“So you say, Bolitho!” The admiral put his head on one side, like a small, spiteful bird. “I know all about your ship. I have read Admiral Longford’s letter and all that he had to say about the trouble there was aboard when with the Channel Fleet. I am not impressed, to say the least!”

Bolitho felt the colour rising to his cheeks. The admiral’s insinuation was obvious. In his view the Phalarope was a marked ship and unacceptable, no matter what she achieved. He said coldly, “I did not run away, sir. It happened just as I stated in the report. In my opinion the privateer was unwilling to sustain more damage.” He had a sudden picture of the crashing broadside, the chain shot ripping away the enemy’s sails and rigging like cobwebs. Then another picture of the silent dead being dropped overboard. He added, “My men did as well as I had hoped, sir. They had little time to defend themselves.”

“Please don’t take that tone with me, Bolitho!” The admiral stared at him hotly. “I will decide what standards your people have reached.”

“Yes, sir.” Bolitho felt drained. There was no point in arguing with this man.

“See that you remember it in future.” He dropped his eyes to the papers and said, “Sir George Rodney has sailed to reorganise his fleet. He will be returning from England at any time. Sir Samuel Hood is away at St Kitts, defending it from the French.”

Bolitho said quietly, “St Kitts, sir?” It was barely one hundred miles to the west of his chair aboard the flagship, yet the admiral spoke as if it was the other side of the world.

“Yes. The French landed troops on the island and tried to drive our garrison into the sea. But Admiral Hood’s squadron retook the anchorage, and even now is holding all the main positions, including Basseterre, the chief town.” He glared at Bolitho’s thoughtful face. “But that is not your concern. I am in command here until either the Commander-in-Chief returns or Admiral Hood sees fit to relieve me. You will take your orders from me!”

Bolitho’s mind only half attended to the other man’s irritable voice. In his mind he could see the tiny island of St Kitts and knew exactly what its safety meant to the harassed British. The French were strong in these waters, and had been more than instrumental to the British defeats at the Chesapeake the previous year. Driven from the American mainland, the British squadrons would depend more and more on their chain of island bases for supplies and repairs. If they fell, there would be nothing to prevent the French or their allies from swallowing up every last possession in the Caribbean.

The French fleet in the West Indies was well trained and battle hardened. Their admiral, Count de Grasse, had more than once out-guessed and outfought the hard-pressed ships of the British. It had been de Grasse who had driven a wedge between Admiral Graves and the beleaguered Cornwallis, who had assisted the rebel general, Washington, and had organised the American privateers into useful and deadly opponents.