It was nearly a quarter of an hour before he returned to the deck. Aware that Hope was testing his ability he had waited until he had something positive to report.

He touched his hat to the captain.

'She's a brig, sir. Not flying colours, sir.'

'Very well, Mr Drinkwater.'

'See her from the deck now, sir,' drawled Devaux who had come up on deck.

The captain nodded. 'Clear away the bow chasers, Mr Devaux…'

Drinkwater too could see the two masted vessel they were bearing down upon. He watched for the bright spot of colour that must surely appear soon to denote her nationality. A dozen other telescopes were endeavouring to glean the same information. A red speck rose to her peak, red with a white cross.

'Danish!' A dozen people snapped out simultaneously.

Cyclops tore down on her quarry and on a nod from Hope a gun barked from forward, its smoke rolling slowly ahead of the onrushing frigate.

A white spout rose ahead of the Danish ship. It was a cable short but it had the desired effect as the Dane backed his main topsail and hove to.

'Mr Devaux, you'll board.'

Orders flew. Where previously every idler in the ship had been intently watching the chase, chaos erupted. Out of this apparent disorder the main and forecourses rose in their bunt-lines and groups of organised men appeared to lower the lee quarter boat as Cyclops turned to back her main topsail.

Devaux shouted more orders and Drinkwater heard his own name in the confusion.

'Get in that boat, cully!' roared the first lieutenant and Nathaniel ran to the waist where a net had been flung over the side. The boat's crew were aboard but extra seamen armed with cutlasses were swarming down into her. Drinkwater cocked a foot over the rail, caught the leg of his trousers on a belaying pin and heard the fabric rip. But this time it did not seem to matter.