Bolitho frowned. “Have you enough men to take this frigate as prize?”

Dancer stared. “But she is your prize, sir!”

“We can discuss the share of financial reward at a later and more convenient time, Lieutenant!” Bolitho smiled. “In the meantime I suggest you herd these prisoners below and make as much speed as you can with these rags for some port of safety.” He peered up through the smoke. “The wind has veered slightly to the southeast. It should carry you clear of any impending battle!”

Herrick blundered through the mess and tangle of corpses, his sword dangling from his wrist. He touched his hat. “We have just sighted the Cassius, sir!”

“Very well.” Bolitho held Dancer’s hand. “Thank you for your news. At least it will justify Sir Robert’s leaving his proper station!” He turned on his heel and climbed back across the sinking brig towards his own ship.

Still deep in thought he clambered over the bulwark and walked along the gangway. The gunners were standing below him, their faces upturned as he passed. The marine marksmen high in the tops and the little powder monkeys by the magazine hatch, all stood and stared at the slim solitary figure framed against the torn sails of the vanquished Frenchman.

It had been a swift and incredible victory. Not a man injured let alone killed in the attack, and no damage to the Phalarope at all. Some good men had died in the fight aboard the enemy ship, but the success far outweighed any such loss. A frigate taken as a prize, the Witch of Looe revenged if not saved, and all within an hour.

Yet Bolitho thought of none of these things. In his mind’s eye he could see his well-worn chart, and the enemy’s fleet moving in an irresistible tide towards the open sea, and Jamaica the prize.

Then a voice yelled out from the main deck and Bolitho turned startled and caught off guard.

“Three cheers, lads! Three cheers for our Dick!”

Bolitho stared round at the quarterdeck as the air was split with wild, uncontrollable cheering. Herrick and Rennie were openly grinning at him. Neale and Maynard waving their hats to the men on deck below. Bolitho felt confused and entirely unprepared, and as the three cheers extended to a frenzied shouting Herrick crossed to his side and said, “Well done, sir! Well done!”

Bolitho said, “What is the matter with everyone today?”

Herrick replied firmly, “You’ve given them more than a victory, sir! You’ve given ’em back their self-respect!”

The cheering died away as if from a signal, and Herrick said quietly, “They want you to tell them, sir.” He dropped his eyes.

Bolitho moved to the rail and stared slowly around the familiar faces. These men. His men. The thoughts chased one another through his mind like shadows. Starve them, beat them. Let them face scurvy and disease, and death a hundred different ways. But still they could cheer. He gripped the rail hard and stared above their heads. When he spoke his voice was quiet, and those men furthest away leaned forward to hear it better.