Damn all this tacking! There were seven fat merchantmen almost at his mercy once he got to windward. He glanced up at the luffs, but Jackson and Southwick were watching like hawks. The beach was approaching with alarming speed and already the water had changed to green and close ahead it was an even lighter green. Ramage heard a chanting from the mainchains and saw the leadsman at work, water from the line streaming down his body.

He glanced back at the merchantmen. He needed another fifty yards before he tacked; otherwise he would not lay the middle of the convoy, which was helping him by continuing to steer the same course.

Southwick was watching him anxiously. 'Leadsman reports five fathoms, sir!'

‘We'll hold on a little longer, Mr Southwick.'

It was a devilish choice having to risk running ashore or miss getting into the middle of that convoy! He would look a damn fool with the Juno hard aground, bows into the beach, while the Surcouf and La Créole tried to finish off the convoy before the remaining two French frigates beat them off.

‘He's reporting four fathoms, sir!'

'I can hear him, Mr Southwick.'

And I can see the sand too, he thought grimly, and almost distinguish the individual palm fronds as well! He looked back over the quarter at the convoy, tried to estimate if there were twelve points between the Juno's jibboom and the merchantmen, and gestured to Southwick: 'You may tack, Mr Southwick. This is the bishop's move!'

He almost giggled at the 'may’ and he knew he was getting far too excited.

The wheel spun, the men looking as if they were trying to climb up the spokes; the blocks screeched and the Juno's bow swung along the beach so that palm trees, a few small thatched huts and the mountains in the distance swept across his vision as though he was looking from the window of a runaway coach.

Still no thump under the deck, still no gentle slowing down. The Juno had not hit a rock, a coral reef or run on to a sand bar - yet. Then there was a sea horizon ahead - a horizon on which the merchant ships were bunched. He ran forward to the quarterdeck rail. The larboard-side guns had long ago been reloaded and run out again, and all the men on both sides were watching him, rags round their brows and most of them naked to the waist.

He lifted the speaking trumpet to his mouth. 'Stand by, my lads! This tack will take us right into the convoy. I hope you're more awake than the gunners in that first French frigate!' There was a chorus of shouts and jeers and before giving them a cheery wave he said: 'Pick your targets: every shot must count!' He turned back for a good look at the convoy, knowing he must choose the course through it that gave the gunners the best chance of firing into all seven ships. Orsini was once again jumping up and down, trying to attract his attention. The boy was so excited he was incoherent. Ramage shook him and told him to report in Italian. 'The Diamond batteries, sir! They are firing at the French frigates - not the ones that collided, but the others. The shot are falling all round them!'

'Excellent,' Ramage said calmly. 'Now you continue to watch the Surcouf for signals. Look at her!' he exclaimed. The British frigate was within half a mile of the nearest merchant ships and heeling gracefully in the wind as her topgallants were furled. Aitken obviously wanted to make a leisurely job of the merchantmen, but Ramage hoped he would not forget the two remaining frigates.

A glance over the starboard beam reassured him that they were still down to leeward and then he looked back at the convoy. The nearest three ships, which had been on the landward side, were now four hundred yards ahead. As he concentrated on them he saw that their sails were not just badly trimmed, they were flapping, with sheets and braces slack, if not cut. Boats were being lowered round them - the ships were dead in the water and their crews were abandoning them! He looked at the others and saw that they were all being abandoned.

Southwick was also staring at the convoy, disappointment showing on his face like a child whose toys had been snatched away. Ramage, equally dumbfounded, noticed that most of the boats were now fairly leaping through the water as the men in them rowed frantically for the beach. They were obviously scared out of their wits at the sight of the Juno beating down on them from the north and the Surcouf stretching up from the south.

'Surprise, sir, that's what did it,' Southwick said cryptically.

Ramage grimaced as he said: ‘I don't know who was most surprised.'

Seven merchantmen abandoned and drifting out to sea through the Fours Channel and two French frigates neatly tied together in a parcel. He needed the Surcouf to help the Juno capture the two remaining frigates, which were under fire from the Diamond, but first he must secure the merchant ships: they were the main target.

'Bear away towards the frigates, Mr Southwick,' he said. Aitken and Wagstaffe needed orders. He looked round for Orsini and found him proffering the signal book.

He opened the index, looked under 'Prizes' and hurriedly turned to the page listed. Ah, there it was.

'Hoist La Créole's pendant and number 242.' He then read the first part of the signal, for Southwick's benefit. 'Stay by prizes . . .' He could rely on Wagstaffe knowing that he was to make sure none of the French crews returned to their ships.

Now he was having second thoughts about the two remaining frigates. Dare he leave the one nearest to the Diamond to the batteries while he tackled the other? She seemed to be hove-to, lying with her foretopsail backed. Waiting for her consort to join her perhaps. He looked round for the frigate that had been leading the convoy when it came in sight. She too was lying hove-to.

Ramage took his own telescope from the binnacle box drawer and looked at the frigate nearest the Diamond. Hove-to! Her foretopsail yard was slewed round, the maintopsail in shreds and even as he watched he saw a cloud of dust rising up amidships, the sign of a plunging roundshot hitting her decks. He looked at the ship more closely and there were ominous gaps in the main and foreshrouds. Even as he watched the foretopsail yard canted down as one of the lifts parted, and a moment later the whole yard crashed to the deck. A spurt of water almost beside the mainchains showed a near miss from either the Juno or the Ramage battery. That particular frigate could certainly be left to the gunners on the Diamond. Their first prize was a 36-gun frigate, and they had not a drop of rum on the Rock to celebrate it.

The next decision was not hard to make; one frigate only was left and the Juno and Surcouf perfectly placed to windward. He examined the frigate carefully through the telescope in case she too had been damaged by the batteries, but she seemed genuinely hove-to, with her captain no doubt wondering how he could report to the Governor at Fort Royal or St Pierre that he had lost the whole convoy and three frigates, and that Diamond Rock was suddenly erupting as Mont Pelée occasionally did, only sprouting roundshot instead of hot rocks and lava. Any moment the frigate captain would wake up, get under way and make a bolt for Fort Royal.

He tucked the telescope under his arm and opened the signal book to check a number. Number twenty-eight would tell Aitken all that he needed to know. The ships are to take suitable stations for their mutual support, and engage the enemy as soon as they get up with them. It was not quite the way an admiral would use the signal, but Aitken needed no more than a hint. As he turned to call the boy, he saw the French ship sheet home her topsail and get under way.

'Orsini, hoist the Surcouf’spendant and number twenty-eight.'

Southwick had just bustled back to the binnacle after getting the Juno's sails trimmed to perfection, but he was scowling. 'Did you see that, sir?' he demanded. 'She hasn't the guts to stand and fight, and she has a mile lead of us and a mile and a half on the Surcouf!'