"What's wrong with that?" demanded Jackson. "Just means a mixed cargo. All sorts o' things. Needles and thread, pots and pans, clothes - all the things people need to live their lives."

'"Notions'," Stafford repeated scornfully, "what a barmy word!"

At that moment, Aitken's hail from the quarterdeck rail stopped the talk: a reef point on the maincourse had somehow become entwined with the next one in the row and the pair of them, tightening up, would cause the sail to rip in a sudden puff. The mainsail had to be furled to clear the points, and the sailmaker would go aloft with the topmen to make sure the sail had not been damaged.

Jackson's estimate to Gilbert was correct: they could just make out Pointe de Barfleur at the western end of Seine Bay when the order came to go about. This gave the Calypso forty miles of sailing close-hauled on the larboard tack back towards England to reach the Nab off the Isle of Wight and close to St Helens, the fort, anchorage and village at the eastern end of the island, across the Solent from Portsmouth and Spithead. St Helens had the advantage that it was in the lee of the island and well protected from the prevailing west and south-westerly winds.

Ramage was by now certain the Victory would have sailed for Cadiz, but Southwick reckoned the Calypso would arrive in time. "My Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty will find some way of delaying him; you can be sure of that," Southwick said heavily, "and Mr Pitt will want to see him for 'discussions', and the Secretary of State for the Foreign Department: they'll all want to tell the tale in their drawing rooms, how they told the famous admiral how to fight his battle."

"You sound like me," Ramage said, laughing at Southwick's lugubrious voice. "But the only thing I can think of that might delay His Lordship is waiting for copies of Sir Home Popham's new telegraphic code. His Lordship told me he was determined to take out a copy for every ship in the fleet and he may have had to wait for enough to be printed and bound."

"What's so magical about this new telegraphic code that the admiral would let it delay him?"

Ramage gestured in a wide sweep across the horizon, indicating limitless distance. "With the present edition of the Signal Book for Ships of War, an admiral can only give - by flag signals - some four hundred-odd orders: in other words, only those that are printed in the Signal Book.

"But supposing he wants the fleet (or a particular ship) to do something else that isn't in the book? Well, he can't: if the evolution isn't in the Signal Book, it can't be ordered by signal. The admiral has his hands tied to the listed signals - and that doesn't suit Lord Nelson.

"Now, Home Popham has brought out his new 'telegraphic code', and from what I hear it means an admiral can as good as hail his fleet and tell them precisely what he wants done.

"Whereas the Signal Book gives a complete order for every signal number," Ramage explained, "Home Popham has chosen four thousand of the most important - the most active - words that an admiral might want to signal, and given them numbers, so that an admiral can make up a specific order, signalling each word. Home Popham has been quite clever, too: one word - one signal number - can have various shades of meaning: for example, 'Appear-ed-ing-ance', or 'Arm-ed-ing-ament' -"

"But that means signalling number 4,000 for the last word in the code," Southwick protested.

Ramage shook his head. "No, Home Popham has a much better way. He's also lumped 'I' and 'J' together and said there are twenty-five letters in the alphabet, and each letter represents a number - 'A' is one, 'B' two, 'F' six, 'P' fifteen, 'U' twenty and 'Z' twenty-five."

Southwick sniffed suspiciously, but Ramage ignored him. "One flag means units - 'G' would be seven, for example. With two flags, the upper one represents tens and the lower units - 'E' and 'F' would be fifty-six. Three flags are hundreds for the upper, tens for the middle and units for the lower. Thus 'A' 'B' 'C' would be signalled as 123."

Aitken, who had been listening to Ramage's explanation, said: "Once we get a copy, sir, I suggest we have a competition among the officers to see who can make up the most amusing signal using, say, six flags!"

"We'll do that," Ramage promised, "but His Lordship hasn't enough frigates, and if I know him, he'll be busy thumbing through Popham's code, finding detailed ways of keeping us busy!"

And, he thought to himself, thank goodness we've just left the dockyard with fresh sheathing, mostly new sails, and Aitken and Southwick having gone over every inch of masts, spars and rigging, both standing and running. If we have to get to windward in the teeth of a full gale, we won't have to worry about a mast going by the board . . .

He saw Aitken look at his watch and a moment later Martin, the young fourth lieutenant and son of the master shipwright at the Chatham yard, came up the quarterdeck ladder to take over as officer of the deck.

He was a lively youngster, known throughout the ship as "Blower" Martin because of his skill with a flute. Ramage had resigned himself to hearing only sea chanties and tunes popular with the seamen when, towards the end of the last voyage, he discovered that Martin himself preferred more serious music and was very familiar with the likes of Telemann and the flute concerti of Mozart and Haydn.

As soon as Aitken had passed on the Calypso's course and details of the wind for the past hour, and reported that there were no unexecuted orders, he went below, leaving Martin as officer of the deck, with the master and captain standing around, talking.

Soon Ramage said: "Well, Martin, I hope you've brought plenty of good sheet music with you."

"Yes, sir. I went up to London specially. I've been practising the newer items." He grinned. "I've discovered Mr Southwick doesn't share your enthusiasm for Mozart!"

Ramage, pretending to be shocked, turned to the master. "Unmasked at last, eh Mr Southwick? I've always had my doubts about you."

"I don't exactly dislike him, sir, it's just that he's a foreigner and he doesn't put a tune together like our chaps do. To be honest, I prefer the tunes 'Blower' plays for the sailors."

"What about the other lieutenants and Orsini?" Ramage asked Martin.

"The Marchesa's nephew has been making my life a misery! He's so keen! When he was in London he bought me a lot of sheet music without realizing you can't play everything on a flute! Opera is his favourite, but there's not much you can do for opera with just a flute!"

There was a shout from aloft: the lookout at the foremasthead was hailing, and Martin snatched up the black japanned speaking trumpet.

"Foremast - deck here!"

Martin quickly reversed the cone-shaped metal tube so that it acted as an ear trumpet. He listened and, reversing it once again, shouted: "Very well, report every ten minutes."

"Two frigates on our larboard bow sir, apparently running up for Spithead."

Ramage nodded. "We'll be seeing several more of the King's ships before long: at the moment we seem to be in a particularly deserted stretch of the Channel. I imagine Lord Barham is calling in every possible frigate to provision and water and to make for Cadiz."

He thought for a few moments and then said to Martin, resuming the conversation interrupted by the lookout: "If we spend a few weeks blockading the Combined Fleet in Cadiz, you're going to wear out that flute of yours!"

"Ah," Martin said triumphantly, "I used some of my prize money to buy a third one, sir. So now I have one for the sailors, a good one for serious music, and a masterpiece for special occasions and as a reserve."

How often has prize money gone on a flute? Ramage wondered.

Ramage went down to his cabin and re-read the letter Sarah had written. Somehow rounding the Ness had put a great distance between them - a great geographical distance. If he went on shore at Portsmouth he could take a 'chaise and be with her in a few hours - a fanciful thought for the captain of one of the King's ships bound for Cadiz in wartime . . .