He pointed at Riley, who turned the key with a loud click and flung back the door with a bang. Ramage plunged into the black space as the men behind him started shouting. In a moment the lantern showed hammocks slung from the deck beams at various angles, bulging like enormous bananas.

He slashed at the lanyards of the nearest one on his right, took a pace to one side to avoid the body that slid out of the canvas tube as it suddenly hung almost vertically, and reached across to cut the lanyards at one end of the next one. Orsini, cheated out of a hammock, crouched over the body of the first man, managing to hold up his lantern while pointing his dirk at the privateersman's throat and shouting bloodcurdling threats down at the staring eyes.

Ramage's man, caught up in the folds of the canvas, began swearing and obviously thought his shipmates were playing a joke on him until the point of Ramage's cutlass prodded the fleshy part of his right thigh.

From the left hand side of the cabin he heard above the yelling an angry shout end in a liquid gurgle, as though someone's throat had been cut. The noise made Ramage's victim try to scramble up, attempting to pull something from the folds of a blanket he had been using as a pillow. Ramage gave him another jab with the cutlass. 'Keep still, or you're dead!'

The man gave a grunt of pain and flopped back flat on the deck. 'Wha's going on?'

The yelling was dying as the last of the hammocks was cut down, but the thud of a cutlass blade being driven into the deck was followed immediately by a scream of pain, which cut off as sharply as it began.

Ramage's lantern was too dim to show him what was going on, and all he could do was to wait for his own men to report. To encourage them he called: 'Calypsos - have we secured them all?'

'I've got your man, sir,' said Martin.

'I've got mine, sir,' Orsini muttered. 'Alive,' he added, 'at the moment.'

'This stronzo here, I have to kill him,' Rossi grunted. 'He have a pistol in his hammock.'

'Prisoner, sir,' Jackson said, followed by Stafford's ' 'Ad to prod my fellah, sir, but 'e'll live.'

'Prisoner, sir,' Riley said and added, raising his voice in warning, 'a dead prisoner, if 'e don't keep still.'

Ramage turned to Orsini, who was nearest the door. 'Get your man out into the corridor where the others can secure him.'

The privateersman yelped as the midshipman prodded him to his feet. 'Ow! You'll do me 'arm,' the man complained.

'Yes, I just want an excuse!'

'You're just a bloody murderer!'

'You were ready to kill the hostages,' Orsini said, and to judge from the short, sharp scream the man gave, he must have punctuated his remark with another and stronger prod.

Ramage watched as Orsini, lantern held up, followed his prisoner through the door, where the man was seized by eager Calypsos.

'Now you, Jackson . . .' The American coxswain had an armlock on his prisoner, so the man lurched out of the cabin bent double. 'Rossi, you wait a minute. Stafford, are you ready?'

'Aye aye, sir. Up, you murderous bastard. No, you're not,' he said in answer to a muttered complaint Ramage could not quite hear, 'that was only a prick. Get movin', or I'll spit you like a suckin' pig ready for the fire!'

Riley followed with his prisoner and by then Ramage's man was scrambling to his feet, assuring Martin and Ramage that he too had surrendered, and his pistol was still in the folds of his hammock.

Outside, in what was in fact a lobby, Ramage saw several prisoners lying crumpled on the deck and before he could say a word one of the Calypsos had landed Martin's prisoner a savage punch that drove him to his knees, as though praying for mercy. A moment later a second punch sent him sprawling.

Ramage stood and watched. Eight guards captured and only one of them killed. He knew that every one of the Calypsos was filled with a fierce hatred for the privateersmen because they knew the eight men were on board the Earl of Dodswonh for one reason only - to murder the hostages if they thought it necessary. Men who could murder women in cold blood, Jackson had commented hours ago, should not expect too much mercy when their turn came . . .

A Calypso hurried down the companionway, dragging the end of a rope. 'Here, cut off what lengths you want: the rest of the coil's on deck - it'll kink if I pitch it down.'

It took about five minutes to tie up the men. Ramage was just going to call to the passengers that all was well and they could leave their cabins if they wished, when they remembered the dead man.

'Rossi - take a couple of men and get your privateersman up on deck. Wrap him in a hammock so you don't spill blood everywhere.'

'When we have him on deck, sir?'

'I'm not reading a burial service over a man waiting to murder women,' Ramage said bluntly.

'Si,va bene; - capito Commandante.'

'Orsini, take three or four men and bring down those two privateersmen stowed under the guns. Jackson, drag these men back into the cabin as soon as they're secured: we'll use it as a cell for the time being. Martin, unhook the ends of those hammocks and collect up any pistols you find. I'll hold this lantern so you can see what you are doing.'

The cabin was a strange sight: six hammocks, each suspended at one end but with the other hanging down on the deck, looked like sides of beef suspended from hooks in a slaughterhouse - an effect heightened by the large black stain surrounding the body lying among them, and which Rossi was beginning to turn over.

Suddenly Ramage began to shiver, his body feeling frozen although he had only just wiped perspiration from his brow and upper lip.

'It's cold, sir,' Jackson commented conversationally, and Ramage realized that several of the men were also shivering. The long swim, the excitement, the relief that now it was all over? Ramage began chafing his body with his hands; it was enough that they felt cold; the devil take the reasons.

'The Amethyst...'

'Yes, sir, I was wondering about her,' Jackson said, and Ramage realized he had spoken his thoughts aloud. 'If anything went wrong, I think we'd have heard shots by now. Nothing else for us to do tonight. Let's hope tomorrow night goes as well as this.'

A rather embarrassed Ramage, after carefully adjusting his stock, walked nearly naked along the corridor and, knocking on each door, repeated like a litany: 'This is Captain Ramage, of the Calypso frigate: you are all free now, but please do not go up on deck.'

Several people called their thanks; he heard one man begin a prayer in a firm, clear voice. He turned after knocking at the last door and walked back towards the cabin, which was now a cell containing seven bound prisoners guarded by three Calypsos who, armed with cutlasses, were sitting on chairs just inside the door.

As he went to pass the next to last door on his right, it opened and a woman in a gown came out, her face hidden in the shadow thrown by a lace scarf over her head.

'You must be cold,' she said, 'and still damp. Come, I'll get you some dry clothes.'

She held his arm and opened the door of her cabin.

'Can we borrow that lantern?' she pointed to the one back on its hook, now that the Calypsos in the cabin had their own. He walked over and lifted it down as she asked: 'Where is everyone? It sounded as though there were scores of you!'

'Most of them are up on deck now. The privateersmen are tied up and under guard in that cabin opposite.'

She led the way into her cabin. 'And no one was wounded?'

'None of my men. One of the privateersmen was killed.'

'Good,' she said, without bitterness. 'They are truly wicked men. They were going to murder us.'