“Over yonder, sir! Can’t make her out yet!”

Herrick ignored the ship swinging like a toy beneath his legs and opened his glass. At first he could see nothing but bright sunlight across the low-lying haze with the million glittering mirrors of the sea beneath. Then he saw the sail and felt a tinge of disappointment. The hull was well shrouded in mist, but from the sail’s strange dorsal shape he guessed it was small, probably a coasting lugger of some sort. Not worth taking as a prize, and hardly worth sinking, he decided angrily. He yelled the information to the deck and saw Bolitho staring up at him.

“A lugger, you say?” Bolitho sounded interested. “Keep watching her!”

“She’s not seen us.” The lookout squinted towards the sail. “Reckon us’ll be up to ’er afore she spots us.”

Herrick nodded and then looked down as Vibart called, “Pipe all hands! Stand by to wear ship!”

So Bolitho was going to close her anyway. Herrick watched the sudden burst of activity on the decks below. He had not seen such a sight since he was a midshipman. The scampering, apparently aimless figures, which surged from between decks and then merged as if by magic into recognisable patterns of discipline and purpose. He could see the petty officers checking their watch bills as they bawled names and orders. Here and there the officers and warrant officers stood like little isolated rocks against the surging tide of running seamen.

Again the yards moved round, flapping indignantly as the frigate altered course two points to starboard. Herrick felt the mast tremble, and tried not to think of the time it would take to fall to the deck.

But the breeze which had found the Phalarope had reached the other sail, and as the mist glided away in its path the lugger gathered way and heeled jauntily, another tan sail already creeping up her stumpy mainmast.

The lookout champed on a wad of tobacco and said calmly, “Her’s a Spaniard! Oi’d know that rig anywhere.”

Bolitho’s voice cut through his speculation. “You may come down now, Mr Herrick! Lively there!”

Herrick reached the deck gasping and sweating to find Bolitho waiting for him, his face deep in concentration.

“She’ll have the edge on us, Mr Herrick. She can make better use of these light airs than we can.” He gestured impatiently towards the forecastle. “Clear away the two chasers and fire across her bows!”

Herrick got his breath and gasped, “Aye, aye, sir! It would only take one ball to shatter her timbers!”

He saw something like amusement in the grey eyes as Bolitho replied, “She may have the most precious cargo of all time, Mr Herrick!”

Herrick stared at him dazedly. “Sir?”

Bolitho had turned to watch the gunners scampering forward towards the two long nine-pounders on the forecastle. “Information, Mr Herrick! Out here, the lack of it could lose a war!”

One shot was enough. As the tall waterspout fell in a splatter of spray beyond the lugger’s bows, first one sail and then the other crumpled and fell, leaving the boat rocking dejectedly to await the Phalarope’s pleasure.