When would he see Gianna again? Years rotting in some Spanish prison, and she in England, fêted by all the dandies of London Society. After a few gala balls at St. James's, at the Duchess of This's and Lady That's, she'd forget (gladly, probably) the brief days in the smelly and uncomfortable little wooden box that was the Kathleen. Yet oddly enough he didn't feel bitter: indignant because it was his own bad luck, but not bitter. Perhaps a sign of old age, he thought wryly; perhaps even maturity. Attempt the impossible but accept the inevitable - if you can't work miracles. Thank God she wasn't with him now: in his imagination he saw them being parted outside some reeking Spanish prison, watched by the bloodshot eyes of Spanish guards and of lethargic disease-ridden dogs slowly dying in the sun. Surrender. He felt sick. It seemed that for the last few days everything he'd done had been without a thought of the consequences. Without any damned thought at all.

Just before the boat pulled away from the Spanish frigate lying hove-to to windward, Jackson came up to Ramage and said excitedly: 'Sir - change into seamen's clothes quickly!'

Ramage looked so startled that Jackson added: 'I've a plan, sir: no time to explain now, but you must pretend to be a seaman. I've explained to Mr. Southwick and he'll say the captain died some days ago and he's been left in command. Please go and change sir—' he held out some clothes '—I'll tell the men you are just a seaman.'

The boat, full of Spanish seamen, and some soldiers too, was ready to cast off. Ramage hesitated, unable to guess what Jackson was planning.

'Oh, sir,' Jackson exclaimed impatiently, 'you've got to say you're an American pressed into the Navy, if anyone asks. They won't for a few hours. Think of a name for yourself so's I can tell the crew and add it to the muster book. And I've got to enter your death, too.'

When Ramage did not move Jackson realized he would have to explain. 'I've got a blank Protection, sir. I'll fill it in so you can prove you're an American. But what name? Think, sir - what about that artist chap that draws the cartoons? You know - the one who always has sailors in his pictures, and the women always have a bosom hanging out of their dresses.'

'Gilray,' Ramage said automatically, still looking for any hidden snags in Jackson's scheme.

'That's him. "Nichlas Gilray" - how about that, sir?'

'Not "sir", Jackson, "Nicholas Gilray, able seaman",' Ramage said, finally grasping the full significance of Jackson's scheme and realizing it might remove the threat of a Spanish prison.

'Well, hurry up, Gilray,' Jackson said with a grin.

Ramage grabbed the proffered clothes and ran to his cabin, calling to the quartermaster to throw the lead-lined box of papers over the side. He slipped off his clothes, guineas cascading from his breeches, and pulled on the trousers and shirt Jackson had given him. Then, taking Gianna's silk scarf with the ring knotted into one corner, he tied in the sovereigns and secured the scarf round his waist, beneath the shirt. He decided to risk keeping his boots, which were partly hidden by his trousers, but pushed his uniform into a locker. Then wrenching open the door of the lantern, he smeared some of the soot on to his face. He put the pistols in their box, opened the little hatch leading to the bread-room, and pushed the box down on top of the bags, securing the hatch again.

A thud warned him the Spanish boat was alongside and he ran up the companionway and walked to the nearest gun. The men glanced at him and grinned.

He looked at the nearest of them. 'How do I look?'

'Fine, sir - er, fine, Nick!'

'Yes, belay the "sir".'

Ramage watched Southwick at the gangway receiving the Spanish officer, who spoke English and nodded sympathetically as Southwick explained how the captain had died after a painful but mercifully brief illness. The Master seemed so sorrowful that Ramage had an uneasy feeling that he was already dead. And for the purpose of Jackson's plan Lieutenant Nicholas Ramage was.

Jackson joined him at the carronade and whispered: 'You're down in the muster book, sir: last name on the list: transferred at Bastia from the Diadem. You come from New Milford, Connecticut. Aged twenty-five and rated able seaman. And you'd better have this.'

Ramage took the proffered piece of paper, unfolded it, and in the half light saw it was a printed form with the American eagle at the top: a Protection carried by most American seamen (and many British, too, since false ones could be bought without much difficulty). He could just make out the handwritten name of the person to whom the Protection allegedly had been issued, 'Nicholas Gilray', and said to Jackson:

'You haven't left the pen wet with ink, have you?'

'No - 1 used Mr. Southwick's, and wiped it dry.'

Herded below in the Spanish frigate, the Kathleens stood in a group surrounded by Spanish seamen and soldiers armed with muskets. A small cannon had been hauled over and trained down the hatch at them, and standing at the breech were two Spanish seamen, each holding a slowmatch in case the flint-lock misfired.

'They aren't taking any chances,' muttered Jackson.

'I don't blame them: we didn't—' said Ramage but left the sentence unfinished as two Spanish guards threatened him with their muskets.

It was hot and the ship stank: bilgewater, sweat, garlic, stale olive oil, rotting vegetables and ordure from the animals kept forward all added their quota to the stench. Finally, they heard sounds of the yards being braced round as the ship got under way, and the Spanish guards signalled they could sit down.

A few minutes later they had to stand again as a Spanish officer came down the ladder holding the Kathleen's muster book in his hand. Ramage wondered for a moment if Southwick had told a convincing story, then felt angry with himself: he'd put an unfair burden on the old Master's shoulders. If the Spaniards found out, Southwick would suffer as well, and Ramage felt ashamed at having embarked on the deception by merely following what Jackson had told him to do. Yet Southwick seemed to have accepted everything with his usual cheerfulness; indeed, Ramage sensed he and Jackson must have discussed it earlier.

The Spanish seamen stood to attention as best they could, shoulders and necks bent because there was little more than five feet headroom. At the foot of the companionway the Spanish officer held up the muster book to catch the light and read out the name of one of the seamen. The man looked startled.

'Over there,' said the officer, pointing to one side. He then read out more names, each time motioning the particular man to leave the group. Suddenly Ramage realized he was sorting out the foreigners - a Genoese, two Americans (at least, they were so listed in the muster book but Ramage knew both were English), a Portuguese, a West Indian and a Dane. Then he called for Jackson and Ramage, and as soon as they had joined the others, beckoned them to follow him up the companionway.

On deck the sun was rising and, glancing round, Ramage was startled to see they were in the midst of a large fleet -six great three-deckers, more than a couple of dozen two-deckers, one of which had the dismasted frigate in tow, and five or six frigates, one of them towing the Kathleen, which was flying Spanish colours. Seeing her a prize, picturing a Spanish officer in his cabin - Gianna's cabin - left Ramage feeling almost faint with dismay and anger.

As they lined up along the gangway under the direction of the Spanish officer, he realized he was the only one who had shaved within the last twenty-four hours and promptly rubbed his face to spread the dirt and perspiration more generously.