'Man the braces there!'

Pears said to the deck at large, 'We'll gain a cable or so.'

He looked up as the wheel squeaked and the yards began to swing in response to the braces. With her great spread of canvas still holding the dying wind, Trojan heeled obediently and pointed her jib boom further to windward. Flapping canvas, chattering blocks and the yells of petty officers did not cover his voice as he said to the tall sailing master, 'That was well done, Mr Bunce.'

Bunce dragged his gaze from the helmsmen and the swaying compass card. In the dull light his eyes and brows stood out from all else.

He replied humbly, 'It is His will, sir.'

Pears turned away as if to hide a smile. He barked, 'Mr Sparke, lay aft. Mr Bolitho, attend the cutters and have them swayed out presently.'

Steel clashed between decks, and more men swarmed up to the boat tier, their arms filled with cutlasses, pikes and muskets.

Bolitho was on the gundeck, watching the second cutter's black painted hull rising on its tackles. Then he turned to look aft and saw that the upper poop and the taffrail were already misty and without substance.

He said, 'Lively, lads, or we'll not find our way over the bulwark!' It brought a few laughs.

Pears heard them and said soberly to Sparke, 'Tend well what the master tells you about the set of the current hereabouts. It will save a mile of unnecessary boat pulling, and not see you arriving on your prize with no breath to lift a blade.' He watched Sparke's eyes as they took it all in. 'And take care. If you cannot board, then stand off and wait for the fog to clear. Well not drift that much apart.'

He cupped his hands. 'Shorten sail, Mr Cairns! Bring her about and lie to!'

More shouted commands, and moments later as the courses and topsails were brailed up to the yards the two boats detached themselves from the shadowy gundeck and swung up and over the gangway.