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who we are, then close with Captain Gould, while I go below to write my despatch. And keep me informed of the progress of that ship making sail.’
    There was no cabin to enter, for everything had been taken down when they cleared for action. The bulkheads that had formed the walls were now either hinged up and fastened to the deckbeams or down below, as was the cabin furniture off which they had eaten their dinner. A chair had been left for his wife to sit on, as he apprehended no immediate danger, and a small desktop escritoire on which he could pen his despatch, though he had to kneel on the deck planking to do so. His letter was addressed to the man he had last seen in Lisbon harbour, Vice-Admiral Sir William Hotham.
    HMS Brilliant; at sea, off Toulon, July 28th 1793
    Sir,
    In pursuance of the orders given to me aboard your flagship, I have the honour to furnish you with the following information about the state of the enemy fleet.
    He went on to list what had been observed in terms of tonnage, guns and a guess at preparedness before concluding:
    I felt it my duty to send off Captain Gould as soon practicable so that you will have information on which you can base a sound judgement. I acknowledge that it is incomplete, but I will endeavour in the following days to secure a more accurate picture of the state of affairs in the port, and a clear idea of the exact state of readiness of the enemy’s ability to mount operations prior to the rendezvous I anticipate you will make, here, off Toulon, in the coming weeks.
    I am, sir, you most humble servant.  
    Sanded and sealed, he put the despatch in an oilskin pouch, then turned to Emily, who had sat silently while he wrote. ‘Now, my dear, you can quit you chair and come on deck, for I believe we will soon have something to show you.’
    ‘A frigate, sir, a twenty-eight, just clearing the outer anchorage.’
    ‘Thank you, Mr Glaister.’
    Farmiloe positively screamed from the masthead. ‘Deck there, sail bearing due east.’
    ‘Of what nature?’ called Glaister, as both he and his captain grabbed a telescope and trained them over the rail.
    Ralph Barclay positively spat at his First Lieutenant, angry at himself for not anticipating what should have been obvious, but quite prepared, in the time-honoured fashion he had observed from his first days at sea, to pass on his ire.
    ‘Are you a fool, sir? It will be a warship, Mr Glaister, the fastest the French have, set to trap us!’
    Glaister took the rebuke with equanimity, too well versed in the ways of the Navy to protest, indeed composing his face into an attitude of open respect. ‘You did wonder at it, sir, which is close to anticipation.’
    ‘I did, Mr Glaister, you are right.’ Mollified by the Highlander’s tone, Ralph Barclay spoke in a more friendly way. ‘Though I think, like me, you will observe he may have come too precipitately upon his task. He should have waited until we engaged or sought to play catch me with that fellow coming out.’
    ‘They have the wind, sir.’
    ‘So do we if we run, Mr Glaister.’
    The emotion, in the look that crossed his premier’s face, was replicated in the bodily attitude of every officer and midshipman on deck; they saw only the chance of a fight, with the possibility of glory. That it could be madnessmade no odds, for glory brought with it rewards that could not be gained in any other fashion. It also brought with it the possibility, or in this case the near-certainty, of death and destruction, but that was as nothing compared to promotion, public gratitude and wealth. Ralph Barclay, who scoffed at the kind of captains who indulged in quarterdeck explanations, was obliged to address the matter, though he took care to look at Emily as he did so, for though he cared not one jot that his inferiors might consider him shy, he cared a great deal that she did not.
    ‘I am as minded to engage the enemy as the next man, but at odds of two to one in vessels, and I am sure, more