Ramage could see the tall spire of Sainte Marie Church sticking up from the centre of the citadel of Bastia, and several seventy-fours were at anchor off the town, among them the Diadem, still flying Commodore Nelson's broad pendant.
The great bulk of Mount Pigno was sharply outlined in the setting sun, but the peak was almost completely hidden by balles de coton, the stationary clouds which always appeared with the Libeccio. He watched the surface of the sea between the Kathleen and the shore for the sudden dark pewtering which was the only warning he'd get that one of Bastia's notorious squalls had rolled down the mountainside and was roaring out to sea.
Since he had nearly three times the normal complement of seamen on board, Ramage was determined that no one in the whole squadron would be able to fault the way the Kathleen anchored.
For the last half an hour, Southwick and Evans had been selecting various men from the Belette's former crew and allotting them stations for sail handling and anchoring. All the men had eaten a good meal, sunk their tot of rum, and cleaned up the ship after the action.
Half an hour earlier the last of the three badly wounded men had died, and Ramage had conducted the first funeral service of his career. Although he had attended dozens without much emotion, he was surprised to find how moving were the sonorous words of the service when one spoke them oneself.
Jackson was watching the Diadem in case she should make a signal and Captain Laidman was walking the deck, making little attempt to hide the fact that he was a worried man: in a few minutes' time he would be accounting to the Commodore for the loss of the Belette.
Oh, to hell with it: so far Ramage had deliberately not looked at the terrace of the Viceroy's residence with his telescope, then decided it was an unnecessary act of self-denial. But no one stood there: he could see the big glass doors were shut, the terrace was bare of the usual tables and chairs. Nor was the Elliot children's boat moored at the bottom of the garden. The whole place seemed deserted.
The Diadem was not more than half a mile away and lying head to wind athwart the Kathleen's course as she sailed in parallel to the coast. If they were going to be ordered to a special berth, a signal should have been made by now.
Ramage decided to pass under the Diadem's stern, luff up and anchor farther inshore, to windward of the Commodore's ship - which apart from anything else, would mean that the boat taking him and Captain Laidman to the Diadem would be rowed with the wind aft and they would appear reasonably smart, instead of dripping with spray.
Laidman looked so miserable that Ramage felt cheered. He wondered how often such a small ship as the Kathleen had arrived in an anchorage carrying one commanding officer to have his trial resumed, and another to have his trial ordered.
Well, despite Laidman's remarks, Ramage knew he had bungled the rescue: men had been killed unnecessarily, and Commodore Nelson wasn't the man to overlook that. The trouble is, Ramage thought ruefully, the whole blasted operation looked so simple on paper. It was good of Captain Laidman to say he would give him full credit in his report, but Laidman was already discredited. For this trip, he told himself bitterly, the Kathleen is carrying a couple of failures ... Apart from all that, Ramage had grave doubts about the wisdom of leaving the Belette without setting fire to her. He'd suggested it to Laidman as soon as he stepped on board the Kathleen, but the frigate's captain had shaken his head, muttering something about salvaging her. Knowing the Commodore - according to Probus, anyway — was aware of the extent of the damage, he'd pressed the point; but Laidman had made no reply.
'Sir...'
It was Southwick, an anxious note in his voice: Christ, and no wonder: the Diadem was only a hundred yards away, fine on the starboard bow, and he'd been day-dreaming. Every spare telescope in the squadron was probably trained on him. Well, let 'em look: he and Laidman would probably be sent home in the same ship and they could have another look.
'Stand by to harden in the sheets, Mr Southwick. ...'
The Diadem's stern was flashing past.
'Aft those sheets, Mr Southwick! Quartermaster - bring her to the wind.'
The Kathleen turned under the Diadem's great counter and headed inshore, spray once again flying over the weather bow as she beat to windward.
'Mr Southwick - haul taut the topping lifts; stand by all sheets and see the halyards clear for running.'
Ramage had deliberately not looked up at the Diadem as they passed and Jackson, noticing this, said in a quiet voice, 'The Commodore's watching, sir, and some civilians.'
'Very good, Jackson.'
Well, let's, hope the Commodore's noticed the Kathleen's lost her topmast and that there are only two guns on the larboard side. Ramage had left all five carronades on the starboard side: the extra weight up to windward helped the ship along.
'Are you ready, Mr Southwick ?'
'Aye aye, sir.'
'Quartermaster, bring her round head to wind!'
Let's hope the bloody man doesn't shove the tiller over too far and put the ship about on the other tack. No, he was judging it well: the belly in the headsails and main was flattening: the leeches of the jib and foresail began quivering. Instinctively Ramage looked up at the vane on the topmast truck and then realized it was probably floating somewhere in the sea off the Tour Rouge.
Now all the sails were flapping and seamen were hauling in the sheets. Ramage made a sudden downward movement with his right hand - a movement the seamen at the halyards had been watching for.
As if all three were one piece of canvas, the jib, foresail and mainsail began to slide down.
As the jib and foresail reached the bottom of their stays seamen leapt on them to stifle the flogging canvas and secure them with gaskets. Now the great mainsail was down with the gaff on top, and more men were swarming along the boom, folding in the canvas and passing gaskets.
But half a dozen men in the bow were still watching Ramage. He was waiting for Jackson, who had moved over to the bulwark on the starboard side.
'About a knot, sir....'
Ramage lifted his left hand level with his waist, and could see the men in the bow tensing themselves.
'She's barely got way on now, sir ... stopped ... making sternway.'
He chopped his hand down to his side and men in the bow sprang to life. The anchor splashed into the water and the sternway avoided the risk that the cable would foul it. A few moments later Ramage could detect a faint smell of burning being brought aft on the wind as the friction scorched the cable.
'Signal from the Commodore,' said. Jackson, and, after glancing at the signal book, reported: 'Our number and the Belette's: captains to report on board.'
Laidman walked over and said: 'Well, m' boy, we'd better go over - 'tisn't very often one reports the loss of one's ship.'
'Oh, I don't know, sir,' Ramage said in a flat voice, 'I did it only three or four days ago.'
'Oh? What ship?'
'The Sibella.'
'But she's a frigate!'
'I know, sir: I was the senior surviving officer.'
‘What happened to you?'
'Captain Croucher brought me to trial.'
'Croucher? Oh yes, in Admiral Goddard's squadron. What was the verdict?'
'I don't know, sir: the trial was interrupted by the Commodore's arrival. I was then given theKathleen and sent up to you.'
'Well, it doesn't sound too bad. But - of course!' he exclaimed, 'you're old "Blaze-away’s” son, so Admiral Goddard...
'Exactly, sir.'
'Exactly what?' snapped Laidman. 'Don't put words into my mouth.'
Southwick was waiting near by and Ramage, realizing that as far as Laidman was concerned he had suddenly become potentially more dangerous to Laidman's future than a ship full of the plague, took the opportunity of turning away.
'Boat's ready, sir,' Southwick reported.
Ramage turned back to Laidman and repeated the Master's words.
Once he had climbed down into the boat to go to the Diadem, Ramage found that the exhilaration which, without him fully realizing it, had been keeping him alert and active for the last twenty-four hours, with very little food or sleep, had gone, leaving him desperately tired and very depressed.
Up to then, although the Belette rescue had happened only that morning, it already had an air of unreality about it; almost as though it had never happened: perhaps a well-told tale he'd heard a few months ago. The Sibella affair too, was just a half-remembered dream.
Now, as Jackson steered the boat for the Diadem and Captain Laidman sat opposite, silent and morose, the whole business came back into sharp focus, as if he'd made a fractional adjustment to a telescope in his memory.
There was a thump, and Laidman lumbered to his feet: they had arrived alongside the Diadem and Laidman, as senior, climbed up first.
At the gangway Captain Towry greeted Laidman and told him the Commodore was waiting.
To Ramage, he said: 'The Commodore will see you in five minutes.'
The young lieutenant standing anchor watch looked at Ramage, obviously wondering whether or not to say something, but Ramage was in no mood for small talk and began pacing the other side of the gangway. He barely noticed Captain Laidman leave the ship.
Eventually a lieutenant came up and asked: 'Ramage?'
'Yes.'
'The Commodore will see you now.'
The lieutenant led the way. Outside the door to the Commodore's quarters a Marine sentry snapped to attention, and the lieutenant knocked on the door, opened it when someone answered, and stepped inside. Evidently the Commodore was in his sleeping cabin, because without walking through to the great cabin the lieutenant said quietly:
'Mr Ramage, sir.'
He turned and signalled Ramage to go in.
'Ah, Mr Ramage!'
The voice was high-pitched and nasal, and Ramage was surprised how small the Commodore was: shorter than Gianna, narrow shouldered, face thin - and, he realized with a shock, one eye had a slightly glazed look. Of course, Commodore Nelson had lost the sight of an eye at Calvi only a year or so ago, but the remaining one was sharp enough.
Nelson might be physically very small, but already Ramage could feel the strength of the little man's personality: he was taut as a violin string, yet perfectly controlled: his face seemed to betray excitement, yet a moment later Ramage realized the features were in fact quite calm. The man was like a coiled spring.
The Commodore pointed to a chair at the foot of the small cot.
'Please sit down.'
Was he conscious of his size? Ramage wondered. It seemed an obvious move to put Ramage at a disadvantage. Why, incidentally, was the interview taking place in the sleeping cabin?
'Now, Mr Ramage, why have I sent for you?'
The question was so unexpected that Ramage looked up quickly, thinking the Commodore was joking; but the single blue eye was frosty and unwavering.
'Any one of half a dozen reasons, sir,' Ramage said without thinking.
'List them.'
'Well - abandoning the Sibella ... Trying to carry out the orders to Captain Letts to rescue the refugees.'
'That makes two.'
'And - well, Count Pisano's complaint against me; and the trial, sir.'
'Four.'
Ye gods, thought Ramage, I've jumped out of the Goddard into the fire.
'Oh yes, the Belette operation, sir.'
'And the sixth?'
'I can only think of five, sir.'
'Well, now what do you suppose my judgement will be on each of these escapades?'
His voice now had an icy edge to it and Ramage was tired and utterly defeated. Not because he was frightened, but because of all the captains and junior flag officers in the Mediterranean - in the whole Service in fact - he had been most impressed by what he had heard of Commodore Nelson. He suddenly realized he'd secretly hoped, after the trial was interrupted, that if the Commodore only knew all the facts he would clear him of any blame.
But that cold, almost off-hand tone: Commodore Nelson's manner showed that, at best, he had an unpleasant task ahead of him and did not relish doing it and, at worst, he was taking over where Goddard and Croucher had left off.
'I don't know what it will be, sir, but I know what it ought to be.' Ramage's voice was bitter and, unintentionally, almost insolent.
'Go on, then, out with it,' Nelson said impatiently, 'and be brief.'
'The Sibella - we couldn't fight on, sir, and we couldn't treat the wounded because the surgeon and his mate were killed. She was sinking so fast the French'd never keep her afloat long enough to patch her up. What I did meant medical attention for the wounded, as well as giving the unwounded time to escape in the boats.'
'The idea of being a prisoner of the French frightened you into escaping after you had surrendered?'
There was a sneer in the Commodore's voice which made Ramage flush with an anger that he could only just control.
'No, sir! I didn't surrender myself: I deliberately left the ship before the wounded surrendered her. An officer who allows himself and his men to be taken prisoner when he can escape and serve again ought to be tried as a traitor - well, almost a traitor. It's that kind of a man the - the Articles of War are aimed at.'
'Well spoken!' said Nelson with an unexpected laugh. 'That occurred to me when I read your report. An excellent report, incidentally, which is already on its way to Sir John Jervis with my covering letter. Now then, what about rescuing the refugees?' _
‘We did our best, sir.'
'What made you risk it with just a gig?'
The voice was cold again, and Ramage's heart sank.
'It seemed the lesser of two evils, sir. First, if there was any delay in the rescue, there was the danger the French would capture them. Second, if I tried getting them away, there was the danger we'd run into a gale with an overloaded boat.'
'So you considered a rescue attempt using the boat offered the refugees the best chance of survival?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Why?'
‘Well, if they stayed on shore they might be betrayed by peasants. I couldn't do anything to prevent that. But if I took them off in the boat I was reasonably certain I could weather a gale somehow or other.'
'Very well. Now for Count Pisano's complaint.'
'There's nothing much to say, sir. I went back and found his cousin dead, but Pisano doesn't believe that'
‘You've no witnesses.'
'No, sir.. Oh yes, I have, though!' he exclaimed, realizing the Belette operation had driven all thought of Jackson's revelation from his memory.
Who is he?'
'The Sibella's cox'n, an American named Jackson. I didn't know he'd seen the body after me. He didn't know of Pisano's allegations and didn't realize he had evidence of any importance. Anyway, sir, the Diadem's arrival interrupted his evidence.'
'When did you find out all this?'
‘We were talking on our way up to the Belette.'
'A conspiracy? No,' the Commodore said, waving a hand to stop Ramage's protest 'I'm not saying you two were conspiring. I'm just pointing out that it could be said. Why do you suppose Count Pisano made the complaint against you?'
'To cover himself,' Ramage said bitterly. 'If he accuses me of failing in my duty by not going back, everyone forgets to ask him why he didn't go himself.'
'Not everyone,' Nelson said shortly. 'Now - what about the Belette? You've lost a lot of men?'
'Yes, thirteen dead and fifteen wounded. An error of judgement on my part, sir.'
'In what respect?'
'I decided to rake the Belette and then wear round before her guns could bear.'
'And—'
‘We raked her all right, but I found I couldn't wear round in time: we were raked ourselves by her aftermost guns -1 didn't allow enough for the curve on her quarter.'
'And what do you think will happen to you now?'
'To begin with, I imagine the court will reconvene and finish my trial, sir.'
'You seem remarkably ignorant of the Court Martial Statutes, Lieutenant, and remarkably unobservant.'
Ramage looked puzzled and the Commodore said, 'Once a court has dispersed, it can never be reconvened. And you have failed to notice that the Trumpeter is not in the anchorage.'
'Well, I suppose you'll order another trial, sir.'
'Perhaps. Follow me,' he ordered, walking through the door and into the great cabin.
Gianna was standing against one of the great stern lights. She was wearing her usual black travelling cloak thrown back over the shoulders to reveal the red lining, and a high-waisted pearl-grey dress. She was watching him anxiously, her lips moist and slightly parted.
On her left a heavily built man with a short, square beard sat in a chair, clasping a walking stick between his knees. The stick was thick - he must be lame, Ramage thought, and then noticed that the left ankle appeared to be in plaster. The man was handsome, but the finely cut features did not hide that he was hard, tough and possibly ruthless. He was Italian: that much was certain from his face, but the clothes he was wearing - a dark grey coat, yellow waistcoat and pale-grey breeches -were not his, or else he had a bad tailor.
At that moment Ramage, speechless with surprise, looked at Gianna and saw she was glancing at the man with affection, almost adoration. The man was smiling at her with love in his eyes.
The shock was, for Ramage, almost physical: this must be a fiance. Where the devil had he come from? Gianna had never mentioned him - yet there was no reason why she should, he thought bitterly.
The Commodore, apparently blissfully unaware of the tension gripping Ramage, was talking. He'd apparently introduced the seated man, who made an attempt to stand up, but Ramage motioned him to remain seated and walked over and shook his hand. The grip was firm; the smile on the face was friendly and genuine.
Ramage turned to Gianna, took her hand and lifted it to his lips, and then swung round to face Commodore Nelson without looking at her again.
The Commodore was obviously in jovial mood: he slapped his knee and exclaimed:
'How about that, Ramage, eh?'
Ramage looked puzzled.
'Bit of a surprise, eh? Dead men do tell tales after all!’
The other three were laughing. Was the Commodore one of these blasted practical jokers?
The Italian said, We have almost met before, Tenente.'
'You have the advantage of me, sir,' Ramage said coolly.
Everyone seemed to be talking in riddles. It's Gianna's turn to have a dig now, he thought sourly, involuntarily glancing at her.
She looked as if he had just slapped her face.
'Nicholas! Nicholas!'
She almost ran the four or five paces separating them, and gripped his arm with her left hand. 'It's Antonio! Don't you understand?'
She was almost in tears. No, he didn't understand, nor did he care about Antonio: he simply wanted to kiss her, but instead gently pushed her away.
'Antonio, Nicholas! Antonio — my cousin: Count Pitti!
The cabin slowly began moving round him; in a moment it was spinning and Gianna held him tightly, otherwise he would have fallen. A few seconds later the Commodore and Gianna were helping him to a chair while Pitti, now standing helplessly and leaning on his stick, kept repeating, 'What happened? What is wrong?'
Ramage saw that exploded face, the shattered bones and remains of the teeth silvery-white in the moonlight, the torn flesh and slopping blood, black and caked in the sand. Yet Pisano had been right: Count Pitti was alive after all. God -no wonder no one believed he had gone back. But Jackson ...
God damn and blast them all: he dragged himself out of the chair, conscious his brow was wet with cold perspiration, and asked the Commodore:
'May I return to my ship, sir?'
Nelson looked puzzled but promptly said: ‘No - sit down.'
Ramage almost slid into the chair: there was no strength in his knees and tiredness was adding its quota to help fuddle his brain. If only they'd leave him alone.
Suddenly he realized Gianna was kneeling beside him, talking softly, and the agony and bewilderment in her face stabbed into his consciousness like a dagger.
'But it is all right now,' she was saying. 'It is all right, Nico - e finito, cara mia!’
The Commodore interrupted:
'Mr Ramage has received a shock. My little surprise seems to have misfired and he deserves an explanation. Count Pitti, perhaps you would oblige - and please be seated,' he added, pushing a chair towards him.
Pitti sat down heavily.
'Allora, Tenente, you remember you met us on the track leading to the Tower? Well, when you and Gianna ran over the dunes towards the sea, my cousin Pisano and I, with the two peasants, went on to the Tower along the track and then up on to the dunes.
'I was worried about Gianna and stopped on top of the dunes to look back. I saw several French cavalry galloping along the beach towards you. It seemed impossible for either of you to avoid being killed. Then suddenly, at the last moment, a man ran out of the bushes and down the side of the dune, charging the cavalrymen and shouting so loud he frightened the horses.'
'Yes,' Ramage nodded. 'That was my cox'n, Jackson.'
'Well, I watched you pick up Gianna and run towards the boat at the end of the dunes. But at that moment two or three French soldiers, who must have galloped along the track and left their horses by the Tower, suddenly appeared behind me -between me and the Tower.
'I ran into the bushes and the soldiers followed, but they had to split up because the bushes were so thick.
‘1 had almost reached the end of the dunes, running in and out of the bushes like a rabbit, when I slipped in the sand as I crossed a clearing — you remember how soft it was - and broke my ankle. I managed to crawl under a bush a few moments before a French soldier appeared in the clearing. He stopped - I think he saw the marks I had made in the sand.
'There was a shot behind him - from the direction he'd come - and he fell down; but almost at once there were more shots and much shouting in French, and the rest of the soldiers went back towards the Tower. I think he was shot accidentally by one of his own people because he was in front and the rest of them mistook him for one of us.'
Ramage asked: 'Which way was he facing when he was shot?'
'Towards the boat: the ball hit the back of his head. Ah - 1 see why you ask. Well, I stayed under my bush for two or three minutes; then I heard someone calling in English from the direction of the boat. Then a man ran into the clearing and turned the body over - it was lying on its face.
'The man was you, was it not? I recognized you when you came into the cabin: you have a particular — how do you say, a particular stance.'
.Yes, I came back. But I didn't realize the body was of a French soldier.'
'I am not surprised: he was a cavalryman and wore a cloak, as I did. He was not wearing a hat - I expect he lost it. He wore white breeches and boots - just as I was wearing.'
The Commodore said, 'The uniforms of Revolutionary France are very sober now: none of the old trappings.'
'Allora, I was going to call you, but I knew my ankle was broken and that it would take a long time for me to get to the boat. I also knew any delay would risk everyone else's life. So I stayed under the bush and you went away. Then a few minutes later someone else came running through the clearing, from the same direction that the French soldier had come.
"He too looked at the body and swore in English. I realized it was a sailor and guessed he was the man who charged the cavalry. Well, that's all.'
‘But how did you get here?'
'That was not too difficult. You told the two peasants that I was missing, and ordered them to escape. They crossed the river - to please you, incidentally - and as soon as you had gone off in the boat came back to look for me. After the French soldiers fired at you from the beach they galloped away.'
'Then what happened?'
'The peasants took me to a hut near the village of Capalbio, and bribed a fisherman from Port' Ercole to take me to Elba -to Porto Ferraio. He would not risk crossing to Bastia, and so we went along the coast at night. At Port Ferraio I found a British frigate, and went on board. The next day Commodore Nelson arrived and until yesterday I was his guest.'
Ramage looked at Nelson. 'So Count Pitti was on board when you arrived here, sir?'
'Yes, my boy.'
Well, sir, I do think—'
'No,' interrupted Nelson, 'not if you think a little harder. When I read the minutes of the trial which my arrival interrupted, I needed a lieutenant to take command of the Kathleen. In view of the circumstances surrounding the trial, I thought it wiser you should leave Bastia for a short while. I asked Count Pitti if he would mind if the Marchesa was kept waiting for a few more hours before she was told that he was safe, and he agreed.'
Ramage said, 'I am sorry, sir: I didn't realize ...’
'Oh, don't thank me,' replied Nelson. 'I don't want cowards serving under me. I was bound to send a report to Sir John Jervis about the rather - er, inconclusive - proceedings here involving an accusation of cowardice. If I could later forward a report from the same young officer describing how he had successfully rescued the crew of the Belette, then neither the Admiral nor myself need have any further doubts about his courage - or qualities of leadership for that matter.'
'But sir, you had no idea that it would be any harder rescuing them than picking them up from a quay!' exclaimed Ramage.
'Oh?' Nelson said, raising his eyebrows. 'On the contrary. An offshore wind, another headland to get in your way - and I guessed French troops would be on board. I believe Lord Probus made some reference to you to the effect that you were still on trial?'
'Yes, sir.'
'That was intended to be a warning. Now let's change the subject. You have probably realized we may have to evacuate Bastia?'
'Yes.'
'Well, Count Pisano and Lady Elliot left this morning for Gibraltar. The Marchesa and Count Pitti are also going to Gibraltar, but they wanted to await your return, so they leave tomorrow night'
He watched Ramage's face fall and said sympathetically, 'Yes, it is very sad: I for one shall miss their company. However, I hope we shall all meet again soon under happier circumstances. Are you tired, Mr Ramage?'
'No, sir,' lied Ramage.
'Very well, perhaps you would care to join us for supper?'
The supper had been a great success: Nelson had kept them all amused, teasing both Gianna and Ramage, and in turn being teased by Pitti, who was obviously fascinated by the little man's vivacity. They had all drunk bumpers to the downfall of Bonaparte, the safety of the two charcoal burners, the health and happiness of Gianna, and a safe voyage for both her and Pitti.
Finally the supper had ended, and Nelson had taken his farewell of the two cousins, and suggested Ramage did the same, explaining that they were returning to the Viceroy's residence and Ramage might not have time to call on them next day.
So he had said goodbye. Pitti had said very little; in fact he was almost formal. Nor had Gianna seemed upset at the prospect of being parted from him. Her eyes had twinkled, but when a moment later he kissed her hand it had been limp; there was no secret pressure, no hidden message in its touch. The rescue, he thought sourly, was at last completed: the cousins were reunited and Lieutenant Ramage's role had ended.
Just as he had turned to leave the cabin - he wanted to be the first to leave the ship, so that he did not have to watch the boat carry Gianna to the shore — the Commodore had handed him a sealed packet.
'Your orders,' he said shortly. 'Let me have your written report on the Belette operation in the forenoon tomorrow.'
Now, as Jackson steered the boat back to the Kathleen in the darkness, Ramage sat in the sternsheets, eaten up with bitterness. It was all facade, all pretence with these Italians. One minute she was on her knees beside him; the next minute she was saying goodbye with about as much emotion as she would display to a guest who had overstayed his welcome.
A hail came from the cutter and Jackson shouted back, 'Kathleen', warning them that the captain was on board.
As soon as he reached his tiny cabin, where the steward had a moment before hooked a lantern to the bulkhead, he unhitched his sword, flung himself into the chair, and stared down at the deck. The canvas stretched across it as a carpet was worn where the door scraped and needed painting again. Hell, he was tired. How lucky was a piece of canvas, he thought sleepily: a coat of paint would cover all the old marks and make it like new.
He pulled the sealed linen envelope from his pocket. What did the Commodore want him to do now? Some dam' fool errand: that's all cutters were meant for. Probably deliver despatches to Sir John Jervis at San Fiorenzo, or take letters for the Ambassador in Naples.
He broke the seal, opened the envelope and began reading.
'You are hereby required and directed,' it said, 'to receive on board His Majesty's ship under your command the persons of the Marchesa di Volterra and Count Pitti and to proceed with all possible despatch to Gibraltar, being careful to follow a southerly route to avoid interception by enemy ships of war... On arrival at Gibraltar you will report forthwith to the admiral commanding to receive orders for your further proceedings.'
Ramage grinned: no wonder Gianna's eyes had twinkled.
END