But it appeared that the captain had other ideas and still retained some powerful faith in his sailing master. Bolitho was relieved from his watchkeeping duties, and spent most of Lie time compiling a letter to his father. He merely added to the same long letter whenever he found the opportunity, and ended it just as abruptly whenever they spoke with a homebound packet. It would be a link with his father. The reverse would also be true as Bolitho described daily events, the sighting of ships and islands, the life which was no more for Captain James.

He sat on his sea chest, squinting his eyes as he tried to think of something new to put in his letter.

A chill seemed to run up his spine. As if a ghost had suddenly entered his tiny cabin. He looked up, startled, and saw the deckhead lantern flickering as before. But was it? He stared, and then peered round at the small hanging space where his other clothing had been swaying and creaking just moments earlier.

Bolitho stood up, but remembered to duck his head as he rushed out and aft into the wardroom. The stern windows were dull grey, streaked with spindrift and caked salt.

He pressed his face against them and exclaimed. 'My God The Sage was right!'

He hurried up to the quarterdeck, instantly aware of the motionless figures all around him, their eyes peering across the quarter or up at the sails which were lifting and then drooping, shaking against the pressures of rigging and spars.

Cairns had the watch, and looked at him gravely. 'The fog, Dick.' He pointed across the nettings. 'It is coming now.'

Bolitho watched the slow progress, the way it seemed to smooth the turbulence from the waves and flatten the crests as it approached.

'Deck there! Oi've lost sight o' th' schooner, zur!'

Pears' voice cut across the speculation and gossip. 'Bring her up two points, Mr Cairns!' He watched the sudden bustle, the shrill calls between decks.