"S-sir! Mr Curzon's compliments, an' we've raised Barbados!" came the wide-eyed report.

The frigate L'Aurore had been at sea for long weeks, beating up the coast of South America in frantic haste on a mission that might well see the catastrophic situation of the British in Buenos Aires reversed. It had been a voyage of daring speed and increasing privation as provisions and water ran low under the pressing need for hurry. Reduced to short allowance, the griping of hunger was constantly with them.

Captain Thomas Kydd looked up from his desk. "Thank you, Mr Searle."

The ship's youngest midshipman hesitated, unsure whether to wait for a response for the second lieutenant.

Kydd laid down his pen. "Tell Mr Curzon I'll be on deck presently."

Apprehension stole over Kydd as he contemplated his task: to persuade a senior commander-in-chief to detach part of his fleet to go south in rescue of an unauthorised expedition that had sought to liberate South America from the Spanish.

It had all started brilliantly. Their tiny force had quickly captured the seat of the viceroyalty of the River Plate, Buenos Aires, but then the population had turned on their liberators and forced the surrender of their land forces. Commodore Popham, still at anchor off the port there, was desperately seeking support to retake the city.

From the quarterdeck Kydd gazed across an exuberant expanse of white-flecked blue sea to a distant light grey smudge, Barbados — where was to be found the Leeward Islands Squadron. There were just hours left to ensure that his arguments to its admiral for weakening the defences of the vital sugar islands by parting with his valuable assets were sound and convincing.

"A noble achievement, our voyage, sir, I'm persuaded," Curzon offered, as they neared.

"A damned challenging one," agreed Kydd, absently. There was murmuring that he didn't catch from the group around the wheel behind him but it wasn't hard to guess its drift. These were men who had left shipmates as prisoners to the Spaniards and they were expecting to see them freed soon by bold naval action.

Barbados was at its shimmering tropical best. After the intense blue of the deep sea, with its gaily tumbling white combers, and shoals of bonito and flying fish pursued by dolphins, there was now calm and beguiling transparent jade water above the corals. Along the shore coconut palms fringed dazzling white beaches. Neat houses on stilts with distinctive green jalousies perched above the tide line.

It was an impossibly lovely prospect for those who had voyaged so long and endured so much but, mission accomplished, they must leave and return to that grey southern madness.

By the time they had made the bluffs of South Point and left the brown and regular green of sugar fields safely to starboard, anxiety returned to steal in on Kydd. There was the possibility that the Leeward Islands Squadron was at sea, in which case it could be anywhere and would have to be found. However, his real concern was that, as a junior frigate captain, he was going to debate high strategy with a senior admiral. But there was no alternative: too many brave men depended on what he was about to say.

He was in full dress uniform well before they opened Carlisle Bay. It was soon established that the fleet was in, an imposing sight — three ships-of-the-line, escorting frigates and many others. But Kydd's eyes were on just one, the largest, which bore the flag of the commander-in-chief, Leeward Islands Squadron.

He knew little of the man: that he was a Cochrane unrelated to the one Napoleon called "the wolf of the seas," that by reputation he was cautious and punctilious but had nevertheless distinguished himself in battle, and that he was yet another Scot who had reached flag rank in the Royal Navy. None of this was going to help.

An officious brig-sloop rounded to under their lee and, after a brief exchange of hails, L'Aurore was shepherded into the anchorage to take up moorings with three other frigates. It felt odd after so long under a press of canvas to be at rest with naked masts.

In his mind Kydd went over yet again the burden of what he would argue. If successful they could be returning south within days with reinforcements and if not ... Well, would he have to go back empty-handed?

An expressionless Coxswain Poulden kept tight discipline in the boat's crew as they approached the flagship. Northumberland was in immaculate order, the welcoming captain in white gloves as Kydd stepped aboard, carefully lifting his hat to the quarterdeck and waiting while the boatswain's call died away. Then he was escorted to the grand cabin of the commander-in-chief.

"Captain Kydd, is it not?" Cochrane said, in a dry Scots burr, rising from his desk.

"L'Aurore frigate, thirty-two guns, sir."

"As I can see. Her reputation for speed on a bowline is known even here, Captain."

"Sir, I've news of great importance, a matter that sorely presses, bearing as it does on our situation in the south."

"Oh? Do carry on then, sir."

"I'm directed by Commodore Popham, my commander, to make my number with you in respect of an urgent operational request he has to make."

"I see." Cochrane's manner became unexpectedly mild, almost whimsical, as if restraining a humorous confidence. "And you are his emissary. Then do tell what this might be at all."

"I'm not sure how much you know, sir, of our descent on Buenos Aires, which —"

"You'll take a sherry, Kydd? I favour a light manzanilla in this climate. Will you?"

"Thank you, sir. We met with some success initially, seizing the city and quantities of silver, but —"

"Do sit, Captain. I'm sure it's been something of a trial, your long voyage."

"— but he now stands embarrassed for want of reinforcement," Kydd went on doggedly.

"Which he begs I might furnish."

"Sir, the matter is pressing, I believe, and —"

"And I'm therefore grieved to tell you that your mission is in vain."

Was this a direct refusal before he'd even mentioned the details?

"Sir, I have a letter for you from the commodore that establishes the strategics at back of his request."

Cochrane laid it on the desk, unopened. "That won't be necessary."

Kydd felt a flush rising. "Sir, I do feel —"

"Captain, two weeks ago your reinforcements touched here on their way to the River Plate."

"Why, that's —"

"Together with your commodore's replacement. He is under recall to England to answer for his conduct."

Kydd was thunderstruck.

"So that disposes of the matter as far as you are concerned, wouldn't you say?" the admiral said, toying with his quill.

"Um, yes, it does seem, sir, that —"

"Quite. Then I suppose it would appear that you and your valiant frigate are now without purpose."

Keyed up for a protracted confrontation, Kydd could think of nothing with which to meet this.

Cochrane leaned forward and said, with a frown, "I presume you realise how vital — how crucial — these islands are to Great Britain? You do? Then you'll be as distracted as I am, not to say dismayed, when you learn that this humble fleet is all that is left to me in the great purpose of defending the same. After Trafalgar we were stripped — I say stripped, sir — of ships of force and value. Should the...