The man went, and Inch had said admiringly, "Well, that was something, sir."

Bolitho had looked away as the frightened seaman commenced to climb up the vibrating ratlines. "You lead men, Mr. Inch. It never pays to torment them." To Stepkyne he had added, "We are still shorthanded and need every fit man we can get. To flog that one senseless seems rather pointless, wouldn't you agree?"

Stepkyne had touched his hat and strode forward again to supervise his men.

To Inch Bolitho had continued, "There's no easy way. There never was."

At six bells it was time to wear ship and the whole business started all over again. Dazed and bruised, with bleeding fingers and faces tight with strain the new men were led or dragged out along the yards to shorten sail, for the wind was freshening every minute, and although the land was only ten miles abeam it was hidden in mist and spray.

Bolitho made himself stay silent as he watched the frantic efforts to obey his orders. Time and time again some men had to be shown what to do, even had halyards or braces put into their hands while Tomlin and his assistants scampered from one piece of confusion to another.

Then at last even Gossett seemed satisfied, and with the men straining and sliding at the braces the Hyperion turned her bows to the southward, the wind battering across her quarter with relentless force so that two additional men had to be sent to the wheel.

But she was enjoying it, Bolitho thought. Even shortened down to topsails she was leaning forward and down, plunging her bowsprit towards the invisible horizon in great sweeping thrusts as each successive roller cruised against her fat flank and then broke high over her tumblehome in a welter of frustrated spray.