The frigate was gliding gently on the port tack, making a perfect pair above her own reflection in the deep blue water. Above her tapering masts the sky was cloudless and full of welcome, and already the eager gulls swooped and screamed around the yards with noisy expectancy.

Antigua, headquarters and main base of the West Indies squadron, a link in the ragged chain of islands which protected the eastern side of the Caribbean. Bolitho felt strangely glad to be back. He half expected to see the crew and deck of the Sparrow when he looked across the quarterdeck rail, but already the Phalarope’s company had grown in focus to overshadow the old memories.

“Deck there! Ship of the line anchored around the headland!”

Okes was officer of the watch and he looked quickly towards Bolitho.

“That will be the flagship most likely, Mr Okes.” Bolitho glanced up to the new topgallant where the keen-eyed lookout had already seen the tall masts of the other vessel.

The frigate slowly rounded Cape Shirley with its lush green hills and the tumbled mass of rocky headland, and Bolitho watched his men as they thronged the weather side, clinging to shrouds and chains as they drank in the sight of the land. To all but a few of them it was a new experience. Here everything was different, larger than life. The sun was brighter, the thick green vegetation above the gleaming white beaches was like nothing they had ever seen. They shouted to one another, pointing out landmarks, chattering like excited children as the headland slipped past to reveal the bay and the landlocked waters of English Harbour beyond.

Proby called, “Ready to wear ship, sir!”

Bolitho nodded. The Phalarope had every sail clewed up except topsails and jib, and on the forecastle he could see Herrick watching him as he stood beside the anchor party.

He snapped his fingers. “My glass, please.”

He took the telescope from Midshipman Maynard and stared fixedly at the two-decker anchored in the centre of the bay. Her gunports were open to collect the offshore breeze, and there were awnings across her wide quarterdeck. His eye fastened on the rear-admiral’s flag at her masthead, the gleam of blue and scarlet from watching figures at her poop.

“Mr Brock! Stand by to fire salute! Eleven guns, if you please!” He closed the glass with a snap. If he could see them, they could see him. There was no point in appearing curious.

He watched the nearest point of land falling away and then added, “Carry on, Mr Proby!”

Proby touched his hat. “Lee braces there! Hands wear ship!”

Bolitho glanced quickly at Okes and waited patiently. At length he said evenly, “Clear those idlers off the side, Mr Okes. That is a flagship yonder. I don’t want the admiral to think I’ve brought a lot of bumpkins with me!” He smiled as Okes stuttered out his orders and the petty officers yelled at the unemployed men by the rail.