Napier said suddenly, "Boat's casting off! " He sounded tense, anxious. He was always a serious sort of youth. Jago, who went where he chose as the captain's coxswain, had seen life in the great cabin, beyond the screen doors and the scarlet-coated 'bullock'. It had made him feel a part of it.

He heard the distant splash of oars and the familiar creak of looms and found that he was clenching his fists. His mouth was very dry.

What about me? Yovell would go to his cottage. The boy was staying with the captain. He stared at the anchored frigate again. And Unrivalled was going into the yard, as he had known she would. All those engagements, when she had shuddered and lurched to the enemy's iron as it had smashed into the hull, often below the waterline.

And that last time at Algiers, when so many had fallen, while the air quivered to cannon fire and splintering timbers had the fools forgotten that too? Or that on this last passage home, the pumps had been going throughout every watch?

Unrivalled would be paid off. After that… It would be decided by those who had never heard a full broadside, or risked everything just to hold a mate's hand when his life was being torn from him.

He would collect his pay and his bounty and take some time for himself. Some company maybe. A woman if she came his way. Captain Bolitho might not get another ship. He would not need a coxswain.

He was sharply reminded of the captain's face when he had returned from seeing the port admiral. He frowned. That had been yesterday. Jago had had the gig at this same jetty, the boat's crew in their smartest rig, as always. A ship is always judged by her boats, some one had once said. He was right, whoever he was. And a captain's crew had to be the best of all. It was not even Unrivalled's proper gig; that had been too badly smashed by canister and musket fire to warrant repair. Like some of her original crew.