Bolitho nodded. The American obviously felt sure of a capture. It would not take long to refit a ship in one of the dockyards left by the British retreating from the American colonies.

The realisation brought a fresh flood of despairing anger to his aching mind. The Phalarope was fighting for her life. But her men were failing her. He was failing her. He had brought the ship and every man aboard to this. All the hopes and promises were without meaning now. There was only disgrace and failure as an alternative to death.

Even if he had contemplated flying from the Andiron’s attack it was too late now. The wind was falling away more and more, and the sails were almost useless, torn like nets by the screaming cannon balls.

A marine threw up his hands, clawing at the gaping scarlet hole in his forehead before pitching back into his comrades.

Captain Rennie drawled, “Fill that space! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” To Sergeant Garwood he added petulantly, “Take the name of the next man who dies without permission!”

Surprisingly, some of the marines laughed, and when Rennie saw Bolitho looking at him he merely shrugged, as if he too understood it was all part of one hideous game.

The ship staggered, and overhead the sails boomed in protest as the fading wind sighed against the flapping canvas. Bolitho snapped, “Watch your helm, Quartermaster! Steady as you go!”

But one of the helmsmen had fallen, a pattern of scarlet pouring from his mouth and across the smooth planking. From somewhere another seaman took his place, his jaw working steadily on a wad of tobacco.

Vibart growled, “The starboard battery is a shambles! If we could engage the opposite side it would give us time to reorganise!”

Bolitho eyed him steadily. “The Andiron has the advantage. But I intend to try and cross her stern directly.”

Vibart peered abeam, his eyes cold and calculating. “She’ll never allow it. She’ll pound us to shavings before we get a cable’s length!” He looked back at Bolitho. “We will have to strike.” His voice shook. “We can’t take much more.”

Bolitho replied quietly. “I did not hear that, Mr Vibart. Now go forrard and try and get the full battery into action again!” His tone was cold and final. “When two ships fight, only one can be the victor. I will decide on the course of action!”

Vibart seemed to shrug. As if it was not his concern. “As you say, sir!” He strode to the ladder adding harshly, “I said that they did not respect weakness!”

Bolitho felt Proby shaking his arm and turned to see the anxiety etched on his mournful face. “The wheel, Captain! It don’t answer! The yoke lines have parted!”

Bolitho stared dully over Proby’s rounded shoulders to where the helmsman pulled vaguely at the wheel, the squeaking spokes responding in empty mockery as the ship paid off and began to sidle sluggishly downwind.

The sudden movement brought more cries from the main deck as the frigate rolled her gunports skyward in a dizzy, uncontrollable elevation.