The Calypso was almost gliding now as she came in with the land, which was flat enough not to interrupt the wind but formed a lee from the swell waves, so the sea was almost flat. Suddenly, just as Aitken reported he could not make out what was going on in the boat because he could not get a clear view, an excited Paolo hailed from high up in the mainmast. 'A boat is pulling out towards us, sir ... Twelve oars . . . Only one or two people in the sternsheets . . . Now they're holding up a white cloth on an oar . . . they're waving it, sir . . .'

Ramage noted the men on the battlements had not moved and called to the first lieutenant: 'Back the fore topsail, Mr Aitken: well heave to and let the boat come out to us.'

'We're three - quarters of a mile off the forts, sir,' Southwick reported as Aitken shouted the orders which sent men running to haul on the braces, swinging the foretopsail yard round so that the wind was blowing on the forward side of the sail, pressing it against the mast The Calypso slowly came to a stop. With the wind thrusting on the forward side of the foretopsail and trying to push the bow off to leeward and the rest of the sails trying to push her round to windward, the frigate was in a state of equilibrium, with the waves passing beneath her as though she was a sitting gull having a rest.

Flags of truce at the flagpoles, an open boat rowing out from Punda and waving a flag of truce ... It was unlikely to be a trap; Ramage felt reasonably sure of that much. The men were still on the battlements and the boat needed to cover only a few more hundred yards before the Calypso could blow her out of the water with a round of grape or canister. It could still be a trap: sacrificing a dozen men in a boat would be nothing compared with the capture of an enemy frigate, but he did not think the Dutch mind worked like that. Nor was the boat a necessary part of any deception: the Calypso was already heading in to investigate before the boat left the quay.

'It looks as if we are going to have visitors, sir,' Aitken commented, looking through his telescope as soon as he was satisfied that the foretopsail sheets, tacks and braces were properly settled. 'I can see that the men sitting in the stern - sheets of yon boat are wearing a deal of gold braid.'

Ramage glanced down at his own coat. It was faded, but no more than one would expect; his breeches were clean and so were his stockings. His shoes had lost their polish in the salt air but the gold buckles gleamed. He was wearing his third best hat. All quite sufficient for entertaining enemy officers who chose to pay unexpected calls, and only the cutlass looked out of place. He preferred a seaman's cutlass to his own sword, even if it was a fine example of the sword cutler's art: Mr Prater of Charing Cross, who made it, would be upset if he knew that Lord Ramage usually went into action with a cutlass like any of his seamen, leaving his fine sword in its scabbard on the rack in his cabin.

Now, however, was a time when courtesy (custom, anyway) demanded that he go down to his cabin and put on the sword. When dealing with one's own people, clothes rarely counted (except when paying official calls on officers like Admiral Foxe-Foote, who was the sort of man who never paid his own tailor but was very fussy what his officers wore); but foreign dignitaries set great store by braid, buttons and buckles, and the lack of a few inches of gold braid could easily give the wrong impression of the rank or worth of the wearer.

As he acknowledged the Marine sentry's salute, the door of his cabin opened and his steward stood there, a cheerful expression on his face.

'I have fresh stock and stockings and your uniform ready, sir.'

'What on earth for, Silkin?'

'Why, to meet the deputation, sir!'

'Deputation? It's probably the mayor's brother who owns a bumboat business and wants to sell us limes, or some worn - out goats. Or, from the look of the island, wanting to know if we'll sell them some water.'

By now Ramage had reached his sleeping cabin and Silkin, like an Arab carpet vendor displaying his wares, was holding up clean breeches, and nodding towards stockings, shirt and stock. They looked cool. The stock he was wearing was tied a little too tightly and, damp with perspiration, chafing the skin and rasping, particularly on a patch by his Adam's apple which he had not shaved very well. He looked down at his stockings. There were black marks on the inside of the left ankle where he had accidentally caught it with his right shoe.

The boat had a long way to row, even though the wind and sea were on its quarter, and Ramage knew that it needed no effort to change, either, with the ship hove - to; the roll was almost imperceptible and she was not pitching. In fact it was an invitingly refreshing prospect: the cabin was cool because a breeze had been sweeping through it while the ship was under way. Changing his clothes also delayed him having to go back to the heat and glare on deck . . .

He sat down on a chair and kicked off his shoes, getting immediate relief because his feet were swollen. The size of shoe that fitted in the early morning and evening was much too small when the midday heat made feet swell and throb. Feet and head: the glare of the sun made your eyes want to pop, and the heat, even coming through a hat, seemed to fry your brain.

He stripped off his clothes and pulled on the fresh garments. For a brief couple of minutes the stockings were cool; then he pulled on the breeches. The tailor had sworn it was a light weight cloth, but no tailor in London could visualize the oven - like tropical heat - that was the regular lament of naval and army officers posted abroad.

Shirt, stock, swordbelt, jacket. . . even the sword and scabbard seemed cool. Silkin had fresh shoes and Ramage slid his feet into them (if an admiral had been approaching, they would have been high boots). Now Silkin held out his hat after giving it a ritual brushing with his sleeve to make the nap lie in the same direction. Ramage nodded and left the cabin, irritated that Silkin had in fact manoeuvred him into changing, yet feeling all the fresher for it.

On deck, blinking in the glare, he saw Aitken by the binnacle looking at him anxiously.

'There are three men in the sternsheets of the boat, sir. Two are wearing uniforms I don't recognize. Could be the Dutch army, I suppose. But the one not wearing uniform is much older than the others who, as far as I can make out at this distance, are both wearing aiguillettes, as though they're his aides.'

Ramage grunted, more because he was still irritated by Silkin than the fact that a trio of foreign officials were coming out to the ship. 'Perhaps Britain has signed a peace treaty with the Dutch,' Ramage said. 'They might have just received the news and realized we couldn't know . . .'

One of the most potentially dangerous situations facing the captain of one of the King's ships patrolling in waters distant from commanders - in - chief or the Admiralty was that war would break out - or a peace treaty be signed - with another country whose colonies heard about it first. Britain could have been at peace with the Netherlands when a ship left Jamaica for a routine patrol of three months which included a visit to Curacao. But a Dutch frigate might arrive at the island to report that war now existed (and a British ship get to Jamaica with the same news). So that the only person completely in ignorance that his erstwhile friends were now his enemies would be the British captain on his long patrol. He might be lucky in accidentally meeting a merchant ship and hearing the news, but merchant ships were usually the last to know, and in consequence were often captured. He might also make the discovery after anchoring in Amsterdam and finding his ship seized. Equally a war existing when he sailed might now be over.