If Sir Robert Napier had been informed of Andiron’s presence here, it was not unreasonable to expect him to take some sort of offensive action. A swift frigate attack would not match up to the smarting loss of St Kitts, but it would do much for the morale of the embattled British fleet. It did not have to be the Phalarope, of course.

Bolitho discounted the idea immediately. His brother had been right about that, too. Admiral Napier would have few ships at his disposal now that Hood was back in the saddle. In addition, he would see Phalarope’s success as an act of justice to purge her name and avenge the memory of his own son.

He tried again to put himself into the position of an attacking captain. He would make a slow approach, just to make sure that the information about the Andiron was not suspect, and in order that the lookouts ashore should not see any sign of a masthead before sunset. Then under cover of darkness he would close the shore and drop a full boarding party of perhaps three or four boats. It would not be easy, but a ship foolish enough to anchor away from the defended base might be expected to fall after a swift struggle. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to blot out the picture of the attacking ship at the moment of truth and realisation.

There was a hidden battery of artillery already sighted and ranged across the whole area below the headland. And although to all outward appearances the Andiron was resting confidently below a friendly island, Bolitho had seen the preparations and the care his brother had gone to, to make sure of a victory.

Guns were loaded with grape and depressed behind their closed ports. Boarding nets were already slung, suitably slack to prevent a quick inrush of any who lived through the first holocaust of fire. The Andiron’s men slept at their stations, each one armed to the teeth and eager to complete his captain’s strategy.

Rockets were rigged on the quarterdeck, and as soon as the boarders were engaged the rockets would be fired. From further inshore the signal would be passed to a waiting French frigate and the battle would be all but over. The attacking ship would stand no chance if caught without the best part of her crew. And if she closed to give the boarding party support the shore artillery would pound her to fragments before she realised her mistake.

And if it was the Phalarope there was one further despairing thought. Vibart would be in command. It was hard to see his mind working fast enough to deal with such a situation.

Bolitho gritted his teeth and walked slowly to the side. The island looked at peace. The defenders had settled down now and were waiting like himself. Except that when the time came he would be battened below, helpless and wretched as he listened to the death of his own ship. Or worse, her capture, he thought for the hundredth time.