Francis Inch, bobbing and horse-faced, could barely restrain his great beam of welcome. As commander or the sloop he would be vital for inshore work and sweeping ahead of the squadron.

Raymond Javal, the frigate's captain, looked more like a Frenchman than an English sea officer. Very dark and swarthy, with thick greasy hair, he had features so narrow that his deep set eyes seemed to dominate his whole appearance.

He looked at Captain George Probyn of the Nicator and gave a brief smile. They had served together in the old Trojan when the American Revolution "had erupted to change the face of the whole world. Yet it was almost impossible to see him in those times. He sat hunched against the table like a large, shabby innkeeper. A year or so older than Bolitho, he had left the Trojan in much the same manner as himself. To take command of a captured blockade runner and sail her as it prize to the nearest friendly port. Unlike Bolitho, however, whose chance had led directly to his first command, Probyn had been captured by an American privateer and had fretted out most of the war as a prisoner until an exchange had been made with a French officer. Those vital years in his, early service had obviously cost him dearly. He looked uneasy, with a sly, darting way of examining his fellow captains and then looking down into his clasped hands.

Herrick said formally, "All present, sir."

Bolitho looked at the table. In his mind's eye he was seeing his written orders, You are hereby authorised and directed to proceed with your squadron to ascertain by every means in your power the presence and destination of considerable armaments…

He began quietly, "As you will know, the enemy has spent much time in seeking out some flaw in our defences.