Sparke was saying, 'It will have to be very fast. They might have boarding nets, but I doubt it. It would hamper her people more than ours.'

He was thinking aloud, seeing his name and citation in the Gazette, Bolitho guessed. It was clear in his eyes, like fever, or last.

'I will go and see the master.' Sparke hurried away, his chin thrusting forward like a galley prow.

Stockdale emerged from somewhere and knuckled his forehead.

'I've seen to the weapons, sir, I've put all the cutlasses and boarding axes to the grindstone.' He wheezed painfully. 'We still going, sir?'

Bolitho crossed to the side and took a telescope from the midshipman of the watch.

'I hope so.'

Then he saw that the midshipman was Forbes, the one who had been holding on to his friend during the flogging.

'Are you well, Mr Forbes?'

The boy nodded wretchedly and sniffed. 'Aye, Sir,'

'Good.' He trained the glass across the nettings. 'It comes hard to see a man punished. So we must always be on the lookout to remove the cause in the first place.'

He held his breath as the other vessel's topmasts flitted above the heaving water, as if the rest of her were totally submerged. She had a red square stitched against the throat of her mainsail. A makeshift patch, he wondered, or some special form of recognition? He shivered, feeling the rain trickling over his collar, plastering his hair to his forehead. It was uncanny to see the disembodied masts, to know nothing of the vessel and crew.

He turned to speak with Stockdale, but he had vanished as silently as he had appeared.

Dalyell lurched up the sloping deck and said hoarsely, 'It looks as if you'll be staying with us, Dick.' He'grinned unfeelingly. 'I'm not sorry. I've no wish to do George Probyn's work when he's in his cups!'

Bolitho grimaced. 'I'm coming round to everyone else's view, Simon. I'll go below now.' He looked up at the flapping masthead pendant. 'It seems I shall have the afternoon watch after all.'