“Mr Brock, there is a task for you.” Bolitho listened to his own voice and felt the strange wildness stirring him like brandy. “I want every starboard gun loaded with chain shot.” He watched the Andiron’s slow, threatening approach. “You have about ten minutes, unless the wind returns.”

The man nodded and hurried away without another word. His was not to question a meaningless order. A command from the captain was all he required.

Bolitho looked down at the main deck, at the dead and wounded, and the remaining gunners. He said slowly, “There will be one final broadside, men.” The words swept away his own illusion of making a last empty gesture. He continued, “Every gun will have chain shot, and I want each weapon at full elevation.” They began to stir, their movements brittle and vague like old men, but Bolitho’s voice seemed to hold them as he added sharply. “Load, but do not run out until the word!” He saw the gunner’s party carrying the unwieldy chain shot to each gun in turn. Two balls per gun, and each ball linked together with thick chain.

Captain Rennie said quietly, “They’re getting close, sir. They’ll be boarding us very soon now.” He sounded tense.

Bolitho looked away. All at once he wanted to share the enormity of his decision, but at the same instant he knew the extent of his own loneliness.

His last effort might fail completely. At best it would only drive the enemy to a madness which only the death of the whole of his crew would placate.

Herrick looked aft, his eyes steady. “All guns loaded, sir!” He seemed to square his shoulders, as if to project some strange confidence over his battered men.

Bolitho pulled out his sword. Behind him he heard the marines fixing their bayonets and shuffling their booted feet on the stained planking.

He called, “Stand by the starboard carronade, Mr Farquhar! Is it ready?” He watched narrowly as the other ship’s bowsprit swung over the Phalarope’s bulwark, her forechains and rigging alive with shouting men. Her captain must have stripped his guns to get such a large boarding party. Once aboard, they would swamp the Phalarope, no matter how desperate the resistance.

Farquhar swallowed hard. “Loaded, sir. Canister, and a full charge!”

“Very good.” The Andiron was barely twenty feet clear now, the triangular patch of trapped water between them frothing in a mad dance. “If I fall, you will take your orders from Mr Vibart.” He saw the young officer’s eyes seeking out the first lieutenant. “If not, then watch for my signal!”

The Andiron’s bow nudged the main shrouds and a great yell of derision broke from the waiting boarders.

Bolitho ran down the ladder and leaped on to the starboard gangway, his sword above his bare head. A few pistols banged across the gap and he felt a ball pluck at his sleeve like an invisible hand.

“Repel boarders!” He saw the gunners staring up at him, uncertain and shocked, their guns still inboard and impotent.