Several captains exchanged quick glances. It was well known that when Rodney had tried to close the French admiral de Guichen off Martinique, and had not succeeded because some of his captains had failed either to understand or react to his signals, he had been quite ruthless. More than one captain now lived on miserly half-pay in England with nothing but disgrace and bad memories for comfort.

Rodney continued in a calmer tone, “Watch for my signals. Wherever, and on whatever ship my flag flies, watch for my signals!” He leaned back and stared at the deckhead. “This time there will be no second chance. We will win a great victory, or we will lose everything!”

He nodded to Hood, who added briefly, “Orders will be issued immediately to senior officers of squadrons. From the moment you leave here the fleet will be in all respects ready for sea. It is up to our patrolling frigates and sloops to watch the enemy’s lairs like hounds.” He pounded the table with his fist. “Give the Commander-in-Chief the scent and the kill is assured!”

There was a murmur of approval, and Bolitho realised that the meeting was over.

Lieutenant Dancer said quietly, “I wonder where our squadron will be sent? I would hate to miss the final scene when it comes!”

Bolitho nodded, mentally smiling at the picture of the tiny Witch of Looe engaging de Grasse’s three-deckers. Aloud he said, “There are never enough frigates. In every war it is the same story. Too little too late!” But he could say it without bitterness. Phalarope would be needed more than ever now. With the vast sea areas, the complex hiding places amongst the lines of scattered islands, every frigate would have more than enough to do.

He realised with a start that a sharp-faced flag-lieutenant had crossed the cabin to stop him leaving with the others.

“Sir George Rodney wishes to speak to you.”

Bolitho hitched up his sword and walked across the thick carpet. By the table he halted, half listening to the retreating scrape of footsteps. He heard the door close and the distant shrill of pipes speeding the exit of the fleet’s captains, and for a terrible moment he thought he had misunderstood the flag-lieutenant’s words.

Rodney was still sitting in his chair, his eyes half closed as he stared at the deckhead. Hood and Sir Robert Napier were completely engrossed in a chart on a nearby desk, and even the mess-men seemed busy and oblivious to the young captain by the table.

Then Rodney lowered his eyes and said wearily, “I know your father, Bolitho. We sailed together, of course. A very gallant officer, and a good friend.” He let his gaze move slowly across Bolitho’s tanned face and down the length of his body. “You have a lot of him in you.” He nodded. “I am glad to have you under my command.”

Bolitho thought of his father alone in the big house, watching the ships in the bay. He said, “Thank you, sir. My father wished to be remembered to you.”