But what could he do for him? There was no promotion open to him, no reward which made any sense. Once when he had pattered into the cabin to tend Bolitho’s wound he had asked the giant seaman what he would most cherish as payment for his bravery and his devotion.

Stockdale had not even hesitated. “I’d like to go on serving you, Captain. I don’t have no other wish!”

Bolitho had been considering the idea of getting Stockdale discharged ashore as soon as the ship returned to an English port. There with a little help he might be able to settle down to live his life in peace and security. But as what? Stockdale’s prompt and simple reply had driven the suggestion from his mind. It would only have hurt the man.

He wrote: “And of my coxswain, Mark Stockdale, I can only add that without his prompt action the entire mission might have ended in failure. By cutting the Andiron’s cable and thereby allowing her to drift beneath Lieutenant Herrick’s fire he ensured the total and complete destruction of the ship with a minimum loss to our own side.” He signed his name wearily across the bottom and stood up. Pages of writing. It was to be hoped that they would be read by those unbiased against the Phalarope’s name.

At least Farquhar’s uncle, Vice-Admiral Sir Henry Langford, would be pleased. His faith would be sustained, and given time his hopes for his nephew would certainly materialise.

Bolitho leaned out of the stern window and let the warm air caress his face. He could hear the creak of tackles and the steady splash of oars as boats plied back and forth to the shore. The ship had dropped anchor in the early morning, and all day the boats had been busy gathering fresh stores and taking the wounded to more comfortable quarters in the town.

He watched the impressive line of anchored ships, the growing might of the West Indies fleet. Perhaps their presence had dwarfed what might have otherwise been a triumphant return for the Phalarope. He frowned at his recurring thought. Maybe the Phalarope was still to be treated with shame and mistrust?

Bolitho let his eyes move slowly along the great ships with their towering masts and lines of open gunports. There was the Formidable, ninety-eight, fresh out of England with Sir George Rodney’s flag at her truck. There were others, too, their names already well known in the face of war. Ajax and Resolution, Agamemnon and Royal Oak, and Sir Samuel Hood’s flagship Barfleur. And there were some he did not recognise at all, no doubt reinforcements brought by Rodney from the Channel Fleet. And they were all gathering for one purpose. To seek out and destroy the great French and Spanish fleet before it in turn drove the British from the Caribbean for good.

He turned his head to look towards his own small squadron on the other side of the anchorage. The elderly Cassius dwarfing the little Witch of Looe. And one other frigate, the Volcano, a vessel very similar to the Phalarope.