He still did not like Farquhar, he decided. But he had proved a first-class officer in combat. That made up for many things.

As the last corpse had splashed alongside to begin its journey two thousand fathoms deep he had turned, only to stop in surprise as he had realised that the deck had filled silently with men from below decks. Nobody spoke, but here and there a man coughed quietly, and once he had heard a youngster sobbing uncontrollably.

He had wanted to say something to them. To make them understand. He had seen Herrick beside the marine guard, and Vibart’s massive figure outlined against the sky at the quarterdeck rail. For a brief moment they had all been together, bound by the bonds of suffering and loss. Words would have soiled the moment. A speech would have sounded cheap. He had walked aft to the ladder and paused beside the wheel.

The helmsman had stiffened. “Course south-west by south, sir! Full an’ by!”

He had returned here. To this one safe, defended place where there was no need for words of any sort.

He looked up angrily as Stockdale padded through the door. The man studied him gravely. “I’ve told that servant o’ yours to bring your supper, Captain.” Stockdale peered disapprovingly at the litter of charts and written reports. “Pork, sir. Nicely sliced and fried, just as you like it.” He held out a bottle. “I took the liberty of breaking out one o’ your clarets, sir.”

The tension gripped Bolitho’s voice in a vice. “What the hell are you jabbering about?”

Stockdale was undaunted. “You can flog me for sayin’ it, sir, but today was a victory! You done us all proudly. I think you deserve a drink!”

Bolitho stared at him lost for words.

Stockdale began to gather up the papers. “An’ further, Captain, I think you deserves a lot more!”

As Bolitho sat in silence watching the big coxswain laying the table for his solitary meal, the Phalarope plucked at the light airs and pushed quietly beneath the stars.

From dawn to sunset she had given much. But there would be other days ahead, thanks to her captain.

6

A SIGHT OF LAND

BOLITHO walked to the starboard side of the quarterdeck and rested his hands on the sun-warmed hammock netting. He did not need either chart or telescope now. It was like a homecoming.

The small island of Antigua had crept up over the horizon in the dawn’s light, and now sprawled abeam shimmering in the forenoon sunlight.

Bolitho felt the old excitement of a perfect landfall coursing through his limbs, and he had to make himself continue in his interrupted pacing, if only to control it. Five weeks to a day since the Phalarope had showed her stern to the mist and rain of Cornwall. Two weeks since the clash with the privateer, and as he looked quickly along his ship he felt a quick upsurge of pride. All repairs had been completed, and the remaining wounded were well on the mend. The death roll had risen to thirty-five, but the sudden entry into warmer air, with sun and fresh breezes instead of damp and blustering wind, had worked wonders.