Ramage

 While the prize brig anchored close by, Lord Probus's barge was hoisted over the side and his bargemen, rigged in red jerseys and black straw hats, rowed him briskly across to report on board the 74-gun Trumpeter, whose captain was the senior officer present in Bastia. Ramage noted with relief that Admiral Goddard must be at sea. There were two other line-of-battle ships and four frigates in the anchorage.

 One of the Lively's quarter boats was lowered and the bosun climbed down into it, to be rowed round the ship to make sure all the yards were squared: that they were all hanging absolutely horizontally.

 Already the first of the bumboats was putting off from the quays laden with women, fruit and wine: the first two no doubt overripe and all three too expensive. Dawlish saw them coming and told some Marines the boats were not to approach within twenty-five yards.

 'Can't trust these Corsicans,' he commented to Ramage. "Half are sympathetic to the French and waiting for them  to arrive; the other half are so scared we'll be thrown out that they daren't help us for fear of reprisals later. But they're all united in one thing - cheating us.'

'Corsican bumboatmen aren't unique in that.'

 'No, I mean the people generally. I wouldn't like to be the Viceroy: old Sir Gilbert must have a deal of patience to handle them. And the Army - you know, we've only about 1,500 soldiers to defend this place.'

'Probably enough to defend the port itself.’

'Yes, I suppose so. How the devil did we ever get landed with Corsica in the first place?' asked Dawlish.

 'Well,' said Ramage, 'about three years ago this fellow Paoli led the Corsicans in revolt against the French, threw them out, and asked for British protection. The Government sent out a Viceroy - Sir Gilbert. But I don't think it's much of a success: Paoli and Sir Gilbert don't agree now, and Paoli's quarrelled with his own people. If you've got two Corsicans, you've got two parties on your hands. And Paoli's an old and sick man.'

 'I don't see how Bonaparte can possibly invade,' said Dawlish. 'We've searched for transports in every anchorage from Elba to Argentario, and captured or sunk the few we found. They do say, though, that all manner of privateers are sneaking over at night from the mainland with Corsican revolutionaries - on a cash basis, a couple of dozen or so at a time. Some of the prisoners we took in the brig said the French were so sick and tired of the Corsicans in Leghorn they're giving them arms and cash and encouraging 'em to go and liberate Corsica just to get rid of 'em. The French reckon they've nothing to lose: if we capture 'em at sea it means fewer causing trouble in Leghorn, and if they manage to land - well, it's trouble for us.'

Dawlish suddenly put his telescope to his eye. 'Midshipman! Look alive there! The Trumpeter's hoisting a signal.'

 A boy scurried to the bulwarks, steadying his telescope against one of the shrouds.

'Four-oh-six,' he called out. 'That's us, sir!'

'Oh, for God's sake, boy!'

 'Two-one-four - that's for a lieutenant from ships of the fleet, or ships pointed out, to come on board. Then - Christ! That's funny!'

‘What's funny, boy?'

 'Next hoist is number eight-oh-eight, sir: a ship, but I don't know her. I'll look in the list.'

 'It's all right,' said Ramage, 'that was the Sibella’s number. They want me. Acknowledge it, Jack, and let me have a boat, please. By the way, who commands the Trumpeter now?'

'Croucher, I'm afraid; one of Goddard's pets.'

 'And I can see more than five post captains.' Ramage waved a hand to indicate the warships at anchor.

Dawlish looked puzzled.

 'You've forgotten the Courts Martial Statutes,’ said Ramage. 'Remember - "If any five or more of His Majesty's ships or vessels of war shall happen to meet together in foreign parts ... it shall be lawful for the senior officer ... to hold courts martial and preside thereat..."'

'Oh - of course; so Croucher can...'

 'Exactly - and will, no doubt. Can you lend me a hat and sword?'

The 74-gun Trumpeter was very large compared with the Lively, and her shiny paintwork and gilding showed Captain Croucher was rich enough to dip deeply into his own purse to keep her looking smart, since the Navy Board's issue of paint was meagre - so meagre, Ramage recalled, as the boat's bowman hooked on and waited for him to climb on board, that one captain was reputed to have asked the Board which side of his ship he should paint with it.

 Ramage scrambled up the thick battens forming narrow steps on the ship's side and, saluting the quarter-deck, asked the neatly-dressed lieutenant at the gangway to be taken to the captain.

'Ramage, isn't it?' the lieutenant asked disdainfully.

 Ramage glanced at the spotty face and then slowly looked him up and down. A few months over twenty years old – the  minimum age for a lieutenant — with very little brain but a great deal of influence to ensure rapid promotion. The spotty face blushed, and Ramage knew its owner guessed his thoughts.

'This way,' he said hurriedly, 'Captain Croucher and Lord Probus are waiting for you.'

 Captain Croucher's quarters were vaster than Lord Probus's: more headroom, so that it was possible to stand upright in the great cabin, and more furniture. Too much, in fact, and too much silverware on display.

 Croucher was painfully thin. His uniform was elegantly cut and immaculately pressed, but all his tailor's skill could not disguise the fact that Nature had sold him short; as far as flesh was concerned, Croucher had been given 'Purser's measure', in other words only fourteen ounces to the pound.

'Come in, Ramage,' he said as the lieutenant announced him.

 Ramage, who had never met Croucher before, almost laughed when he saw the truth in the man's punning nickname, 'The Rake'. The eyes were sunk deep in the skull while the bone of the forehead protruded above them so that each eye looked like some evil serpent glaring out from under a ledge in a rock. The man's mouth was a label which revealed meanness, weakness and viciousness - three constant bed-fellows, thought Ramage. The hands were like claws, attached to the body by wrists as thin as broom handles.

 Probus was standing with his back to the stern lights so that his face was in shadow and he looked uncomfortable, as if dragged into something which he could not avoid but which embarrassed him.

 'Now, Ramage, I want an account of your proceedings,' said Croucher. His voice was high-pitched and querulous, exactly suited to the mouth.

'In writing, sir, or verbally?'

'Verbally, man, verbally: I've a copy of your report.'

'There's nothing more to say than that, sir.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, then, what about this?' asked Croucher, picking  up several sheets of paper from his desk. 'What about this, eh?'

 'He can hardly know what that is,' Probus interposed quickly.

 'Well, I can soon enlighten him; this, young man, is a complaint, an accusation - a charge, in fact - by Count Pisano, that you are a coward: that you deliberately abandoned his wounded cousin to the French. What have you to say to that?'

'Nothing, sir.'

'Nothing? Nothing? You admit you are a coward?'

 'No, sir: I meant I've nothing to say about Count Pisano's accusations. Does he say he knows for certain his cousin was wounded and not dead?'

 'Well - hmm...' Croucher glanced over the pages. 'Well, he doesn't say so in as many words.'

'I see, sir.'

'Don't be so deuced offhand, Ramage,' Croucher snapped, and added with a sneer, 'it's not the first time one of your family's been involved over the Fifteenth Article, and now perhaps even the Tenth...'

 The Fifteenth Article of War laid down the punishment for 'every person in or belonging to the Fleet’ who might surrender one of the King's ships 'cowardly or treacherously to the enemy’; while the Tenth dealt with anyone who 'shall treacherously or cowardly yield or cry for quarter'.