He stood up, more than conscious he had a nasty headache, and went out to tap on Southwick's door. "Muster the ship's company aft, if you please, Mr Southwick."

Back in his cabin he washed his face again in the hope that it would freshen him up, and as soon as he heard the men assembling on deck, put on his sword, set his hat square on his head and picked up the Commission he had received from Nepean.

By the time he emerged on deck the ship's company was drawn up fore and aft, a dozen on each side of the binnacle, with Southwick, Bowen, Yorke, Much and Wilson by the taffrail. He was thankful Gianna was probably still asleep: her presence at the moment would be an unnecessary distraction. Yet, he noted grimly, just about everyone - particularly Wilson - looked so bleary-eyed that they might well not notice if a pasha marched on board with a dozen dancing girls. Well, what he had to tell them would soon wake the packetsmen...

Automatically he noted the wind was light from the north-east, the ship was beginning to swing as the tide turned, the sun was weak but had some warmth in it and the clouds told of fairly settled weather - for a day or two, anyway. Patches of smoke over the city showed its inhabitants were awake and lighting fires while wives were probably filling pots to prepare their husbands' favourite food. For a moment he envied those husbands; they knew what would be happening to them tomorrow, and next week, and next month ... There would be no sudden alarms and dangers for them...

He looked round at the men. His new command. The first had been the Kathleen cutter, and he had lost her as she was smashed under the forefoot of a Spanish ship of the line at the Battle of Cape St Vincent; then he had been given the Triton brig, now wrecked on a reef east of Puerto Rico, pounded by the waves and slowly rotting, her battered bulwarks a perch for pelicans. Now the Lady Arabella ... He hoped he would hand her over to the Commander-in-Chief at Plymouth without the need for writing anything in the log and his journal apart from the usual navigational and weather entries and such descriptions of the regular daily routine as "ship's company employed as the service required".

The packetsmen, standing sloppily (or was it insolently?) were watching him curiously, not knowing what was going to happen. The dozen Tritons were standing to attention; all but one of them had gone through this ritual with him twice before, and would have seen it many times in other ships. For any captain it was a memorable day, no matter how often it was repeated. Few captains - and Ramage knew he was not one of them - cared to hurry it. And today there was a particular reason for giving the ritual as much drama as possible.

Southwick marched up, head erect, left hand clasping the scabbard of his sword.

"Ship's company all present and correct, sir."

"Very well, Mr Southwick!"

The Master marched back to rejoin the group of passengers.

Blast! The Colours! In all the flurry of Kerguelen leaving the ship, the Ensign had not been hoisted. Well, let us add it to the ritual - the packetsmen would not know any better.

"Have the Colours hoisted, if you please Mr Southwick."

Just a slight stiffening - which Ramage knew only he had noticed - betrayed the Master's annoyance at not having noticed the omission.

Jackson suddenly took one pace forward, turned aft and marched to the halyard. Ramage saw he had a large bundle under his arm. That damned American, he thought to himself, he doesn't miss a thing! Jackson had also realized the need for ritual. He secured the upper toggle of the Ensign to the halyard, then the lower. Then he stood to attention, facing Southwick.

"Hoist away!" The Master bellowed.

The flag caught the breeze and Ramage wished there had been a drummer on board to strike up a ruffle or two. With the halyard secured Jackson marched back to his place.

To anyone unfamiliar with naval routine, it appeared the correct procedure. And, Ramage thought wryly, there is no routine laid down anyway since the circumstances are unusual. He took the Commission from his pocket, unfolded it and, after glancing at the two ranks of men, began reading in a loud and firm voice.

"By the Commissioners for Executing the Office of Lord High Admiral of the United Kingdom and Ireland ... to Lieutenant the Lord Ramage ... His Majesty's packet brig Lady Arabella ... willing and requiring you forthwith to go on board and take upon you the charge and command of captain in her accordingly..."

Ramage paused for a full minute. The wording of the commission was archaic and unfamiliar to the packetsmen and he wanted the full significance of it to sink in: that the ship was now under the command of a lieutenant in the Royal Navy; that the ship was now controlled by the Admiralty, instead of being under charter to the Post Office.

Although looking directly in front of him, Ramage could see out of the corner of his eye that the packetsmen were glancing at each other, and he wished he could also see the expressions on their faces - but he would know about that soon enough since Southwick, Yorke and Bowen would be watching like hawks.

He glanced down at the Commission again and continued reading:

"... strictly charging and commanding all the officers and company of the said packet brig to behave themselves jointly and severally in their respective appointments, with all due respect to you, their said Captain..."

Again he paused long enough for the men to absorb the words, and he detected some shuffling of feet, as though uneasiness caused movement.

"... you will carry out the General Printed Instructions and any orders and instructions you may receive..."

Again he paused. The next phrase was the one he wanted to ram home. He looked slowly and deliberately from man to man along the file to his left, and then did the same on his right. He had their attention all right! He held up the Commission.

"... hereof, nor you nor any of you may fail as you will answer to the contrary at your peril..."

He finished reading the remaining sentences and then folded the Commission slowly and deliberately. The Regulations and Instructions had been obeyed; by reading aloud to the officers of the ship the Commission appointing him captain, he had "read himself in". Now he was lawfully established as the captain of the ship, responsible for everything about her, from the behaviour of the crew in battle to the chafe on a sail in a gale of wind.

He had more power over the men, he mused in the silence that followed, than the King: he could order a seaman to be flogged - but the King could not. He could order them aloft in a storm, and punish any man that refused. He could order them into a battle from which none would return alive. And, if he was a good captain, he was also now the father of a large family. Although the Articles of War allowed him to have a wrongdoer flogged until he screamed for mercy, the obligations of leadership also meant a man could - and should - come to him for help and advice.

It was usual for a new captain to make a brief speech: apart from giving the men a chance to size him up, it allowed him to sound a keynote.

"Several of you men," he said, "have never heard a Commission read before. So that there'll be no misunderstanding, I'll explain that the Post Office and the Admiralty have jointly decided that I take command of the packet and take her back to England. You are all under naval discipline. All Protections have been withdrawn, and you are subject to the Articles of War. Those of you who don't know what that means can find out from those who do.

"Since this ship left Jamaica, we have all shared some strange adventures. The First Lord of the Admiralty and the Postmaster-General have read my report about it - and indeed it was a very full report." He decided exaggeration was pardonable; it should convince the packetsmen - particularly that villainous Bosun - that it was too late to silence him. But he must be careful not to scare them too much: he daren't risk them refusing to sail the ship back for fear of being arrested. A little bit of reassurance, then.