With but a bit more sail exposed, Thermopylae was forced to heel a few more degrees to leeward, but after putting her shoulder to the sea, she felt stiffer and no longer rolled to larboard like a metronome; no, the ship came fully upright with each windward roll, and seemed steadier. He looked overside to the amber-tinted glimmers of lanthorn-light on the heaving wave crests. The wind drove them by as they chopped and broke upon themselves, making it seem as if the frigate was making way, but was she? Lewrie staggered aft towards the cross-deck hammock nettings at the forrud edge of the quarterdeck, peering out-board, hoping…

"Two and a quarter knots, sir!" Midshipman Plumb called out in a thin, piping voice from the taffrails.

"Bow lookouts!" Lewrie bellowed through a brass speaking-trumpet. "Is the sea-anchor cable taut?"

"Slack, sir!" one shouted aft. "Runnin' up on th' buoy, sir!" cried another.

"Just thankee Jesus!" Lewrie said under his breath, then turned to Lt. Fox. "Take in the sea-anchor, sir, 'fore we run her under the forefoot."

He uncrossed his fingers with a whoosh of pented breath, grinning for the first time since mid-day. Even at a bare two knots' good to windward, they could be eight miles clear of the Dutch shoals by the change of watch! "Watch your luff, Mister Hook, Mister Slater!" Lt. Fox warned. "Can't hold her head Nor'east, sir!" the Quartermaster shouted. "Wind's veerin' on us." He and his Mate, Slater, heaved on the spokes of the wheel, easing a full quarter turn of helm leeward. "Steady on Nor'east by East, sir… best she'll manage."

Sailin' parallel t'Holland, not makin' sea-room, then, Lewrie thought with a groan; we'll have t'tack, stiff as the winds are, and hope for the best! The winds were too stiff, and the spray too thick, to spread a chart on the traverse board in the dark. The best Lewrie could do was picture the chart in his mind, and groan again as he realised that, should they continue on this course, they'd encounter those islands East of the Texel, Vlieland and Terschelling, Nor'east of Den Helder and Harlingen, that jutted Northwards, smack on their bows!