"We need to be realistic," Ramage said sharply. "A captain in the Royal Navy surrendering his ship in half a gale with only one man wounded would face some very unpleasant questions at the court of inquiry."

"How can you say that? You've no experience of surrendering a ship."

"I have," Ramage said, passing the toast rack to Smith.

"With more than one wounded, I presume."

"Yes, two-thirds of the ship's company dead or wounded, and the ship sinking," Ramage said coldly. "More tea?"

"I'm sorry," Smith said contritely. "Was that your first command?"

"I started off the battle as the fifth lieutenant. The captain and the rest of the officers were killed before it ended. I took command because I was the senior officer left alive."

Ramage could have said much more, but decided against it. How could he explain to a Postmaster that he was contemptuous of the French and Spanish habit of firing a single broadside pour I'honneur du pavilion before surrendering? It was a charade, a fraud, a polite gesture. Any captain who gave a damn whether he had fired a single broadside (taking care to cause no casualties, for obvious reasons) or surrendered without firing a shot was only slightly less a fraud than the men who accepted such a code of. behaviour.

"The Scilly Isles one," Smith said. "You feel she should have put up more of a fight?"

"No, since I wasn't there I couldn't make a judgement. But I'm certain she could have made a greater effort to escape - after all, the Post Office has told commanders to run when they can, and with half a gale from the east the whole Atlantic was open to her."

"I wondered about that," Smith admitted.

"Well, what did you hear last night from the commander of the packet?"

"Captain Stevens reports a completely uneventful voyage of forty-three days. He sighted two frigates south-west of the Scillies, and then nothing until he met a British sloop-of-war east of Barbados."

"Has he any ideas - or suspicions?"

Smith shook his head. "He says there are so many enemy privateers around that the packets are bound to be captured."

"Yet he came through safely - and saw only British warships."

"It's only the exceptional case that gets through these days."

"I know," Ramage said soothingly. "Captain Stevens is probably upset over the losses anyway."

"Philosophical, I should say."

"Yet the other commanders and masters must be friends of his - after all, they're probably all Falmouth men."

"Yes, but he tells me the French are still regularly exchanging prisoners fairly quickly."

Ramage signalled to a waiter and ordered more coffee for himself and tea for Smith.

"So Commander Stevens is not much help."

"I'm afraid not. Have you - er, made any plans?"

"Yes, and I want to discuss them with you."

Smith leaned forward attentively, pushing aside a plate.

"I'm proposing to sail in this packet," Ramage said.

"I rather anticipated that."

"And I'll need three other berths: four in all."

"Very well: that leaves six remaining."

"Have any Naval officers applied?"

"No: eleven Army officers, and nineteen planters and businessmen."

"Who were the Army officers?"

"A captain of the 31st Foot - and a lieutenant from - oh dear, I can't remember all the regiments."

"Could you give a berth to the one that seems the steadiest and leave the others empty?"

"Of course," Smith said eagerly. "That'll be the captain from the 31st, name of Wilson. By the way, don't forget you have to provide your own food and bedding."

"I haven't forgotten Captain Stevens makes a profit from me of fifty guineas without having to provide a slice of bread or a pillow-case." A sudden thought struck him. "I presume that we pay when we arrive in Falmouth?"

"Oh no! You settle with me on behalf of the captain before the ship sails!"

"Why?" Ramage asked flatly. "Tradition?"

"No - the commanders insisted on that as soon as the packets started being captured. I think they like to send the drafts home by a merchantman in convoy: it's safer than having it on board the packet and risking capture."

"The gallant commanders can't lose," Ramage said sourly, and then regretted the remark. Smith flushed but said nothing.

"When are the passengers supposed to board?"

"When do you propose she sails?" Smith asked, and the tone of his voice assured Ramage that the Postmaster now accepted his authority.

"Would noon the day after tomorrow be normal?"

"Quite normal. If you'd asked me, that's when I'd have suggested. It gives Captain Stevens enough time to provision the ship."

"And give his men some shore leave," Ramage said casually.

Smith grinned. "Yes - a few hours to dispose of their ventures."

Ramage realized he should have remembered that that alone would have ensured the men came on shore.

"Well now," Smith said affably, as a waiter set down a tea-pot and a coffee-pot, "can you and your people be on board by nine o'clock in the morning? Your baggage can be stowed and you'll be settled in before she sails."

"Excellent," Ramage said. It would fit in perfectly with his timetable, and give him time to look over the packet and her crew before she sailed.

"The packetsmen," Ramage added casually. "How is their leave arranged?"

"Captain Stevens usually gives half of them a few hours the first day, and half get the night on shore."

"A dozen men at a time - oh well, they have Protections, too, lucky fellows; they can enjoy themselves without worrying about a press gang picking them up!"

His Majesty's packet brig Lady Arabella was on the special Post Office mooring right in front of Kingston itself, and the following evening four seamen were watching her from a waterfront bar. They had moved one of the two tables in the tawdry saloon to a spot where they could get the best view, tipped the potman lavishly and told him to stay away until they called him.

The bar was otherwise empty; in fact it was unlikely that three dozen seamen could be found in all the bars within two hundred yards of Harbour Street and not ten more in all the brothels. The reason was simple - the same four men had visited a few of the bars earlier and mentioned that there would soon be a hot press out because one of the ships of the line had just received sailing orders. It took only a few minutes for the word to spread among the men who belonged to the few merchantmen in the anchorage, and they vanished like summer mist at sunrise.

Now the only seamen in the city's bars were those with Protections tucked in their pockets or money belts. Some Protections, issued by the Admiralty, declared their holders to be protected from being pressed because of their jobs - ferrymen, for instance, who were often disabled seamen for whom a Protection was the nearest thing to a pension they were likely to get. Other Protections had been issued by the Government of the United States - or, rather, its Customs officers - and declared their bearers to be American citizens.

Although the documents issued by the Admiralty were rare, the American Protections were comparatively common: the Customs officer in any American port readily issued one to any man who swore on oath that he was an American citizen. There was nothing to prevent a man collecting one in each of a dozen different ports, and then selling the other eleven at a handsome profit. British seamen considered a change of name a small price to pay for immunity from the press gangs.

One of the four men sitting at the table owned a genuine American Protection which was probably unique in Kingston that day because it truly described its owner as an American citizen: Thomas Jackson, a lean man with a cadaverous face and receding sandy hair, had indeed been born in Charleston, South Carolina, forty years earlier, and thus became an American at the age of twenty. The document - with the American eagle printed right across the top and signed with a flourish by "James Bennett, Collector of Customs for Charleston" - was now yellowed and foxed by tropical heat, creased and stained at the edges with salt water.