Then, all at once it was over. The deck clattered with the weapons thrown down by the Ondine’s seamen, and Bolitho realised that their cries of defiance had changed to pleas for quarter. He knew he could not hold his men back if they wanted to complete the slaughter. It fell to some unknown sailor to break the spell of destruction and killing.

“A cheer for the Phalarope!” The voice cracked with relief and jubilation. “An’ a cheer for Mad Dick!”

Bolitho climbed down the ladder, past the dazed Frenchmen and the mangled litter of entwined corpses.

“Captain Rennie!” He paused beside the remains of Lieutenant Okes. “Hoist our flag above the French ensign!” He felt his hands shaking. “Let them all see what you have done today.”

Sergeant Garwood said gruffly, “The cap’n is dead, sir!” He unrolled the flag carefully. “But I will do it!”

“Dead?” Bolitho stared after him. “Rennie, too?” He felt Herrick pulling his arm and asked heavily, “What is it?”

“The ship is ours, sir!” Herrick was shaking with excitement. “The gun-deck is like a slaughterhouse! Our carronades did more than . . .” He broke off as he saw Bolitho’s face.

“Very well, Mr Herrick. Thank you.” His voice shook. “Thank all of you!” He turned away as more cheering echoed round the bloody decks.

Herrick shook his head as if he was beyond understanding. “A two-decker, sir! What a victory!”

Bolitho replied quietly. “We have a tradition of victory, Mr Herrick.” He seemed to be speaking to himself. “Now gather our people and send them back to the ship. They have cut the wreckage away.” He stared dully at the Phalarope and let his eyes move slowly along her length. There were great gaping holes in her once-trim hull, and she was well down by the head. It sounded as if the pumps were only just containing the inrush of water. All three top-masts had gone, and the sails flapped in the breeze in long canvas streamers. He could see bodies hanging in the tops, the great patches of scarlet across the smashed and buckled planking below. Intruding for the first time since their battle had begun came the distant thunder of that other great fight. Still far away and impersonal.

Bolitho made another effort to pull himself together. “Lively, Mr Herrick! The battle is still not over!”

If only his men would stop cheering. If only he could get away and be with himself.

Herrick waved his arm. “Clear the ship, lads! We can take this wreck later in our own good time!”

Bolitho walked to the bulwark. Across the gap he could see Neale standing just where he had left him beside the wheel. He said, “Tell my coxswain to take Mr Okes and Captain Rennie over to the ship.” He saw Herrick’s sudden anxiety and felt despair closing in again. “Not Stockdale, Mr Herrick?”

Herrick nodded. “He fell as you were fighting on the poop, sir. He was defending your back from the marksmen.” He tried to smile. “I am sure that was what he would have wished!”