Cairns appeared on deck, and after scrutinizing the compass and glancing at the slate on which a master's mate made his half-hourly calculations he crossed to join Bolitho.

Bolitho touched his hat. 'She holds steady, sir. Nor' by east, full and bye.'

Cairns nodded. He had very pale eyes which could look right through a man.

'We may have to reef if the wind gets up any more. We're taking all we can manage, I think.'

He shaded his eyes before he looked to larboard, for although there was no sun the glare was intent and harsh. It was difficult to see an edge between sea and sky, the water was a desert of restless steel fragments. But the rollers were further apart now, cruising down in serried ranks to lift under Trojan's fat quarter to tilt her further and burst occasionally over the weather gangway before rolling on again towards the opposite horizon.

They had the sea to themselves, for after beating clear of Nantucket and pushing on towards the entrance of Massachusetts Bay they were well clear of both land and local shipping.. Somewhere, some sixty miles across the weather side, lay Boston. There were quite a few aboard Trojan who could remember Boston as it had once been before the bitterness and resentment had flared into anger and blood.

The Bay itself was avoided by all but the foolhardy. It was the home of some of the most able privateers, and Bolitho wondered, not for the first time, if there were any stalking the powerful two-decker at this moment.

Cairns had a muffler around his throat, and asked, 'What make you of the weather, Dick?'

Bolitho watched the men streaming to the hatches on their way to the galley and their cramped messes.

He had taken over the watch as Bunce had been keeping a stern eye on the ritual taking of noon sights, although it was more a routine than to serve any real purpose in this poor visibility. The midshipmen lined up with their sextants, the master's mates watching their progress, or their lack of it.