'It's not much to tell the captain, Dick. He has his orders. Trojan is no frigate. If we lost time in some fruitless manoeuvres we might never reach the convoy in time. You have seen the wind's perverse manners hereabouts. It could happen tomorrow. Or now.'

Bolitho said quietly, 'Remember what the Sage said. Fog.' He watched the word hitting Cairns Like a pistol ball. 'If we have to lie to, we'll be no use to anyone.'

Cairns studied him searchingly. 'I should have seen that.

These privateersmen know more about local conditions than any

of us.' He gave a wry smile. 'Except the Sage.' Lieutenant Quinn came on deck and touched his hat. 'I'm to relieve you, sir.'

Ile looked from Bolitho to the straining masses of canvas. Bolitho would only go for a quick meal, especially as he wanted to know about Pears' reactions. But to the sixth lieutenant, eighteen years old, it would seem a lifetime of awesome responsibility, for to all intents and purposes he would control Trojan's destiny for as long as he trod the quarterdeck.

Bolitho made to reassure him but checked himself. Quinn must learn to stand on his own. Any officer who depended on help whenever things got awkward would be useless in a real crisis.

He followed Cairns to the companionway, while Quinn made a big display of checking the compass and the notes in the log.

Cairns said softly, 'He'll be fine. Given time.'

Bolitho sat at the wardroom table while Mackenzie and Logan endeavoured to present the meal as best they could. Boiled meat and gruel. Ship's biscuit with black treacle, and as much cheese as anyone could face. But there was a generous supply of red wine which had arrived in New York with the last convoy. From the lock on Probyn's face he had made very good use of it.

He peered across at Bolitho and asked thickly, 'What was all that din about a sail? Somebody getting a bit nervous, eh?' He leaned forward to peer at the others. 'God, the Navy's changing!'