He made himself turn back to his own ship, but his ears refused to block out the sounds of that terrible broadside. He saw Pascoe staring through the smoke, his eyes wide with horror.

He shouted, “Cast the boats adrift!” The boy turned towards him, his reply lost in a sudden burst of firing from ahead. Then he ran aft, beckoning to some seamen to follow him.

Bolitho watched coldly as the wind pushed his ship steadily towards the next Frenchman’s quarter. He was staring at her stern, knowing that her captain would either stay and fight or try to turn downwind. In which case he was doomed, as Impulsive had been. He had to grind his teeth together to stop himself from speaking Herrick’s name aloud. Casting the boats adrift had been more to ease the boy’s pain than with any hope of saving more than a handful of survivors.

Almost savagely he shouted, “Stand by on the fo’c’sle, Mr Meheux! Carronade this one!”

“Fire!”

The first guns roared out from the larboard battery, and then the air shivered to the deeper bang of a carronade. Timber and pieces of bulwark flew from the enemy’s poop, and the mizzen, complete with tricolour, toppled into the rolling bank of smoke.

Broughton was shouting at him. “Look! God damn it!” He was all but jumping with excitement as like a great finger a jib boom and then a glaring figurehead thrust ahead of the nearest ship.

“Zeus has broken the line!” Keverne waved his hat in the air. “God, look at her!”

Zeus came through firing from either beam, her sails in rags and most of her side pitted and blackened with holes. Thin tendrils of scarlet ran from her scuppers, as if the ship herself was bleeding, and Bolitho knew that Rattray had fought hard and at a great price to follow the flagship’s example.

As far as he could tell the action had become general. Guns hammered from ahead and astern, and there were ships locked in combat on every hand. Gone was the prim French line, as were Broughton’s divisions. Gone too was the French admiral’s control, separated as he was downwind, blinded by smoke in a sea gone mad with battle.

Broughton shouted, “General signal! Form line ahead and astern of admiral!”

Tothill nodded violently and ran to his men. There was not much chance of anyone complying, but it would show the others that Broughton was still in command.

And there was Tanais, her mizzen gone, her forecastle a splintered shambles, but most of her guns firing as she raked the enemy and pushed after Zeus, her ensign ripped by musket fire as she passed.

More gunfire echoed through the smoke, and Bolitho knew it must be Furneaux fighting for his life in a press of disabled but nevertheless deadly ships.

“Ship on the starboard quarter, sir!”

Bolitho hurried across the deck and saw a French two-decker, unmarked, her sails showing not a single hole, thrusting towards him, her speed gaining as she set her forecourse and topgallants, so that she leaned heavily under the pressure.