"Hasn't said yet," Lt. Fox replied, letting a yawn escape him. "Damme, I was hoping for hot porridge. Do we drill on the artillery, I'd prefer a steadier point of sail."

"Aye, this roll'd be a bugger," Lt. Farley agreed.

"Well, I leave you to it, Dick," Fox said, cheering up.

"I relieve you, sir," Lt. Farley said with another doff of his hat, and the Second Officer, along with his Midshipmen of the Watch, and the Starboard Watch of the quarterdeck and Afterguard, were scrambling below, some to their breakfasts, some to the uncertain warmth of the gun-deck.

Right aft, and just below the quarterdeck in the great-cabins, Captain Alan Lewrie was shaving… or trying to. It was not a chore comfortably, or safely, done in such a wallowing, rolling sea-way, in the small mirror of his wash-hand stand with a straight razor. Lewrie had to brace himself like a runner frozen in mid-stride, his left leg behind him and his right in front, balancing from one to the other as Thermopylae heaved from beam to beam like a metronome, about fifteen degrees or better to each roll. He could have sat himself down in a chair, but would be without the mirror, or the small enamelled basin that held his single pint of water ration for washing daily.

"Get out of it, ye bloody little…!" Lewrie snapped as Chalky, the younger and spryer of his cats, leaped atop the wash-hand stand for the third time, fascinated in equal measure by the lapping water in the basin and his reflection in the mirror. "Shoo! Scat! Pettus!"

"Sir?" his cabin steward replied, carefully hiding his smile.

"Isn't there some amusement ye could offer him?" Lewrie griped.

"I'll take him, sir," Pettus offered, coming to scoop up the white and grey-splotched cat and bear him away, spraddled atop his forearm. An instant later, and it was Toulon, the bigger and older (and clumsier) black-and-white torn that wished to see what had taken Chalky's attention, but his leap was just a tad off (blame it on the roll) and he went tumbling back to the deck, with the hand towel in his paws. Mrrf! he carped, tail bottled up in disgrace. Then Marr! as he looked up plaintively at Lewrie, as if to ask if he'd seen that flub.