The commodore shrugged. “I would wish to see Cornwall again.” He reached out and touched the worn gangway rail. “But like my poor old Hebrus, I expect I will die out here.” He said it without rancour or bitterness.

Bolitho stood back and removed his hat to the quarterdeck.

As the side party paid its respects to him once more and he climbed down to the waiting gig he found himself thinking of the fine houses in St James’s. Would anyone there care if they read Sayer was dead?

But he thought he already knew the answer, and he was frowning when he ordered Allday to cast off.

As he sat in silence and the boat left the flagship’s shadow and moved into the blazing heat he glanced at the faces of the oarsmen. What did he really know of these men? It was different in war. The enemy was clear to see, the cause, though vague, was always a just one because it was your own. Holding together, cheering and hitting back were all part of that desperate world. But now, miles from real civilization, what would men like these think if pressed too far?

Allday glanced down at Bolitho’s squared shoulders, at the black hair which as always was tied neatly above his gold-laced collar. The captain was going over it all, as he usually did. Fretting and bothering himself for other people’s sakes. He could guess what was uppermost in his mind. Allday had been aboard Bolitho’s ship in the mutiny, a pressed man at that. He’d not forget it either. He looked at the oarsmen, each picked and trained by him. They knew about the Bounty mutiny, and by sundown every man-jack and convict in the colony would, too.

Allday had never known his parents, and could not properly remember at what age he had first set foot aboard ship. He had been at sea all his life but for a short while in Falmouth, where he had been pressed by men from Bolitho’s own ship. Over the years before that time he could recall several captains who would warrant a mutiny. Cruel, vindictive men who seemed to delight in making their people suffer. Men such as those could make even the tiniest act of kindness in the crowded world between decks seem like a kind of miracle. It was wrong that it should be so when there were others like Bolitho who cared for their responsibility.