He looked round as he heard something like a gasp and saw the thin midshipman staring up at the towering masts and furled sails. His face seemed full of dread, and the hand which gripped the boat's gunwale was stiff like a claw.

Bolitho asked quietly, 'How old are you, Mr. Seton?'

The boy tore his eyes from the ship and muttered, `S-Sixteen, sir.'

Bolitho nodded gravely. 'Well, I was about your age when I joined a ship very like this one. That was the year Hyperion was built.' He gave a wry smile. `And as you see, Mr. Seton, we are both still here!'

He saw the emotions chasing each other across the midshipman's pale face and was glad he had omitted to add that the occasion he had described had been his second ship. At that time, and from the age of twelve, he had been constantly at sea. He wondered why Seton's father had left it so late before sending him into the Navy.

He straightened his back as the boat shot forward towards the entry port and a voice rang out, 'Boat ahoy?'

Allday cupped his hands and yelled, 'Hyperion!'

If doubt there had been, there was none now. Every man aboard would know that the straight-backed figure in the goldlaced hat was his new master, the man who, next to God, held complete sway over every life in his ship. One who could flog or hang, just as he could equally reward and recognise the faults or efforts of everybody under his hand.

As the oars were tossed and the bowman hooked on to the main chains it took all of Bolitho's self-control to hold himself motionless in the sternsheets. Strangely, it was the seasick, midshipman who broke the spell. He made to scramble towards the side, but Allday growled, 'Not yet, my young gentleman!' He pulled him back to his seat and added, 'Seniors are last in the boat but first out, got it?'