After leaving Antigua the Phalarope had sailed directly to her allotted station, but apart from sighting another patrolling frigate and then later the bulky shape of the Cassius, she had kept the sea to herself.

And now, to top it all, the frigate was becalmed. For twenty-four hours she had idled aimlessly above her reflection, carried at will by the sluggish currents, the lookouts worn and weary from staring hopefully for a squall to break the spell. Seven long days since they had sailed with such haste from Antigua, seven days of watching the burnished horizons and waiting.

Herrick glanced forward where the duty watch lay like dead men below the dark shadow of the bulwark. Their half-naked bodies had already lost their pallor, and more than one unseasoned sailor bore savage burns on his skin from the sun’s relentless glare.

Midshipman Neale leaned against the nettings, his round face for once devoid of mischief or interest. Like the rest, he seemed crushed and defeated by the inactivity and heat.

It was hard to believe that anything else existed outside their own enclosed world. St Kitts lay some fifty miles to the south-east, and the Anegada Passage which separated the Virgin Islands from the disputed Leewards was spread in an eye-searing haze across the motionless bowsprit.

Of Hood’s efforts to hold St Kitts they had heard nothing, and for all Herrick could guess even the war might have ended. When they had met the flagship, Bolitho had made a signal requesting the latest information, but the reply had been unhelpful to say the least. The Phalarope had been carrying out gunnery practice, using several old and useless casks as targets. Herrick knew that Bolitho had done it more to break the monotony than with any hope of improving the standards of markmanship by such methods.

Cassius’s flags had soared angrily to her yards, and soon Maynard had reported warily that the admiral was demanding an immediate cease-fire. “Conserve powder and shot,” the signal had ordered curtly. So that was that.

Bolitho had made no comment, but Herrick knew his captain well enough now to understand the sudden anger in his grey eyes. It was as if the admiral had gone out of his way to isolate the Phalarope, as a doctor would separate a leper from his fellow humans.

He jerked from his thoughts as Bolitho’s head and shoulders appeared through the cabin hatch. Like the other officers, he was dressed in shirt and white breeches, and his dark hair was clinging to his forehead with sweat. He looked strained and edgy, and Herrick could almost feel the restlessness which was making Bolitho fret at the inaction around him.

Herrick said, “Still no wind, sir.”

Bolitho shot him an angry glance and then seemed to control himself. “Thank you, Mr Herrick. So I see.” He walked to the compass and glanced at the two listless helmsmen. Then he moved to the starboard rail, and Herrick saw him wince as the sun smote his shoulders like a furnace.