Aitken reached out for the inkwell. 'Except for the mangroves and the lack of "violent tempests", it sounds rather like the east coast of England!'

'Yes. Now for the general information: the French have owned Cayenne - Guiana, rather - since 1677 ... It stretches about two hundred and fifty miles along the coast and goes more than a hundred miles inland ... The land is low along the coast which runs roughly north and south with a mountain chain running east and west ... Produces and exports pepper, cinnamon, cloves and nutmegs. Nothing,' Ramage noted, 'that isn't used for seasoning food!'

He read several more pages without bothering to translate but finally hunched himself in his chair and squared up the book. 'Here we are ... During the summer the current runs strongly to the northwest off this coast... Heavy breakers generally ease at slack water ... Tide rise just over eight feet at springs, four or five at neaps ...

'Now, we're interested in twenty-seven miles of coast between the River Approuague to the south and the River Mahuri to the north. The land is so flat you can see it at only seven or eight miles from seaward ... behind it, though, are the Kaw mountains, a level ridge not very high. Now, the Mahuri river -'

He broke off, cursed and shut the book with an angry gesture and stood up. With his head bent to one side to avoid bumping it on the beams overhead he strode round the cabin, watched by a startled Aitken, who then picked up a piece of cloth and busied himself wiping the sharpened point of his quill. He knew better than to ask what was the matter. Was the vital page missing? The Scot did not trust anything French. The good luck of finding a French pilot book would obviously, he considered glumly, be cancelled by there being pages missing ...

Ramage sat down, face flushed, and opened the pilot book again. 'Cayenne ... Cayenne ...' he said crossly. 'Wouldn't anyone in their right mind assume that any wretched Frenchman deported "to Cayenne" was being sent to a penal colony on the island of Cayenne, which is in the middle of the entrance to the Cayenne river?'

Aitken thought for a moment but could see no danger in agreeing. 'Yes, sir, that seems a reasonable assumption; indeed, a very logical conclusion.'

'Yes, but any ship laden with prisoners and anchoring off the Îles de Cayenne in the Rivière de Cayenne would find herself some twenty-five miles too far south!

'Having no charts or pilots, I'd assumed the three Île du Salut, which include Devil's Island, were in the Cayenne river.' He tapped the book. 'Now I find they are three almost barren little lumps of rock seven miles offshore and twenty-five miles north of Cayenne, river or island. So, tear up what you've written and let's start again...'

'A good job we found La Robuste,' Aitken said, 'Otherwise ...'

'Otherwise we'd have looked very stupid,' Ramage completed. 'Right, we start at Pointe Charlotte. The coast is low and sandy, plenty of mangroves up to the high-water-mark, occasional clumps of trees behind, and isolated rocks sitting in the mud to seaward.

'By a stroke of luck, or just the kindness of nature, there is a high, cone-shaped hill nine miles inland: on a clear day you can see it for twenty miles, so you don't have to rely on the mangroves for a landfall.

'Right, now we get to it. The coast is trending west-northwest when you reach Pointe Charlotte, which is three miles northwest of the Kourou river, which is marked by three small mountains "all remarkable objects at a long distance, and good guides for the entrance to the river".

'To distinguish Pointe Charlotte from a thousand other points, it has some rocks at its base,' Ramage said ironically. 'Of more interest to us, though: if you stand on Pointe Charlotte and stare out across the Atlantic, hoping perhaps to see Africa, you'll see instead "a group of three small rocky islets", and they are small, occupying a space of about half a mile.

'As far as I can understand from this pilot, the island farthest out in the Atlantic is the northernmost, Île du Diable, 131 feet high; the one on your left is the largest and highest, Île Royale, 216 feet; and to the right is the nearest, the southernmost, and the smallest, Île St Joseph.'

'Which is the one we're particularly interested in?' Aitken asked.

'I think Île du Diable, or Devil's Island, and the blasted pilot simply says it is forbidden to land on any of the islands without the written permission of the préfet at Cayenne because St Joseph and Royale are "convict settlements" while Diable is a settlement for "détenus", which I'm sure means "prisoners" but not people who have actually been convicted, although I'll check it with Gilbert because he knows better than I the finer shades of meaning in Revolutionary France.'

'What about anchorages?' Aitken asked. Captains concerned themselves with tactics, first lieutenants worried about anchorages.

'The pilot makes a great song and dance that the lee of the islands provides the only sheltered anchorage along the coast - otherwise you have to go up one of the big rivers. Yes, here we are - five cables southwest of the western end of Royale, soft mud, five fathoms, well sheltered from easterly winds. Ah, Royale seems to be the headquarters - it has a fort guarding it to seaward, a church on the hill, and a jetty on the south side. Diable - well, that has only "a fortified enclosure" for the détenus. St Joseph: a poor anchorage a cable to the south in hard mud - that is all it has to offer the world...'

'Are there any rocks and shoals?'

'Plenty,' Ramage said, 'and too many to mention. The positions this pilot gives are too vague to be of much use. Hmm ... "generally, a vessel coming in sight of the fort on Île Royale will result one hour later in a canoe with a local pilot waiting close under the northwest corner of Île du Diable ..." He'll guide you to the recommended anchorage I've just mentioned southwest of Île Royale.'

Ramage closed the book. 'That's all it says about the Îles du Salut. More important, though, is that L'Espoir will presumably have a copy ...'

'... and so will wait for a pilot and anchor there?'

'I hope so,' Ramage said, 'but I hope it doesn't mean we have to try to capture three rocky islands.'

Wagstaffe walked the starboard side of La Robuste's quarterdeck and reflected that commanding a ship was a satisfying experience, even if the ship was a prize frigate and all he had to do for the next few hundred miles was stay in the wake of the Calypso. This was easy enough in daylight but at night it was difficult to follow the triangle of three poop lanterns. In fact, in the last couple of nights he had gone to his cot and fallen asleep to waken almost at once, certain that the three lights had gone out of sight, and the officer of the deck (Kenton the first time and Martin the second) had been startled to find the commanding officer suddenly flapping round the deck in a boat cloak, staring forward, grunting and going below again, all without a word of explanation.

Well, Wagstaffe told himself, how on earth did one explain all that to junior lieutenants? Now he thought about it, both Kenton and Martin were sensible enough to report the moment they lost sight of the lights - indeed, there'd be enough yelling in the darkness, with the officer of the deck shouting questions at the lookouts and making a noise which would come down the skylight like a butt full of cold water.

It is easy enough to be brave and confident when the sun shines bright, he thought defensively, but hard on a dull cloudy day when it is raining. Harder still at nightfall, and dam' nearly impossible at three o'clock in the morning. Three o'clock courage, that's what he lacked. It's what distinguished Captain Ramage from most other men: he had it in abundance. It was also, Wagstaffe admitted, what kept Captain Ramage's officers poised on the balls of their feet all the time. Not because he yelled and screamed when things went wrong: perhaps it would be easier if he did. No, it was that chilly, quizzical and questioning look from those dark eyes set under thick eyebrows that was far more reproachful than words. They seemed to say: 'I trained you and trusted you: now look what you've done . . .'