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longer because it’ll look as though we’re going to anchor.
    â€œThen we’ll cut close across their stem, firing the starboard broadside. Then we’ll get clear, turn and come back to give ‘em the larboard broadside. After we’ve done that a few times we might see them strike their colours.”
    â€œAye aye, sir,” Aitken said cheerfully, obviously delighted at the thought of going into action. He picked up the speaking-trumpet to give the first of the sail orders.
    Ramage gave fresh orders to the quartermaster and the
Calypso
bore away a point, sailing closer to the coast and now almost on a broad reach. There was a slatting of canvas as the men started clewing up the huge courses, and the
Calypso
slowed down. Ramage watched as the corners of the great sails were hauled in diagonally, and then the centre was drawn up vertically, as though folding a napkin. In the meantime men were scrambling aloft, taking the shrouds at the run, clambering up the ratlines like monkeys, and then working their way outward along the top-gallant yards, stepping along the foot-ropes.
    From the deck the men seemed tiny, but these topmen were the most agile and well-trained in the ship, and they hauled the topgallants on to the yard and passed the gaskets that secured them.
    Ramage nodded approvingly. “Quite a harbour stow,” he said to Aitken. “I hope the French appreciate it.”
    Now he could make out the Tricolour flapping from the French frigate’s stern in what was a little less than a strong breeze. A breeze that would mean the frigate was lying steady to her anchor cable and not yawing about. A breeze that meant raking her should be comparatively easy.
    Ramage hitched his sword round so that it hung more comfortably at his side. If they were going to board, he would get a brace of Sea Service pistols loaded. The thought of pistols had obviously crossed Southwick’s mind because he handed two, butt first, to Ramage. “You might be needing these, sir,” he said. “I had a couple of brace loaded while you were collecting your sword.”
    Ramage noticed that the master had a pistol tucked into each side of his belt. What with the pistols and that great meat cleaver of a sword, obviously it would break the old man’s heart if they did not board. Ramage shrugged to himself: they might end up boarding yet; a sea fight was more unpredictable than the weather.
    Reduced now to her topsails, the
Calypso
was making less than five knots, with her bow wave making little more than a chuckling sound under her stem.
    Then Orsini hurried up the quarterdeck ladder, saluted Ramage and reported: “Starboard side guns all ready to fire, sir. But they are loaded with grape,” he added anxiously.
    â€œI know,” Ramage said, and then, conscious that it was the only way that Orsini would ever learn, said: “We are going to rake her. Grape will cause more casualties.”
    Ramage noted that Aitken had sent the young midshipman round to the guns, instead of relying on a bellow through the speaking-trumpet.
    He looked across at the French frigate and at that moment Orsini snatched up a telescope: “She has just hoisted two flags, sir!” he said. “Probably the challenge for the day.”
    â€œWell, we don’t have the answer so we’ll ignore it. Make sure we have a couple of men ready to lower the French colours and hoist ours.”
    â€œI’ve a couple of men waiting at the halyards, sir,” Orsini said.
    Ramage nodded. Paolo was turning into a good young officer: if only Gianna could see him. He shook his head: this was no time to be thinking about her fate. Worrying about it, rather.
    â€œCourses are clewed and t’gallants furled, sir,” Aitken reported.
    The anchor! Ramage realized that the Frenchmen would be watching the
Calypso
through telescopes, and sharp eyes would notice that although she was reducing sail, her anchors were