Bolitho made up his mind. “Mr Maynard, make a signal to the Flag.” He saw Herrick look at Rennie and shrug, as if his captain’s actions were now quite beyond his ability to keep up. “Enemy in sight!”

He did not watch the flags soaring up the yards, but made himself walk back and forth across the quarterdeck, followed by the eyes of Rennie’s square of marines. This was the decisive moment. Sir Robert was an old man, and past his best. To try to delay the French ships would give him nothing but glory he would never see. It might even be so futile that his action would be remembered with scorn which could overshadow and despoil his whole career.

Maynard called, “Flag has acknowledged, sir!”

Bolitho bit his lip and continued his pacing. He could imagine the admiral’s rasping voice as he dictated his signals, the uncertainty of the flag-captain, and the cautious confidence of Fox in the Volcano.

Maynard said suddenly, “I can just make out her hoist, sir!” His eye was pressed to the end of the big telescope. “Flag to Volcano. Prepare for battle!”

The word flashed along the quarterdeck and down to the men waiting by the guns. Again the cheering, and again the cheer taken up across the water aboard the French ship. Bolitho waved absently as he saw Lieutenant Dancer’s limping figure by the taffrail as the captured ship braced her yards and spread her tattered sails abreast the low wind.

Herrick said excitedly, “Cassius is making all sail, sir! My God, what a sight!” He seemed more impressed by the flagship’s sudden activity than the fleet at his back.

Bolitho said, “Have every man armed, Mr Herrick. Put cutlasses and tomahawks at each gun. There will be plenty of fighting before long!”

Maynard lowered his glass, his voice shaking as he stared across at his captain. “From Flag, sir! General signal.” He sounded as if he was trying to feel each word. “Form line of battle!”

Bolitho nodded slowly. “Shorten sail, Mr Herrick. We will bide here and allow the Cassius to meet up with us.” He sniffed the air. “I feel we will lose the wind very soon. Dominica will act as a lee, I am afraid.”

He moved to the weather side and raised his glass across the nettings. Very slowly he moved the lens from side to side. In the small magnified picture he could see the dull flash of cannon fire, the brave flags and the gleam of sails as ship after mighty ship wheeled ponderously into line. He could feel the sweat at his spine, as he had after his nightmare. But this was real, yet harder to comprehend. God, there were three-deckers in plenty, perhaps sixty sail of the line, British and French, gliding together for a first, inexorable embrace.

He said sharply, “Pass the word for Mr Brock!” He did not lower his glass until the gunner reached the quarterdeck.

“Mr Brock, I want both carronades taken to the forecastle. Put your best hands in charge of them, and see that their slides are freshly smeared with tallow.” He closed the glass and studied the gunner’s dour face. “The carronades are the only weapons we possess which the French lack.” He stared down at the nearest weapon, snub-nosed and ugly, and lacking either the grace or the proportion of a proper deck gun. Yet a carronade could throw a massive sixty-eight-pound shot at short range, the power of which was devastating. Each circular shot burst on impact to deluge everything nearby with murderous cast-iron balls. One shot had the lethal quality of grape, added to which was the weight of a much heavier weapon.