"Seemed an organised sort o' thing?" Lewrie asked. "Or merely a civilian barge or two?"

"We've gathered they're singletons, sir, swanning along slowly in both directions," Lt. Farley said in answer as they reached the flag lockers and taffrail lanthorns right aft, forcing them both to turn inwards and reverse their course. "One or two with washing strung up, and women aboard, and not more than two of those could be described as being close together."

"Dull as Dutchmen," Lewrie decided aloud, with a sigh. "Unfortunately, sir," Lt. Farley agreed. "Dead-boresome," Lewrie said further. "Indeed, sir," Farley said with a nod.

"I'm so bored," Lewrie admitted. "A cutter could perform this duty better. A frigate's wasted on close blockade."

"I fear we all are, sir. Bored, that is," Farley told him. "Ah, about drill on the great-guns, sir… "

"Not with this bloody rolling, Mister Farley. Not today. We'd be safer at pike and cutlass work. And musketry, aye!" Lewrie said in suddenly brighter takings. "One hour o' cut an' thrust, then an hour o' musketry at a towed keg."

"Very good, sir," Lt. Farley said with a relieved grin.

"Deck, there!" a lookout on the main-mast cross-trees shouted down. "Cutter off th' larboard quarter, hull up, an' makin' signal!"

No more'n eight or nine miles off, Lewrie decided to himself as he turned to peer to windward. Even from the deck, he could faintly make out a dingy white triangle of sail-a set of triangular jibs and a gaff-rigged fore-and-aft mains'l barely peeking from behind the jibs-with a tiny splotch of colour at her mast-head that presumably was a national ensign. Perhaps the lookout had better eyes to espy the even tinier signal hoist from so far away.