Clank, clank, clank went the capstan, the hidden anchor swinging below the surface like a pendulum. But the Hyperion seemed to care nothing for the confusion and frantic activity about her decks and yards. She showed a strip of bright copper as she tilted heavily in to the choppy water, throwing the spray high above her beakhead so that the gleaming Titan seemed to be rising from the sea itself.

Inch came back wiping his face. "Sir?"

Bolitho eyed him gravely. "Get the courses on her." He looked up at the masthead pendant as it streamed almost abeam and as stiff as a lance. "We'll have the t'gallants on her directly once we've cleared Rame Head."

The helmsman intoned, "Sou'-west by south, sir! Full an' byel"

Bolitho felt the deck tilting steeply as the old ship gathered the wind into her spreading canvas. She must make a fine sight now, he thought vaguely. Topsails and courses set and hard-bellied like pewter in the dull light, the yards braced round to take maximum advantage of the wind which was ruffling the blurred headland like wet fur.

The anchor was clear of the water now and already being hauled towards the cathead.

And still the men sang, some glancing across their shoulders as the green headland sidled so quickly into the mist of rain and spray.

"I knew a lass in Portsmouth town,

Heave, my bullies, heave!"

How many sailors had sung as their ships had slipped into the Channel, how many on the shore had watched moist-eyed or grateful, or just thankful for being spared similar hardship?

When Bolitho raised his glass again the land had lost all individuality. Like its memories and hopes it was now so distant as to be unreachable. He saw some of the younger men staring across the gangway, one of them actually waving, although the ship must be all but invisible by now.