He could imagine the sleep-dazed men tumbling from their hammocks groaning and protesting, while from forward came the usual mixture of smells from the galley. Another day, but this time it would be different. The sea was no longer empty and hostile. The other ship might make the men remember that they were part of something real and important.

He saw the frigate’s big yards begin to change shape and heard Herrick say, “She’s going about, sir. She’ll be up to us shortly!”

Bolitho nodded absently. The stranger would swing round to run parallel, keeping the Phalarope down to leeward. As Herrick had suggested, it might mean new orders.

He climbed down from the rigging suddenly chilled and tired. The keen spray had moulded his shirt to his body and his hair felt wet against his cheek. He noticed that his ship had changed yet again. The quarterdeck seemed thronged with figures, the officers keeping to the lee side, but with their glasses raised and watching the other frigate.

Midshipman Maynard looked anxiously towards the stranger and strained his eyes through his big telescope. As he was in charge of signals he knew that Bolitho would be watching him.

The main deck was also alive with newly awakened seamen, and the bosun’s mates had to use their ropes’ ends more than usual to drive them away from the bulwark as they peered across the water at the frigate’s approach. Chattering and excited they stowed their hammocks in the nettings and still staring abeam moved reluctantly towards the galley hatch.

Bolitho lifted his glass again as tiny black balls soared to the other ship’s yards and broke out to the wind.

Vibart leaned against the binnacle and growled at Maynard, “Come on then! Read it out!”

Maynard blinked the spray from his wet eyes and flicked rapidly through his book. “She’s made her number, sir! She’s the Andiron, thirty-eight, Cap’n Masterman.”

Bolitho closed his glass with a snap. Of course. He should have known her immediately. When in Sparrow he had often seen her on patrol off the American coast. Masterman was an old hand at the game. A senior captain, he had chalked up many successes against the enemy.

The Andiron had completed her manœuvre and was settling down on the same course as the Phalarope. Her sudden wide turn had taken her across the Phalarope’s beam, but as her sails bellied and filled once more she began to overhaul to windward.

Bolitho watched Maynard’s signal party hoisting the Phalarope’s number and wondered what Masterman would say when he eventually discovered that he was now in command. The signal books would still show Pomfret as captain.

Maynard shouted, “Signal, sir! Andiron to Phalarope. Heave to, have despatches on board.”

The sunlight glittered along the Andiron’s closed ports as she swung slightly down on the other ship.

Herrick said, “She’ll not need to lower a boat, sir. She could drift a raft across.” He rubbed his hands. “I wonder if she has any fresh vegetables aboard?”