Vibart gasped, “Her ports are opening! My God, she’s running up her colours!”

Bolitho saw the striped flag breaking to the crosswind and followed Vibart’s shocked stare as the frigate’s ports opened and the concealed guns trundled outwards like a row of shining teeth.

He said harshly, “Clear for action, Mr Vibart! Have the guns loaded and run out immediately!” He checked Vibart as he ran to the rail. “It will take all of ten minutes. I will try to give you that amount of time!”

The deck canted as the ship steadied on her new course around and away from the other frigate. But the Andiron was already turning on the same circle, her sails flapping as she headed into the wind in an effort to close the range. From her peak the new American flag made a patch of bright colour against the tan sails, and Bolitho had to tear his mind back to the present to stop himself thinking of what would have happened but for that one stupid signal.

Andiron would have crossed the Phalarope’s unprotected stern and her gunners, hitherto concealed behind the bulwark and sealed ports, would have poured shot after shot through the big cabin windows. The balls would have screamed and torn the full length of his command, and with half the men still below, helpless and unprepared, the disaster would have been over within minutes.

Even now it might be too late. Andiron was the bigger ship, and her deep keel was better for this sort of handling. Already she was cutting across the Phalarope’s stern and beating rapidly up to wind-ward to regain her first advantage. In another fifteen minutes she would try the same manœuvre again, or she could be content to close the range from the larboard quarter. With the wind in her favour action could not be avoided.

He made himself walk to the taffrail and stare back at the other ship. The pretence had gone now, and he could see the crouching gunners, the clusters of officers on the canting quarterdeck. What had happened to Masterman? he wondered. He were better dead than know his proud ship to be a privateer.

He turned his back on the Andiron’s dark hull and looked along his own command. The chaos had gone and to the unpractised eye the ship looked ready and eager for battle.

On both sides the guns had been run out and the gun captains were testing their trigger lines and passing hoarse orders to their men. Boys ran the length of the deck throwing down sand to give the gunners a firm grip when the time came, while others scuttled from gun to gun with water buckets for the swabs and to damp down any sudden fire.

Vibart stood below the quarterdeck rail and yelled, “Cleared for action, sir! All guns loaded with double shot and grape!”

“Very well, Mr Vibart.” Bolitho walked slowly towards the rail and ran his eye along the larboard side guns. They would be the first to engage. His heart sank as he picked out faults in the pattern like flaws in a painting.