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He clung to the railing with numb hands and prayed they would survive the night, while their gunners gave return fire and attempted to rake the French ship.

“Bear!” shouted Captain Reynolds beside him, trying to make himself heard above the racket.

He turned toward his commanding officer, squinting in the dark against the rain in his face.

“We have just had word from the Indefatigable. There is land, two nautical miles leeward. We need to turn northwards to avoid being bashed on the rocks!”

Beroald snatched at the railing as the ship rolled and another wave poured onto the deck, drenching him and his captain in cold saltwater.

Battling to stay on his feet as he followed Reynolds to the poop deck, he reflected that if he died tonight, there would be no wife or child to mourn his passing, only an older brother he hadn’t seen for seven years.

Grasping the banister to the poop deck to haul himself up the steps, battered by wind and rain, he wondered with a kind of hollow despair if he would he ever find the woman who would hold his heart in the palm of her hand, or was he fated to go to the bottom of the sea, alone forever?

25th August 1813, HMS Victorious, Chesapeake Bay

Dear Captain Falkland,

It is my sad duty to inform you that your brother, Harold Falkland, 5th Duke of Westcott, has passed away on 20th February 1813 without issue.

Being his nearest male relative, you have now acceded to the dignities and the estate of which he was possessed.

You are urged to return home forthwith to assume control of said inheritance.

I most sincerely pass on my condolences to you at this tragic loss.

Yours etc.

JM Holmes, Solicitor

London