The man on the shingle threw up a mock salute and Bolitho nodded. A last farewell.

He said, "Take each step with care, Adam. You'll get your frigate after this if you stay out of trouble."

Adam smiled. "I am sailing for Gibraltar with your dispatches, Uncle. After that I fear the fleet's apron strings will tether me."

Bolitho returned his smile. It was like seeing himself being reborn. "Apron strings can stretch." He clasped him against his boat-cloak, oblivious of the rigid marines and the watching bargemen. Almost to himself he said, "God be with you."

Then, as Adam doffed his new gold-laced hat and allowed his raven hair to ruffle in the wind, Bolitho hurried down the stairs. He nodded to the lieutenant. A face from the recent past, except he had been one of Achates' midshipmen then.

"Good day, Mr Valancey. It will be a hard pull in this wind."

He saw the flush of pleasure on the youngster's face because he had remembered his name. Any link would help.

He seated himself in the sternsheets and then waved to Adam as, with oars dipping and rising like wings, the smart, green-painted barge thrust clear of the piles.

With unseemly haste the little gig pulled towards the stairs, and as they swept around the stern of an anchored transport the sallyport was hidden from view.

There were many vessels at anchor, their black and buff hulls shining dully in the rain and spray. Beyond them the Isle of Wight was little more than a misty hump, but the wind was steady. Was he glad to go this time?

The lieutenant coughed nervously. "The frigate yonder is Barracouta, sir." He flinched as Bolitho glanced at him. The frigate must have dropped anchor this morning otherwise he would have been informed. She was to be one of his new squadron under Jeremy Lapish who had commanded a brig like Adam's when he had last served under him. In war the chance of promotion, like death, was ever present. But it was sensible of the lieutenant to tell him and also showed that he took an interest in the comings and goings within the fleet.