As a captain, Bolitho had been made to take his ships to sea in every sort of condition. From a lively sloop to the towering three-decker Euryalus in which he had been flag captain he had experienced the anxious moments before the anchor broke from the sea bed.

For Herrick it would be much the same, if not worse. To look at a captain on his own quarterdeck, remote and aloof from the bustle and confusion all around him, protected from criticism by his authority and his gleaming epaulettes, any idler might think he was beyond ordinary fears and feelings.

Bolitho had thought much in that way when he had been a junior lieutenant, or for that matter a midshipman. A captain had been a sort of god. He had lived an unreachable existence I beyond his cabin bulkhead, and had but to scowl to have every officer and seaman quaking.

But now, like Herrick, he knew differently. The greater the responsibility the greater the honour. Equally, you had I further to fall from grace if things went badly.

Allday came into the cabin and rubbed his large hands.

There were droplets of spray on his blue jacket, and he had a kind of wildness in his eyes. He too, was feeling it. Eager to quit the land again. Like a hunter who goes to pit his strength against the unknown. Needing to do it, but never knowing if each time was the last.

The coxswain grinned. "They"re doing well, sir. I’ve just been up to the boat tier to watch over your barge. There's a fair breeze from the nor"-west. The squadron will make a goodly sight when "we beat clear of the Rock."