'Nearly, sir. I'll have it ready by tomorrow.'

'You'd better check up on the gunner, carpenter and bos'n.'

Southwick picked up his hat. 'I'll do that now; they can fill in their forms while you are seeing the lieutenants.' He paused and scratched his head. 'I - er, well, I was quite impressed this morning, sir; I don't think we have much to worry about, whether it is convoys or hurricanes.'

Ramage grinned and the Master left the cabin. It was typical of the old man's sense of fairness and concern for the ship that he put in a good word for the four young officers who were, technically, his superiors - though it would be a very unwise junior lieutenant that ran foul of a master, and most first lieutenants trod delicately.

Late that night, as he filled in his Journal, Ramage reviewed the day. He had deliberately made no comment to the lieutenants, so that when he mustered the men aft just before sunset they had no idea of their Captain's verdict on the morning's activities. From the looks on all their faces and the shuffling, they had obviously condemned themselves - that much was very clear. Gathered round the scuttlebutt getting their mugs of water, under the watchful eye of a Marine sentry, sweeping the decks in pairs, stitching an old awning - clearly they had talked among themselves and decided that the morning had been a disaster; that the Captain had mustered them aft simply to tell them that the rest of the voyage to Barbados was going to be a prolonged punishment.

Hard put to it to keep a straight face, Ramage had clasped his hands behind his back, scowled, and walked along the ranks of the men, looking them up and down. Half of them looked as though they were about to jump over the side, preferring to take their chance with Neptune and the sharks. Despite the harrowing morning, the men were neatly turned out: queues had been re-tied, hats were worn square, shirts tugged hard to hide creases.

He had then walked back to stand aft, facing them, and told them quite bluntly they had all done well; far better than he had expected when he had mustered them aft off the Lizard. That had produced smiles, and his comment that he no longer despaired of eventually making seamen of them had put a delighted grin under every hat. And he had everyone's attention when he pointed out that although what they had done this morning had been exercises, the time might come any day or night when they would be doing it to save their lives,

So with the men going off to their supper chattering cheerfully and obviously vastly relieved, he had then had Aitken, Wagstaffe, Baker and Lacey down to the great cabin for the inquest. They had arrived as nervous as poachers hauled before the magistrate, and Ramage called his steward to fetch glasses. He had talked to them about nothing in particular for fifteen or twenty minutes as they sipped their sherry, All four had waited to see what Ramage would drink, and promptly followed suit, the only difference being that they failed to notice that Ramage did not touch his drink. Only Southwick and Bowen knew that Ramage never drank anything at sea.

Finally Aitken had made a weak joke about Monday mornings, and Ramage had laughed more heartily than the quality of the joke warranted, and made a joke himself. Slowly the four youngsters relaxed slightly. Ramage was startled to find himself regarding them as youngsters, although Aitken was his own age, Wagstaffe and Baker a year younger and only Lacey really qualified, being just twenty-one years old.

They were four completely different types of men. Aitken was tall with auburn hair and a thin, almost gaunt face. His skin would never tan; already his face was burned red by the sun and his nose was peeling. He spoke quietly with a calm Highland burr, his grey eyes missing nothing. Wagstaffe, a Londoner, was short and stocky with large brown eyes that gave his face a deceptively innocent expression. He spoke briskly, thought quickly and, like Aitken, was respected by the ship's company. Baker came from Bungay, in Suffolk, and had the East Anglian quietness that could be mistaken for slyness. The smallest of the four lieutenants, he moved with the smoothness of a cat, as though sent on board the Juno as a deliberate contrast to Lacey, who was thin and loose-limbed and once provoked the comment from Southwick that he looked as if each of his joints could be tightened up another half turn. He too was quietly spoken, and there was no mistaking that he hailed from Somerset.

Although Ramage sat on the settee with Aitken at the other end and the other three grouped round in comfortable chairs, their eyes kept straying to the desk, where a glass weight held down a piece of paper. Aitken must have told them that on it were written the times of the morning's evolutions.

Although they had relaxed slightly as they sipped their sherries, they were still too tense, as if they knew that the ship's magazine was below them and were afraid the Captain might explode it. Finally Ramage guessed that any further attempt to ease the tension was a waste of time and, as far as the lieutenants were concerned, probably only prolonged the agony.

So he had commented in a conversational tone on the morning's times and then asked Wagstaffe the first question. The Second Lieutenant had carefully put down his glass - Ramage thought for a moment he was trying to gain time, then saw that he wanted to have his hands free to gesture. The question had been totally unexpected and Ramage noticed the other three furrow their brows, obviously trying to think what they might be asked. Wagstaffe had done well, and so had Baker. Lacey knew the answer to the question but was almost too nervous to give it. And Aitken had not been deceived that Ramage had reached the Fourth Lieutenant without asking the First Lieutenant a question.

When Ramage had asked him to explain what mistakes if any the others made, Aitken had described them with the coolness and fairness of a judge summing up before a jury. On several points Ramage interrupted only to point out that there were often two or three different ways of doing things, and at the end Aitken made a point that Ramage had borne in mind from the start - that actually faced with, for example, a bowsprit and jibboom torn away, it was easier to remember everything that had to be done because you could see it, whereas sitting in the great cabin you could only imagine it. Ramage had agreed - and then pointed out that each and every one of the operations they had been discussing might have to be carried out on a pitch-dark night, probably with a gale blowing off a lee shore, since only bad weather or battle damage were likely to cause the mishaps ...

But he was satisfied with their answers and told them so, and as he bade them goodnight he had repeated the phrase he had used to Aitken earlier: 'It's the unexpected that sinks ships.' From the look on their faces he guessed that the First Lieutenant had already quoted it, probably with some embellishments of his own.

So now, Ramage told himself as he shut the Journal and put it away in a drawer, the Juno was as prepared as he could make her for anything that Admiral Davis or the French had in store. It would probably be convoy work, but despite Southwick's gloomy attitude, it could provide some excitement. The Windward Islands at the southern end of the chain were effectively split from the Leeward Islands to the north by the French in Martinique and Guadeloupe. At Martinique the harbour of Fort Royal - anchorage rather, since Fort Royal itself was on one side of an enormous, wedge-shaped bay - was large enough for a whole fleet, with plenty of room for them to swing. Guadeloupe, shaped like a ragged butterfly pinned to a board, was one of those islands with dozens of small bays protected by reefs, and designed by a spiteful Nature as a perfect haven for privateers.