Ferguson hung his head. “I-I’m sorry.”

Allday said, “I know you’re afraid. And so am I. And so is the captain, I shouldn’t wonder.”

At that moment Lieutenant Herrick stepped on to the forecastle and walked briskly to the carronades. “Everything well, Mr McIntosh?”

The gunner’s mate stood up and wiped his palms on his trousers. “Aye, sir.” He studied the lieutenant and then added, “Mola Island seems a long time ago now, Mr Herrick.”

Herrick stared aft along the main deck to the raised quarter-deck where Okes stood stiffly beside the captain. Would Okes crack this time? he wondered. Which way would his private shame make him react? He replied, “It does indeed.”

Okes’s voice, distorted by his speaking trumpet, echoed above the rumble of gunfire. “Another pull on the weather forebrace there! Mr Packwood, take that man’s name!”

Herrick hid his dismay from McIntosh. Okes was so much on edge that he had to say something. Anything.

McIntosh said dryly. “Promotion does not seem to solve everything, Mr Herrick!”

Herrick swung round as flags broke from the Cassius’s yards. A moment later he heard Maynard yell, “Engage the enemy, sir!” Then, in a slightly steadier voice, “Tack in succession!”

The pipes trilled. “Lee braces. Jump to it!”

Keeping time with the ponderous two-decker the frigates tacked slowly to the south-east. Herrick shaded his eyes as the sun lanced down between the sails, and saw the nearest enemy ships less than a quarter of a mile away. They were in no apparent order, but with their yards braced round were tacking on a converging course with the British squadron. The big three-decker hid her gaping ranks of guns in deep shadow as she swung slightly up wind. The two had been cast off, and the leading ship of the line, unhampered by her massive consort, heeled easily in the breeze, her command flag pointing directly at the Cassius.

Herrick tried to clear the dryness from his throat. “Carry on, Mr McIntosh. I must attend my duties!”

He had to force himself to walk slowly down to the main deck. As he passed an open hatch where a marine sentry leaned on his musket he saw the surgeon’s scarlet face grinning up at him.

“Yer ’ealth, Mr ’Errick!” He waved a tankard.

Herrick felt slightly mad. “Damn you, Tobias! You’ll not have my body today!”

Some of the men at the nearest guns chuckled. “That’s right, sir! You tell ’im!”

Herrick strode on to take up his position in the centre of the deck. Farquhar was below the quarterdeck, his haughty features slightly pale but determined. Herrick gave him a nod, but Farquhar did not seem to see him.

There was a crashing boom, all the more startling because every man had been expecting it. It was followed instantly by a ragged salvo, and another.

Bolitho’s voice broke through Herrick’s stricken thoughts. “Note it in the log, Mr Proby! We have engaged the enemy!” His voice was muffled as he turned away. “Cut those boats adrift, Mr Neale! They’ll act like a damn sea anchor in this poor wind!”