Ramage knew that until the end of his days he would carry in his memory the sight of those ships, and even now he felt a spasm of fear when he thought what they could do. What could England match with them? Her Navy was scattered half-way round the world - blockading the French Fleet in Brest, protecting the Tagus against any Spanish attacks on the Portuguese, guarding the Indian Ocean and the Cape of Good Hope for the Honourable East India Company ships, watching over the West Indies from the Windward and Leeward Island stations, and Jamaica and covering dozens of convoys ... And here, anchored in one harbour, were one 130-gun ship, six of 122 guns, two of eighty, and eighteen seventy-fours.

Several of the big ships and some of the frigates were showing the effect of their recent cruise: many had yards sent down on deck while others were lowering them into the sea, indicating they were sufficiently badly damaged to need towing to the dockyard for repairs. And he suddenly realized neither the Kathleen nor her captor was in the harbour yet.

He turned to greet the old fisherman who put down his net and the long wooden needle and, apparently noting his accent, asked: 'Are you French?'

'No, American. I came in yesterday with the Fleet. You have a fine harbour here.'

'Indeed!' exclaimed the old man. 'You can get in with most winds. Just watch out for Santa Anna, that's all!'

'Santa Anna?' inquired Ramage.

'Over there,' the old man said, pointing to the eastern ridge of high hills and cliffs jutting seaward to their left. 'You see the guns at this end - that's the San Leandro battery and then farther along another, the Santa Florentina battery. Then the fort low down on the small point - you see it? That's Fort Santa Anna on Point Santa Anna. Just off the point is Santa Anna Rock - very dangerous. You can't see it now because the flagship is in the way. Beyond that is Trinca Botijas Point with another battery on it. Those guns! Bad for fishing, you understand? The noise drives away the fish. They swear it doesn't, but why aren't there any fish after they fire them for practice? You tell me why not, if it isn't the noise.'

'It's the noise all right,' said Ramage hastily. 'But do they fire them often?'

'No,' said the fisherman, 'mercifully not. Did you ever hear of a Government spending money? No! Collect it yes. Taxes, taxes, taxes. But spend it on powder and shot? No! And it's poor powder, too. Why, when the Santa Florentina battery last fired you know what happened? It was laughable. All ten guns should have gone off at once, but bang! Only one gun fired. When they drew the shot and powder from the other nine they found it was bad powder. Damp and poor quality. Good thing, otherwise we fishermen would starve.'

'Bad powder means good fishing, that's certain,' agreed Ramage. 'What about over here—' he gestured to the hills on the right. 'Any rocks to worry about there?'

'No, not one. But these nearest hills,' he gestured to the right, towards the two small sugar-loaf hills with a steep one behind (Ramage guessed it was more than six hundred feet to the castle on the top), 'they make the wind fluky when it's from the north-west. I've seen many a three-decker get caught a'back there and almost go on to Santa Anna before they could brace round.

'Then they built that big castle on top, too: that makes the wind even crazier. Castillo de Galeras they call it, but I can think of a better name. And that battery below there, almost on the beach. You know what they call it? Apostolado Battery. It's blasphemy, no less: no Apostle would harm a fisherman - think of St. Peter. But those damnable guns...

'And you see the big hill beyond, at the entrance? That's Punta de Navidad, and you can guess - another battery of guns. The blasphemous pigs,' he grumbled. 'I've told the priest many times that it's sacrilege to call batteries after saints and holy things when all the guns do is drive away the fish and leave honest folk like me to starve after a day hauling nets.'

Ramage nodded sympathetically as he looked at some of the small coastal craft alongside the quay unloading their cargoes. The nearest one, La Providencia, was a zebec, a fine example of one of the most beautiful vessels in the world, and, for her size, one of the fastest.

She had the narrow, sleek hull of a Venetian galley but more beam, and her long graceful stern and slender bowsprit was emphasized by comparison with the clumsy, apple-cheek bows of the ships of war near by. Her stern sloped aft in a gentle curve, narrowing all the time, so it overhung the water by several feet. But to an eye unused to Mediterranean craft, the most striking feature was her rig: she had three masts and lateen sails. Although the mainmast was vertical, the foremast raked forward and the mizzen aft. Each mast had a long, thin yard slung fore and aft from it, hanging diagonally with the fore end down at deck level and curving gently from its own weight. The triangular sails were furled at the moment, and all Ramage could see confirmed its reputation of being one of the simplest and most efficient rigs afloat.

La Providenciawas the only vessel alongside the quay that was not unloading cargo. She had ports cut into her bulwarks on either side to take her guns, and abaft each of them was a much smaller oar port, so that in a calm she could be rowed. La Providencia, Ramage guessed, was probably a privateer at the present moment: she had new sails and her rigging looked new. And her paintwork was too elaborate for a vessel constantly loading and unloading cargo.

He nodded farewell to the old man and strolled along the quay for a closer look. Yes - through the ports he could see that the ropes of the breechings and tackles of the guns were all new. Obviously the owners had decided that now Spain had entered the war there was more money to be made from privateering (since the British merchantmen from the Levant had to pass only a few miles south of Cartagena to get through the Gut - as the Strait of Gibraltar was known to generations of sailors) than from carrying cargo. And they were right.

There was only one man on deck, and Ramage sat down on a near-by bollard and mopped his brow as if hot and in no hurry to go anywhere. Slowly and carefully he examined the zebec, familiarizing himself with the position of every sheet, halyard and brace. He'd seen zebecs tacking into harbour enough times to know how the great lateen sails were handled, and as soon as he returned to the inn he would make some sketches, and he'd also send the men down to walk along the quay and study the ship.

While Ramage had been inspecting the harbour and the zebec La Providencia, Jackson had found the American Consul's office and made an appointment for the four possessors of Protections to see him at four o'clock that afternoon. The booming of the cathedral clock was just filling the whole port when Jackson led them to the Consulate building just inside the main gate in the Plaza del Rey.

Ramage was thankful the Consul, unlike Spanish and Italian officials, did not find it necessary to keep them waiting half an hour to demonstrate his importance. Instead, as they entered the hall a quiet voice called them into a large room. Ramage made a conscious effort to appear as nervous as Stafford and Fuller, hoping to leave the talking to Jackson.

The Consul was a tall, grey-haired man with twinkling blue eyes, and as the four men came through the door he was collecting up some playing cards which had been laid out on the desk at which he sat.

'Good afternoon,' he said cheerfully, 'you've interrupted my game of patience, but fortunately I'd reached the point where I could only win if I cheated. Now, what can I do for you?'

'Seamen we are,' said Jackson. 'We...'

'We thought,' Ramage said equally as nervously, 'that...'.