Broughton nodded. “Ah.”

“The squadron has acknowledged, sir!” Tothill was oblivious to the brief exchange. “At the dip!”

Bolitho turned and shouted, “Carry on, Mr Keverne!”

As the flagship’s signal vanished from her yards the deck became alive to the turmoil of making sail. Bolitho gripped the rail and looked up as the topmen swarmed along the yards, and with a bang and thunder of canvas the released sails exploded to the wind.

“Anchor’s aweigh, sir!” Meheux looked very small, outlined against the opposite headland as he waved his hand in the air.

With a deep surge the Euryalus sidled heavily above her reflection, her lower gunports awash as with her seamen heaving on the braces and the wheel hard over she came ponderously but with dignified obedience under control of wind and rudder.

Keverne was yelling through his trumpet, “Lee braces, there! Put those laggards to work, Mr Tebbutt! Valorous has the edge on you today!”

Bolitho leaned over the stout rail and watched the anchor, streaming yellow weed from its massive flukes as it was catted home by Meheux’s frantic seamen.

He shifted his gaze across the opposite side and saw Coquette and Restless already spreading their topgallants and bounding through fountains of spray as they drew rapidly away from the heavier ships.

Partridge called, “Nor’ west by north, sir!” He wiped his watering eyes as he peered up at the braced yards, the hardening quiver of the main topsail as it forced the ship over. “Full an’ bye, sir!”

Broughton snatched a glass and then said irritably, “General signal. Maintain proper station.” He turned easily to study the Valorous, as with her jib flapping in momentary confusion she wallowed round to follow in her admiral’s wake.

Keverne asked, “May I set the topgallants, sir?”

Bolitho nodded. “Make the most of the wind!”

Even as Keverne hurried back to the rail there was a low, menacing rumble. Every spare glass flashed in the sunlight as they turned to watch the distant fortress. The rumble erupted with terrible suddenness into several towering walls of flame and black smoke. They seemed endless and indestructible, hiding completely what was happening beneath.

Then as the wind pushed the smoke reluctantly across the headland Bolitho saw the ruins of the fortress. The inner tower had fallen completely like the shattered chimney of an old kiln, and the rest of the walls and ramparts were blasted into rubble. More inner explosions followed in slow succession, like a controlled broadside, and he imagined Inch’s gunner, Mr Broome, lovingly placing his charges of destruction. He caught his breath as a tiny dark sliver edged out through the smoke, the boat carrying Broome and his men to a hairbreadth safety.

Giffard said, “A lot has happened in that place, by God!”

Broughton watched the set of Bolitho’s shoulders and smiled briefly. “There is certainly no denying that, Captain Giffard!”

When eight bells chimed out, and the forenoon watch started to go about its affairs above and below decks, the small squadron was already seven miles from the land.