The salute began to pound and re-echo around the hills as the frigate swung slowly towards the other ship, and more than one man bit his lip as the saluting guns brought back other more terrifying memories.

“Tops’l sheets!” Proby mopped the sweat from his streaming face as he gauged the slow approach to the anchorage. “Tops’l clew lines!” He looked aft. “Ready, sir!”

Bolitho nodded, only half listening to the salutes and the staccato bark of orders.

“Helm a’ lee!” He watched the quartermaster pulling steadily at the polished spokes and saw the nearest hillside begin to swing across the bows as the Phalarope turned into the wind and began to lose way.

Now there was no sound but for the gentle lap of water as the ship glided slowly towards the shore.

Bolitho called, “Let go!”

There was a splash from forward followed by the jubilant roar of cable as the anchor plunged into the clear water.

Maynard said excitedly, “Signal, sir! From Cassius to Phalarope. Captain to repair on board.”

Bolitho nodded. He had been expecting it and was already changed into his best uniform. “Call away the gig, Mr Okes, and see that its crew is properly turned out!” He saw the harassed lieutenant hurry away and wondered momentarily what was worrying him. He seemed strained. His mind only half on his duty.

Vibart came aft and touched his hat. “Any orders, sir?”

Bolitho watched the boat being swayed out, the petty officer in charge using his cane more than usual, as if he too was well aware of the watching flagship.

“You can stand by to take on fresh water, Mr Vibart. We will no doubt be warping through into English Harbour directly, and the men can go ashore and stretch their legs. They’ve earned it.”

Vibart looked as if he was going to argue but merely replied, “Aye, aye, sir. I’ll see to it.”

Bolitho looked across at the two-decker. The Cassius, seventy-four, flagship of Rear-Admiral Sir Robert Napier. He was said to be a stickler for promptness and smartness, although Bolitho had never actually met him before.

He climbed down the ladder and walked slowly towards the entry port. It was strange to realise that he had been in command for only five weeks. It seemed as if he had been aboard for months. The faces of the side party were familiar now, and already he was able to pick out the personalities and the weaknesses.

Captain Rennie saluted with his sword and the guard presented arms.

Bolitho removed his hat and then replaced it as the gig idled alongside with Stockdale glaring from the tiller. The pipes twittered and shrilled, and as he stepped into the gig he looked up at the ship’s side, at the fresh paint and neat repairs which hid the clawing scars of battle. Things might have been a lot worse, he thought, as he settled himself in the sternsheets.

The oars sent the little boat scudding across the calm water, and when Bolitho looked astern he saw that his men were still staring after him. He held their lives in his hands. He had always known that. But before the short battle some might have doubted his ability. They might even have thought him to be like Pomfret.