He smiled, amused at his own gesture. 'I will go below now.'

'I have placed the orders in your cabin, sir.'

Herrick was bursting with questions. It was obvious from his flat, formal voice. But his eyes, those eyes which were so blue, and which could look so hurt, made a lie of his rigidity.

'Very well, I will call you directly.'

He made to walk aft to the cabin hatchway when he saw some figures gathered just below the quarterdeck rail. In mixed garments, they were in the process of being checked against a list by Lieutenant Davy.

He called, 'New hands, Mr. Davy?'

Herrick said quietly, 'We are still thirty under strength, sir.'

'Aye, Sir.' Davy squinted up through the light drizzle, his handsome face set in a confident smile. 'I am about to get them to make their marks.'

Bolitho crossed to the ladder and ran down to the gun deck. God, how wretched they all looked. Half-starved, ragged, beaten. Even the demanding life aboard ship could surely be no worse than what had made them thus.

He watched Davy's neat, elegant hands as he arranged the book on top of a twelve-pounder's breech.

'Come along now, make your marks.'

They shuffled forward, self-conscious, awkward, and very aware that their new captain was nearby.

Bolitho's eye stopped on the one at the end of the line. A sturdy man, well-muscled, and with a pigtail protruding from beneath his battered hat. One prime seaman at least.

He realised Bolitho was watching him and hurried forward to the gun.

Davy snapped, 'Here now, hold your damn eagerness!' Bolitho asked, 'Your name?' He hesitated. 'Turpin, sir.'

Davy was getting angry. 'Stand still and remove your hat to the captain, damn your eyes! If you know anything, you should know respect!'