As a boy Bolitho had often seen the approach of a ship-of-war, and had heard the news shouted down the narrow streets, the cry carried from house to house like a distress signal. Young men had dropped their work, bid hasty farewells to their friends and families, and made for the safety of the hills, where they could watch and wait until the ship had made sail and dipped towards the horizon. There was a rough coast road above the cliffs which led northeast away from Falmouth towards Gerrans Bay and St Austell. No press gang would take the time and trouble to follow them. Hampered by weapons and the short breath left by lack of exercise, they would know such efforts to be wasted. No, there were few who were slow or stupid enough to allow the King’s men an easy catch.

In pitch darkness Bolitho had turned the ship inshore and heaved to, the deck canting savagely to the stiff wind and the swift offshore currents. Old Proby had been at first doubtful, and then had openly showed his admiration. There were no beacons, and apart from a dull shadow of land there was nothing to show that Bolitho had found the exact point below Gerrans Bay where the chart displayed a tiny crescent of beach.

A landing party had been detailed soon after leaving Portsmouth, and below the quarterdeck, their faces pale in a shaded lantern, the selected men had listened to Bolitho’s instructions.

“I am putting you ashore here in the two cutters. You will be in two parties. Mr Vibart and Mr Maynard with one, and Mr Farquhar with the second.” He had sought out the severe face of Brock, the gunner. “Mr Brock will also accompany the second party.” Farquhar might be too eager if left alone, he thought. Brock’s experience and self-contained efficiency would make a nice balance.

“If I know Falmouth, as soon as the ship appears in the Bay at first light the sort of men we are after will make their way along the coast road as fast as they can go. If your parties keep up a steady march along that road as soon as you leave Pendower Beach, they should run right into your arms. It saves selection, I believe.” He had seen Brock nod his narrow head approvingly. “The boats will return to the ship and you can march straight on to Falmouth.” A few of the men sighed, and he had added calmly, “It is only five miles. It is better than tramping around the town for nothing.”

With Herrick at his side he walked briskly up the sloping road towards the neat houses, his shoes slipping on the worn well-remembered cobbles. By now Vibart must have made some catches, he thought. If not, if he had made his first misjudgement, it would only help to add to the tension in the Phalarope.

Lieutenant Okes was still aboard in charge of the ship until his return, and Captain Rennie’s marines would be able to deter anyone who still hoped to desert. Even a desperate man would find it hard to swim the stretch of tossing water from the anchored frigate.