The slaves watched warily as Ramage, the French captain and a couple of the Triton's boarding party walked through. The stench was appalling—bilgewater, sweat, urine... Yet the slaves' quarters were clean—scrubbed out every day, the French captain explained, while the slaves exercised on deck. But, he added, all their lives the slaves had relieved themselves wherever they happened to be in the jungle and it was impossible in such a short voyage to train them to wait until they were led up on deck.

Although the slaves—all of them young men or boys—

were silent they were not sullen. Fearful, certainly, since the mere noise of the sea against the hull of a ship running in the Trades was frightening, and a thousand times worse if you were shackled down.

The crash of the mast going by the board, Ramage realized, must have sounded like the end of the world.

All the men had deep scars on their cheeks: the different tribal marks deliberately cut by the witch doctors during strange initiation rites. Some had two, three or even four vertical scars an inch long on either cheek; others ran horizontally. And many of the men sitting on the bench had the even more horrifying tribal marks running down their backs. These looked, in the half-light, like pieces of thin rope a couple of feet long stuck on the skin parallel to the spine.

The moment he saw these scars Ramage recalled his first trip to the West Indies, when the overseer at a plantation had explained what they were. The process began at puberty —one or more long cuts was made down the back and mud rubbed in so the flesh healed leaving a raised scar. This was cut again, and more mud rubbed in, Gradually the ridge grew higher, fattened along the centre because of the mud but contracted beneath by the original scar, until it was almost as fat as the top joint of a man's little finger: a long, thin brown sausage glued lengthwise to the skin. Adornment, tribal customs, a sign of manhood—whatever it was it looked worse than any seaman's back scarred by a cat-o'-nine-tails.

Most of the slaves would be under twenty-four years old— the demand was for youngsters. In Jamaica, he recalled, there was a £10 duty on every one landed who was over twenty-four.

Ramage had then gone on to inspect the women's compartment, which was the next aft. Fifteen feet long and also the full width of the ship, it was laid out like the men's. But it was too much and he hurried through and up the hatch, unable to face the terrified, appealing eyes that watched him. Women—they were young girls for the most part, few over eighteen.

The women's compartment was separated from the captain's cabin aft by two bulkheads which also formed cupboards. Ramage was surprised to find that abaft the captain's cabin there was another cabin fitted with more berths. When asked whose they were the Frenchman shrugged, saying he disliked being on his own, with the slaves between him and the crew, and the petty officers used it.

Shutting out the memory of what he had seen, Ramage filled in the log, noting the time and position the schooner had been sighted, weather conditions, and describing briefly how the man claiming to be the schooner's American captain had been shot. Then details of the prize's tonnage and cargo.

He did a sum on a scrap of paper. Slaves were fetching a high price in Jamaica and La Merlette carried 375. Or rather, had shipped that number, but eleven had died. An average of, say, seventy-five guineas a head meant that her present cargo was worth more than 27,000 guineas. Add in the value of a well-built, fast ship...

Which brought him back to the next decision facing him. Southwick and the carpenter's mate had been over to inspect La Merlette and both now reckoned the chances of repairing the mainmast were almost nil because, unless there was an almost flat calm, it would be impossible to raise the mast into position. Plus three days' work actually fishing the mast, replacing the rigging and setting it up. How long would they have to wait for a calm day? It could be two days—or two weeks.

Another factor was that the schooner carried a large crew, and a cut-throat mob they were. They needed to be, with the constant threat of the slaves rising against them, and they shipped in slaves only because of the pay, which was very high since sickness was the worst enemy—Ramage recalled:

Beware and take care of the Bight of Benin, There's one comes out for forty go in... It was an old song and probably true. Anyway, the schooner would need a prize crew of twenty since her penny-pinching owners were forced to give her a crew of twenty, and there were the slaves to guard. And the First Lord's orders precluded him from delaying the Triton by escorting the schooner into Barbados.

Well, there was no choice: he could—indeed he'd have to —keep the French prisoners on board the Triton and let Appleby and twenty Tritons take in La Merlette. That meant there'd be forty men left to work the Triton and guard twenty very tough prisoners. He could only pray that neither ship met a French privateer. Still the French captain was cheerfully reaching along to windward of the islands with only the foremost standing. Barbados was at most a couple of days sailing for La Merlette and dead to leeward. Young Appleby would have no difficulty getting there even if he jogged along under headsails alone.

Yet it'd be easier to leave La Merlette to her French crew: her captain could make Guadeloupe, where he'd already said she was due to call anyway before going on to Haiti. But Ramage dismissed the idea: Admiral Robinson would be extremely angry at letting such a prize slip through his hands.

Ramage glanced up at the skylight and at his watch. Just under a couple of hours of daylight left. Now he'd made up his mind, it was time to transfer the French prisoners to the Triton and send over spare provisions and water to the schooner. Appleby would be delighted at the honour of sailing the schooner into Barbados with only the foremast standing. Bringing in a prize with a 27,000-guinea cargo on board would go a long way towards ensuring Admiral Robinson's interest in helping him pass for lieutenant. As far as Ramage could see, that was the only way the master's mate would ever make it, since he had the brain of an ox.

With Wheeler dead, there was only the French captain and one other officer. They could have Appleby's berth— easier to guard them there, too. He called to the Marine sentry to pass the word for Southwick so he could give the necessary orders.

*

The 'French prisoners had been herded below under a Marine guard; food and water transferred to La Merlette; the prize crew were on board. Ramage was pleased he'd remembered to include Harris among the crew because he would be one of the senior ratings; and Appleby also had Stafford and Fuller with him. Since the Triton had been stripped of her best men, Appleby would have only himself to blame if things went wrong.

Ramage stood at the break in the gangway as Appleby up from below, a chart rolled under his arm.

'Have you forgotten anything?'

'Don't think so, sir,' he said cheerfully, forgetting his Captain's dislike of vague answers.

'Either you have or you haven't Chart, sextant, tables, almanack?'

'Got them all, sir.'

'Latest position from Mr Southwick, course to steer, chronometer checked with La Merlette's?' 'All done, sir.'

'Ensign, set of flags, rockets, false fires...?'

'All on board, sir.'

'Very well. We'll be in sight for much of the night, so don't be afraid to send up a rocket if you've forgotten anything or find you can't manage.'

'Aye aye, sir,' Appleby answered patiently, and Ramage realized he sounded like a mother fussing the first time her son left home for school.