'Probably enough to defend the port itself.’

'Yes, I suppose so. How the devil did we ever get landed with Corsica in the first place?' asked Dawlish.

 'Well,' said Ramage, 'about three years ago this fellow Paoli led the Corsicans in revolt against the French, threw them out, and asked for British protection. The Government sent out a Viceroy - Sir Gilbert. But I don't think it's much of a success: Paoli and Sir Gilbert don't agree now, and Paoli's quarrelled with his own people. If you've got two Corsicans, you've got two parties on your hands. And Paoli's an old and sick man.'

 'I don't see how Bonaparte can possibly invade,' said Daw­lish. 'We've searched for transports in every anchorage from Elba to Argentario, and captured or sunk the few we found. They do say, though, that all manner of privateers are sneaking over at night from the mainland with Corsican revolution­aries - on a cash basis, a couple of dozen or so at a time. Some of the prisoners we took in the brig said the French were so sick and tired of the Corsicans in Leghorn they're giving them arms and cash and encouraging 'em to go and liberate Corsica just to get rid of 'em. The French reckon they've nothing to lose: if we capture 'em at sea it means fewer causing trouble in Leghorn, and if they manage to land - well, it's trouble for us.'

Dawlish suddenly put his telescope to his eye. 'Midship­man! Look alive there! The Trumpeter's hoisting a signal.'

 A boy scurried to the bulwarks, steadying his telescope against one of the shrouds.

'Four-oh-six,' he called out. 'That's us, sir!'

'Oh, for God's sake, boy!'

 'Two-one-four - that's for a lieutenant from ships of the fleet, or ships pointed out, to come on board. Then - Christ! That's funny!'

‘What's funny, boy?'

 'Next hoist is number eight-oh-eight, sir: a ship, but I don't know her. I'll look in the list.'

 'It's all right,' said Ramage, 'that was the Sibella’s num­ber. They want me. Acknowledge it, Jack, and let me have a boat, please. By the way, who commands the Trumpeter now?'

'Croucher, I'm afraid; one of Goddard's pets.'

 'And I can see more than five post captains.' Ramage waved a hand to indicate the warships at anchor.

Dawlish looked puzzled.

 'You've forgotten the Courts Martial Statutes,’ said Ram­age. 'Remember - "If any five or more of His Majesty's ships or vessels of war shall happen to meet together in foreign parts ... it shall be lawful for the senior officer ... to hold courts martial and preside thereat..."'

'Oh - of course; so Croucher can...'

 'Exactly - and will, no doubt. Can you lend me a hat and sword?'

The 74-gun Trumpeter was very large compared with the Lively, and her shiny paintwork and gilding showed Captain Croucher was rich enough to dip deeply into his own purse to keep her looking smart, since the Navy Board's issue of paint was meagre - so meagre, Ramage recalled, as the boat's bow­man hooked on and waited for him to climb on board, that one captain was reputed to have asked the Board which side of his ship he should paint with it.

 Ramage scrambled up the thick battens forming narrow steps on the ship's side and, saluting the quarter-deck, asked the neatly-dressed lieutenant at the gangway to be taken to the captain.

'Ramage, isn't it?' the lieutenant asked disdainfully.

 Ramage glanced at the spotty face and then slowly looked him up and down. A few months over twenty years old – the  minimum age for a lieutenant — with very little brain but a great deal of influence to ensure rapid promotion. The spotty face blushed, and Ramage knew its owner guessed his thoughts.

'This way,' he said hurriedly, 'Captain Croucher and Lord Probus are waiting for you.'

 Captain Croucher's quarters were vaster than Lord Probus's: more headroom, so that it was possible to stand upright in the great cabin, and more furniture. Too much, in fact, and too much silverware on display.

 Croucher was painfully thin. His uniform was elegantly cut and immaculately pressed, but all his tailor's skill could not disguise the fact that Nature had sold him short; as far as flesh was concerned, Croucher had been given 'Purser's measure', in other words only fourteen ounces to the pound.

'Come in, Ramage,' he said as the lieutenant announced him.

 Ramage, who had never met Croucher before, almost laughed when he saw the truth in the man's punning nickname, 'The Rake'. The eyes were sunk deep in the skull while the bone of the forehead protruded above them so that each eye looked like some evil serpent glaring out from under a ledge in a rock. The man's mouth was a label which revealed meanness, weakness and viciousness - three constant bed-fellows, thought Ramage. The hands were like claws, attached to the body by wrists as thin as broom handles.

 Probus was standing with his back to the stern lights so that his face was in shadow and he looked uncomfortable, as if dragged into something which he could not avoid but which embarrassed him.

 'Now, Ramage, I want an account of your proceedings,' said Croucher. His voice was high-pitched and querulous, exactly suited to the mouth.

'In writing, sir, or verbally?'

'Verbally, man, verbally: I've a copy of your report.'

'There's nothing more to say than that, sir.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, then, what about this?' asked Croucher, picking  up several sheets of paper from his desk. 'What about this, eh?'

 'He can hardly know what that is,' Probus interposed quickly.

 'Well, I can soon enlighten him; this, young man, is a com­plaint, an accusation - a charge, in fact - by Count Pisano, that you are a coward: that you deliberately abandoned his wounded cousin to the French. What have you to say to that?'

'Nothing, sir.'

'Nothing? Nothing? You admit you are a coward?'

 'No, sir: I meant I've nothing to say about Count Pisano's accusations. Does he say he knows for certain his cousin was wounded and not dead?'

 'Well - hmm...' Croucher glanced over the pages. 'Well, he doesn't say so in as many words.'

'I see, sir.'

'Don't be so deuced offhand, Ramage,' Croucher snapped, and added with a sneer, 'it's not the first time one of your family's been involved over the Fifteenth Article, and now perhaps even the Tenth...'

 The Fifteenth Article of War laid down the punishment for 'every person in or belonging to the Fleet’ who might surrender one of the King's ships 'cowardly or treacherously to the enemy’; while the Tenth dealt with anyone who 'shall treacher­ously or cowardly yield or cry for quarter'.

 Croucher's remark was so insulting that Probus stiffened, but Ramage said quietly:

 'You'll forgive me for saying the Twenty-second Article prevents me from replying, sir.'

 Croucher flushed: the Twenty-second Article, among other things, forbade anyone from drawing, or offering to draw, a weapon against a superior officer: one that prevented a dis­gruntled junior officer from challenging a senior officer to a duel.

'You're too glib, young man; much too glib. Now, are you not the senior surviving officer of the Sibella?’

‘Yes, sir.'

 'Then the day after tomorrow, Thursday, you will be brought to trial in the normal way so we can inquire into the cause and circumstances of her loss.'

'Aye aye, sir.'

 As the boat took Ramage back to the Lively, he was sur­prised to find he felt reasonably cheerful. Now the trial was imminent, now he'd seen the enemy himself, the prospect seemed less frightening. Obviously Admiral Goddard had received a report from the Sibella’s Bosun when the three boats arrived in Bastia, and had left instructions with Croucher telling him what to do when Ramage arrived. Little did Goddard dream that Croucher would have such an easy task...