Nor did Aitken betray any emotion: the Scotsman had also gone into action many times with Ramage. At no time, though, with less chance of surviving. As he caught sight of Orsini swinging down from the shrouds and dropping on to the deck, Ramage thought fleetingly that it mattered not at all whether or not Gianna was alive: Paolo, too, was unlikely to survive the next few minutes to see her again. And, he reflected bitterly, it was all his fault: he had approached these two ships of the line as though they were fishing boats: he had not considered for a moment that they might be French. Oh yes, he had noted that they were French built, but he had let the great victory at Trafalgar drive out any thought that they might be flying Tricolours. He had, quite simply, been careless and overconfident, and now he was going to pay for it with his own life and the lives of all the men in the Calypso who had for years trusted him. Well, it was the first time he had let them down -and, he reflected, it would be the last.

He continued the line" of the Calypso's course to where it intercepted the Frenchman. A couple of hundred yards. Even now the Frenchman obviously had no idea what he intended. Not two hundred yards - more likely a hundred and fifty and the distance shortening rapidly.

"Steer fine, blast you," Aitken said conversationally to the men at the wheel, and then commenting calmly to Ramage: "Just about right, don't you think, sir?"

"Yes, we should catch his jibboom in our foreshrouds. Her stem should ram us amidships."

Southwick gave one of his famous sniffs, only this time it was an approving sniff: clearly the old man agreed with both Aitken and Ramage.

At his gun on the starboard side, Jackson finally walked to the gunport and joined Stafford looking through it.

The Cockney was staring at the approaching French ship and he muttered to the American seaman: "What d'you reckon the Old Man is trying to do?"

"Ram the bastard," Jackson said succinctly. "It's the only thing left. No good firing our pop guns at her."

"Ram?" Stafford repeated, awe in his voice. "We'll just bounce off her!"

"Not if we clip off her jibboom and bowsprit. Probably bring down her foremast as well."

"Then she'll ram us and capsize us!"

"Maybe," Jackson said. "That's the price you pay for thinking every ship at sea is one of ours."

"Bit o' an 'igh price!"

Jackson shrugged his shoulders. "You've got to pay it when you mistake a Frenchman for one of ours."

"Our number's up, ain't it, Jacko?" Stafford commented, his voice flat and unemotional.

"I reckon so," Jackson said, turning back to the gun.

Rossi had overheard the conversation. "Is not Mr Ramage's fault," he said defensively. "Is hard to see the colours of a ship coming directly like that."

"Quite right, Rosey," Jackson said calmly. "Just 'cos we beat 'em at Trafalgar, we thought we'd driven them from the sea. Where these two came from I don't know. Egypt, I suppose."

"We ram, you think?"

"Her jibboom and bowsprit are where she's vulnerable," Jackson said, "and it looks as though that's where Mr Ramage is heading. Our only chance of disabling her."

"What about the other ship?" Louis asked.

"She'll have to tow this one all the way to Toulon, unless they can manage a jury rig."

Louis shook his head regretfully. "Pity we can't disable both of them."

"No miracles in the Mediterranean," Jackson said. "You chaps haven't been saying your prayers." He walked quickly to the gunport again and peered forward. "You have about a minute to say them now," he said, "then there's going to be an almighty bang."

Ramage narrowed his eyes in concentration. Yes, the Calypso would hit the French ship exactly where - no, damnation, she would pass too far ahead. He blinked and then blinked again. Much too far ahead. What on earth was happening? The men at the wheel had not moved it a spoke and a quick glance at the luffs of the sails showed the wind had not changed. But nevertheless the Calypso was now going to pass too far ahead of the Frenchman.

Suddenly he realized that the gap between the French ship's masts was widening. Damn, damn, she was altering course: she was turning to larboard: her captain must have guessed what Ramage intended doing, and he was turning violently to avoid a collision. And there was no way Ramage could get the Calypso two - no, three - points to windward. Nor was there time to tack across the Frenchman's bow. Instead he would receive her full starboard broadside in a matter of moments. Just then the first of the Calypso's guns fired as the Frenchman began to swing past the starboard side.

But the Frenchman did not fire back. Why? Ramage realized that she would have been manning her larboard side guns: the sudden swing round was made before guns' crews could run across the ship to the other side.

He turned to keep her in view and out of the corner of his eye he saw the second ship, much closer than he expected. She was staying on the same course as before but the first ship was heading straight for her.

Had the first ship's captain not realized the danger? They were trimming her yards as if she was the only ship at sea, and as she came round on to a broad reach, all her sails bulging under the weight of the wind, she increased speed: this was her fastest point of sailing.

She was now on almost an opposite course to the Calypso and beading straight for her consort. Ramage gave a gasp: a collision was inevitable, and he gripped the capping on the rail at the forward end of the quarterdeck.

As he watched, the first ship's sails began to flutter as men let fly the sheets and braces in what was obviously a desperate last-minute attempt to get the way off the ship but by now, as the sound of the slatting canvas carried across to the frigate, the two ships were only twenty yards apart.

Already, Ramage could see that the jibboom and bowsprit that be had been aiming for was now pointing at the mainshrouds of the second ship and in a few moments would catch them as though the ship was a lancer lunging at a passing bush.

Southwick's exclamation of "Ye gods!" was overlaid with Aitken's awe-struck "Will ye no look at that!"

Then the ship crashed into her consort: jibboom and bowsprit mashed through the mainshrouds and brought the mainmast toppling down, the topmast and topgallant tumbling as though hinged. The foremast of the first ship tumbled forward as though Ac effort of staying upright was too much for it and crashed down on to the deck of the second ship.

The impact brought the two ships alongside each other and their remaining yards locked. For a moment or two the first ship's mainmast swayed and then, with no stays supporting it forward and with her consort's yards tugging on the larboard side, it toppled slowly and gracefully, leaving the ship, now bereft of two masts, looking strangely naked.

Ramage, hardly able to believe what he had seen, fought down an urge to giggle; expecting any moment to be killed and then seeing the anticipated killer suddenly reduced to helplessness was a new experience which left him weak with relief.

"I'll trouble you to bear away a point, Mr Aitken," he said in a voice which sounded oddly strangled.

"Aye aye, sir," Aitken said, his Scots accent thicker than Ramage had ever heard before. He watched the first lieutenant bring the speaking trumpet to his lips after snapping an order to the men at the wheel.

At that moment Southwick turned to Ramage, gave a prodigious sniff and commented: "They're a lubberly lot, these Frogs."

"And we should be suitably thankful," Ramage said.

"Look!" Orsini said excitedly, "there goes the other ship's foremast!"