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Jeers, Ties, and Haul Yards to be cut and unrove, and their Vessels to be otherwise so disabled as to prevent their being immediately capable of making Sail.’
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    Aitken muttered: “I think they’re all here now, sir.”
    Ramage looked up to find the hall now almost full, and if a complete stranger looked at all the masters and tried to guess who they were, the chances are he would choose farmers attending an auction to bid for some well-favoured grazing land.
    â€œVery well, Aitken: bring ’em to the starting post!”
    Aitken rapped on the table. “Gentlemen, your attention please, and I introduce the commander of your escort, Captain Ramage.”
    There was an immediate buzz of conversation, and from what Ramage could hear of the masters in the front row, they were commenting on the name. One of them waved an arm like a schoolboy with a question.
    â€œIs that the Captain Ramage we’ve read about in the Gazettes ?”
    â€œAye, the very same one,” Aitken answered, his Scots accent very pronounced.
    At that moment Yorke’s voice shouted from the back: “Captain Ramage, eh? Last time I saw you, you were firing across the bow of one of the convoy and then towing a slow ship – nearly towed her under, I recall, with the master crying for mercy from the fo’c’sle.”
    Ramage stood up and slowly looked round the room. Nearly eighty pairs of eyes were focused on him; their owners were looking at him with interest and, he thought, in some of them there was fear.
    â€œGood morning, Gentlemen. As Lieutenant Aitken has just told you, I shall be commander of this convoy.” He tapped the pile of SIGNALS and INSTRUCTIONS in front of him and waved towards Jackson and Stafford, who were standing behind the table. “Each of you will now be given a copy, which you’ve read as many times as you’ve sailed in convoy – I hope you have, anyway, because there are some interesting points in it.
    â€œNow, to answer the question put by that gentleman at the back, who must have been in that particular convoy. He forgot to mention that the convoy reached England without loss, although we were attacked four times. Still, I should be misleading you if I did not warn you that anyone dropping astern at night because of unnecessarily reefing and furling, will get towed back into position by one of my frigates. That reef-and-furl nonsense can delay the convoy for half a day while you catch up at your leisure…”
    â€œBut that’s outrageous!” bellowed one of the masters, a man whose complexion revealed his tippling. “I shall resist! To the utmost!”
    â€œThat is your privilege,” Ramage said dryly. “Just remember that my orders are to get this convoy to England safely and your anticipated tardiness could endanger every other ship in the convoy. Look around you, sir: your desire for quiet nights in bed under reduced canvas will put every one of these other gentlemen and their ships at risk. The French are at sea, you know.”
    Ramage could hear the muttering now, like waves on a distant beach, and it seemed to be directed against the truculent master, who had to try to save face. “Well, if your fellows try to board me, they’ll get a hot reception.”
    â€œI’ll tell them,” Ramage said coldly. “Less than a month ago the men in my frigate – ‘my fellows’ – captured two frigates from the French and you saw them being brought in as prizes. Those two frigates will be part of your escort. Your threat will no doubt fill ‘my fellows’ with alarm…”
    Many of the masters began laughing and the original man contented himself with a gruff: “I know my rights.”
    â€œYes,” Ramage said pleasantly, “and you should know your obligations – they are set out in the booklets now being issued to you.”
    And now, he thought, thanks to Yorke’s