At one gun a captain was even having to put a rope fall into the hands of one of his men, as the poor wretch stared at it without comprehension. His mind was too full of fear, his eyes too mesmerised by the overtaking frigate with her long row of guns to heed what the petty officer was saying. At each gun there were men like this. With so many new hands, pressed from unwarlike jobs ashore, this danger was inevitable.

Given time, he could have trained each and every one of them. Bolitho banged his fist slowly on the rail. Well, there was no more time. Andiron not only had more guns, but they were eighteen-pounders against Phalarope’s twelve-pounders. Most of her crew would no doubt be made up of English deserters and seasoned sailors who were no strangers to battle. Any crew which could take the Andiron from Captain Masterman was a force to be feared.

At his back Captain Rennie stood nonchalantly by the hammock nettings, his sword looped to his wrist with a gold lanyard, as he watched Sergeant Garwood dressing his men into neat scarlet ranks. There was something very reassuring about the marines, Bolitho thought grimly, but their muskets would not be much use against eighteen-pounders!

All at once the remorse and despair he had been enduring since the Andiron’s first treachery had shown with her flag gave way to something like blind rage. It was too late for the “if onlys” and the “maybes.” He had brought his ship and his men to this. His was the sole responsibility. He had recognised the American’s trap just in time to save them all from the first blow, but he should have seen it earlier.

He walked to the rail and shouted along the deck, “Now listen to me, men! In a few moments we are going to give battle to that ship!” He saw every face turned towards him, but already they had lost meaning and personality. They were a crew. Good or bad, only time would show. But that they should all trust him was essential.

“Just take your time and obey orders, no matter what is happening around you! Each gun is fitted with the new flintlock, but make sure there is a slow-match at hand in case of failure!”

He saw Okes look across from the starboard battery to where Herrick waited by his own guns. A quick exchange of glances which might have meant anything.

He felt Stockdale slipping the coat over his shoulders and then the firm clasp of the swordbelt around his waist. He watched the powerful frigate plunging over towards the larboard quarter, his eyes gauging the speed and the distance.

“One more thing!” He leaned forward as if to will them to listen. “This is a King’s ship! There will be no surrender!”

He thrust his hands beneath the tails of his coat and walked slowly to the weather rail. It would not be long now. He looked across to Proby’s shabby outline beside the wheel. “In a moment we will beat to windward, Mr Proby.” He heard a mumbled assent and wondered what the master would make of his order.