably sink in the first gale she met But, problem two, I can't leave her drifting. She has to be sunk - or set on fire. That leaves me with problem three, the three hundred prisoners whom I daren't land in Aruba or Curacao, because they'll immediately become privateersmen.

Given that La Perle was eventually bound back to France and would have sunk on the way, her meeting with the Calypso is hardly a stroke of good fortune for the British, least of all the Calypso, which loses prize money and head money, and whose captain will have to face the wrath of Admiral Foxe-Foote, who is not going to like losing his share of the prize money.

Very well, milord, as that wretched Bazin insisted on addressing you, with true republican regard to ingratiating himself, reduce the problems to their simplest terms. God it's hot; the deck throws up waves of heat. No sails set to cause a cooling downdraught, no awning stretched to make some shade. And here is Jackson with a straw hat for me to wear. A thoughtful act: he felt as though his brains were already frying, and his eyes seemed scorched from the glare.

The problem, he reminded himself, tipping the hat farther forward so that it shaded his eyes more completely, the problem is really quite simple: how to dispose of a French frigate without drowning her ship's company or handing them over to the French privateersmen in Curasao.

Quite simple, milord: turn both ships and men over to the Dons.