“Starboard a point!” Bolitho ran to the rail and leaned out as far as he could. Then he saw the towering sails of the ship of the line as it drove down on a converging course with the flagship. They should pass port to port, he thought. He shouted to the main deck, “Stand by, Mr Herrick!”

Okes yelled, “The Frenchman’s changing his tack, sir!” He was jumping with agitation. “God in hell, sir! He’s turning across the Cassius’s bows!”

Either the French captain was unwilling to face a gun for gun contest, or he hoped to rake the Cassius’s bows and masts as he crossed her course, Bolitho was not quite sure which. But either way he had not allowed for the extra sail carried by Admiral Napier’s elderly flagship.

Instead, the two ships crossed their bowsprits and then met at right-angles with a sickening crash. As they locked together both ships opened fire, the arrowhead of water between them erupting in a great sheet of flame and black smoke.

Bolitho watched in chilled silence as Cassius’s foremast and main-topgallant leaned drunkenly and then smashed down into the all-enveloping smoke. He could see rigging and spars ripping away the sails and scattering men from the tops like dead fruit.

Another broadside split the air apart, and Bolitho knew that the Cassius’s forward guns were within feet of the enemy’s. Yet still they stayed locked together, their splintered bowsprits and jib-booms entangled like the tusks of two crazed beasts from a nightmare.

Bolitho cupped his hands. “Both carronades to starboard” He waved his hand at Proby. “We will put her across the enemy’s stern, if we can!” He half ducked as a ball screamed overhead and slapped through the driver leaving a ragged tear. A stray shot from the giants, but just as deadly, he thought grimly.

All around him men were coughing and wiping their eyes as the smoke reached out and over the frigate’s decks.

The helmsman cursed as the Cassius’s torn sails loomed over the fog like some great spectre. But Bolitho gauged the set of the flag-ship’s masts and knew he was on the right course. The fog closed in again, and he saw the double lines of flashes as both fired salvo after salvo at pointblank range. He could hear the two hulls grinding together, the screams and cries of the wounded and dying, mingled with the unbelievable sound of the admiral’s drum and fife band. It was impossible to tell what they were playing, or how a man could live, let alone think of an empty tune in that holocaust.

But Bolitho shouted, “A cheer, lads! Give a cheer to the Flag!”

Muskets banged through the smoke, and Bolitho heard the balls thudding into the bulwarks and whining against the nine-pounders.

Rennie bellowed, “Marksmen! Shoot down those bastards!” And from aloft came an answering volley.

The wind seemed to have gone altogether, although in the dense smoke it was impossible to gauge either speed or distance. Then out of the flickering, choking fog Bolitho saw the stern of the two-decker. It seemed to hang above the Phalarope’s starboard bow like an ornate cliff, and he could see the flash of musket fire from her stern windows as marksmen directed their attention to the frigate’s forecastle.