But she pushed forward across the Phalarope’s bows, followed by a further ragged salvo and a single angry bark from a forecastle nine-pounder. Then she was clear, gathering her tattered sails like garments to cover her scars, and pushing downwind into the rolling bank of smoke.

Bolitho stood watching her, his heart thumping, his eyes watering from strain and emotion.

The minutes dragged by, and then the insane realisation came to him. The Andiron was not putting about. She had taken enough.

Half stumbling he returned to the quarterdeck where Rennie’s marines were grinning at him and Farquhar was leaning on the smoking carronade as if he no longer trusted what he saw.

Then they started to cheer. It was not much at first. Then it gathered strength and power until it moved above and below decks in an unbroken tide.

It was part pride and part relief. Some men were sobbing uncontrollably, others capered on the blood-stained decks like madmen.

Herrick ran aft, his hat awry, his blue eyes shining with excitement. “You did for them, sir! My God, you scuppered ’em!” He clasped Bolitho’s hand, unable to stop himself. Even old Proby was grinning.

Bolitho controlled his voice with one last effort. “Thank you, gentlemen.” He looked along the littered decks, feeling the pain and the blind exultation. “Next time we will do better!”

He swung round and pushed through the whooping marines towards the dark sanctuary of the cabin hatch.

Behind him, as if through a fog, he heard Herrick shout, “I don’t know about next time, lads! This will do me for a bit!”

Bolitho stood breathing hard in the narrow passageway listening to their excitement and laughter. They were grateful, even happy, he realised dully. Perhaps the bill would not be too high after all.

There was so much to do. So many things to prepare and restore before the ship would be ready to fight again. He fingered the worn sword hilt and stared wearily at the deck beams. But it would wait a moment longer. Just a short moment.

* * *

Herrick leaned heavily on the forecastle rail and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Only the slightest breeze ruffled the calm sea ahead of the gently pitching bows, and as he watched he saw the sun dipping towards the horizon, its glowing reflection already waiting to receive it and allow night to hide the Phalarope’s scars.

Herrick could feel his legs shaking, and again he tried to tell himself it was due to fatigue and the strain of a continuous day’s working. Within an hour of the privateer’s disappearance Bolitho had returned to the quarterdeck, his dark hair once more gathered neatly to the nape of his neck, his face freshly shaved, and the dust of battle brushed from his uniform. Only the lines at the corners of his mouth, the grave restlessness in his eyes betrayed any inner feelings as he passed his orders and began the work of repairing the damage to his ship and crew.