Exactly fifteen minutes later Ramage leapt from the stern sheets of the Calypso's red cutter to seize a rope trailing over the larboard quarter of the Furet and scramble up, while the bowman tried to hook on and the rest of the boarding party grabbed at other ropes and began climbing the sinking frigate's side.

Ramage was unarmed; knowing that he would probably have to climb a rope he had taken off his cutlass belt and then, as an afterthought, remembering their presence when he bent over slightly, had taken the two pistols from the band of his breeches and put them down on deck.

The rope, hanging from the mizentopsail yard, was thick enough for climbing but worn smooth with use. Finally he reached the bulwark and swung himself inboard to land on the quarterdeck, where two officers were waiting for him, two rigid figures among a swirling crowd of men who were shouting with excitement and fear and obviously not far from panic.

"Which of you is the captain?" he demanded in French.

An officer with a bloodstained left leg unbuckled his sword and offered it with a bow. "I am . . ." but in the chatter and yelling Ramage did not catch the name, hearing only the end of the sentence, ". . . and surrender the ship to your captain."

"I am the captain," Ramage said and asked abruptly as his boarding party came swarming over the bulwark: "You've scuttled the ship, eh?"

The officer looked startled. He was a grey-haired man of perhaps fifty years of age: his mouth was that of a man given to worrying. He wore trousers and a plain shirt, but he was freshly shaven, which was unusual, Ramage thought sourly. He seemed to be bleeding badly from the leg wound.

"No, not scuttled! It was you!" he said accusingly.

"Nonsense," Ramage said angrily. "You were sinking before I opened fire! I warn you, if you've scuttled her I shall leave you all on board."

"That damnable mortar shell that burst in our wake as we left Porto Ercole," the man protested bitterly. "It seemed not to do any harm at the time, but suddenly - you saw our pump starting - we began leaking. It was just as you suddenly increased speed - how you did it we could not understand - and we knew you'd eventually overtake us. I think the explosion must have strained our planking. Anyway, the butts of several planks began to spring and our speed through the water was just opening them up more and more, beating the pumps.

"We tried to stop the leaks but the more we jammed in hammocks to caulk them the more the planking opened. Finally we had to bear up, but slowing the ship did not slow the leaks: we were obviously doomed. You opened fire, we fired back . . ." He held his hands out, palms upwards. "The rest you can see."

Ramage saw Renwick scrambling over the rail and signalled to him to take charge of the two officers who, hatless, white-faced and frequently pushed aside by hurrying seamen, reminded Ramage of children lost in a country market among the bleating of sheep, the mooing of cows and the shouts of buyers and sellers.

"That leg wound: go down to my cutter. My surgeon will soon be treating it. What happened to your surgeon?"

The man shrugged his shoulders and gestured towards his own men, who were still running about aimlessly.

Ramage beckoned to a couple of Calypsos and ran down to the captain's cabin. It was a curious feeling because it was a replica of his own in the Calypso - except that it was far more comfortably furnished. Heavy blue velvet curtains were held back on each side of the stern lights; two large brass-covered mahogany trunks were secured against the bulkhead; the desk was of heavy and highly-polished mahogany. The wine cooler was carved from a block of a heavy, dark wood but the lid had come off, exposing the metal lining.

Ramage went straight to the desk and began ransacking drawers. The three on the left were unlocked and contained various items usually kept in the drawer of a trunk. The lowest drawer on the right was locked.

"Here, open this with your cutlass," he told one of the seamen excitedly. There was a chance, just a chance, that in the panic . . . The wood splintered and suddenly the drawer catapulted open, sending the seaman lurching across the top of the desk as he tried to recover his balance.

Ramage grabbed the drawer. It was heavy. Inside, fitting snugly as though made to rest there, was a plain wooden box which Ramage saw as he removed it had several holes drilled in the top and a sheet of lead riveted to the bottom. It was locked, and there was no sign of a key in the drawer. Now Renwick appeared at the door, and as he spoke Ramage realized that the whole movement of the ship was changing. She was beginning to wallow sluggishly, all life gone from her.

"You'd best come up on deck, sir," Renwick said breathlessly. "I think she's going to capsize any minute and more than half the Frenchmen have already jumped over the side."

Ramage nodded to the two seamen, who hurried out through the door. Ramage gave Renwick the box to carry, warning him to conceal it as much as possible, and then followed him up the companionway. "What have you done with those two officers?"

"Down in the red cutter, sir. The wounded one is in a lot of pain. I took the liberty of telling the cutter to stand off until I gave the signal: I'm afraid these Frenchies in the water will capsize it. The green cutter from the Calypso's nearly here, and they're hoisting out the jolly boat, but I can't get any of these dam' Frenchmen to do anything about hoisting out their own boats: they've got five sitting on the booms . . . And I bet not one in four of the dam' fools can swim."

As Ramage climbed the steps of the companionway, he tried to think what had struck him as odd about the cabin he had just left. There was something strange about it, but as he was thinking he felt the frigate roll to starboard with a terrifying slowness, stay there for what seemed to be minutes, and then begin the slow roll back to larboard. From beneath his feet the noise coming up from the lowerdeck was of water swirling and bubbling, sounding like a mill stream to a poacher leaning down to tickle trout.

Then he was in bright sunlight with Renwick standing on the hammock nettings, waving to the red cutter. There were few Frenchmen on the Furet's decks now; most of them were in the water, clinging to hatch covers, yards, the greyish sausages of lashed-up hammocks, mess tables and forms, and other pieces of wood. Two men stood up in the bow of the cutter, beating back the Frenchmen trying to scramble on board, and as soon as it was alongside Ramage slid down the rope into it, following Renwick and the two seamen. He grinned; even in an emergency the regular routine must be followed: the seamen and Renwick had all gone down the rope before him without argument: a senior officer was always the last one into a boat and the first one out. Renwick had wrapped the box in a piece of torn sail; it looked more like a round object than a rectangular one and the Marine officer went down one-handed, the box tucked under his arm.

Halfway back to the Calypso, Ramage looked first at the French ship, and then at the British. The French frigate looked as though she had been hit by a sudden storm; most of her remaining yards were a-cock-bill, as though the ship was in mourning, the yards forming crosses. Other yards had fallen to the deck or swung over the side. The ship was rolling from side to side even more slowly now in her massive death throes.

By contrast the Calypso sat in the water like a gull, foretopsail backed, guns still run out, and - he counted carefully - three shot holes caused by the French. They showed up as rusty marks in the hull, although the real damage would be inside, where the shot hit, spraying up great splinters of wood or ricocheting.