Martin looked at his watch. An hour to go. He could now tell the men exactly what Mr Ramage intended.

'Muster the men aft, Maxwell', he said, 'then you'll all know what Mr Ramage has in mind.'

While he waited, he saw the gig go alongside the Passe Partout, take off three or four men, and then row towards the other brig in the gulf, the Caroline, smaller than the Bergère but French built.

Jackson took the gig alongside the Passe Partout and, while the bowman held on, scrambled up the side of the tartane to hand over sealed, written orders to Orsini.

For a few moments the midshipman thought they must mean he had lost command of the tartane, and rather than let Jackson, Rossi and Stafford and the rest of the men see his disappointment - he knew he was not far from tears - he went aft to his cabin with the unopened orders stuck carelessly in a pocket.

The moment he was in the cabin he shut the door, pulled out the folded paper, broke the seal and began reading. The orders comprised only a few lines - were similar in fact to those for the Passe Partout - but he read them again carefully, and then a third time. Then he sat down, angry that his hands were trembling. There was no disguising the trembling, and he knew two things were causing it. Three rather. First, the shock because he thought he was losing the tartane because the captain was dissatisfied with him; second, excitement at his new command; and third, fear, or to call it by a less harsh name, apprehension.

Who, he wondered, would not feel apprehension in his position when ordered to take possession and then command of the Caroline brig? She must be all of three hundred tons. She bore the same relationship to the tartane as a ship of the line to a frigate ...

He folded the orders and put them in his pocket, slipped the cutlass belt over his shoulder and hooked two pistols into his belt. Then he held out his right hand, palm downwards, and examined it. It was no longer trembling, and he went out on deck to find Jackson talking to Rossi and Stafford.

Jackson stepped forward and handed him another letter. 'The captain said to give you this, sir, after you'd read the other one.'

Paolo grinned because there was no hiding anything from Jackson: like the captain he seemed to be able to see through a thick plank.

He broke the seal and read the letter. He was to take Rossi with him as second-in-command. To capture the Caroline hewould use Stafford and Jackson's boarding party in the gig. All the ships captured so far had been taken by just boarding as though paying a friendly visit ...

'You've been busy', he said to Jackson. 'We missed the fun.'

The American shook his head. 'No fun, really, sir; it's been like picking ripe apples. But they tell me you ran out of wind.'

'Three hours and not a breath', Paolo said angrily. 'We've been slamming and banging a couple of miles beyond this island. Very well, now', he pushed down on his pistols to make sure the hooks were holding, 'we'll go over and take possession of our next ship.'

It was, he thought, a splendidly offhand remark; it was the kind of thing that Mr Ramage said so well.

'Aye aye, sir', Jackson said, but hesitated a moment as Rossi and Stafford led the way down to the gig.

What was Jackson waiting for? Oh yes, the Passe Partout could not be left without someone in command of her, and the captain had left the choice of a man to him.

He turned forward. 'Reynolds!' As soon as the red-haired seaman was standing to attention in front of him, he said: 'I am leaving you in command of the Passe Partout until you receive further orders from Captain Ramage. Keep a good anchor watch, and pump the bilge every hour.'

'Aye aye, sir', Reynolds said, almost numbly, and Orsini knew just how he felt. 'You goin' somewhere, then, sir?'

Orsini pointed to the brig. 'Yes, I've been given command of the Caroline.'

The news braced Reynolds, who grinned cheerfully. 'Well, sir, if you've got to command 'er, I s'pose it's up to me to do me best with this old girl!'

Impulsively Orsini shook him by the hand. 'Thanks - and the best of luck.'

As the gig approached the Caroline, Orsini could see a man on deck. Finally, when the gig was forty or fifty yards away, an unshaven man, shirtless and covered in rolls of fat, came to the entryport and emptied a bucket of rubbish over the side, spat and disappeared.

'I could just see that happening in the Calypso, sir', Jackson murmured. 'Mr Southwick would shoot him with a blunt bullet.'

'A blunt - oh, I see what you mean!'

Then the gig was alongside and Orsini led the way up the side. He pictured the signature 'Ramage' on his orders and knew that his hands were not trembling, nor would they. There was no one on deck, not even the grubby man with the bucket.

'Come with me', he said to Stafford and Rossi, and to Jackson he said: 'Take your men and secure the ship's company: we'll make do with the master!'

As he went down the companionway, Orsini pulled a pistol from his belt, then changed his mind, thrust it back and drew the cutlass, because close by he could hear heavy snoring.

They found the master of the Caroline deep asleep in an armchair; it took more than a minute to waken him. As soon as it looked as though he could haul in the fact that he had just lost his ship, Paolo said conversationally in French:

'M'sieu, forgive me for waking you, but your ship is now a prize to His Britannic Majesty's frigate the Calypso ...'

He could have said it more briefly but he liked the way the words flowed. Now the poor fellow was wide awake. Dressed only in a long pair of underpants - he was obviously from the south of France where, as in Italy, they believed it was medically perilous not to wear wool next to the skin at all times - he had the trapped look of a calf in a slaughterhouse.

'Can I move?' the man asked cautiously.

'Certainly, stand up and dress, because in a few minutes you must leave the ship.'

'To go where?' The man was used to people being taken away in tumbrils to guillotines set up in town squares.

'To a firing squad, eh? Or to a noose dangling from a yardarm? Or a push over the side with a heavy piece of ballast tied on your back?' It was a macabre sort of teasing, but in escaping from Volterra and making his way to Naples, Paolo had seen thirty or forty guillotines set up in small towns, and beside most of them the rusty iron replica of a tree of liberty.

'Do I choose?' the man whispered, as though invisible hands were trying to strangle him.

'You had better dress first', Orsini said, and while the man pulled on his clothes he told Jackson of the conversation so far.

'I wondered why he suddenly went white and started perspiring, sir. Has he said which he prefers?'

'Not yet; he's probably making up his mind now.'

Finally the Caroline's master was dressed and Paolo said: 'The ship's papers - where are they?'

The man went to a cupboard and took out several documents. 'They are here - ship's certificate of registry, charter party, bills of lading, manifest ...'

'Muster book, log ... ?'

The man put his hand back in the cupboard. 'All in here, with my quadrant, tables, almanac'

'Put them back', Paolo ordered and, as the man shut the cupboard door again, asked casually: 'Have you made up your mind?'

The man took a deep breath which ended in a sob. 'Firing squad. Not the noose nor drowning, I beg of you ... And m'sieu, is there any way I can send a message to my wife? You see, I hid some money in the garden: buried it - for security, you understand.'

'Oh yes, it will be secure enough - unless your wife's new husband begins to plant potatoes ...'

The thought of it brought tears to the man's eyes and Paolo, glancing at his watch, decided the joke had gone far enough. 'You may yet be lucky enough to dig it up yourself: go down into the boat alongside. You and your men are going to be put on shore. You will at once start making your way inland: if any of you stay near the beach you will be hunted down and shot.'