"Very well," he said, and held out his hand to Ramage, who shook it, and was followed by the other three men. Kerguelen said, "If you give your parole that you won't try and interfere with the running of the ship, three of you can be on deck at any one time."

Ramage agreed at once: there was no chance of them retaking the ship - so far they had been exercised three at a time and covered by a dozen muskets - and nothing was to be gained by refusing. Also Kerguelen was probably trying them out; applying a little test to see if the British were acting in good faith.

The Lady Arabella made her landfall at Figueira da Foz, where the River Mondego flows into the sea just south of Cape Mondego and some eighty miles north of Lisbon. For an hour as they approached the coast Ramage listened to a spasmodic argument between Kerguelen and his second-in-command, who swore he recognized the Burling Islands, a group of small islets half a dozen miles from the next headland south.

Finally, he asked Kerguelen for the use of the telescope. There was no mistaking the Cape, although its rugged rocks gave the impression of separate islets because of the high mountains behind it. But southward towards Lisbon the land was flatter, the coast lined by sand dunes backed with pine forests and dozens of little white windmills, many with the canvas of their blades reefed against the strong west wind.

"Cabo Mondego," he told Kerguelen as he gave back the telescope.

"You're sure? All these damned headlands look alike along this coast!"

Ramage nodded. "They do, but I remember Mondego: coming down from the north it's easy to mistake it for the Burling Islands."

With that Kerguelen snapped out a stream of orders that brought the brig round to the south, steering parallel with the coast but out of sight from anyone but sharp-eyed lookouts on the headlands.

Soon after noon the packet was reaching down towards Os Farilhões, a group of islets ten miles north-west of Cabo Carvoeiro and which, because many of them were jutting triangles of rocks, looked as if a fleet of small vessels were sailing among them. Closer inshore was Burling Island, flat-topped and over three hundred feet high, its sides precipitous cliffs which shot spray high into the air as the Atlantic swell hit them.

As he walked the deck with Yorke, Southwick and Wilson, Ramage saw several ships making their way north and south inshore of Burling Island, but they were coasting vessels, probably carrying local cargoes between Lisbon and the places to the north, like Porto, at the mouth of the Douro.

Southwick gestured towards Os Farilhões and Burling Island, the scattering of rocks between them now showing clearly. "They're no trouble in this sort of weather, but beating up here with a north-west gale and heavy rain..." He shuddered at the memory of the times he had done it. "I don't like to think of how many ships have hit one of them in a blinding squall with only a moment's warning."

As night fell, with no British ship of war having been sighted, Kerguelen had the Arabella jogging along under reefed topsails, ensuring they did not arrive off Cabo da Roca, just north of the wide entrance of the River Tagus, until after dawn. It was half an hour after sunrise when Ramage came up on deck to find the packet three miles off the great cape, the westernmost point of the continent of Europe. More than five hundred feet high, the cape was a series of almost precipitous layers of rock, and inland it merged into the Serra de Sintra, a range of spiky mountains. For the time being the peaks were hidden by thin layers of cloud which clung to them as though each wore a white wig. Ramage remembered the palace built on the summit of one of them, Castelo da Pena, and shivered at the thought of how cold it would be: he was still used to the Tropics...

An hour later the Arabella rounded Cabo Raso - which, with Cabo Espichel twenty-one miles south, were guardians of the great bay into which the Tagus flowed - and was soon passing the Santa Marta Fort perched on the headland sheltering the fishing villages of Cascais and Estoril.

"You know the entrance to Lisbon?" Kerguelen asked suddenly. When Ramage nodded, the Frenchman said, "I've not been here before, and we have no charts..."

"I know it well enough," Ramage said, and pointed. "You can see Forte de São Julião on the north side, and that's Bico da Calha on the southern side. It's three miles across, but the channel is only a mile wide and goes close to the Fort."

He moved to the starboard side to get a clearer view. "Now, you see that long yellow bank of sand in the middle there, with breakers on it?" Quickly he described the entrance channel, pointed out several forts lining the entrance of the estuary, and ended up with a warning: "The tidal stream reaches four knots out there - more if there's been much rain in the mountains, because the Tagus starts five hundred miles inland - and sets right across the shoals. So if you lose the wind in the channel you'll have to anchor in a hurry."

With a steady west wind the Arabella crossed the bar, ran in past Forte de São Julião and, as she hugged the north shore, Ramage saw the curious Torre de Belém guarding the approach to Lisbon itself and pointed it out to Kerguelen.

The Frenchman sniffed. "Looks as if a Portuguese designed the main part and let an Indian add the ornamentation."

Half an hour later Ramage was hustled below as the packet, flying the tricolour, anchored off Trafaria, on the south side of the river and close to the quarantine station. After Kerguelen had dealt with the Customs and port authorities, the brig got under way again and Ramage was allowed on deck to pilot the ship for the last four miles up to the city itself, finally recommending an anchorage in front of the main square, almost in the shadow of São Jorge Castle.

Yorke, who had seen it before, commented, "One of the finest capitals that's also a port. Venice gets the prize, then Copenhagen. Lisbon comes third."

Southwick grunted, "Stockholm?" When Yorke admitted he had not been there, Southwick said, "In summer it's pretty enough. No tide, of course; not like here."

The three men went to the bulwarks, where they were joined by Wilson. The muddy water of the Tagus was swirling past at a good four knots. Then they watched several fregatas working their way out of the various docks.

"Loveliest working vessels I've ever seen," Yorke said. "Just look at the fancy paintwork on the bow of that one!"

Lisbon's equivalent of the Thames barge was a graceful vessel with a heavily raked mast, a plump, apple-cheeked bow and a sweeping sheer. Almost the entire bow was covered in a gaily painted design, belying the sacks of grain with which she was laden. Two British frigates were anchored upstream of the Arabella, while a Post Office packet and a dozen more merchant ships, mostly British, were alongside the docks lining the city side of the river. Ramage was pointing out various landmarks in the city, which is built over the slopes of several hills, when Kerguelen came up to him.

"If you're ready to go on shore, I'll have the boat lowered. You and Yorke?"

Ramage nodded and grinned, "You have enough hostages to make sure we come back."

Kerguelen, not realizing Ramage was joking, said simply, "I have your parole; that's enough for me."

Half an hour later, during which time the eight privateersmen at the oars of the Lady Arabella's boat had had a hard struggle to reach the shore against the current, Ramage and Yorke were walking carefully up the slippery, weed-coated steps of one of the quays. At the top both of them stopped to get their bearings. As they turned away from the river, a green-painted carriage which was clattering over the cobblestones towards them suddenly stopped and a man, poking his head out of the window, called, "Are you gentlemen English, by any chance?"