'The Calypso, sir,' Aitken continued emphatically, 'is the most westerly British ship that knows the war has started again. If we've overtaken L'Espoir, then we are the westernmost ship in existence.'

Ramage nodded agreement. 'We can be thankful Bonaparte didn't send out a dozen frigates from Brest the moment our ambassador left Paris: in areas off Madeira and the Canaries they could have captured dozens of John Company and other ships all bound to and from England. But he didn't because he's a soldier and not a sailor, and anyway they're very short of seamen in Brest.'

'Aye,' Aitken agreed. 'That Bonaparte seems to be a bonny soldier and we can be thankful he didn't take to the sea. Anyway, L'Espoir will have no reason to think the Calypso knows there's a war.'

'Wouldn't she be suspicious at seeing a British frigate so far south on this coast? About eight hundred miles south of the nearest British naval headquarters, Barbados?' Ramage continued testing Aitken.

'Sir, the Calypso's French-built, and apart from the fact that she's a little smarter than the usual French national ship, there's no way she'd know we're British unless we're flying our own colours.'

Now Aitken was straying from the point Ramage wanted him to discover and consider.

'Yes, I agree with all that but - and it's a big "but" - Bonaparte never forgives anyone who makes a mistake. In France there's a very complicated secret police system under which everyone is supposed to report on everyone else. One effect is that anyone failing to carry out his orders is likely to be accused of treason. Failure is frequently labelled treachery to the Revolution. And that usually means the guillotine - few brought before the courts in France are ever found not guilty.'

'So you think that the captain of L'Espoir will have considered that among the possible risks and dangers, sir? That he won't regard this voyage as a cruise, even though he is certain to be sailing ahead of the news of war?'

'Look at it another way, Aitken: forget the naval aspect. The captain of L'Espoir is carrying out the orders of the admiral at Brest, but he is a realist: he knows that the orders really come from the Ministry of Police, from that man Fouché, in fact. His written orders may have said that he was to carry fifty déportés from Brest to Devil's Island and hand them over to the préfet, but he knows very well that those fifty men (and their women) are regarded by Bonaparte at the moment as being the fifty greatest traitors who can be transported instead of guillotined. Now do you follow?'

Aitken shook his head. 'I don't think so, sir. It seems quite straightforward to me, but from the tone of your voice obviously it isn't!'

'Well, if somehow the captain does not deliver those fifty prisoners to the préfet in Cayenne, but instead they escape or are rescued by a British ship, so that Bonaparte and his police can't get at them, then -'

'Ah, I see!' Aitken exclaimed, his voice a mixture of triumph and disbelief. 'He would be accused of treachery - of deliberately allowing those fifty to escape.'

'Exactly. Ministers in power and Bonaparte himself always need scapegoats. The captain of L'Espoir knows that. No one commands a French national ship of war today solely because of his seamanship. Remember, in the first six months of the Revolution France destroyed many of her best officers, so today most of her captains are former boatswains; men who've survived all those earlier régimes. The captain of L'Espoir has survived - for nine years. He knows how to do it; he's an expert. So you can be sure he hasn't ruled out the chance of interception.'

'How does that affect us, sir? He must still be sure he is sailing ahead of the news of war.'

'Come now, forget that aspect. He has fifty valuable prisoners on board - valuable particularly because they could lead him to the guillotine. Surely he must have at least one overwhelming advantage ...'

'Well - oh yes!' Aitken exclaimed. 'Fifty hostages! No one attempting a rescue would dare risk harming them! Yes, he knows no one dare fire a broadside into him. By God, he's as immune from harm as a pirate holding a nun in front of him.'

'Exactly, immune from broadsides, and he doesn't have to give a damn about arriving disabled on a lee shore. If he hands over the prisoners to the préfet safely at the cost of losing his ship the Minister of Marine might be lenient as long as he gets a favourable report from the préfet. Mind you, the captain and ship's company will be marooned in Cayenne and half might die from the black vomit and the survivors be captured on their way back to France in another ship...'

Aitken said suddenly: 'What do we do if we sight L 'Espoir thisafternoon, sir?'

'I've no idea,' Ramage admitted. 'We might send their masts by the board or tear their sails to shreds with langrage, but we'd still have to carry the ship by boarding and if the captain uses the prisoners as hostages and threatens their lives, we're still no nearer rescuing anyone.'

'It's a worry, sir,' Aitken commented, and Ramage was irritated by the Scotsman's tone: he spoke in the 'Yes, well, the captain's bound to think of something' voice. However, as Aitken now knew well, this time there was no way.

Admiral Clinton was lucky, Ramage thought sourly as he turned yet again at the taffrail: if the Count of Rennes and his fellow prisoners were not rescued, or were killed, the commander-in-chief would certainly incur the disfavour of the Prince of Wales, but that was all, because his orders (as far as they went) were quite correct. But Captain Ramage, whatever the verdict of a court-martial, could be sure that at best he would spend the rest of his life on the beach, drawing half-pay. No one would say anything out loud, but at the Green Room in Portsmouth, at Brooks's, White's and such places, there had been too many of his Gazettes published by the Admiralty for there not to be jealousy of 'that fellow Ramage'.

Nor would half-pay now be so boring and frustrating; in fact, with Sarah beside him it could be very lively. They would live at St Kew and running the estate would keep them busy. Yet he knew that while the war against France lasted and there were ships of the Royal Navy at sea, only half his heart would be in Cornwall. That, Sarah would know, might prove the most difficult thing to deal with.

He shook his head to dispel the thoughts: what on earth was he getting so depressed about, putting himself on half-pay when they had not even sighted L'Espoir?

Five minutes later, as Aitken wrote on the slate and Ramage continued pacing the windward side of the quarterdeck, there was a hail from aloft.

'Deck there - foretopmast lookout here!'

Mess number eight was the rather grandiose official description of one of the well-scrubbed tables and two forms flanking it on the Calypso's lowerdeck. It was on the larboard side abreast the forehatch, which ensured a bitterly cold draught in winter in northern latitudes, but as the Calypso under Captain Ramage's command had spent most of her time in the Tropics or the Mediterranean, the members of the mess were content.

The outboard end of the narrow side of the table fitted into the ship's side and the other was suspended from the deckhead by two ropes. Each of the forms on the long sides of the table seated four men, so that each mess in the ship comprised no more than eight men.

The mess had its own equipment. There was the bread barge, a wooden container in which the bread for the mess was kept. The bread was ship's biscuit, made in the great naval bakeries, and at the moment it was fresh, a word used to describe a square of hard baked dough which was still hard, not soft and crumbling, the happy home of the black-headed and white-bodied weevils which felt cold to the tongue but had no taste.