‘What about the French on the cliff, sir?'

 'Don't worry - we can stop 'em coming down the masts: that's all that matters!'

 Even as he spoke there was a popping of muskets from the other side of the ship and Ramage saw that French soldiers had appeared along the edge of the cliff, but they dodged back almost at once.

 Captain Laidman of the Belette was as good as his word: in less than four minutes seamen — among them Jackson and his party - were climbing down her side on to the Kathleen's decks and Laidman shouted from the poop:

'Everyone's off except the Marines: are you ready to get under way?'

'Ready when you are, sir.'

'Right'

 Laidman disappeared from the port and a minute later redcoated Marines, still clutching their muskets, began scrambling down the frigate's side. As soon as they reached the Kathleen's decks, and before Ramage had time to give them any orders, their lieutenant had them lining the cutter's bulwarks, loading their muskets and ready to fire. In the meantime the rest of the Belettes had been bundled below, out of the way.

 Jackson, who had been waiting an opportunity to report, said:

'All breechings cut on both sides, sir.'

'That was quick work.'

 'Some of the Belettes gave a hand, sir, but I checked every gun myself.'

'Very well, stand by here.'

Finally Captain Laidman appeared again at a gun port and climbed down to the Kathleen.

‘Welcome on board, sir.'

‘Thank you, m'lad: sorry there were uninvited guests on board the Belette when you first arrived.'

 Ramage laughed. 'At least you announced them! But if you'll excuse me, sir—'

 Captain Laidman nodded, and Ramage looked round for the Master.

'Mr Southwick - sheet the jib aback and hoist the foresail.'

 As she lay alongside the frigate, the Kathleen's bowsprit pointed at an angle towards the cliffs on which the Belette's bow rested, and Ramage saw the only way to sail out was to let the wind swing the cutter's bow round while her stern was held against the frigate. That would take her clear of the rocks at the foot of the next headland.

 'Evans,' he called to the Bosun's Mate, 'cut away the for'ard four lines, but hold on to the aftermost two. Pay out and snub if need be, but keep our stern in. Quartermaster, put the helm down.'

 By now the jib had been sheeted in aback so that the canvas was as flat as a board. The wind began to push the cutter's bow round to seaward, but her long, narrow keel diverted some  of the effort into a fore-and-aft movement so the Kathleen began to move astern.

 Ramage glanced aft: the frigate's stern gallery, looking very battered from the Kathleen's earlier assault, was drawing level with the cutter's transom. Evans was directing seamen and alternately paying out the grapnel lines to allow for the movement astern, and then snubbing them, to keep the cutter's stern against the frigate and help lever the bow round.

 Ramage watched until the Kathleen's stem was well clear of the outlying rocks ahead. The foresail had by now been hoisted and, like the jib, sheeted aback.

 'Mr Southwick, I'll have jib and foresail sheeted home, if you please.'

 As soon as they started drawing, the Kathleen's sternway would be checked and she would start moving ahead but, without the mainsail drawing, would still pay off to leeward.

'Quartermaster, tiller amidships.'

 A sudden crackling of muskets made him glance up at the cliff: a group of French soldiers were kneeling, muskets at their shoulders. Almost at once the Marines along the Kathleen's bulwarks fired back and the French promptly ducked.

The Kathleen heeled slightly as the wind filled the headsails, and gradually started gathering headway.

'Evans, cut away those lines! Quartermaster, meet her! Mr Southwick, aft the mainsheet!'

Ten minutes later the Kathleen was broad-reaching along the coast heading for Bastia, and Ramage handed over the conn to Southwick while he went over to Captain Laidman who had, he realized, been tactfully keeping himself to the lee side of the quarter-deck.

'My apologies for not giving you a proper welcome, sir: I am Ramage.'

 'Laidman,' he answered gruffly. "Damn' fine piece of seamanship, m'boy: y' can rely on me to make that clear in m' report. Now, meet m' officers. They're at your disposal. Use what men you like: you're pretty short-handed, aren't you?'

Without waiting for a reply he called over his lieutenants, master and Marine lieutenant, and introduced them.

 ‘By the way,' Laidman said. 'If you can get your galley fire lit, none of us have eaten for some time....'

'Of course, sir, I'll see to it'

 Ramage called to Jackson, 'Tell my steward to arrange some food for the officers.'

 He looked round for the Bosun's Mate. 'Evans - tell the cook he can have as many hands as he wants from the Kathleens and the Belettes, but I want both ships' companies to have a meal within an hour.’'

 Then he walked over to Southwick, who simply held out his hand. Ramage shook it.

 'Thanks. I'm just going below to have a word with the wounded. The galley fire's being lit. In the meantime, every man on board is to have a tot, but serve two to John Smith the Second!'

Ramage could see the tall spire of Sainte Marie Church sticking up from the centre of the citadel of Bastia, and several seventy-fours were at anchor off the town, among them the Diadem, still flying Commodore Nelson's broad pendant.

 The great bulk of Mount Pigno was sharply outlined in the setting sun, but the peak was almost completely hidden by balles de coton, the stationary clouds which always appeared with the Libeccio. He watched the surface of the sea between the Kathleen and the shore for the sudden dark pewtering which was the only warning he'd get that one of Bastia's notorious squalls had rolled down the mountainside and was roaring out to sea.

 Since he had nearly three times the normal complement of seamen on board, Ramage was determined that no one in the whole squadron would be able to fault the way the Kathleen anchored.

 For the last half an hour, Southwick and Evans had been selecting various men from the Belette's former crew and  allotting them stations for sail handling and anchoring. All the men had eaten a good meal, sunk their tot of rum, and cleaned up the ship after the action.

 Half an hour earlier the last of the three badly wounded men had died, and Ramage had conducted the first funeral service of his career. Although he had attended dozens without much emotion, he was surprised to find how moving were the sonorous words of the service when one spoke them oneself.

 Jackson was watching the Diadem in case she should make a signal and Captain Laidman was walking the deck, making little attempt to hide the fact that he was a worried man: in a few minutes' time he would be accounting to the Commodore for the loss of the Belette.

 Oh, to hell with it: so far Ramage had deliberately not looked at the terrace of the Viceroy's residence with his telescope, then decided it was an unnecessary act of self-denial. But no one stood there: he could see the big glass doors were shut, the terrace was bare of the usual tables and chairs. Nor was the Elliot children's boat moored at the bottom of the garden. The whole place seemed deserted.

 The Diadem was not more than half a mile away and lying head to wind athwart the Kathleen's course as she sailed in parallel to the coast. If they were going to be ordered to a special berth, a signal should have been made by now.