Paolo read out the signal giving a bearing and distance, and by eye, without having to bend over the azimuth compass, Ramage saw that he had guessed correctly and the Calypso was already heading for the position, with her two prizes astern like two swans obediently following the cob.

Ramage lifted the speaking trumpet to his lips after giving an order to the quartermaster, who swiftly passed it on to the two men at the wheel. Slowly the frigate turned into the wind; another order saw the maintopsail furled, followed by the mizentopsail. As she headed into the wind it pressed on the forward side of the Calypso's foretopsail, pushing it against the mast like a hand on a man's chest and slowly brought the ship to a stop. Ramage then bent over the compass, checking the bearings given in the flagship's signal. He noted the distance, and waited for the Calypso to gather sternway. He walked to the ship^s side and looked down at the water. A tangled strand of floating seaweed which had been floating past now slowly stopped alongside and then began to move ahead. Or, Ramage corrected himself for the thousandth time in his career, the ship had begun to move astern. He gave another order to the quartermaster because now the rudder's effect was being reversed and, looking ahead to make sure that Southwick was watching him, he lifted his right arm vertically.

Seamen let go the anchor. The splash of its thirty-seven hundredweight, almost two tons, hitting the water was followed by the cable (it was hemp, seventeen inches in circumference, as thick as a man's lower thigh) which snaked over the side, leaving a haze of smoke at the hawse as its friction scorched the wood. Southwick watched from the bulwark and as it slowed and stopped for a few moments gave the signal for the men to snub it round the bitts. The Calypso, pushed astern by her backed topsail, which was being braced round to keep it square to the wind, then kept a steady strain on the cable, and Southwick gave the order to veer more. Finally he signalled to Ramage that the Calypso was safely anchored. The holding ground in Carlisle Bay was good, but in many islands weed on the bottom, or sunken palm fronds, made anchors drag.

Ramage shouted down to the gunner: "Begin the salute!"

The first gun on the starboard side spurted smoke and its sharp crack - being unshotted there was no boom - echoing and reechoing across the bay sent the sleepy-looking pelicans into the air after their usual ungainly run across the surface of the water, and it set the black-headed gulls wheeling and screaming in protest at the interruption in their hunt for the fish scraps left by the pelicans.

Ramage could imagine the gunner muttering the time-honoured phrases used to time the salute - words which when spoken reasonably quickly took five seconds: "If I wasn't a gunner 1 wouldn't be here . . . Number two gun fire!" And repeating the phrase to himself reminded him yet again that he must replace the gunner: the man was useless, running a mile faster than take a ha'porth of responsibility and completely unsuited to the Calypso. But changing a gunner was a tedious business: it was not a question of applying to the commander-in-chief, as one would to change an unsatisfactory lieutenant. No, a gunner was appointed by the Board of Ordnance, which of course was part of the Army. Guns and gunnery in the King's ships was the Army's affair - at least by tradition. Gunners were examined and given their warrants by the Board of Ordnance, which also arranged for the casting of guns and shot and provided the powder. Thus changing a gunner (or such an application by a ship's captain) was likely to be seen by the Army as a criticism, and the application would end up in the pigeon-hole reserved by the clerks for the paper to smother in dust.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen . . . and that was it: the commander-in-chief of His Majesty's ships and vessels upon the Windward Island station had received the salute due to him by a ship visiting his station from some distant part.

Southwick joined Ramage at the fore end of the quarterdeck and commented: "I can almost see the sun reflecting on the telescope lenses! They must be wondering how the devil we collected those two!" He gestured to the two prizes now anchoring astern.

"Yes, any moment the flagship will hoist the signal for me to go over to report. But I want you to start getting our men back on board here from the prizes as soon as they have anchored. Just leave a dozen behind in each one."

Southwick nodded: no explanation was needed because everywhere in the world any one of the King's ships was short of men, but here in the West Indies, where sickness was the enemy, not the French, many of the frigates and smaller ships were being sailed with half their official complement of men. Since sickness, mostly the black vomit, did not distinguish between officers and men, promotion could be rapid for both lieutenants and captains - but equally the appointments could be brief, and one of the most prosperous men in Barbados was the mason carving names and dates on marble headstones in the cemetery (the wording was carefully copied out and sent home to relatives).

"Boat leaving the flagship with a lieutenant on board, sir," Paolo Orsini reported. "Heading our way."

"The admiral smells his share of prize money," Southwick muttered as Ramage went below to his cabin to change his uniform and put on his sword. A brief but comprehensive "Report of Proceedings" waited on his desk: it lacked only the name of the admiral, which he had yet to discover.

Ten minutes later a young lieutenant arrived on board and was brought down to the cabin, where he introduced himself as Lieutenant Newick. He told Ramage that the admiral wished him to make his report as soon as possible. "The two prizes," he said hesitantly. "We had no idea that there were two such French frigates in the area, although we guessed we might see you."

"Oh - why was that?" asked a puzzled Ramage. What could have brought him to the commander-in-chief 's notice?

The lieutenant looked embarrassed. "Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned it, sir. There's a letter from the Admiralty waiting for you, and the admiral had one at the same time. Came out in the last Post Office packet that arrived a week ago."

"Let's go," Ramage said. He could think of no reason why Their Lordships should be writing to him, but despite the heat of the tropical sun coming down through the Calypso's deck, he felt a sudden chill. The unexpected was usually unwelcome: so far he had learned that much about life.

Rear-Admiral Edwin Tewtin greeted Ramage at the entryport of his flagship the Queen with what Ramage later described to Southwick as well controlled amiability lightly cloaked with a curiosity which was clearly as painful to ignore as a nagging toothache.

After all the formalities of a little-known rear-admiral (commanding one of the Royal Navy's smallest stations) finding himself greeting one of the most famous of the Navy's young frigate captains had been completed - with a pardonable amount of wariness on either side - Tewtin led the way down to his cabin and waved Ramage to the comfortable chair, sitting down opposite him while Lieutenant Newick perched nervously to one side in a straight-backed seat.

Ramage saw, at once that Tewtin had probably not (so far, anyway) done well from prize money: the furniture in the great cabin verged on being spartan; the curtains bunched on either side of the sternlights would have been appropriate in one of the public rooms of a small but busy coaching inn; the rows of wine glasses nesting in a rack on the bulkhead above the sideboard could have come from the bar parlour, and the buckles on the admiral's shoes were made of pinchbeck, not gold.