When he paused for breath he saw the outline of Sandy Hook sliding abeam, some men waiting in a small yawl to wave as the great ship stood over them.

He heard Cairns ' voice again. 'Get the t'gan'sls on her!'

Bolitho peered up the length of the mainmast with its great bending yards. He saw midshipmen in the tops, and seamen racing each other to set more canvas. When he looked aft again he saw Bunce with his hands thrust behind him, his face like carved rock as he watched over his ship. Then he nodded very slowly. That was as near to satisfaction as Bolitho had ever seen him display.

He pictured the ship as she would look from the land, her fierce, glaring figurehead, the Trojan warrior with the redcrested helmet. Spray bursting up and over the beakhead and bowsprit, the massive black and buff hull glistening and reflecting the cruising whitecaps alongside, as if to wash herself clean from the land.

Probyn's voice sounded raw as he shouted at his men to secure the second anchor. He would need plenty to drink after this, Bolitho thought.

He looked aft, past his own seamen as they slid down stays and vaulted from the gangways to muster again below the mast. Then he saw the captain watching him. Along the ship, over all the bustle and haste their eyes seemed to meet.

Self-consciously, Bolitho reached up and straightened his hat, and he imagined he saw the captain give a small but definite nod.

But the mood was soon broken, for Trojan rarely gave much time for personal fancies.

'Man the braces there! Stand by to come about!'

Sparke was shouting, 'Mr Bolithol'

Bolitho touched his hat. 'Aye, I know, sir. Take that man's name! '

By the time they had laid the ship on her chosen tack to both the captain's and Bunce's satisfaction the land was swallowed in mist and rain astern.