towards the bed. He wanted all the hostages warned without raising the alarm among the guards, and the only way of ensuring that the alarm was not raised was by everyone acting as though the door to the guards' cabin was still open.
His outstretched hand touched the foot of the bed. Curious that they did not give passengers swinging cots, because it must be difficult to stay in a bed in anything of a sea, even though the bed must be bolted to the deck.
The cover was a smooth material he could not identify. Shantung? A John Company ship would be furnished in exotic materials from the East. Now, if he was lucky the fellow in this bed would be an Army officer - or, rather, an officer in the company's military service. If his luck was out, the man would be some pompous and panicky nabob who would need a good deal of convincing. In fact it might be easier to leave him and try the next cabin.
He ran his hand along the bed as he crept softly towards the head of the bed, listening for breathing to determine where the sleeper's mouth was. Here was the body and he ran the tips of his fingers lightly along it to get some idea of where the man's head was, in case he shouted. Then his hand was cupped over a yielding mound of bare flesh; a mound topped by a firmer summit. It took him a moment to realize he was holding a woman's bare breast in his left hand but a moment later his right hand was on her face, pressing down on her mouth.
She started wriggling as he grasped a shoulder with his left hand and hissed: 'Don't scream, don't struggle, I'm from the -'
At that moment she bit the heel of his palm but he risked another bite, whispering urgently: 'From the British frigate. . . English . . . don't make a noise!'
Finally she seemed to be wide awake and her hands were pushing him away, but without the violence or urgency of a terrified woman.
'Do you understand?'
He felt her trying to nod and experimentally lifted his palm half an inch from her mouth.
'I understand, but don't suffocate me!'
The voice was calm, musical and verging on deep, but quite firm, and asking: 'Who exactly are you?'
'That doesn't matter, but I want you to -'
'My dear man, I'm not given to the vapours, but although I can see nothing I have the impression I am in the grasp of a naked man. A naked Englishman, so he says, although what difference that makes...'
'Madam,' Ramage whispered desperately, conscious of the minutes slipping by, 'my name is Nicholas Ramage, and I command the British frigate. A couple of dozen of my men are swimming over here and will be climbing on board in a few minutes. It is absolutely vital that they overcome the guards without a shot being fired, and I want you to unlock their doors and warn the rest of the hostages - the passengers, I mean - to stay in their cabins no matter what happens.'
'I'll warn them. You must have swum over; you feel devilish damp. I'll give you a towel in a moment.'
'Listen,' Ramage said urgently, 'you do understand what you have to do? Each of the cabins is locked with the key still on the outside. The point is, people will recognize your voice, so -'
'I understand perfectly! What about the scoundrels in the cabin opposite?'
'They're asleep and locked in. But if they wake up they might start shooting.'
'And the two guards on deck?'
'Unconscious and tied up.'
'You have been busy. Very well - stand back and let me get out of bed.'
'Let me help you, ma'am.'
'Please stand back. It's so hot in here that I sleep - well, without the encumbrance of a nightdress, as you probably realized!'
Drunken guards, barracudas, bare breasts, a cabin full of snoring pirates . . . even in the urgency of the situation Ramage had most certainly registered the breast - a fine one, that much was certain - but he had been too tense to make the obvious deduction that in this hot and airless cabin the rest of the body was almost certainly naked.
'I beg your pardon, ma'am,' he whispered. 'Incidentally, I am not entirely naked.'
'It's - well, let's say 'miss' for now. And nakedness is of little consequence in the dark.'
'There's a lantern outside,' Ramage said and could have bitten off his tongue.
'Thank you for the warning.'
He heard the rustle of material and then she whispered: 'Lead me to the door, I can't see a thing.'
'Keep whispering or I'll never find you.'
'Ramage ... Ramage ... Captain Lord Ramage ... damp and smelling of seaweed . . .' The teasing whisper led him to her. So she had known the name. Well, for the moment he was concentrating on remembering where the door was, because it fitted so well and the lantern was so dim that no light penetrated a crack.
'I don't use my title,' he said, and suddenly bumped into her. To stop falling they both held each other tight as though embracing.
'Good morning, Captain,' she said, gently disengaging herself, 'you are really not properly dressed for paying social calls.'
Ramage took her arm and led her to the door. 'I'm tempted to take you hostage.'
'You'll have to make an exchange with the privateersmen. At the moment they claim me.'
He opened the door but she was through it and turning left to the other cabins before he could glimpse her face, and before he could catch up she had unlocked the first door and slipped in.
The best thing he could do was wait beside the guards' cabin until she returned. A minute or two later he saw a blur of white as she came out of the cabin and went to the next. Finally, after she left the last cabin, he walked across the corridor to wait at the door of her cabin, but she slipped into the next one and a minute or two later a middle-aged man with muttonchop whiskers came out, faintly absurd in a gown, and whispered: 'Ramage - everyone has been warned. We'll wait in our cabins with the doors locked. And - thank you!'
With that the man went back into his cabin after removing the key. Ramage then saw that all along the corridor people were removing the keys, to lock the doors from the inside.
He hurried back up the companionway and went to the ship's side, listening for the sound of swimmers. There was no sound and no swirls of phosphorescence. A rolled-up rope ladder lay on top of the bulwark; he untied the lashing, let it unroll and heard the end land in the water with a splash. On the other side he found a similar ladder and unrolled that.
Then he picked up the lantern and walked over to stand at the starboard entryport. He was out of sight of all the ships but the Calypso, and he held the lantern so that he could be seen by the swimmers. Almost at once he felt a tug on the bottom of the ladder and heard a faint swishing of water. A minute later Rossi was jumping down from the top of the bulwark, waving an acknowledgement of Ramage's signal warning him to be silent.
'The rest of the men are close behind, sir,' Rossi whispered. 'We went slowly, as you said, so we are not without the breath.' He looked round and said, a disappointed note in his voice: 'Mamma mia, you have not made the capture alone, Commandante?'
'No, I've left the easy part for you.' Ramage smiled and looked down to see two more men already climbing the ladder.
Within three minutes he was counting his boarding party and found them all present, with Martin and Paolo. He looked round for Jackson, pointed to the two men under the barrel of the guns, and whispered: 'They might be coming round soon. Gag them, please.'
The American waved to Rossi and Stafford, pulling his sodden shirt over his head and tearing two strips off the tail. Out of the corner of his eye Ramage saw Jackson lift the first man and bang his head on the deck, and then proceed to gag him. In the meantime another seaman was cleaning the wick of the lantern and stirring the molten wax with the tip of his finger to level it out. The lantern suddenly gave a brighter light and Ramage glanced round nervously: someone watching from the Lynx might well become suspicious of the shadows thrown by the group of men. 'Put the lantern down on deck, under the table,' he said hurriedly.
As soon as Jackson came back to report both men unconscious and gagged - not bothering to mention that one had given signs of recovering - Ramage gathered the men round and in a whisper now getting hoarse explained the position.
'If the total of eight guards is correct, then the six off watch are sleeping in a cabin below. I've locked the door on them. They'll probably be in hammocks because they prefer them and the passenger cabins are each fitted with one large bed.
'We've got to rush them and make sure they don't fire pistols. You see the two pistols on this table: the two men on watch were sitting here drinking, their guns within easy reach.
'The doorway into the cabin is the standard width. This is how we do it. You, Orsini, will carry this lantern; I'll take the one that's hanging from the deckhead outside the cabin door. Riley,' he said to one of the seamen, 'you will stand by the key of the door. When I signal, you'll unlock the door and pull it open - towards you: it opens outwards.
'I will go in first holding my lantern high and Orsini will follow with his. As soon as I go through the door I want you all to start shouting - anything to make a noise: I just want to confuse those men as they start waking up. Confuse their brains and dazzle their eyes.
'Martin, Stafford, Rossi, Riley - you'll have had time to see into the cabin by now - follow us. Orsini and I will take the two hammocks to the right, the rest of you take the four on the left. Aft, in other words.
'Cut the hammocks down. A good slash with a cutlass should cut the lanyards at the foot or head and tip the occupant out.'
'And then, sir?' Orsini inquired.
'There are so few of them that we can take prisoners,' Ramage said regretfully, 'but kill a man if there's a risk he'll otherwise use a pistol. Now,' he said as Orsini picked up the lantern and turned towards the companionway, 'follow me. And watch your cutlasses - don't let them bang anything.'
The steps of the companionway creaked, and as he crept down Ramage felt that the ship was suddenly holding her breath and listening: she had stopped her gentle pitching so that there were no groans from the hull and spars to mask the sounds they made.
The lantern below was burning steadily, the air having the faint sooty smell of untrimmed wick. Glancing down the line of doors he saw that all the keys were now missing except for the first on each side. The key was still on the outside of the cabin in which the 'Miss for now' had been sleeping. He knew the shape of one bare breast; he had not the faintest idea whether she was ugly, plain or beautiful. An intriguing voice, a good sense of humour, and very self-possessed in an emergency. She was probably coming home from India after being a teacher, or some old woman's companion. But for the 'Miss' he would have assumed she had been sent out to India to find a husband, succeeded and was now on her way home again . . .
Why the devil was he thinking about her at a time like this? He unhooked the second lantern and turned to Orsini and waited while Riley crept to the door and reached out for the key with his right hand, holding the brass knob with his left and glancing over his shoulder to make sure he would not bump into anything as he flung open the door.
