He nodded to Proby. “Tops’ls and jib, Mr Proby.” To Onslow he said, “We will need more men to break out the anchor.”

Onslow showed his teeth. “A good try, but not good enough. I will cut the cable!” He waved the pistol. “I have enough men here for the sails!” He hardened his jaw. “Try that sort of trick again and I will kill the lieutenant!” He cocked the pistol and pointed it again at Herrick. “Carry on, sir!”

Bolitho felt the sun beating down on his face and tried to shut out the overwhelming sensation of defeat. There was nothing he could do. He had even put young Neale’s life in danger now.

Quietly he said, “Very well, Onslow. But I hope you live long enough to regret this.”

A man yelled from forward, “Look! There are some men on the beach!”

Onslow swung round, his eyes glinting. “By God, there’s a boat shoving off!”

Bolitho turned to watch as the Phalarope’s jolly-boat idled clear of the sand and began to move across the water. There were only two men in it, and he guessed that the landing party must have broken into panic at the sight of the frigate preparing to sail without them. Several mutineers were already aloft, and a jib sail flapped impatiently in the rising breeze. He could see many more men further along the green ridge and the glint of metal on a drawn sword.

Onslow said slowly, “Let the boat get near enough to rake with a nine-pounder!” He was grinning. “And fetch up Mr bloody Vibart! We’ll give those bastards something to remember us by!” To Bolitho he said, “It will be a hanging after all, and who better?”

It took four men to drag the first lieutenant from the cabin hatch. His clothes were in ribbons, and his face was scarred and battered almost beyond recognition. For several seconds he stared up at the running noose which was already being passed down from the main-yard to eager hands on deck. Then he turned and looked up towards the quarterdeck, seeing Bolitho and the others for the first time. One of his eyes was closed, but the other stared straight at Onslow with neither fear nor hope.

Onslow called, “Now, Mr Vibart! Let us see you dance to our tune!” Some of the men laughed as he added, “You’ll get a good view from up there.”

Bolitho said, “Leave him! You have me, Onslow, isn’t that enough?”

But Vibart shouted, “Save your pleadings for yourself! I don’t want your damn pity!”

Suddenly a voice shouted, “Look! In the jolly-boat! It’s Allday and Ferguson!”

Several men ran to the side, and one even started to cheer.

Onslow rasped, “Stand by that gun! We don’t need them here!”

Bolitho watched narrowly as another big seaman, the one called Pochin, pushed past the wheel and growled, “ ’Old on! It’s Allday! ’E’s a good mate, an’ always ’as bin.” He looked down at the main deck. “What d’you say, lads?”