On deck the wind and sea greeted Bolitho like forces gone mad. The light had almost disappeared, except for slivers of grey sky left darting between the clouds. Just enough for him to see the men reeling about the scarred decks, the bare space where the broken mizzen had lain trapped in its attendant rigging.

He rapped out his orders and then said to Meheux, “You have made a fine start.”

He turned to watch as Meheux raised one arm to point across the rail. The Euryalus was a mere shadow already, with the paler patches growing above her as her topsails filled to the wind and she began to go about. For a moment longer he saw her side glistening in spray, the checkered lines of her sealed ports, and pictured Keverne at his place on the quarterdeck, perhaps already imagining this to be yet another chance for him.

“We will have to stand before the wind, Mr Meheux. Any attempt to tack and we would lose the rudder and worse.”

The master’s mate came stumbling out of the darkness, a chart clutched against his chest.

“She was ’eadin’ for Port Mahon, sir. Most o’ the passengers are traders an’ their families, as far as I can make out.”

Bolitho frowned. The Navarra was much further south than need be when they had intercepted her. Another mystery, yet still no answers.

He said, “We will try and set the tops’ls, Mr Meheux. Put two good men on the wheel. Mr Ashton can translate your requirements to the Spanish hands.”

Bolitho looked round for the Euryalus, but she had completely vanished. He said, “I would rather have the Navarra’s men aloft for the present, where we can keep our eyes on them.”

Meheux grimaced. “They’ll be unhappy to go up in this wind, sir.”

“If they refuse, tell ’em there’s only one other place they can go.” He gestured between his straddled feet. “About a thousand fathoms straight down hereabouts!”

Another seaman sought him out and shouted, “There’s some fifty wounded in the fo’c’sle, sir! Blood all over the place! ’Tis a fearful sight!”

Bolitho watched the shadowy figures climbing gingerly up the ratlines, urged on by Meheux with angry gestures and his own idea of Spanish.

“Go below and tell McEwen to discover if we have a doctor amongst the passengers. If so, have him brought on deck.”

Meheux was calling again. “There’s a good few severed lines on the main topmast, sir! It could carry away as soon as we get sail on her!”

Bolitho shivered, aware for the first time that he was soaked to the skin.

“Man the braces, Mr Meheux. Put some of the passengers on them too. I want every damned ounce of muscle you can find!” To Grindle he yelled, “Ready on the helm there!” His voice was almost drowned by the wailing wind, the leaping curtains of spray against the weather side, like spirits trying to drag her over and down.

He looked for a speaking trumpet, but could see nothing but the faces of the helmsmen glowing in the compass light like wax masks.