Bolitho met his even gaze. Apart from Sparke and Frowd, the master's mate, and to a lesser extent himself, the others were children at this sort of thing. He doubted if either the nervous Quinn or the willing Couzens had ever heard a shot fired other than at wildfowl.

But he said, 'Thank you, sir.' He would show the same attitude that Cairns had displayed to the captain.

Cairns touched his arm. 'Go and find some dry clothing, if you can.' As he turned towards his cabin he added, 'You will have the redoubtable Stockdale in your cutter. I would not be so brave as to try and stop him!'

Bolitho walked through the wardroom and entered his little cabin. There he stripped naked and towelled his damp and chilled limbs until he recovered a sensation of warmth.

Then he sat on his swaying cot and listened to the great ship creaking and shuddering beneath him, the occasional splash of spray as high as the nearest gunport.

This time tomorrow he might be on his way to disaster, if not already dead. He shivered, and rubbed his stomach muscles vigorously to quell his sudden uncertainty.

But at least he would be doing something. He pulled a dean shirt over his head and groped for his breeches.

No sooner had he done so than he heard the distant cry getting louder and closer.

'All hands! All hands! Hands aloft and reef tops'ls!'

He stood up and banged his head on a ring-bolt.

'Damnation!'

Then he was up and hurrying again to that other world of wind and noise, to the Trojan's demands which must always be met.

As he passed Probyn's untidy shape, the lieutenant peered at him and grinned. 'Fog, is it?'

Bolitho grinned back at him. 'Go to hell!'

It took a full two hours to reef to the captain's satisfaction and to prepare the ship for the night. The news of the proposed attack had gone through the ship like fire, and Bolitho heard the many wagers which were being made. The sailor's margin between life and death in this case.