Three minutes since the foresail was sheeted home: more than time enough for the Spaniards to have loaded the guns. For a moment he imagined a dozen gun captains kneeling down, sighting along a dozen barrels, the point of aim being the zebec.

As he pushed the tiller over, heading directly for the entrance, the wind was right aft and the sails trimmed too flat: a fluky puff of wind would gybe the zebec all standing. If the masts went by the board under the muzzles of the batteries ...

'Jackson! Ease all sheets and vangs - smartly, now!'

The Apostolado Battery abeam to starboard and a light showing in the window of the soldiers' hut. On the starboard bow he could distinguish the outline of Punta de Navidad sloping from three hundred feet right down to the sea level. No more batteries to starboard until he'd rounded the point, but on the other side of the harbour the San Leandro must be almost abeam now - though he couldn't pick it out - with the Santa Florentina beyond and then the Fort of Santa Anna.

The zebec began to pitch slightly as she met the swell waves rolling lazily into the harbour entrance from the open sea beyond. The three triangular sails seemed enormous against the sky, blotting out whole constellations of stars. For a moment it seemed impossible the sentries at the batteries would miss seeing them; then he realized they would hardly show against the black hills on either side. Asharp-eyed man more than six hundred feet up in the Castillo could see the ship at a dark patch against a shiny sea reflecting the starlight and pewtered by the wind, and he might also see her wake.

Ropes squealing through blocks again, and the three triangles of the sails broadened out and curved, the hard edges rounding as the canvas bellied. Ramage was startled at the way the zebec suddenly picked up speed: already the Apostolado Battery was on the starboard quarter and he realizedhe'd passed most of the Spanish Fleet anchored over to larboard because they were dark against the shadows of hills behind them. Had they guard boats out, rowing round the harbour? Give me three minutes, he prayed: then it won't matter if the alarm is raised - the artillerymen at the barracks wouldn't have time to load and train the guns. But no - with this wind an alert frigate could slip its cable and get out of the harbour only too easily and give chase ...

Maxton, the West Indian, was standing beside him. 'Small boat dead ahead, sir! Forty, maybe fifty yards!'

Ramage leaned against the tiller to heave it to larboard. The sweeping sheer of the zebec cocked the bow up so high it was difficult to see anything close ahead, but Maxton, leaning over the bulwark, said 'You'll pass it twenty yards off, sir!'

'How many men in it?'

'Only one, sir - he's fishing, I think.'

The old fisherman! The guns hadn't fired and he'd be out with his nets. There was a cheery hail and Ramage stuck a finger in his mouth so the old man should not recognize his voice. 'Good fishing - see you tomorrow. Save a big one for us!'

'Certainly, I will!' the old man called back. 'It's good fishing - the guns haven't fired, you understand?'

By then the zebec had left him astern, cheerfully unconcerned. Ramage knew he wouldn't raise the alarm, yet the sentries might have heard the shouting. But what if they did? Therewas probably an order against ships leaving the harbour at night, but what would they make of a friendly exchange spoken in Spanish between an old fisherman and a zebec? They'd hesitate before raising the alarm - he hoped. Now he could just make out the Fort at the end of Punta Santa Anna and then Punta Trinca Botijas opening out beyond Cala Cortina, a tiny bay cut sharply into the coast between the two points.

Pale green sparks in the water began to stream outwards from the zebec's hull and, leaving the tiller for a moment, Ramage ran to the taffrail and looked astern. The zebec's wake was a pale green swathe in the water and there was a wide band round the entire waterline. Damn and blast, what a time to run into phosphorescence!

The Fort was abeam to larboard, so he must have passed Punta Navidad and was now in range of the Navidad Battery beyond and approaching the one on Punta Podadera. Those two and the battery on the other headland were the only ones left.

Jackson said, as if to himself, 'They'd never hit us now, even if they knew we were here.'

Ramage was annoyed with himself for having stayed at the tiller when Jackson could have taken over. 'Here - take the helm.'

He sent Stafford to rummage below for lanterns, but in the meantime without a binnacle light Jackson would have to steer by the stars. Once through the entrance the course was west-south-west to cover the seventy-five miles across the huge shallow bay to Cabo de Gata. Gibraltar was 165 miles farther on. They'd cross Almeria Bay, passing three small headlands on the Plain of Almeria, and from there he'd see the six big peaks of the Sierra Nevada bearing due north, the two highest, Pico Veleta and Cerro Mulahacen, reaching up more than eleven thousand feet. After that the next sight of land would be the towering rocky mass of Europa Point, the southern end of Gibraltar, with Blackstrap Bay to the north of it on the Mediterranean side, and the rounded hills of Africa across the Strait.

Poor old Blackstrap Bay, Ramage mused: its name was taken in vain by almost every sailor in the Navy. When Spanish wine was substituted for grog, the sailors contemptuously referred to it as 'Blackstrap' - indeed, going to the Mediterranean was often termed 'being Blackstrapped'. And in a calm the strong east-going current always flowing from the Atlantic often carried a ship past Gibraltar into the Mediterreanean, and she had to spend days beating back both against current and wind - unless a convenient Levanter blew. That too was called being 'Blackstrapped', since the unfortunate ship's company spent their time gazing at Blackstrap Bay and Europa Point, getting a slightly different view each time they tacked.

Nevertheless he'd be dam' glad when he could see that view; and La Providenciahas such a shallow draught that if the wind was light he could creep close in along the coast, where the current was much weaker and one could sometimes even find a counter-current.

Stafford came up with a lantern, opened the glass-fronted door in the binnacle and put it inside so its light shone on to the compass.

Punta Podadera was now on the starboard quarter and as they cleared the high land, bringing the wind on to the beam, Ramage gave more orders for trimming the sails. The sea was calm, apart from a few low swell waves, and La Providenciagave the impression of skating along on the water like a flat stone skimmed across a pond, whereas by comparison the Kathleen, with her deeper draught and vastly different rig, ploughed her way through the sea. Ramage looked at his watch. An hour ago he had been lying on his bed in the inn, wondering what to do next. He wished he'd remembered to leave a note for the American Consul.